A/N: Many thanks to Mychakk for reading this chapter over. Enjoy!


"Are you sure your parents won't mind? Us leaving early, I mean?"

Sherlock gave Molly his most winning smile. "Of course they won't, they understand that we have lives, things to do other than gad about the countryside and drink tea."

Molly gave him another doubtful look. "And you're sure this can't wait until John and Mary get back? Or at least until Monday?"

He shook his head. "No, Lestrade says it's time sensitive. I've got to leave this afternoon but," he took a deep breath and looked at her sadly. "But I suppose I could do it on my own. You needn't come."

He was being deliberately manipulative, and the frown Molly gave him told him she saw right through him. Even so, he continued to give her the big, dark eyes and the deep, deep voice as he further cajoled her, "It'll be fun, Molly, I promise, and you'll get to see what my life is really like. The one I want to be living."

Molly hesitated only a moment before nodding her head. "Very well, I'll go this one time, Sherlock. I shan't ask if we'll be in any danger, because I trust you not to put me into such a situation."

He knew his smile must look about as realistic as that of a young child being kissed by a great-aunt who reeked of mothballs and gin, and dropped it the moment she left the room to pack her things back up. Danger? Of course he wouldn't put her in any danger! He'd fob her off on Lestrade if anything remotely dangerous came up, then visit her after the case was concluded in order to preen a bit - er, in order to explain its intricacies to her.

Then again, why bring her along at all? His mind insisted on circling back to that question. He could tell her all about it after the fact whether she came along or not, as he'd done before. Why was he so determined to bring her along this time? What did it matter if she saw him in what he considered his element, chasing after criminals, deducing crime scenes, showing up the flat-foots, being generally brilliant as he always was?

Why did he so desperately want her to see and approve of the life he'd begun to carve out for himself? Did he want to gauge her reactions, to see if she might be suitable for such a life as well? Or was it that he wanted her to see exactly why he was the worst possible choice for a husband any woman could make?

Giving himself a little shake, he pulled his suitcase from under his bed and began haphazardly throwing his belongings into it. Everything would be fine, there would be no danger, and today's adventure, however it ended, couldn't possibly disrupt the carefully laid plans the two of them had made.

oOo

Molly wasn't entirely sure why she'd agreed to accompany Sherlock on this…case, adventure, insanity? All of the above? All she did know was that she certainly hadn't signed on to being held at gunpoint, tied up to Sherlock back-to-back like a couple of upright mummies, and left in a very cold meat locker to await the presence of Mr. Big.

Whoever THAT might turn out to be.

So she did the only thing she could do, under the circumstances: she fumed. Silently.

Coldly, she might have put it, were it not so very apt.

And Sherlock, the man who could deduce a person by the way they wore their braces or whether or not they used a cigarette holder, what did he do? Entirely misread her silence. "It'll be fine, Molly, we'll get out of this," he said at what was clearly an attempt at consoling her. "No need to worry; I'm sure Inspector Lestrade will -"

"I'm not worried," she bit out, enunciating each word very clearly so as not to be misunderstood. "I'm angry."

There was a long pause before Sherlock spoke again. "Angry at…me?"

"Partly," she admitted. "But mostly at myself. Whatever was I thinking, agreeing to such a hare-brained scheme, going along on a case as if we were going on a jolly little picnic or spending a night at the opera?" She let out a sigh, her fury suddenly collapsing as she began to truly comprehend what a pickle they were in. "If I'd only said no -"

"If you'd said no, then I very probably wouldn't have informed Lestrade of my intentions," Sherlock admitted. "I only did so because I, erm, that is, so that someone would know, in case anything happened -"

Molly craned her head to look at him as best she could, utterly startled at what he seemed to be trying to say. "Are you saying you wanted to be sure I was safe, that someone would know to come looking for us because you didn't want anything to happen to me?"

"Well, you're not John Watson," Sherlock burst out, steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze. But the tips of his ears were pink. "You're not used to this sort of thing. Although I had no expectations of any danger coming from our little investigation, I also knew my mother would have my head if I allowed you to come to any harm."

Molly was touched by this admission, couched though it was as if Sherlock was only thinking of himself. She knew quite well that he wasn't in the habit of concerning himself with how his mother might react to his detectival activities, but wisely kept her thoughts on the matter to herself. If she felt a warm little glow that he'd cared enough to change his modus operandi in order to safeguard her well being, that was nobody's business but her own.

Sherlock was still nattering on, grumbling about the man they'd been following. "What was Styles thinking of, leading us directly to the main hideout? He's one of their lowest level minions, barely even worth noticing by anyone this high up. He was supposed to lead us to the next link in the chain. I was planning on bringing down the leader next week, when John was back from gadding about the countryside."

Molly couldn't help the titter of laughter that escaped her lips. Leave it to Sherlock to blame the man they'd been following for their current predicament! "How very rude," she said through her giggles. "But I suppose it's the nature of the criminal class to be disruptive!"

He let out an unexpected bark of laughter at her retort. "Quite disruptive," he agreed. "Never keep to a proper schedule, any of them." She felt movement, and decided he was shaking his head. "I shall have to have words with 'Mr. Big' when he makes his appearance. Take him to task for the deplorable behaviour of his -"

"Hang on!" Molly exclaimed, once again craning her neck to look at him. Something he'd just said had been nagging at her, and she suddenly realised what it was. "Next week? You said you were planning on this confrontation happening next week? But I thought you said it was a time sensitive task Inspector Lestrade had for us!"

Sherlock's ears were a definite crimson this time, as were his cheeks. Sherlock, blushing? Goodness! "Yes, erm, well, I might have…exaggerated the timing a bit."

"Just to get out of spending the week-end with your family? Seems a bit extreme," Molly said, intending her words to be teasing.

Sherlock, unfortunately, appeared to take them as a criticism. "You've met my family," he said, sounding defensive. Why wouldn't I take such extreme measures to avoid them?"

"Yes, I've met them," Molly replied, feeling a bit irritated herself. "And they're perfectly lovely, even Mycroft when he wishes to be." Trying to restore their earlier teasing tone, she added with a chuckle, "Come now, Sherlock, why not just admit it's because you wanted to spend more time alone with me?"

Even before he let out a sardonic laugh, even before he spoke she knew she'd miscalculated. "Seriously, Molly? You seriously think I set this up to spend time alone with you? Because I enjoy your company and wanted to share with you the lifestyle I've chosen to live?"

Hurt and outrage warred within her. "Well, genius loves an audience," she snapped. "So you've told me more than once. Is it so ridiculous that I thought you might want to show off a bit for me?"

He snorted. "If I wanted to show off, all I'd have to do is deduce the next roomful of partygoers at the next boring social event we're forced to attend. That seems to have been enough to impress you before now!"

Molly was positively speechless with fury. She'd known Sherlock could be cold and dismissive, that he had little patience and even less tolerance for pretty much everyone he'd ever met, but she'd never known him to be as cruel as he was being right now. "You are the most disagreeable man I've ever met!" she exclaimed, half-turning in order to glare at him.

"And you're a fool for forgetting even for a moment that all of this is nothing but a farce!" he snapped back. "Maybe now you'll understand why I am eminently unsuitable as a potential husband for anyone!"

"Oh." Suddenly Molly was back to wishing she was anywhere but here - but not, this time, out of concern for their predicament. No, she wished very much to be safe at home, never having heard those coldly spoken words. And they'd been getting along so splendidly up to then!

"Well," she finally managed to say once she was certain there would be no sign of the sudden tears that had clogged her throat, "you shan't need to worry about marrying ME, at any rate. Find me the right man, and once we've reached the end of this interminable six months, we can each go our own ways. Exactly as planned."

oOo

He'd hurt her. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he'd panicked when she'd caught him out in a fib - and panicked even more when she'd seemingly plucked his true intentions from his mind and teased him about wanting to spend more time with her. And then her hurt and anger - and yes, he'd recognised both emotions - had set off his own defences and before he'd known it his mouth had run far ahead of his brain.

Yes, he'd well and truly bollixed things up, but in the end, what did it matter? They were destined to part ways at the end of their false engagement, so it was just as well that she saw him for what he truly was: selfish, careless of the feelings of others, utterly incapable of maintaining a romantic relationship, cruel, hurtful and spiteful.

In short, a terrible husband.

And he would make a terrible husband, he knew he would. He'd likely end up hurting her over and over again, should they actually marry, until finally she grew to despise him. No one could stand his company for long, excepting possibly John and, rather unexpectedly, his friend's new wife. Mary seemed to understand him better than he'd had a right to expect, especially considering his rather caddish behaviour toward her when they'd first been introduced. She'd be able to help him navigate the suddenly murky waters into which he'd so enthusiastically dived, little knowing just how deep and turbid they actually were.

For those reasons he found himself wishing they were here, rather than the very (emotionally) disturbing Molly Hooper, and without thinking blurted that very thought out loud.

"So do I," was all she responded, and he winced inwardly at the coldness of her voice. Oh yes, he'd bollixed things up even worse, but what else should he have expected? That's what he did, wasn't it? Hurt people and ruined everything he touched?

The very welcome sound of the door creaking open interrupted his downward spiral into self-loathing. He looked up alertly, unsure if he was relieved or disappointed to see Lestrade and two of his bobbies standing there, regarding the two prisoners through narrowed eyes. "Got yourself in a bit o' a pickle, eh?" Lestrade said before gesturing the bobbies forward.

The two men got them untied, being very respectful about it, at least to Molly. "Sorry, Miss, I do apologise," one of them said, having accidentally touched her someplace - her hip, her thigh, her bre-no, stop, do NOT think about her breasts. Not now, not ever.

Once they'd been freed and circulation fully restored, Molly accepted Lestrade's arm. They left the room, Lestrade throwing him a rueful 'you're in for it now, mate' look and Molly…

Molly not even looking back once, even after she'd been settled in the back of a cab with instructions to drive her straight home.

Sherlock lit a cigarette and tried his damndest to pretend that it didn't bother him in the least.

oOo

Molly was fuming as she unlatched the door and entered the flat. Her brothers came tumbling out into the parlour, curious as to why her week-end had been cut short, and she gave them a spurious story about having a headache, which also allowed her to escape to her room and shut the door. She leaned against it, one hand over her eyes, still holding her suitcase in the other. With a sigh she set it carefully on the floor, walking to her dresser with dragging feet.

She regarded her reflection in the mirror, disheartened by the sight that greeted her: Her hat was askew, her hair limp and straggling from its pins, her face white and her gloves and dress filthy. She considered taking a bath, but instead did her best to wash up with the water in the basin. She unpinned her hat and let her hair down. She'd kept it unfashionably long even after deciding on her rather desperate plan to find a wealthy husband, gambling that the sort of man she'd be willing to marry might prefer a more old-fashioned girl to a frivolous flapper.

The tears started without warning; she gave a hiccuping gulp, blinked several times, then suddenly threw herself on her bed facedown, her face on her arms, and gave way to the tempest of emotions she'd been so gallantly holding back.

Her first intimation that she was no longer alone came when she felt a weight settle on the bed next to her, and felt her mothers' hands on her shoulders. "Oh Molly, my love, what's happened? Are you injured? That dreadful Inspector rang me up at Lady Whisteldown's - actually rang me up while I was working! - and said that you might need me. Her Ladyship was very understanding, let me go immediately, and I shall have to thank her and the inspector both because it's obvious you need me! What's happened?" she asked again, still running soothing hands along Molly's back. "Please, my darling, tell me!"

Molly shuddered and did her best to bring her weeping under control. "Oh Mum," she cried, struggling to a sitting position and throwing herself into her mother's arms, "it's so horrid!"

She told her mother the whole story, the words coming in a torrent interrupted by hiccups and occasional fresh bursts of tears. Ava handed her a handkerchief, and then another one she kept in her sleeve for just such an emotional emergency, and said nothing until Molly had finished.

"You must break things off with that, that scoundrel immediately!" she exclaimed angrily. "He's revealed exactly how selfish and, and rude and heartless he truly is! Oh, my darling daughter, you deserve so much better than a man who treats you so poorly!"

"But he promised -" Molly began, only to have her mother cut her off.

"Never mind what he promised! Why, I question whether he actually ever meant to go through with it after he'd got what he wanted! No, my dear girl, you must listen to me and end this farce at once. Give his parents your excuses - and yes, make it clear that it's his fault, there's no reason for you to try to protect that man!" She pursed her lips. "I know you intended to repay him for the clothing and secretarial salary, but as far as I'm concerned, you owe him nothing except to return the ring he gave you. If it was me, I'd return it to his parents and cut off all contact with him!"

Molly made to speak, but her mother continued on. "And as for our circumstances - well. You can seek another secretarial post, now that you've had some experience. Or see if that nice Doctor Watson and his wife might be able to - no, not that," she interrupted herself with a frown. "Much as you like them, my darling, I believe you'll have to cut ties to them as well. No, I'm sure you'll find a suitable post and if not…well, there's always Lady Whistledown. She might know of someone in need of a companion or -"

"Or a servant," Molly cut in bitterly. "After all, what else am I cut out for? No, a life in service will be hard work but at least it's honest. You're right, Mum. I've been trying to find an easy way out of our difficulties, and finally I understand the truth: that there is no such thing."

There was a hardness to her voice and expression that had never been there before, and Ava's heart ached to witness it. Oh, if that man was only here, she would give him more than a piece of her mind! To have hurt her daughter so, to be so cruel to her when all she'd ever done was try to help him!

Oh yes, she thought grimly she'd certainly have words for that young man should he ever dare to show his face again!


End note: Thank you as always for your reviews for this fic. they make me smile!