Previously:

"I shall sleep atop the covers clad as I am," Sherlock replied. Although he, too, felt it was a mistake for them to continue with any sort of physical closeness for their own sakes, he also stood firm in his resolve that to do otherwise would be folly for the sake of their deception. "However, I shall wait until you have fallen asleep before joining you. I believe we are both in need of some small recovery time at the moment."

With that, he reached for the door handle, waiting with false patience for her to stumble out of the way and allow him to pass.

When he returned, hours later, he knew she was no more asleep than he was, but allowed her the courtesy of pretence as he eased his way onto the bed.

It was far, far safer for both of them that way.

Sherlock awoke feeling rather disoriented the next morning. This was due in part to the fact that he'd not expected to sleep at all, but mostly because he had, at some point during his slumbers, managed to wrap his body around the slight, still-sleeping form of Molly Hooper.

The realisation of his position in the bed was made even more disconcerting, not so much by the fact that he'd awoken with an erection, but that said erection was pressed firmly against Molly Hooper's delectably soft bottom. His hands, he swiftly discovered, had betrayed him as well; the one was trapped between the bed and the curve of her hip, whilst the other was resting comfortably against the swell of her breast.

Unbidden, his mind drew forth an image of her waking to find the pair of them thus entwined, turning in his arms and drawing him down for a passionate kiss. And why should he not allow such fancies to be brought to reality? He wanted her, and she was not indifferent to him; he was being sent on a mission that could very well lead to his death, leaving her alone and virtually unprotected. Yes, John and Wiggins would look after her, but why should he and Molly deny themselves the comfort of one another's bodies?

She sighed and stretched a little in her sleep, murmuring unintelligibly before falling silent again, her breathing deep and even. His own breath had caught in his throat, and his mind provided several ungentlemanly thoughts before he quickly brought it back under control. "No," he muttered, easing his hands - and indeed, his entire body - away from hers.

Although he had no doubt that she was as attracted to him as he was to her, she had made it clear as crystal the previous night that she had no wish to act on that attraction. And no matter how atypical gentleman he might be, he was certainly no cad to force a woman against her will!

With true regret - and an inconvenient erection to deal with - he withdrew from bed, leaving the bedroom as quietly as he could and allowing Molly to slumber on. A quick visit to the privy was definitely in order.

oOo

The soft click of the door latch was all it took for Molly to awaken. She could still feel the warmth from Sherlock's absent form; giving into a childish impulse, she rolled over and buried her head in his pillow, breathing in the scent of him. His presence by her side had been troublesome, not only to her waking mind but her dreaming self as well - and yet she would not have traded that troublesome night for a thousand sound sleeps alone in her own bed.

Ah, the dreams she'd had...the one right before she awoke was enough to bring a maidenly blush to her cheeks, for she could have taken oath that she'd truly felt his hands upon her body. Indeed, her nipples were still taut and aching, as if he'd teased them through the soft fabric of her night-dress. And the ache between her legs...she blushed even redder at the images her sleeping mind had conjured for her: Sherlock, splendidly nude, brushing his fingers over her sex, kissing her with those lush, perfectly shaped lips…

"Molly Hooper, you are truly a wanton woman," she mumbled to herself, reluctantly rising and stepping over to the wash-stand to splash some cool water - and with God's grace, some common sense - onto her heated cheeks.

When she stepped into the main room it was to catch sight of Sherlock hurrying out of the back door, no doubt on his way to the privy. She made a face, having need of that facility for herself; she was reluctant to use the pot under the bed unless absolutely necessary. Yes, she would be sure to give it a thorough scrub after, but she'd always viewed the act of relieving oneself in the house as rather uncivilised.

Their individual needs having been attended to, they barely spoke to one another as they broke their fast and made their preparations for the day, and then only about his daft scheme to make everyone believe he and John had had a falling-out over her. When she reminded Sherlock that John had neglected to exit their home as angrily as they'd originally discussed, he dismissed her concerns. "John will be certain to correct that error today, I have no doubt," he said with a breezy wave of his hand, and Molly had no choice but to hope that it was so, as Sherlock intended to act as if the falling-out had, indeed, occurred.

They finished the rest of the meal in near silence, but when Molly saw him off at the door, he made certain to swoop in for a swift kiss. She gasped and shooed him away, just as she'd seen her neighbour's wife do when her husband took just such semi-public liberties back home in Baxton.

She greeted Corporal Wiggins cordially, then watched as Sherlock crossed the town square on his way to Colonel Moran's headquarters in the inn. She frowned she saw him exchange stiff bows with John Watson, who made a point of not remaining by Sherlock's side as they made their way to the same destination. The game, it would appear, was afoot.

For her part, she made certain that Wiggins was within earshot before she muttered something uncomplimentary about how Captain Holmes needed to learn to behave more civilly when they had guests. She glared after the two men, gave a slightly theatrical start as if just noticing Wiggins' proximity, then hurriedly re-entered the house. She made sure to allow the door to close with more force than was necessary, although falling shy of actually slamming it.

Once inside, she leaned against the wooden panel, wishing - rather uselessly, as she well knew! - that Sherlock had not chosen to involve John in this additional subterfuge. Still, what was done was done, and clearly John had elected to play his part in the supposed rift between friends. She would have to ask Sherlock about it when he joined her for the noon meal.

With a sigh, she re-opened the door and caught Wiggins' attention. If she was to act as Sherlock's mistress, then she needed to do more than darn his socks or allow the occasional glimpse of him kissing her.

oOo

Molly had no need to inveigle the truth from Sherlock when he made his re-apprearance, as he was all too pleased to tell her of the morning's events - at least, those involving John Watson. It appeared that, although he'd neglected to storm out of the house after dining with them as originally planned, he'd been sure to behave as if things had gone poorly. He'd joined some of their fellow officers in a game of whist and several pints of ale, making acerbic comments about Sherlock and his 'private situation'. But when others tried to press him for details, he'd declared himself fatigued and had instead retired to his own quarters.

"How did you discover all this? Did he tell you?" Molly asked as Sherlock poured them each a glass of wine.

He shook his head and took his seat. "Wiggins," he said succinctly. "He was most vexed at the gossip he'd heard and wished me to be informed of it immediately. I told him that Doctor Watson is entitled to whatever opinion he might wish to hold, however uninformed. And no," he added, clearly anticipating her objections, "it was not because I wished to cause Wiggins any more vexation, but because of the presence of Sergeant Moriarty, who 'just happened' to be passing by on his way to procure luncheon for Colonel Moran."

"Oh dear," Molly murmured, somewhat vexed herself on the corpsman's behalf. "I know it's best to keep our secret amongst ourselves, but surely you trust Corporal Wiggins?"

"I trust his loyalty, but the man is even less capable of acting out a subterfuge than John," Sherlock said dismissively.

"I still don't like it," Molly said as she took the seat he pulled out for her.

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear," Sherlock said through clenched teeth as he took his own seat. "However, your dislike changes nothing."

"Yes, I know, thank you," Molly snapped. She took a sip of wine in an attempt to ease her growing ill-temper - to no avail. "The opinions of others mean not a whit to the great Captain Sherlock Holmes. I was certainly mistaken in my entreaty that you bring Wiggins into our little circle of conspirators; instead, I should have exhorted you to simply do without a corpsman, to create a diversionary disagreement with him and release him from his duties to you!"

Sherlock's brow lowered at her quarrelsome words. "I can assure, madam, that if I were to discharge Wiggins he would not benefit. Our dear commanding officer would undoubtedly find some way to punish him for not performing as expected, in the name of company discipline."

Chastened, Molly lowered her eyes and tried to concentrate on the stewed chicken and vegetables on her pewter plate. "My apologies," she said softly, knowing that he was in the right this time. "I did not think the consequences of such actions through." She raised troubled eyes to meet his. "But what of John? Does not distancing yourself from him place him in possible danger as well? Or is it already too late for that, owing to my intrusion into both your lives?"

It was a thought that had been troubling her, now that she'd had the time to consider the more far-reaching consequences of her impulsive decision to search Sherlock's billet. Although the burden of potential guilt for the sham falling out between himself and John lay on his own conscience, Molly could never forget that this had all come about because of her own impulsive nature.

Sherlock was dismissive of any such possibility. "John will be fine," he maintained as he cut into his stewed chicken. His expression turned into one of surprise, then of pleasure as he chewed and swallowed that first bite. "Either Colonel Moran has finally found a competent replacement for the idiot that normally cooks for the officers, or has allowed his own chef to feed us today."

"Neither," Molly replied briskly, somewhat relieved that he'd chosen to defuse the growing tension with this change of subject. When he gave her a quizzical look, she responded with a smirk worthy of the ones he normally bestowed upon those who had failed to observe something he found obvious. "You've neglected to consider a third possibility." She waved her fork in the air in demonstration.

He glanced around; she watched his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the large iron pot hanging by the fire, the wooden cutting board and knife - both clean - sitting on the sideboard, and the neatly folded pile of cloths set next to them. "You prepared our meal," he pronounced, a definite tone of disbelief in his voice.

"You needn't sound so shocked," she said, unwontedly upset by his apparent dismissal of her home-making talents. "It isn't as if I never prepared meals for my aunt and myself."

"Yes, but doing so for her and while in your own home is quite different than doing so for me," he was quick to point out. A small smile quirked the corners of his lips. "Dare I believe you might have forgiven me, Molly?"

"Forgiveness implies a wrong done, Sherlock," she replied, a ridiculous thrill coursing down her spine at the low intimacy of his voice as he said her name. "So far, I must confess, you have done me no true wrong."

"Give me time," he replied, his gaze growing heated. Molly blushed; his words could easily be taken as a promise rather than a threat, and she knew very well what sort of promise it portended.

"I, ah, thought it might assist in our masquerade if I were to start preparing your meals myself, rather than relying on the cook-house," she said, after subtly clearing her throat. "It was only that, I assure you."

By the look on his face, he disbelieved her, and why shouldn't he? She barely believed the words herself, no matter the truth of them.

Fortunately for her flustered mind, a knock at the door interrupted their - flirtation? - and she rose hastily to attend to their visitor. It was Wiggins, with a message for Sherlock that instantly changed the atmosphere of the room from verging on overheated to icily cold. "Colonel Moran wishes to see me regarding my imminent departure," Sherlock said flatly after perusing the missive and scribbling a response for Wiggins to deliver. "At my convenience, which means he wants me to dance attendance immediately. Your pardon, Molly, but it appears you'll have to finish this excellently prepared meal alone."

He bowed, allowed Wiggins to assist him with his uniform jacket and hat, and left without a backward glance. An hour later he returned, mouth set in a grim line, and an hour after that Molly was kissing him good-bye and watching, John Watson by her side, as he and a troop of soldiers set out on their mission.

oOo

It took only a single day after Sherlock's leave-taking for the deception that he and Dr. Watson had had a falling-out over his treatment of Molly to bear fruit.

As ordered by Colonel Moran, she never left the house unaccompanied; since Wiggins had gone with Sherlock, her escort today was Doctor Watson, bringing her to purchase some items she needed. Her supposed lover had left her a generous purse to manage the household in his absence; she'd been aghast at the amount but reluctantly accepted his reasoning. "There is no point in my bringing it with me, and to give it to John would belie our falling-out. And other than the good doctor, there is no one here I trust to watch over it."

She'd seen the reasoning, of course, just as she'd seen the reasoning behind the very public kiss he'd bestowed upon her just before he mounted his horse. She'd not had to falsify her doleful expression as he rode off; being without his protection put her in an even more vulnerable position than before, even with John Watson conspicuously by her side. If Colonel Moran or Sergeant Moriarty wished to take advantage of her vulnerability, she had very few recourses open to her.

This was proven unnervingly true when she found herself accosted by Sergeant Moriarty in the the small dry goods store on the town square. She was alone for the moment; John had been momentarily delayed by a fellow officer as she bargained for some soap and other necessities.

"Miss Hooper," Moriarty said, sketching a mocking bow as she turned to face him, a pleasant expression pasted on her features. "I must say I'm impressed by quickly you took advantage of Captain Holmes' absence." He raised an insolent eyebrow. "Could it be that you're worried that he might not return, and seek to secure yourself a new protector?"

"Doctor Watson is merely acting as my escort," she replied stiffly. "You know very well that Colonel Moran himself has decreed that I must be accompanied at all times when I am not at home."

Moriarty raised an impertent eyebrow as she paid for her items and tucked them into her basket. "Oho, home is it, now?" he sneered as he followed her to the door. "I thought home was in Baxton, with your aunt. Who," he added as they stepped outside, "sends her regards."

Molly stiffened and turned to glower at him. "When have you spoken to my aunt, and to what purpose?"

"Why, merely to assure her of your safety while you're a guest here," he replied with a shrug. He leaned forward, and Molly had to fight not to back up from either his over-familiarity or the coldness in his brown eyes. "I thought you should know that I promise to personally deliver any news to her, should something untoward happen - if, say, you were to leave us unexpectedly, without having a chance to say good-bye." He tsked in a falsely sympathetic manner, while Molly's hand tightened on the handle of her basket. "It would be a shame if Mistress Hudson had to join us in your stead."

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?"

Molly had been so caught up in the not-so-thinly veiled threats Moriarty was making that she hadn't noticed John's approach until he was right next to her.

Moriarty came to attention. "I was merely informing Miss Hooper of my recent visit to Baxton, sir. And, of course, making certain no one annoyed her while she awaited her escort."

"Very well, then carry on with your duties. I can assure you that I will remain by Miss Hooper's side until she is finished with her morning's errands," John replied. He and Moriarty held one another's gazes until finally the sergeant snapped off a salute, turned on his heels and sauntered away, whistling 'Yankee Doodle'.

"Are you all right?" John asked in a low voice as he offered his arm.

Molly accepted it gratefully. "Yes, I'm fine." She glanced over her shoulder; Moriarty was nowhere in sight, thank goodness. She repeated the gist of the conversation to the doctor, whose scowl grew darker and darker as she spoke.

When she finished, they had nearly reached the house, and it was clear that John's temper was getting the better of him. "That blackguard! How dare he threaten your aunt in such a manner! He deserves a sound thrashing!"

Molly couldn't agree more, but kept silent, sensing that it wouldn't take much for him to make good on that threat. She'd not yet witnessed his temper, and had no desire to do so, especially not on her own behalf. She'd made no promises not to break for freedom at the first opportunity, but the longer she remained the more difficult it became to even consider such a thing. Yes, it was her patriotic duty to escape, to find Captain Lestrade and inform him of what she'd learned during her enforced stay, but to do so would betray good men like Doctor Watson...and Sherlock Holmes.

Her troubled thoughts kept her company long after she and John had parted ways, and continued to plague her during the entire week that passed before Sherlock's return.

A/N: Thank you again for all your encouraging words and for sticking with this saga. There are dark times ahead, but you know there's always a light at the end of the tunnel!