Molly was dreaming that she was being crushed under the weight of twenty suitcases at once. When she awoke, the heavy feeling dulled only somewhat, and she realized that Sherlock was lying halfway on top of her, one arm hanging off the bed on the other side of her and his chin resting on top of her head. His deep, rumbling snore put her in mind of a sleeping dragon.

"SHERLOCK!"

"IT WAS THE BUTCHER!" Apparently Sherlock solved crimes in his dreams as well. He pushed himself onto his elbows and ended up eye to eye with a surprised Molly. "Oops."

"What are you doing?" Molly asked shakily. Apart from the shock, he was impeding some of her lung capacity.

"I told you I didn't fit on that couch; I fell off last night. The other half of the bed wasn't occupied," Sherlock said.

"You don't appear to be on the other half of the bed at the moment. And you're heavier than you look."

"My apologies." Sherlock quickly got up. He tried to brush the creases out of his clothes, but it was no use. His collar was sitting at a strange angle, and his hair was sticking out in all directions.

Molly breathed in a great gulp of air and tried not to think of the awkward position they'd slept in for part of the night. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was 10am. "We should probably get washed up."

"I concur." Sherlock went to grab fresh attire from his suitcase.

Molly jumped out of bed and hurriedly rooted in her bag for jeans and a T-shirt. She raced him to the door of the bathroom and turned, placing a hand on his chest. "Ever heard of the expression 'ladies first'?" She asked.

"You got the bed, didn't you?"

"Until you decided to flatten me, yes."

"Not my fault; I rolled over in my sleep. I was going to get up before you, but my internal clock failed to wake me. You can blame jet lag."

"Excuses aren't going to change anything."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We could save time and take a shower together."

Molly almost squeaked. "NO." Sherlock didn't seem at all fazed by what he had just suggested. Knowing him, he was only thinking about saving time, but that didn't mean she was going to agree to it. She retracted her hand and ran into the bathroom before he could come up with any more bright ideas.

The twenty minute wait felt like an hour to Sherlock. His brain was far too active for sleep, and nothing interesting was happening in the news. He resorted to making origami swans, but soon enough all of the notepad paper in the room was gone.

"It's all y—what happened here?" Molly stopped towel-drying her hair and surveyed the flock of white, yellow, and blue paper birds that had taken up residence on nearly every surface. Sherlock was lounging in the armchair, scratching the back of his neck with his violin bow.

"Got bored." He drew a solemn chord from the violin.

"Oi! You can't play that."

"Why not?"

"We're in a hotel. Some people are still sleeping."

"About time they got up." Sherlock proceeded to play another chord. Molly plucked the bow out of his hand.

"Take your shower," she said, using it to gesture towards the bathroom.

Sherlock found it amusing that such a small woman, especially one who had once been painfully timid, had the courage to order him about. Mrs. Hudson had attempted it many a time and failed, but there was something different about Molly. "Yes ma'am," he said, springing up and executing an exaggerated bow.

As soon as Molly heard the bathroom door snap shut behind him, she gathered up the swans and disposed of half of them in the bin. A handful she saved, unable to let them all go. These she lined up on the window sill, as if they were about to take flight, and covered them with the sheer set of curtains. She hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice right away.

"Is there a particular reason you put my swans in the window, Molly?"

Molly nearly choked on her bite of strawberry. They were downstairs in the hotel's restaurant, eating a late breakfast. Well, Molly was eating breakfast. Sherlock was sitting across from her at the table without an ounce of food in front of him, choosing instead to observe his surroundings and the other diners. The only effort he had made to combat the warm weather outside was to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. It was a wonder he hadn't tried to wear his Belstaff.

"I thought they looked nice there," Molly replied. Curse his gift.

"But you didn't think I would approve."

"Why would you say that?"

"There isn't a cloud in the sky today. You would never leave curtains blocking a source of sunlight unless you were trying to hide something else."

He had her down to a T. "You can throw them away if you want," she said.

Sherlock hesitated before answering. "I don't see much of a point to them, but it's of no consequence if they stay."

Molly pushed her fruit around and didn't say anything else. Secretly she was relieved; she couldn't explain it, but she was quite fond of the colorful little flock.

"I was thinking we should spend today becoming more familiar with the city. My first day at the Cumberland Chronicle is tomorrow, and I'd like to have at least the major roads memorized by then."

"Sounds like a good idea." Molly watched as a group of people wearing cowboy hats and leather boots wandered into the hotel, gazing in awe and waving towards the the architecture. She grinned. "Want to dress like tourists?"

Sherlock followed her gaze, and a repulsed look crossed his face. "That is one disguise I have no desire to adopt."

Just the mental image of Sherlock outfitted in the fashion of a Nashville tourist made laughter bubble up inside Molly, but she did her best to hold it in. She supposed it was hard enough for him to pretend to be in love with her. Regardless, the prospect of sightseeing brightened her spirits.

"It's past 11. We should get moving soon," Sherlock said after glancing at his watch. He looked pointedly at Molly. She sighed and shoveled in the rest of her food.

Sorry this chapter is a short one. I've been busy, but I wanted to give you guys something to read in the meantime.

FYI, if you ever visit Nashville, NEVER wear the cowboy hat and boots combination. This is the mark of the tourist. Very few locals dress like that; most of us actually wear normal clothes. Well, if you can call the hipster style normal ;)