Sherlock's internal clock woke him at 5am, just as they sky outside was beginning to fade from black to bluish-gray. His first thought was that the pillow he was holding was exceptionally warm and soft. Then he realized it was breathing. His eyes flew open, and a quick look at his surroundings concluded that he had, at some point during the night, completely destroyed the barrier and currently had his arms tucked around Molly.

Sherlock cursed himself in his head. It was a miracle that she wasn't awake yet; the trip overseas and a day packed with intense sightseeing had clearly taken its toll. Slowly Sherlock pulled his left arm out from underneath her and unwound the right one from around her waist. She stirred and inhaled deeply, but to Sherlock's relief she didn't wake up. In a flash he rebuilt the Great Wall of Pillows and Blankets and vacated the bed. He had to be at the Cumberland Chronicle in two hours.

Molly awoke just as Sherlock was looping a red plaid tie around his neck. He was wearing a gray suit that looked like it had seen better days. Pleased to see that the pillow wall was intact and unaware of what had really transpired, Molly stretched and lay there for a moment, watching Sherlock. "I thought you didn't like neckties."

"I don't, but William Holmes does."

"William Holmes?"

"I'll draw too much attention in the office with a name like 'Sherlock'. My first name is common enough; I plan to go by Will."

"I didn't know William was your first name." Molly had briefly seen it on their marriage license, but had been busy with trying to adjust to the situation and completely forgot about it afterward.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if you want to be technical. Fortunately no one has ever called me that." Sherlock tried several times to tie a proper knot, but each failed attempt only frustrated him more.

"Don't you know how to tie a tie? You wore one in John's wedding."

"Of course I do. Or did."

"Did?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth as his knot fell out once more. There was nothing he wanted more than to tear the offensive strip of material off his neck and burn it. "I deleted it to make room for more vital information."

Molly grinned. She swung her feet over the side of the bed. "Here, let me help."

Sherlock spent a good chunk of time staring up at the ceiling with as much boredom as he could muster while Molly worked on his tie. When she was done, she smoothed out the front of his shirt and resisted the urge to kiss him on the nose. Sometimes he could act downright childish, but at the moment she didn't mind.

"Nothing to it," Molly said.

Sherlock turned and examined her handiwork in the mirror. "I reckon it will do."

"Sherlock, remember what we've been working on."

He sighed. "Thank you, Molly."

"Much better." Molly's cheeks turned a faint tinge of pink. She'd caught a whiff of his citrus aftershave and had leaned closer without realizing it. When he turned again, she almost fell over.

"You should be getting ready as well. I'd like you to come on the tour of the Chronicle."

"Okay. Do you want me to play a character type too?"

"Yes, in fact. Scatterbrained bride."

"What an honor."

"I want Oscar Bliss and whoever else is involved in his secret dealings to see you as not worth their time. If they believe you're a bit of an idiot, you won't be considered a threat."

"So I'm an idiot now. Lovely."

"It's just a part in a play, Molly. Being ourselves isn't an expedient option in this case."

"What part are you playing then, Will Holmes?"

Sherlock pulled a pair of thick-lens glasses with tape securing the bridge out of his breast pocket. He put them on and slouched. "Computer nerd. Also very unassuming."

"Well next time I'd like to be the smart one, if you don't mind."

"I shall consider it."

Molly rolled her eyes and headed for the bathroom to get dressed. It was a while before she emerged, wearing a pink shirt, flowery pencil skirt, and heels that she didn't feel one bit comfortable in. "Do I fit the role?" She asked.

Sherlock looked up from his watch. "Yes, except for your expression. You look like you're in pain."

"Have you ever worn three inch heels before?"

"I once went undercover as a Kabuki actor in Japan and wore geta. Not to mention a kimono and white face paint."

"Kabuki? Geta?"

"Classical Japanese dance-drama. Geta are wooden shoes that are a cross between clogs and sandals."

"Believe me, heels are worse."

"Just try to appear vacant, and lovesick whenever you look at me. We're going to be late if we don't leave now."

"I think I've got the 'sick' part down at least," Molly muttered as he ushered her out of their hotel room.

"Brilliant."

Molly, who had been staring around at the rows and rows of computer-stocked desks, followed Sherlock's gaze. She stopped in her tracks. The man from the plane—who Sherlock had christened 'Paisley'—was chatting with the receptionist. True to his moniker, he was sporting a yellow paisley tie.

"Of course he works here. I observed the possibilities of a link to the Chronicle, but I didn't realize just how close to the mark I was." Sherlock quickly snatched off his glasses and stuffed them in his pocket. "No use in attempting that disguise. I wasn't wearing them on the plane."

"Fantastic." Molly wanted nothing more than to kick off her heels as well.

Sherlock strode up to Paisley and extended a hand. "Hello there. I'm Will Holmes, the new marriage advice columnist."

Paisley surveyed him with palpable disappointment. "Victor Bliss, News director/editor. I'm supposed to show you around."

"Bliss? Any relation to Oscar Bliss?"

"Yes, he's my father." Victor eyes slid to Molly, and his dour expression brightened somewhat. "I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Miss…"

"Mrs. Molly Holmes." Molly accepted his lingering handshake reluctantly.

"We're just recently married," Sherlock said pointedly. Molly circled her arm through his and attempted a brainless giggle.

"Congratulations. Now if you would please come with me, we can get this tour over wi—I mean, started."

Victor moved so quickly that they covered every room on all four floors of the Chronicle in less than an hour. Sherlock studied everything, from the water fountains in the hallways to the projector in the meeting room, and listened attentively to their guide's vague descriptions. Molly, on the other hand, was too preoccupied the aching of her feet. It was a relief for her when the tour finally ended at Sherlock's workspace, which was stuffed in a corner on the second floor and very nondescript.

"The deadline for your first article is next Monday. I suggest you get started," Victor said. He flashed one of his rare grins at Molly and then left as quickly as possible.

"Friendly chap," Molly said with a shake of her head.

"He still fancies you. I, on the other hand, am the equivalent of an annoying gnat to him."

"You don't seem too fond of him either."

"He's an only child, and apparently the apple of Daddy's eye. Oscar Bliss handed that job to him as soon as he graduated college. His marks were abysmally low, by the way, but Oscar paid off several of his professors."

"For once I don't really want to hear how you know all that," Molly said. "I just want to get out of these shoes."

"After you do, I need you to check out Bliss Outfitters. It's a clothing store in the Gulch and one of Oscar's many business ventures. According to their website, they donate more than half of their proceeds to charity."

"And you want me to find out if it's really going to charity."

"Precisely." Sherlock raised his voice and adopted a sappy tone. "Don't forget to pick me up at five, honey," he said, pulling Molly in for a goodbye kiss. Not expecting it, Molly squeaked, but she managed to remember the charade they were putting on in time to turn it into another giggle. When he released her, a few employees were watching them with amusement.

"Bye, Willie!" Despite the act, Molly was a little dazed as she walked away. Her painful footwear was the last thing on her mind during her drive back to the hotel.