Once again I edited this very late, so please excuse any errors. I wanted to get it to you guys as soon as possible :)

When Molly left the hotel shortly after lunch, she was more comfortably garbed in jeans and a gray tank top and had her hair pulled back into her signature ponytail. Bliss Outfitters was easy enough to locate; it was a sprawling building built from reclaimed materials and bore its enormous iron-wrought sign with pride. Molly parked the car and went in.

"Welcome to Bliss Outfitters!" An employee said cheerfully from where she was straightening a pile of folded shirts. Arrayed in high-waisted shorts, a white V-neck, and colorful Toms, she was an accurate reflection of the store. "Can I help you?"

"Just looking," Molly said. She headed over to the nearest clothes rack and began inspecting a dress with feigned interest. The price tag informed her that it could be hers for $124.95. She quickly passed it by.

Bliss Outfitters was staffed by people dressed similarly to Molly's greeter, all with friendly smiles and helpful attitudes. No one looked even remotely like a black market dealer. But if there was one thing Molly had learned about people after spending so much time with Sherlock, it was that they were seldom what they seemed. While browsing, she kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

There were six employees on the floor, and a good number of customers who didn't seem to mind the high price tags that surrounded them. At one point a manager came out of the back to help a cashier fix a computer issue, but she disappeared once more as soon as it was resolved. After twenty-five minutes, Molly was about to leave when a middle-aged man entered the store with a package tucked under his arm. At first he looked like just another hipster, but he kept glancing around as if he was afraid someone might be watching him. His eyes passed right over Molly. This wasn't unusual; people often overlooked her, and it proved to be her greatest advantage.

Molly grabbed a British flag-emblazoned T-shirt from the sales rack and headed for the counter without bothering to try it on. If she going to get close enough to see and hear what the package-carrying man was up to, the counter was the closest spot. She also figured that the employees would soon realize how long she'd been in the store without picking up even one item of clothing, and the shirt was marked down from 50 dollars to 15.

As the cashier was ringing Molly up, the manager who had fixed the computer malfunction came out to meet the man with the box. She was tall and thin, with high cheekbones, sharp blue eyes, and long, wavy blond hair. Her expensive turquoise dress fit her like a glove, and Molly was sure she must have been a model at some point in her life.

"Got another delivery for ya, Danielle," said the man.

Danielle jerked her head towards the doorway behind her, and he quickly shuffled into the back room. Her eyes raked over everyone in hearing distance, and Molly pretended to be more interested in the recyclable shopping bag that the cashier was handing her. Satisfied, she turned and followed the man.

Molly decided to go out on a limb. "Was that your manager? She looks familiar."

The cashier—a friendly Asian-American teenager who had complimented her accent and introduced himself as Ralph—glanced at the swinging door. "Yeah, that's Danielle Bliss. She's married to Victor Bliss, whose dad owns this place. Actually, he owns a lot of places. You might have seen her on magazine covers a few years ago; she used to be a swimsuit model."

Molly was surprised to hear that Victor was married. Apparently he had a habit of forgetting to wear his ring, especially while flirting with women on airplanes. She doubted Danielle cared as much for him as for his money; according to Sherlock, the Blisses were the third richest family in the States.

"That must be where I recognized her from. Thank you so much, Ralph," Molly said with a smile.

"You're very welcome, Ms. Molly. Have a nice day!"

"Victor Bliss is married!"

The passenger's side door of the Ford had barely shut behind Sherlock before Molly let the news she'd been containing all day burst out of her. He regarded her with a mild expression.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. On the plane I observed he had a tan line from a wedding ring, which he removes every time he sees you. The online gossip bloggers say he has a fetish for foreign women, so I suppose he heard your accent and was immediately smitten." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You could have told me that."

"I didn't think it was important."

Molly sighed and started driving back to the hotel. "So you probably already know she manages Bliss Outfitters."

"Naturally. Did anything happen while you were there, excluding your purchase of that overpriced piece of material in the backseat?"

Molly pursed her lips. He always had to ruin her fun. "Oh, nothing much. Just a shady-looking man coming in and delivering a package to Mrs. Bliss."

Sherlock looked at her, instantly alert. She felt a sense of satisfaction that she knew about something that he didn't. "What did he look like? And what sort of package?"

"Average height and weight, brown hair, middle-aged, dressed like a hipster. Not someone you—well, a normal person—would give a second glance. The package was medium-sized, wrapped in brown paper, and carried under his arm. He told her he had another delivery for her and called her by her first name only. She motioned for him to go in the back room and followed him. I wasn't able to see what happened after that, and he never came out while I was there. I had to leave eventually so no one would become curious as to why I was lingering."

"Hmm. Transactions like this must go on all the time, considering how relaxed he was in addressing her. It was all business for her, however. Perhaps the package held an object intended to be sold on the black market, and Danielle Bliss is the checkpoint. Can you investigate further?"

"Maybe. I think I made a friend there; an employee named Ralph."

"Another one of your American beaus?"

"Shut it. He's around seventeen or eighteen. He was more than happy to volunteer information about his boss when I asked who she was."

"Excellent. See if you can discover more from him the next time you go."

"What about you? Did you learn anything new at the Cumberland Chronicle?"

"Not particularly. I didn't see Victor the rest of the day, and Oscar is even more reclusive. From the stories shared around the water cooler, it appears that he leaves most of the operations to his son and only shows his face at the occasional meeting. Also, the man who occupies the desk nearest mine has acute OCD. I moved his pen around whenever he went to use the toilet or get a drink of water, and he had a panic attack every time he came back. I must say it relieved the dullness considerably."

Molly sighed inwardly, pitying the unsuspecting coworker. She and Sherlock surrendered their car over to Union Station's valet and walked inside. "Did you get any work done on the article you're supposed to be writing?"

"I researched the divorce rate in America over the past ten years."

"And?"

"Well, that was pretty much it."

"Sherlock!"

"Don't worry, Molly. I have plenty of time to complete it. Right now, however, I need to search for Danielle's police records and previous work history. You can order supper for yourself in the meantime."

Molly watched the detective's wiry form as he ascended the stairs before she headed in the direction of the hotel's restaurant. It was a wonder he didn't wither away from starvation whenever he was on a case; it was like the thrill of the game weighed his stomach down and made him forget that he was still human. Between this and his history of substance abuse, it was even more of a wonder he was alive at all. Of course, a lot of it was owed to the combined efforts of John and Molly. They had always been there to talk him into eating a meal, or administering a good slap on the cheek when he was falling back into old habits. Now the responsibility was entirely on Molly's shoulders. For some reason, she didn't mind the burden too much.