The first thing Sherlock did when he woke up the following morning was take the coldest shower in his life. Although the temperature of the water made his teeth chatter and goosebumps stand up on his skin, he couldn't shake the memory of the previous night from his mind, the feeling of Molly's hands tangled in his curls and the taste of her skin. All of this—emotion—that had spilled out of that iron door was completely foreign to him, yet his body had seemed to know exactly what to do. He'd always made sure that reason governed his actions in the past. What was wrong with him? Was he falling apart, just like the padlock? How could one plain, unassuming pathologist he'd known for so many years unravel him in one night? Even the shower was a reminder; her shampoo and razor were there, taunting him.

Sherlock finally turned off the icy water and got out. He dried off and dressed in black trousers and his favorite lavender shirt, attempting to gain a sense of normalcy. His wedding band caught the light, and he stared at it ruefully. This was all his fault. He just had to pull her into a covert marriage, into a room with one bed and a couch that was only for show. She hadn't even tried to make any advances; in fact, she'd done her best to keep her distance from him. And then he practically forced himself on her. That locked door should have been a warning, but he'd been too thick to realize it.

Sherlock sighed. He couldn't hide in the bathroom forever; he'd have to face her sooner or later. Slowly he opened the door and walked out. Molly was still asleep, her bare arms folded over the blanket that covered her body. Her hair was in a state. The sight of her brought the strange new feelings back, and Sherlock cursed his traitorous thoughts. If his body had its way, he'd be crawling back into bed with her, but his mind mastered control over it before it could try. He sat down in the chair opposite the bed and closed his eyes, using the extra time he had to think about how he was going to trap Victor into a confession.

A tiny groan brought Sherlock out of his musings; Molly was waking up. She yawned and stretched, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment she seemed confused, but then everything came flooding back.

"Sherlock? What happened last night?" She asked.

"I'm sure you're old enough to know the answer to that, Molly," Sherlock said.

"You know what I'm talking about. The door."

Sherlock sighed. "Emotions are complicated, irritating. They always get in the way of a case, whereas logic never fails. I thought I'd been successful in replacing the former with the latter. Apparently I was not very thorough."

"So your feelings for…me…were locked up in your mind palace?"

"If you want to oversimplify it, yes."

"Then what does this mean for…us?"

"I'm not sure." It finally made sense, all those nights when he couldn't keep himself on his side of his bed. Now that the door in his mind was open, everything was different. When he looked at Molly now, new words hung around her. Her eyes weren't just 'brown'; they were 'beautiful' and 'alluring'. Her skin and hair were 'soft' and 'smooth', and the rest of her…well, he was glad no one could see what he saw. The other descriptions were still there, however: intelligent, resourceful, considerate, helpful, mild-mannered. Although he hadn't been fully aware of it before, she was a perfect fit for him. He looked into her eyes, and it suddenly occurred to him: he loved her. It was a shock to be sure. "Well, we are already married. Seems a shame to…waste it."

Molly smiled, reading the true meaning behind his awkward words. "Blimey. I did get stuck with you."

Sherlock chuckled. "My deepest apologies, Mrs. Holmes." He glanced at his watch. "You should probably get ready. Can't be late for the police inquiry—I mean, work."

Molly nodded. She slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, and although he tried, Sherlock wasn't able to tear his gaze away until the door had closed behind her. He sighed again. Avoiding distraction was going to be a challenge.

That morning was a series of firsts for Molly. Sherlock didn't seem to want to lose physical contact with her for extended periods of time, for he clasped his hand around hers as they walked downstairs and sat shoulder to shoulder with her in the booth at breakfast. He even ordered an omelet and ate every bit of it. She didn't mind the change at all; she didn't jump whenever he touched her now, and felt slightly lost whenever he didn't. He looked at her every time he did, however, a question in his green-blue eyes that asked if what he was doing was okay. She responded by planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

When they were on their way out, Mr. Dubois appeared from behind the front desk and ran up to them. "Mr. Holmes! I tried to call your room last night to tell you, but no one answered."

"Oh? I was…indisposed," Sherlock said, and Molly blushed.

"Well we had a last-minute cancellation on a room with two beds. It's still available if you'd like to take it," Mr. Dubois said, unaware of the implication.

"Er, no that won't be necessary. Thank you."

"But…but you said…"

"I changed my mind. Good day, Mr. Dubois." Sherlock exited the hotel with his arm circled around Molly's waist, leaving the manager scratching his head and muttering once again about crazy Brits.

"So what are you going to do about Victor?" Molly asked when they were en route to Bliss Outfitters. Sherlock would have the car again that day; he intended to leave as soon as he'd gotten a confession.

"I'm going to search his office, for starters. If I find evidence, it will make the confrontation easier. If I don't, I'll just pretend like I have some."

"Do you think it will work?"

"Of course it will. Just don't let Danielle suspect anything."

"I won't. She barely pays attention to me anyway."

Sherlock pulled up in front of the clothing store, and they shared a lengthy kiss before Molly slipped out of the car. She reluctantly waved goodbye to him and walked inside.

"Someone's in a good mood," Danielle remarked, looking up from her clipboard for a second.

"What? Oh. I had a lovely evening." Molly shrugged.

"Hmm." Danielle had stopped listening.

The day went by as usual. Molly worked with a teenage girl who paid her even less attention than Danielle, and the store was busy enough to keep the time moving quickly. Regardless of this, half of Molly's mind was more focused on the case, while the other half was preoccupied with how Sherlock's black curls had felt between her fingers, and how much she wanted to run them through it again.

"Mrs. Holmes. What a pleasure to see you here."

Molly's head jerked up, and she dropped the hangers she'd been carrying. Victor Bliss was standing in front of her, a rather unpleasant smile curling around the edge of his lip.

"Hullo there, Mr. Bliss! Nice to see you again," Molly said in the bubbliest voice she could muster. There was no one else nearby; her teenage coworker was on break and Danielle was in the back as usual. She gulped.

"You play your part well, my dear, but there's no need for that masquerade anymore," Victor said.

"Masquerade? I don't know what you're talking about." Molly cocked her head to the side. Her mind was racing.

Victor reached out and stroked her arm. She tried to back up, but there was a shelving unit blocking her escape.

"I suppose I might as well let the cat out of the bag and tell you I've been putting on a little show of my own. I'm surprised your famous husband didn't see through it, but then again, he's been a tad…busy, if you catch my drift. Not that I blame him." Victor was close enough now that Molly could smell the reek of cheap cigarettes on his breath. Her heart started beating faster.

"Famous?" It was worth one last go.

"Oh please, stop playing dumb. You're a very smart lady, Molly. A pathologist, I hear." Victor's lips were no more than a centimeter away from her ear.

"Victor! That's enough. Bring her to the back." Danielle suddenly appeared from behind a clothes rack, her arms crossed and a dangerous look on her face.

"You always spoil my fun," Victor said, pouting. He grabbed Molly roughly by the wrist, his fingernails cutting into her skin, and dragged her into the office. Danielle went to lock the store's front door, flipped the sign to 'closed', and then followed.

"Listen missy, we've been expecting someone to show up ever since Wyatt Davis's loudmouth widow booked a flight to England," Danielle snapped. She stood in front of the swinging door.

"So you did have him murdered," Molly said.

"Of course we did. We couldn't have him blabbing our little scheme to the police, could we?" Victor said. "Collateral damage."

"Which is what you'll become as well, I'm afraid. It's a pity, considering you're not too bad of an employee." Danielle pulled her skirt up a few inches and extracted a .45 pistol from a hidden thigh holster. She pointed it at Molly's head.

Without warning, the lights cut out, plunging the room into complete darkness. There was a flash as the gun went off, but Molly was yanked down to the ground before the round could hit her. Strong arms encircled her to keep her from getting away.

"Don't move," a deep and familiar voice rumbled in her ear.

"Sherlock," Molly murmured, relaxing immediately.

More gunshots sounded before the lights flickered back on, revealing a group of police officers. They had both Victor and Danielle restrained. There was a bloodstain on Victor's shirt sleeve, but it didn't look like a serious wound. The couple glared at Sherlock and Molly as they were led away.

"Don't think this is the last you've seen of me, Mr. Holmes. I'll be back to haunt you. You AND your pretty wife," Victor hissed, spitting at Sherlock as he passed.

"Bit of temper, that one," Sherlock remarked mildly. He wiped away the spit with a sleeve of the sweater Danielle had left behind.

"How did you…" Molly began.

"Get in? Through the back door, obviously. They really should lock it after taking smoke breaks."

"No, how did you figure out that Victor and Danielle knew about us? And that Victor would be here?"

"Oh. I had my suspicions, but what really tipped me off when I heard Victor had left to deal with some business at Bliss Outfitters. I've been talking to his coworkers, and they confirmed over and over again that he never goes there. It seems that all of the trafficking he does is handled from his office at the Chronicle. I acted on a hunch and called the police. They heard the confession before cutting out the lights, so that combined with our original evidence will keep the Bliss clan locked up for a very long time."

"I'm glad you got here when you did," Molly said. Sherlock smiled and lifted her chin, kissing her on the lips.

"Whoa. What did I miss?" Ralph was standing in the back doorway. Considering his arrival time, he must have just witnessed his boss and her husband being shoved into a police car. His eyes were wide as saucers.

"You're working for a con woman who specializes in black market trafficking with her husband and father-in-law under the guise of running a nonprofit clothing store. Molly and I were hired to find evidence on their underground business and a murder they had a hit man commit, but they figured it out and just attempted to kill Molly here. I called the police and had them arrest the Blisses, but there was a bit of a tussle, if you're wondering why there are bullets embedded in the wall. Those will be rather hard to get out, but it won't matter to you considering Bliss Outfitters will close today and you'll have to find another job. If you have any more questions, I suggest you take them elsewhere. I'm busy." With that, Sherlock pulled Molly in for another kiss.