Molly felt…well, in a word, hot. Never before in her life had so much attention been paid to her appearance, and she was grateful. At first she had felt rather awkward, a legion of unknown women stripping her down to her knickers and waxing and plucking nearly every inch of her body without speaking. Only after they had finished their dirty work did one girl finally speak to her.

"Well, Dr. Hooper, let's see what we have to work with," the tall woman said as she sat Molly in a styling chair and spun her to face the mirror. She wound her hands in Molly's long, flat hair and turned to the group of stylists behind her. "Three seventy-spare no expense. Mr. Holmes wants her all-out, top to bottom."

"Molly was just about to say something rude about exactly what 'Mr. Holmes' could have when the group of stylists swarmed her again.

Now, looking in the mirror, she could hardly believe the person looking back was her. Her hair had been cut to just below the shoulder and artfully curled in soft, gentle waves. The make-up applied to her face made her skin look absolutely flawless and her eyes seemed to glow beneath her drawn-out lashes. They had dressed her in a pair of jeans that accentuated curves she didn't even know she had and her black lace top brought quite a bit more attention to her chest than she was used to.

Finally, the tall woman walked in carrying a pair of black stilettos, holding them out to Molly.

"You're nuts if you think I can walk in those!" Molly laughed derisively. The tall woman thrust them into Molly's hands, revealing their red bottoms.

"These shoes cost over a thousand pounds. Trust me, they'll own you."

The woman waited for Molly to put the shoes on then led them, quite slowly thanks to Molly, back into Mycroft's office.

Mycroft was standing hunched over his desk discussing something with another man. Not wanting to interrupt and still rather uncomfortable in the heels, she began experimentally pacing back and forth. After her fourth trip, she decided standing still would be safer at this point. She decided instead to check out Mycroft's speaking partner, who Molly noted looked quite nice from behind. Whoever he was, he was tall-with longer brown hair highlighted in such a way to still look masculine. He wore a navy blue polo shirt with the collar turned up and a pair of well-fitted jeans, perfectly showing off what Molly thought to be a rather nice rear-end. She had just noticed the expensive looking boots when the man finally turned around…and Molly nearly had a heart attack.

"SHERLOCK?!"

If it weren't for his eyes, Molly wouldn't have been sure it was him. Not only had they colored his hair, but they had straightened it as well, leaving a bit of a fringe falling into his eyes. His shirt left his forearms bare, and Molly noted that he wore some sort of decorative bracelet around his right wrist before focusing on his normally-hidden biceps. Does Sherlock work out?

Sherlock had said nothing himself because he seemed to be looking Molly over like a hawk, his eyes widening slightly as they passed over her low-cut top. He shook his head, causing more hair to fall in his eyes, before finally speaking.

"You look…" he continued sweeping her up and down, seemingly unable to finish his sentence.

"You too," Molly said, hoping that whatever adjective he had planned on using was a positive one.

"Yes, you both certainly look…adorable," said Mycroft with a roll of his eyes, "but do remember you have a job to do."

Molly and Sherlock were wrenched from their stare-down to hear the details of the nights' mission.

"Your rat is one Langdale Pike, former gossip-news columnist turned spy. My people inform me that there is a meeting of significant importance coming up and Mr. Pike is expected to be recruiting for said meeting. Your job tonight is to learn everything you can from Mr. Pike, preferably information about this meeting and preferably without me having to rescue you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and accepted a large wad of cash Mycroft held out and shoved it into his pocket. "Please, as if you were ever of any help to me," he spat, turning to leave.

"I certainly hope your acting is better than your insults, brother mine,"

"Would you relax, bro?" said Sherlock in a perfect American accent, grabbing Molly by the waist and pulling her close to him, "we're gonna find your rat, get your info, and be out of there in time for CSI, all right?"

Molly giggled at Sherlock's flawless performance and reveled at him holding her in such an intimate manner. She knew it was an act, but hey, that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy herself.

"Good lord, I'll be bailing the two of you out of jail before the night is through," said Mycroft, lowering himself to sit at his desk as he began perusing another pile of papers.

"Ready, babe?" Sherlock asked, looking down at Molly with a sly smile and a wink.

"Oh, as ready as I'll ever be," she responded, trying her own hand at an American accent and failing miserably. "I can smell the fake tans and hair gel already."

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Sherlock did not let go of Molly's waist even as they set off down the street. To Molly's surprise, he seemed relaxed and completely at ease despite their obviously dangerous mission.

"I've never been a secret agent before," Molly said sarcastically, taking a moment to check the contents of the handbag the tall woman had handed her before leaving.

"Don't worry, it doesn't take up much of your time," said Sherlock, still boasting his very "Jersey-style" American accent.

"Can you please stop that? It's a bit disconcerting," Molly laughed.

"Good lord, I thought you'd never ask," he said, returning to his natural timbre. He reached into the pocket of his fitted jeans to extract a pack of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth. Before he could fish out his lighter, Molly plucked the cigarette from between his lips and threw it over their shoulders. Sherlock groaned and released her waist, using his hands to wipe his newly-straightened hair out of his eyes.

"Molly, don't be ridiculous, if we're going to pull this off I can't be on edge."

"Absolutely not, you will not do any sort of drugs on my watch. Find a normal way to relax."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and humphed, "Hello Pot, Meet Kettle."

"What?" Molly looked at him as she continued to walk, not yet sure if she should be offended.

"You have some room to talk, telling me to not use drugs to relax,"

"Sherlock, I don't know what you're getting at, but you are so wrong-"

"Please, Molly, you've been taking antidepressant medication for at least a year. You're tired all the time, yet you barely sleep at night. You're spending more time at work. Maybe you're finding it difficult to concentrate, or perhaps it's another effect of your impaired memory, which is also made obvious by the massive collection of Post-It notes littering your flat reminding you to do everything from 'pay your student loan' to 'Be yourself!' Then there are all those little scratches on your arms-experiencing a bit of clumsiness, Molly? It wouldn't surprise me, as these are all textbook side effects of benzodiazepines, more commonly known as antidepressants or antianxiety medications. So can I have a cigarette now, or is it not on your approved list of drugs?" He fumbled with the pack and extracted another cigarette, stopping to light it before taking a long drag and looking up to Molly.

She had stopped, and looked at him with the coldest expression he had ever seen.

"You're not going to slap me again, are you? Because a little warning would be nice," he exhaled and closed his eyes as he blew the smoke upward.

"I never thought I would enjoy saying this, but you're completely wrong." She kept her voice level, though she was trying very hard to fight back tears. She hadn't cried for him in two years, she wasn't going to start again now.

"What do you mean, I'm wrong?" he sighed and took another drag. "I suppose there's always something."

"No. Not something. Everything," she said, holding her ground.

"Please, Molly. Don't try to deny it, you'll embarrass yourself."

Molly took a breath and stepped up close to him, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Fine, you asked for it. I'm always tired because I can't sleep at night. Every time I close my eyes I either see Jim's face or you falling off a building. I think you saw a little evidence of that the other night. I spend more time at work because I have no friends to spend time with and it's the only place where I can find something else to occupy my mind aside from the fact that a lunatic could kill me any second. The Post-It notes all over my flat are to remind me of mundane things, I know. But unlike you, I don't have a big brother who watches out for me or a best friend who reminds me to be human. I don't have anybody Sherlock. I suppose you were right about one thing though-I am incredibly clumsy. Know why? Because I've been clumsy my entire life-a fact that you probably would have noticed if you had ever even attempted to speak to me before when it didn't involve you getting something out of it. Now, are you done making incorrect deductions, or would you like to insult me a little more?"

Throughout her tirade, Molly had inched closer and closer to Sherlock's face, and he had yet to blink. His mouth hung slightly open, the lit cigarette dangling from his fingers, untouched. He blinked and shook his head a little, taking a half-step back from Molly. He licked his lips and seemed to struggle to find words, then decided against it. Looking up at her once more, he tossed the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with his foot, turning to continue walking. Molly took a deep breath and followed behind him.

They walked in silence for a few more blocks before he finally spoke, the two stopping on the street in front of The Ministry of Sound.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Molly snorted. "Since when do you apologize?"

She looked at him sideways and saw a mix of emotions cross his face, one of which seemed to be honest remorse. He had his fingers near his mouth and his eyes were darting back and forth as he thought of what to say next. He really needed a cigarette.

Molly sighed, realizing she couldn't stay mad at him if they were to pull this off and reached into her bag, rooting around for something she had seen earlier. She pulled the spare nicotine patch out of the bag, rolled up his sleeve, and stuck it to his upper arm where it wouldn't be seen. "There," she said. "No, wait, you need something to shut you up now until that starts working," she looked in her bag once more.

Finally, she removed a small red lollipop, took off the wrapper, and shoved it in Sherlock's mouth without warning, eliciting a huff of indignation from the detective. However, seeing the look of amusement on her face caused the corners of his mouth to twitch upward as he removed the candy from his mouth. "I thought you had to be a good boy to get a sucker?" He grinned mischievously, finally bringing out a smile in Molly.

"Sherlock, if we get through this evening without getting shot at and I'll buy you a whole bag of suckers," she grabbed him by the arm and started to pull him toward the entrance.