A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! They make my day. Like, so much you don't know. I get all glow-y and excited. Guest: I'm sorry for hitting you with a brick! Just tossing confetti alone though is too mainstream. Renaissancebooklover108: I'm pretty sure that was sarcasm. Was that sarcasm? If so, ouch, that stings. But you're right. I'M SORRY. (also I like the Renaissance and books. So friends maybe?) Anywho. Hope to upload more soon! I feel as if I need action-y bits and I'm bad at those Ugh. Cheers! xM

Disclaimer: Do I have to write these, still? It isn't mine. Just, stop asking.

They had been at Irene's flat for a fortnight before Sherlock announced that it was time to leave.

"Where are we going?" Molly asked, nervous for their charade to truly begin. Irene had taken her shopping earlier in the week; an experience that Molly had grudgingly agreed to, worried that she might be assumed a client of Irene's. She had been surprisingly gentle, however, and Molly returned from the expedition with a suitcase full of clothing that she wasn't unhappy to own. Other than the lingerie that Irene had insisted she buy, that is. Molly had sworn that they would never see the light of day.

"We're staying just outside of France, in a small town. Moran's nearby and I can't stand this flat any longer." He gave the floor a vicious glare.

"Will we be going as an, um, couple?" Molly bit her lip when he nodded.

"Of course. In fact, we should have been doing so for the past week."

"Sorry."

He shrugged as if to say that it wasn't her fault. "We're leaving tonight, so you'd best pack. I trust you've brought a proper suitcase?"

When packing was finished, Irene saw them off. She gave Molly a peck on the cheek and attempted to do so for Sherlock as well, but he avoided it.

"Until next time, Mr Holmes."

"Sorry about dinner." He smirked, and Irene ignored him.

"Molly, you're welcome to call me if you need anything." She said, and with another quick kiss to the pathologist, this time on the lips, leaving Molly looking confused, she shut the door. There was the sound of the lock and then silence.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around her waist, ushering her to the awaiting car. He didn't let go either, and didn't protest when she leaned against him and drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, Molly was shaken awake. They were at a small hotel, brightly lit against the deepening twilight.

"We've a room reserved? Under Watson?" Sherlock said to the woman at the front desk. His tone was softer, slower, and he gave the woman behind the desk in the lobby a smile. Molly could tell it was fake, but she didn't think the woman could. In fact, she might not have known any better if she wasn't aware that their entire situation was a lie.

"Harry and Clara Watson?" She asked in a heavy, French accent.

"That's right."

"Room is on the fourth floor, room four-oh-six. If you need anything, just call."

"Thank you so much. It's my first time in France! Can you believe it? I can't. I mean, I've lived so close all my life, but never came. It's lovely, perfect for our honeymoon!" Molly gushed. She contemplated batting her eyelashes at her faux-husband, but decided against it. The receptionist gave them a confused smile and pointed them to the lifts.

"I'm impressed." Sherlock told her once they were alone in the lift. "That was somehow exactly like you and nothing like you at all."

Molly blushed. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"I don't know. Neither?"

The lift clattered to a halt and they stepped out.

Their room was normal hotel quality: tiny bathroom, large mirror, and a double bed that made Molly's stomach do cartwheels.

"So," she said, flopping onto it and trying to seem nonchalant. "Harry Watson – isn't that John's sister?"

"Yes. Clara was her wife, until Harry left her." Sherlock said. "Don't look at me like that, it wasn't supposed to cast any symbolic shadow on the future of our relationship. It was just easy."

"Of course. I know. I'm just going to get ready for bed now..." Molly said, already making her way towards the loo.

Twenty minutes and a shower later, Molly was lying in bed, Sherlock next to her, both of them staring at the ceiling.

"So, you disposed of the lingerie that Ms Adler bought you?" He asked, his mouth threatening to turn up into a smirk.

"How did you know about-"

"Our host dropped some very obvious hints at dinner last night. Even if she hadn't, I know her ways and if she hadn't bought them, I'd be shocked."

Molly blushed and turned over to face the wall.

"So you kept them. Interesting." He really did smirk now.

"Shut up. They were expensive. I felt bad getting rid of them." She said, sounding annoyed.

"Of course. It would be a crime to waste the pants Irene bought you with a miniscule fraction of her large fortune. Do you mind if I have a cigarette?" He pulled one out, twiddling it in his long fingers.

Molly sighed. "I'd rather you didn't, honestly."

"All right." Sherlock's tone was surprisingly amicable as he put the cigarette away.

"Why do you try to embarrass me so often?" She asked after a few moments of silence.

Sherlock paused for a few moments, thinking. "Because you're very pretty when you blush." He said finally, in such a tone that Molly couldn't tell if it was sincerity or sarcasm, although she was inclined to think the latter. Before she could say anything, however, he turned over and clicked off the light, indicating the end of their conversation.