A/n: First off I'd like to apologize for the length in between chapters.

Next, I'd like to give a huge thank-you to you two betas, Amalia Kensington and coloradoandcolorado1. They were both huge helps with this chapter!

Finally, Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, adding the story as a favorite and adding alerts. Each email alert I get brings a smile to my face!

Someone I Used to Know

Chapter 3

When fantasizing about him, I don't think I ever really stopped to consider what living with the real Sherlock would actually be like. We had spent time with each other during his visits to the morgue, but he was always working then. When we had tea together, we were together for a few hours with no work between us. But I don't think either experience could prepare me for being around him constantly.

We barely spoke for the first night I was there. The next morning wasn't much better, my "good morning" being received by nothing more than a mumbled response and I tried not to be too disappointed. I had finally resigned myself to a quiet day to myself in the front room when I felt him drop himself unceremoniously beside me, slumped into the sofa.

"Lunch?" he asked.

"Sure, just let me finish this chapter," I replied.

"It's predictable," he said, standing back up.

"Don't ruin it for me," I replied not looking back up. I expected to hear him walk towards the kitchen, but instead he walked up the stairs where the three bedrooms were located. I managed to finish my chapter before he returned to the room dressed completely differently from anything I had seen him in the past. I hadn't even realized he owned jeans, let alone wore them. He was also wearing a light sweater over a grey shirt and topped the look off with an old baseball cap that covered his newly short and lightened hairstyle.

"Do you… always dress in disguise for lunch?" I asked as I marked my place and set the book down.

"We're leaving the cottage," he replied.

There must have been a look of confusion on my face because he heaved a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. "Two weeks ago, every newspaper was running a photograph of my face on their front covers. Can't allow them to have something new to talk about, can we?"

I remembered reading in John's blog and hearing from John himself about Sherlock's various disguises. There had even been times he would walk into the morgue in either a partial disguise or completely taking on a different persona, until he opened his mouth.

As we walked outside, I realized I had taken much notice of the outside of the house. I suppose I was preoccupied with what was waiting for me inside. One of the things I missed was the car, a Land Rover, parked beside the cottage in the gravel driveway.

"You can drive?" I asked as we got into the car.

I didn't receive a response but rather a look from the corner of his eye.

I stayed silent as we drove into the small town close to the cottage and pulled into the car park for a local pub. As we walked towards the entrance, I felt him take my hand, pulling me closer to his side.

"Why don't you grab us a table and I'll put our order in?" he asked in a soft voice.

"How do you…"

"Chicken and chips. Pint of Cider."

"It's still a bit scary when you do that," I said with half a laugh before pulling my fingers back and turning to find an empty table. It was a Saturday and this seemed to be the popular place to go for lunch.

I found a seat near one of the windows and took the seat that also allowed me to see the bar. I couldn't help but smile as he talked to the barman, all smiles and charm. He looked relaxed and for a moment, I almost forgot that I was watching Sherlock Holmes. That is until he turned to face me and winked. I thought I knew a lot about Sherlock prior to the past few weeks, from his trips to the morgue, reading John's blog and more recently, our few meetings in my flat. But through all of that I had never witnessed how charming he could be when he wanted to be. I always knew somewhere inside was a person with feelings, emotions, and in recent months that part of him seemed to peek out more and more often, but never like this and never really around me. It felt like, for the first time, I was in on the joke.

He paid and grabbed our pints before he walked over to where I sat.

"So… so you do know how to interact with people!" I said in a sarcastic tone, or what I hope sounded slightly sarcastic. I was slowly getting more and more used to be around him and luckily my stammering only happened from time to time in front of him. It was something I had put an effort into over the past months and luckily it seemed to be paying off.

"I've come in here a few times, told the barman I had just moved into town. It helps me stay informed on what is going on in the area. It's far better than being the shadow that always plays the violin and never leaves his house."

"So who am I? Your sister?"

"Girlfriend, in from London for the week," he replied looking out the window as people passed.

"What happens when your real girlfriend comes to visit?" For some reason the image of the woman from the morgue flashed through my mind. He had obviously known her well and even though she was dead, she couldn't have been the only woman he knew… so well.

My comment earned a glance away from the window and a raised eyebrow. After a moment of hesitation, he reached across the table for my hand.

"Good thing Paul here warned us you were coming to town," the barman's voice breaking in as he brought out food over. "I think me wife was about to set him up with one of our daughters."

"That would have made things awkward, I'm sure," I replied with a smile, slipping into my role and trying not to sound too excited about it.

"He's a quiet one until you get him to open up," the barman replied setting my food in front of me.

"He is, but that's just Paul for you," I said still smiling. I barely noticed our hands were still joined on the table. "My mates didn't know what to think of him when they met him!"

"I'll let you two get back to your afternoon. Let me know if you need anything!" he said before returning to the bar.

"Paul?" I asked once the man was out of earshot.

"Would you have preferred something else? Jim?"

"Sher… Paul," I paused, not wanting to know where he would take this conversation. In my mind I liked to think the 'Jim' incident didn't happen. Besides, I was the one who ended it even before I knew who he really was. "This looks good," I managed to say as we both pulled our hands away from each other to eat.

"Would you like to see more of the town?" Sherlock, or really Paul, asked as we left the pub.

"Yeah that would be nice."

We walked in silence, hands laced together between us, looking through the small market that was set up.

So this wasn't something I could have pictured coming true, not to say that I hadn't pictured us walking hand in hand in a market acting like a normal couple. But wasn't it just that? An act. Right? It's an act because he needs a cover and a normal guy his age would most likely have a girlfriend or wife. So I'm more than likely just a prop in this new identity he has formed but I can't help the large part of me that, no matter the reason, is enjoying this. Obviously I needed to keep all of this to the side, especially my complete joy at the situation, but it was hard to stop the smile plastered on my face.

I was going to enjoy this, whatever is was as much as I could. It certainly would never help me get over him, but if I couldn't get over him at least I could enjoy this pretend game instead.

"It will be good for you to know the area when you come to visit." His voice was casual and matter of fact as his eyes glanced over the tables of merchandise.

I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment. "Will that… be often?"

"As often as a girlfriend with a full-time job in London can get away." He turned and gave me what I'd like to think of as the "Paul smile." Sherlock had his own smile he used when trying to persuade me to let him experiment on a body, but this one was slightly different. Oddly, it seemed more sincere.

"Of course I'll come to visit you from time to time," he went on. "People would think you were in a very selfish relationship if you were always the one…traveling,"

"What… What if I don't want this?" I did, but I felt a bit insulted that he had suddenly made this decision without even bothering to consult me. Typical.

"You do," he said, his tone dismissive.

"Did you think to ask? And what does this entail? Am I just someone you are using to help your cover seem more real and less like the real you? Don't you think it would seem odd that I go from being shell shocked over the death of the object of my unrequited… feelings…"

"Love."

"You are not helping, let me finish." I paused waiting to see if he would fulfill my request. Once I saw his eyebrow rise slightly I took it as my sign to continue. "How do I go from being brokenhearted over your death two days ago around everyone to suddenly being in a new relationship with a man I randomly decided to spend the past week with."

"You wanted me to ask you before I decided this was how we would proceed."

It was a statement.

"Molly, I need a cover because I can't stay trapped inside and I certainly will never tie up loose ends that will allow me to return without leaving the house. You said you would help. I want your help and I want you to be part of this. Mycroft, in exchange for helping me, has also requested I work on projects for him from time to time. I'll need someone—you—to help me."

"You used to do it all on your own."

"That's changed."

"I'm not John."

"I'd hope not."

"You'll need to consider my feelings. Don't give me that look either. I have feelings and I expect them to be respected. I'm normally a confident person and while I've turned into a puddle in the past when things concern you, I can't keep being walked over."

By this point we had moved to bench to sit down. I waited in silence as I saw my words working their way through his mind and we were both facing forward with our hands rest resting on the bench beside us.

"Emotions, feelings, relationships; I understand all of them, but I've always kept them separate from me. You've known me a while now; I don't let many people in. The people I do, I'm willing to die for."

"Or at least fake your death for," I interjected. This caused a soft chuckle and for Sherlock to lift his head and look me in the eyes.

"I told you before, you do count, Molly. I'll try to not take advantage of… this situation. If it stops working, I will—no, we—will take care of it."

"So we are just… What exactly?"

"You want labels."

"Yes.. no… I don't know." I paused and sighed. "I just want to know that I won't be walked all over and that you won't just take me for granted, like 'oh Molly will just drop everything for me when I ask.' That can't be how this goes."

"I understand."

We sat in silence, both looking forward at the open area in front of us. It was a nice day out and possibly one of the first truly nice days of spring. People were scattered across the green space reading, talking, interacting with each other. Kids were running around and couples were spending time in each other's presence. I wondered if we looked like we also belonged here. Me and… Paul.

"Will I introduce you to them?" I didn't need to say who.

"If we cross paths. When you see them, I suppose I will be mentioned and you'll mention Paul, but we need them to think its two different people. Once Mycroft has fully created my new identity, I'll be able to move around more, in and out of the country.

We sat there silently for a period of time, simply watching people come and go around us.

"Do you want to stay in town for dinner or go back to the cottage?" Sherlock asked after the sun began to dip closer to the horizon.

"We can go back," I replied, wondering if once we were back indoors things would go back to how they had been the previous night.

Once we returned the cottage, Sherlock discarded the hat and sweater, leaving them in a heap on a table in the hallway. He certainly wasn't the neatest person. I noticed a few other items in odd places, most likely where he sat them down, not giving much thought to putting them back in the proper place.

Without many words passing between us, we cooked a simple dinner and ate before going to different parts of the house, much like we had the night before. With my mind racing, I wasn't able to focus on my book again and instead turned my attention to the television in the front room. An hour or two later, I was lying in the couch watching Bridget Jones' Diary when Sherlock paused at the doorway.

"Really you're watching this?" he asked as he walked over towards the small sofa. "You've seen it what… ten times… in the past three years?"

"Nine."

"This makes ten."

I rolled my eyes before tossing the remote in his general direction. I heard rather than saw him catch it and soon the channels skipped by as he looked for something that suited him. I moved into a sitting position as Sherlock sat lazily beside me. Some channels would stay on for a few moments while he made a comment or two before continuing. Fifteen minutes later found us back on the original channel.

A few hours later I awoke still sitting on the couch. I must have fallen asleep at some point during the movie and it took me a few moments to notice that we hadn't really moved much from our original position. The biggest difference was the arm around me and my head on Sherlock's shoulder. The blanket from the back of the sofa was now over us. My legs felt stiff from being curled underneath me. Ignoring my discomfort, I fell back asleep.