A.N: Ciel&Vitawash: Thanks for the encouragement! 3 I've got plans for this story, oh yes... *rubs hands together evilly*

Molly woke up with a dreadful headache. She slowly pried her eyes open and yelped, burying her face back in the covers of her bed. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, then crept out again.

"When did you get here?"

"Last night," said Irene Adler, sitting cheerfully on the edge of her bed. "The door was locked, but I let myself in. You don't mind, do you? I figured you'd gone to sleep."

Molly blearily tried to remember the events of the previous evening. She hadn't made it very long past packing, the day had been so crazy and surprising that she went to bed hours earlier than usual to digest it all. And apparently forgotten about Irene.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

"No worries, I was fine. I've made you some tea, if you like." And with that she disappeared.

Molly stretched and rolled out of bed lazily. As she glanced around her bedroom it struck her that she was leaving, actually leaving, for the longest trip she'd been on since that horrid family vacation in seventh grade. With an absolute stranger. She reached out and gently touched the flowery wallpaper and a curious sadness welled up in her throat. She'd miss this: her bed, her home, her job, Toby….

Toby?

He always slept on the bed with her, as a rule. (He had a lot of rules, and he followed them strictly.) But he wasn't there. A wave of panic rose up inside of her and she struggled to keep from freaking out. Toby was a constant, a source of stability in her otherwise nearly intolerable life.

So where was he?

She pulled on some pants (praying that they matched her shirt, she didn't have time to check) and ran out of the room, trying to control her breathing. Not in her room, not in the bathroom, not on the couch…

Because he was in the kitchen.

Rubbing against Irene Adler's leg.

Despite Molly's deep-seated love for the cat, even she had to admit that he was not the most friendly of felines. Aside from herself, there were few humans he'd tolerate being in the same room as, and even then his taste wasn't very reliable. The last person he'd liked as much as he seemed to like Irene had been Jim.

But that memory hurt, so Molly pushed it away.

"It's Toby, isn't it?" Irene asked, scratching him under his chin. "Sweet little kitty. He spent the night with me last night, didn't you, Toby?"

Toby mewed. Molly felt dizzy.

"Tea's done," Irene announced, patting Toby one last time and reaching around for a yellow mug. "French Vanilla. Your favorite, isn't it?"

"How did you know?"

Irene shrugged. "The box was half empty and the other two were nearly untouched. Besides, you had an extra box in the cupboard. Easy."

Molly should be used to this sort of thing from Sherlock, but she isn't. "Wow. Well done!"

"Oh, you know what they say." Irene's eyes twinkled merrily. "Brainy's the new sexy."

Molly took a moment to ponder this, but failing to come up with an intelligible retort she sipped her tea. It was delicious.

"I loaded the car with the bags so that we can leave as soon as you're ready," Irene said, passing a critical eye over Molly's haphazard outfit.

"Thank you," Molly said gratefully because really, the woman was being too kind.

"Oh, it's fine, I like having someone to take care of." Then Irene winked and whisked off. Toby mewed irritably and waddled over to Molly in search of attention. She scratched his head absentmindedly.

"I'll have to find someone to take care of you while I'm gone, buddy."

The goodbyes were tearful. Well, at least on Molly's part—Toby didn't cry but she was sure that if he was human he might have. And besides, she didn't cry too much, not with Irene standing there. She hugged Toby tightly and promised to return as soon as possible, until eventually Irene coughed gently and Molly let go.

The little turquoise car was piled with bags, which was alarming. Molly could have sworn that she'd only had three at max, which meant… wow, Irene didn't pack lightly in the least. The woman caught her staring and smiled. "You never know when you might need a disguise."

The two of them barely fit amongst all of the packs and suitcases. It was a good car, certainly, and Molly had always appreciated it, but for the first time she found herself wishing that it was maybe a bit larger.

The trip began quite uneventfully. There was some traffic leaving London and Greg called to frantically ask where the cat food was kept (Molly could hear Toby growl in the background, which wasn't good), and Sherlock texted to ensure that they'd left on time. Irene insisted on being able to respond to the text and did so with a smirk. Molly had no idea what she sent, but Sherlock did not text either of them again all day.

Hovering over the both of them was the uneasy silence of two strangers who have nothing to say to each other. Molly hoped desperately the whole trip would not be like this, but there was no way of telling. She simply didn't know where to begin with Irene- was it tasteless to mention her death? Would she be amused or repulsed by jokes about the morgue?

"So, what do you do?" Molly finally ventured to ask after an hour of quiet.

"I give people what they like."

"Like what?" Custom-order flower bunches? No, Irene didn't look like a florist.

"I'm a dominatrix," supplied Irene, and that conversation ended rapidly.

Irene suggested a small café for lunch that turned out to be delightful. Molly ordered a cup of soup and Irene asked for the Vegetarian Lunch Special, which turned out to be a blend of noodles, veggies and tofu.

"Are you vegetarian?" She asked, out of pure curiosity.

"No."

And another conversation died a quick, painful death.

Irene Adler was odd, Molly decided. Not in the obvious ways, like her profession, for example, but there were little details that stood out. She reminded her of Sherlock, almost. They both had this way of looking at people, like they could see through skin and flesh and bone all the way down to your soul. And sometimes, when Irene didn't turn away fast enough, Molly caught her staring at her, no, analyzing her as if she were some sort of specimen she couldn't figure out. Molly remembered when Sherlock would do that too, although now he's become so accustomed to her that he barely glances twice at her.

But Irene had this way of smiling that was different from Sherlock's smiles. They were less artificial, more practiced. And she had actually made Molly tea. She was friendly, not in a too-close Jim sort of way but in a comfortable way. So like Sherlock but more social skills.

It was kind of nice, actually.

And Molly was staring again. And Irene had noticed. Shit.

Molly blushed and looked away and Irene just smiled and twirled her Vegetarian Special noodles around her fork.

After lunch the silence was a little less uncomfortable, though still awkward. But Molly was absolutely determined to find something to talk about.

"So, you and Sherlock then…" She began.

"What?" That's alarming, thought Molly, she's genuinely caught off guard.

"Well, you know?"

"I'm not sure I do."

Molly sighed. "The looks you two were giving each other. Not to pry or anything, but, um, they were… suggestive. No, not in that way, more like—it seemed like there was something there, that's all."

This silence was painful, and Molly willed for it to either end soon or let her die from embarrassment.

"There is nothing going on between Sherlock Holmes and I," Irene finally said, in the tone of someone who had a very long story but was very firmly not going to tell it.

"Right. No, of course not, it's just—"

"But you?"

"Me?"

"You fancy him, don't you?" Irene's voice had switched very quickly, now it was teasing, playful. Molly almost felt like she was experiencing whiplash.

"No, I…. Not—No. No, I don't."

"I see." A smile crept across Irene's lips, but she left it at that.

Dinner was quick and quiet, and then they were back to the seemingly endless highway. By the end of the day they'd made it into Belgium, which was actually really exciting for Molly.

"I've never driven to another country before," she explained to Irene, who smiled at her like she was some sort of adorable puppy.

"Aren't you tired?" Irene asked.

"Yes, actually… could we find someplace to stop for the night?"

Irene nodded and they drove on. It was a beautiful night, quiet and peaceful, and it had just fallen dark—

When suddenly Irene shouted something and grabbed the wheel and Molly screamed and the car flew off the road.