Author's note: I'm giving this story one more attempt at resuscitation before calling it. I'm a bit rusty, having been out of this world for so long, but if you have any interest in it continuing, let me know!

Thanks should go to 'welovesherlolly' on tumblr for fixing my plot problem – the answer to "how on earth do I move things from that scene at Heathrow to set up in Paris?" The plane journey!

With the dull chime that accompanied the seatbelt light blinking out, Molly felt some of the tension she carried dissolve. For the past three weeks, starting anything had been an insurmountable hurdle but, now that they were officially on their way, she felt almost easy again. The excitement and drama, Sherlock's constant companions on any case, had her blood pumping half a beat faster than usual.

"Let's go through the plans then – Mycroft just gave me-"

"Sherlock! Someone will-"

"Oh relax, no one is paying us any attention - people on airplanes only hear what they want to. I could point out that the man in front of us is clearly cheating on his wife with a younger woman with dyed blonde hair, and see… nothing.

"Still, you could at least lower your voice."

"Fine. As I was saying, Mycroft gave me the final details this morning. We'll be undercover, posing as Mr and Mrs Holloway. I'm the dashing young up-and-comer in the Home Office, and you're my adoring wife, along for shopping and looking glamorous at parties, apparently."

"Excuse me?"

"We've got a flat in the 15th arron… adrondiss… district, just a ten minute walk from the Convention station. In case we lose our mind and end up taking the tube-"

"Metro."

"What?"

"Paris has 'le Métro', not tubes."

"Oh."

Hushing as the stewardess rolled the refreshments trolley down the aisle, Molly considered her next words.

"Look, it's a lovely plan. I'm sure Mycroft has put a lot of work into it. It's just.."

"Just what?"

"It doesn't make any sense. I don't want to make a fuss, just… you don't even speak any French, couldn't even read out that word just then. And your accent is more likely to get you punched than anything else. Why would the Home Office send over a representative who doesn't even have a passing awareness of the city, let alone the language?"

"Well, I hate to inform you that it is the only plan we've got. There's only two days before the committee next meet – even I can't learn a language in that time…"

"Erm… well, what about…"

"Yes?"

"Um… I could be the diplomat, and you could be the lovelorn wife? Oh God, I mean… not that you're the woman, just that it makes more sense…"

Probability of success – calculating… Language skills? Superior to my own, but fluency unknown. Had planned on using recordings and translation software but this method quicker? Advantage – Molly. Defence capabilities? Unknown, but likely poorer than my own. [note – follow up] Advantage – me. Ability to blend in? No known disguise experience, but… (memory – "when you think he can't see you" – presence undetected). Occasions where unobserved in presence of superior deduction skills. Advantage – equal? Able to hold nerve in challenging situations….

In the extended silence stretching out between them, Molly frantically scanned her companion for signs of his thoughts. Nice going, Hooper. We haven't even got to Paris yet and you've already blown it. Relaxing her grip on the armrest, she found herself almost at the point of reaching out to touch him on the arm. Still uncertain whether she needed to comfort, refocus or just plain fix the situation.

"Just how fluent in French are you?"

"I did an optional semester at Paris Descartes, so fluent enough to learn medicine."

"How would you defend yourself in a crisis?"

"Erm… what?"

"I doubt you have any firearms experience; hand to hand improbable… you have, at least taken one of those lady in the city things?"

"No, no 'lady in the city thing'. I'm a brown belt in kickboxing though, does that meet your standards?"

"Ki- kickboxing?"

"Yeah, me and Dad went together when I was younger. It's fun! Keeps you fit, and good for… stress relief, when dealing with idiots."

"Yes. Quite."

"Haven't had time to go for my black belt, been too busy recently. Maybe I need to take it up again though, if this is gonna be a regular occurrence?"

"This?"

"Case work. What else could I mean?"

Integrating new data: language skills = fluent, defence abilities within average-high range (lacking practical application but technical skills, [added to: Molly]), intelligence = superior range, application of sarcasm = best left at current lev- (irrelevant!) Conclusion? Molly Hooper would be better operator in current circumstances.

"Agreed."

"Sorry, what is?"

"Do keep up, Molly. Your alternative plan is… creditable. Let's do this your way."

"Really? What will Mycroft say…?"

"To hell with Mycroft. Our chance of success is much higher with you taking that role, our results will be enough to pacify the British Government… One condition, though."

"Oh?"

"As your… adoring husband, I refuse to shop. I will accompany you, just in case an extra pair of eyes is needed."

"Oh, of course. You still need to be able to deduce people, I know that. Just… this way, we are both useful, y'know?"

As they settled back into their seats, focussing now on reading and memorising their plans, schedules and cover stories, doubt began to creep back in to Molly's mind. Righteous indignation to one side, reality was dawning with ever more lucid details. Just what in the hell have I got myself into this time?