Molly Hooper's mind was racing. She should have never planted the Sigurson seed in John Watson's head. It was just a ploy, conjured up by Mycroft, to help keep him grounded; to help keep him sane. Now John was theorizing and making up conspiracies. As much as Molly didn't like the idea, she was going to have to contact Sherlock's brother. She had only met him twice, but he was very intimidating and he made her feel small, even smaller than Sherlock did most of the time.

"Ah, come now, John," Lestrade said, gesturing at the other man. "You sound like a conspiracy theorist. You can't believe what you just said?"

Molly saw the disappointment creep into John's eyes and bit her lip.

"You don't believe me? You, Greg, of all people?"

"Well, it's great and everything, but Sherlock is dead, John." Lestrade reached out and squeezed John's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I know that you want to think he's alive and-"

"No Greg, listen to me!" John slammed his hand down on the table as he spoke. Greg glanced at Molly who returned his concerned look.

"How do you explain the incident with the scarf?"

Greg opened his mouth, then quickly shut it.

"What incident?" Molly looked from John to Greg with a furrowed brow.

"It's-" John paused, drawing in a deep breath. He saw Sherlock fall with his own two eyes. He saw the blood on the sidewalk. He felt Sherlock's still warm hand with no pulse. He saw them take his lifeless body away on a stretcher.

And yet, somehow, Sherlock was in the cab with him on that night. John would have thought it was his mind playing tricks on him if Greg hadn't seen the man get out of the cab as well.

"Do you remember the night that we went out for drinks, and got a little more tipsy than we should have?"

Both Greg and Molly nodded.

"Well," John swallowed, hard. "I was down at Borthwick Wharf looking at the mural that Raz had painted, and on my way back to the cab, I was attacked-"

"What the-"

"John!"

Molly and Greg exclaimed at the same time, but John stopped them.

"I was saved by Sherlock, or possibly his doppelganger; he left his scarf with me, and I had placed it on the mantel. The next day it was gone." John grabbed Molly's hand and traced a finger along the scar. Molly pursed her lips as Greg started to protest, John interrupted.

"Have you told Greg about this? About the little present you got in the mail?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Greg turned a hard gaze on Molly.

"Hey guys," Sarah interrupted as she entered the room. "What's going on in here? Sounds intense."

Greg and Molly shifted as John walked over to where Sarah stood. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "Sorry, love. We'll be out soon, I promise."

Sarah poked her bottom lip out. "It's Christmas, John, and as much as I like Mrs. Hudson and your sister and her girlfriend, I want to spend it with you."

John drew in a breath and looked over at Molly and Greg who looked at them with sympathy.

"Alright, we can continue this conversation later." He kissed her on the temple and smiled. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

She leaned into him. "It's alright. I'll forgive you this time."

Greg cleared his throat as Sarah and John looked over at him. He signaled them to look up.

When they did, they saw the mistletoe and both blushed and laughed nervously. John grabbed Sarah and bent her over in a dip and kissed her. Sarah giggled into the kiss and John pulled her up and smiled at her. He wrapped an arm around her and they walked into the sitting room.

Molly drew in a breath. Greg looked over at her as she bit her lip.

"Listen, Greg I-"

"Molly, what's go-"

They looked at each other and broke out in nervous laughter.

Molly played with her hair. "Greg, I am really sorry about not telling you about this."

She held out her hand and Greg took it and traced his finger over the scar. Molly hissed at the bizarre numb feeling that it left. Greg brought her hand up and kissed it.

"I just wish you could be completely up front with me. This makes me feel like you are hiding other things from me. I want to be with you Molly, but we can't have a relationship if we can't trust each other."

Molly's bottom lip trembled.

Then her arms were wrapped around Greg's neck and she was apologizing into his ear.

He hesitated for a second, then wrapped his arms around her.

"Are you ready to tell me what's going on?" He asked when they separated.

Molly drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Greg reached up and wiped the tears off her cheeks.

"Molly?"

"I'm sorry, I just," she paused to clear the sob out of her throat. Greg placed his hand on her shoulder. She reveled in the weight and comfort of it.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"No, I'll be fine here." Molly wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve and leaned up against the counter. She proceeded to talk about the incident with the coffee cup, when she remembered she still had the poem in her jacket pocket. Molly excused herself and retrieved the poem. Her hand was shaking when she handed it to Greg and he encased her hand in both of his and kissed it. He looked up at her and she had a small worried smile on her face. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer to him as he snuggled his face into her warm belly.

"I need to sit down," she pulled the closest chair to her and sat.

"I'll get you some water." Greg stood and went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water.

Molly in the meantime had her head in her hands. She started to relax when Greg started to rub her back.

"Molly, talk to me." Greg set the water in front of the woman and sat in his chair, all the while, keeping his hand on her back.

She opened the water bottle and took a drink as her phone started ringing. Greg raised his eyebrows and she furrowed her brow as she dug for the phone. It was a number she had seen only once before, and it led to a plot that was ended in Sherlock's fake death. She swallowed hard.

"I should get this, sorry."

Greg nodded.

Molly couldn't get outside fast enough to answer, so she called back hoping the party would answer.

"This is Molly Hooper."

"Molly, this is Mycroft Holmes. I need you to start on the second part of our plan as soon as you can. Things...have changed and not for the better."

Molly gasped.

"Is Sherlock alright?"

The silence was palpable.

"No, I'm sorry Molly, but this time he really is dead. A bomb went off in the Nightingale Inn, where he was staying under the assumed name of William Scott. There were maybe one or two survivors, one of which had direct contact with Sherlock." Mycroft paused, not only out of respect, but he also needed Molly's full attention.

Molly was dazed. He was dead. Sherlock was really dead this time.

"Molly, I need you to listen to me." Mycroft's voice cut into her sorrow.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Molly, please listen carefully. I will be contacting you here in the next couple days to pick up one of the survivors at Heathrow Airport. I will give you instructions and a description then. Do you understand, Molly?"

She sniffed. "Yes, yes I understand."

"I am very sorry Molly."

Molly was trying to hold back her sobs when she remembered John.

"Wait! Before you hang up. I have...I have a small dilemma."

Mycroft shifted in his chair. He hated small dilemmas. They usually ended up being bigger dilemmas. "What is it?"

"It-...It's John." Molly hesitated. She loved John and she didn't want to put him in any danger. But when the Holmes brothers are involved there was always danger. Molly was all too aware of that now.

"What about John?" On the other hand, Mycroft only had good intentions for John. He was aware of the changes that John brought out in Sherlock. He was also well aware of the close bond they shared, and when Sherlock 'died', he saw a small piece of John die with him.

"He's...he's starting to figure things out," Molly paused again and ran her hand through her hair. "He's piecing things together with this whole Sigurson thing, and with the assassination in Russia and -"

"Molly?" Mycroft's tone was low and slightly menacing.

"Yeah?"

"John is included in the revised plan. He will be taken care of. He will be distracted to the point that he will forget about his little divination."

Molly took a couple deep breaths.

"Molly, listen to me." Mycroft's tone was even and soft now. A tone normally reserved for Sherlock when he was out of control. "Sherlock trusted you infinitely with his plan, which means I trust you as well. I don't give out that trust that often given my position. I understand that you two worked together on occasion and that you housed him for a while as well. I really am truly sorry. I do, however expect reciprocation. "

Molly bit her lip.

"In other words, trust me, Molly when I say that everything will be alright."

A movement above caught her attention and she saw John peeking out at her.

"Thank you Mycroft. I should go."

"Trust, Molly. Don't forget."

Molly hung up. She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. She bent over trying to calm her breathing; the cold was helping, making her body aware that it needed to stay warm. Her breathing started to normalize, but her brain was going a hundred miles an hour.

Molly held the phone with a tight grip and mumbled to herself as she climbed the seventeen steps to the flat. John was back in the kitchen grabbing something from the fridge and Greg was leaning against the counter.

"Everything okay Molly?" John asked as he poured egg nog into five cups. "Do you want some by the way?"

"Are you adding any special ingredients?" She asked as she wrung her hands.

John smirked. "Yes."

"Then yes, light on the nog, please."

Both Greg and John raised an eyebrow at her, then Greg turned to John. "Ya know what, make mine the same."

John smirked again and finished making the drinks. He left two in the kitchen for Molly and Greg and brought the others in the living room with him.

"So you read the note?" Molly asked as she wrapped her hands around her drink.

"Yes," Greg said and took a drink. He grimaced at the cup. "Molly why didn't you come to me sooner about this? I could have prote-"

"Protected me from what? This note and a text are the only things I have from him so far."

Molly said, pointing at the paper, then taking a drink.

Greg stared into his cup, hoping the answers would appear. Instead, more questions arose.

"Was it Moriarty on your table?"

Molly shot him a look. "Yes. Yes it was."

"Then who is this creep? And how does he know so much about you?"

The woman took a deep breath. "If I knew that, don't you think I would send the hit squad on him?"

"True," Greg took another drink and mentally kicked himself for asking such a stupid question. He reached over and rested his hand on Molly's arm.

She looked up and smiled at him, and he smiled back and sighed.

"Listen," he said. "Let's just put this at the back of our minds for now. Let's enjoy Christmas."

"Yes, let's." She sighed as she pulled Greg in for a passionate kiss.

~*X*X*X*~

Sherlock watched as Mary tucked her blond hair into a wig that had straight shoulder length black hair and blunt bangs. With the ruby red lips that Irene painted on her, Mary looked Gothic; like someone out of a vampire show that he had watched on some crap telly show. Sherlock had a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach. He was upset at himself. He was upset that he didn't catch the disguise.

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

Mary felt Sherlock's intense gaze on her and turned and smiled at him. He squinted at her. His deductions of her didn't change, they multiplied.

Guardian.

Nurse.

Second tattoo somewhere unmentionable.

Time.

Time.

Liar.

Orphaned.

Reunited.

Gang.

Father Time.

Water.

Liar.

"Sherlock, what's our next move?" Irene's voice wove into Sherlock's deductions. He broke his gaze from Mary, who had grown restless under his scrutiny.

"Sorry...I..." He shook his head and cleared his throat. "We need to find our way to an air port to get Miss Morstan, or Miss Penny Huxleigh, off to London."

"Hmm...Penny." Mary tapped her chin in thought, but still wouldn't look at Sherlock. "It's different."

"You'll have to get used to it. You have to be Penny until you land in London. Then you can be Mary, or Margaret, or whomever you want to be." Sherlock started to pace.

"What about us?" Irene asked as she carefully applied mascara to Mary's eyes.

"Hm? What?" Sherlock mumbled and started pacing.

"What are you and I going to be doing?" Irene gestured to herself and him in a small sweeping motion.

"Isn't it obvious? We need to lay low. We need to find the rest of Moriarty's web and bring it down. And we need to keep Moran here in the States so he isn't chasing Mary."

"Chasing me?" Mary turned her head so fast, Irene smeared her mascara.

"He needs to stay away from London as long as possible." Sherlock sucked in air and continued to pace.

"Sherlock, you need to settle down," Irene said as she wiped the mascara off Mary's face. "Your head is going to explode."

"I won't settle until all of Moriarty's web is brought down and everyone is safe."

"Be careful you don't get in over your head."

"I think it's too late for that, Irene." Sherlock said as he glanced at her knowingly.

Irene woke to a neck ache leaning against the cold window of the car they had rented with the help of Mycroft. The gray landscape and even grayer skies alerted her to an even bigger problem.

"Mmm...I thought we were going to the nearest airport?" She asked as she rubbed her head.

"No, I needed to think. Driving was the best way I could do that." Sherlock glanced over at Irene, then in the rear view at Mary who was still sound asleep. "Plus you ladies needed to sleep."

Irene looked back at Mary as well and smiled a small smile.

"Who is she?"

The question caught Irene by surprise and she stared at Sherlock, trying to assess his meaning. He glanced over at her.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Who is she? How did you meet her?"

"You can't figure that out for yourself? The great Sherlock Holmes?" Irene smirked at him.

He threw her a cold look.

"I know that she is an orphan and a guardian of sorts. She is a cat person, she was daddy's girl before something happened to her father. They were reunited and they lived in India for a portion of their lives and she has a tattoo behind her left ear of a Buddha. That is what I know. I want to know your relationship with her."

"Why?" Irene licked her lips as she brought a leg underneath her.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say some thing, but instantly closed it. He was used to having his motives questioned. But now he wasn't even sure about his motives himself.

"Huh, genius detective, stumped by a beautiful woman, again." She raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

He furrowed his brow as he glanced at her.

"I'm not stumped. Relationships are not my forte. You know that, Mycroft knows that, John knows that," he cut himself off.

'You Machine...Friends protect people...' John's voice floated through his head.

"Does John know how much you care for him? About him? Do any of your 'friends' know?" Irene asked. "I have the feeling they don't. I wonder if they have ever expressed themselves to you, and you completely misunderstood their meanings."

"This isn't about me, it's about Mary and how you and her became friends." Sherlock tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Oh, we are back to Mary."

Sherlock was silent as he concentrated on the road.

Irene shook her head. "Mary had walked into The Nightingale on the arm of a very handsome business man who wanted a certain package for a weekend. I told him that I normally don't customize our packages, but he paid good money, and I made the exception. She was wearing a brunette wig, and looking very sweet and very demure. But there was something in her smile, or the way she looked at me that told me that she was not happy to be with that man. She caught my eye and I watched her the whole time I was registering them."

Mary shuffled in the backseat and they both glanced at her as she settled into a comfortable position.

"Anyway, I was having tea with one of my usual clients in one of the rooms I have...had set up for public breakfast and tea times. It was early morning, probably about two-thirty or three, and I heard footsteps out in the hall; I saw her run past the entrance, then she came back. She stood at the entrance breathing heavily and crying. My client excused himself. I walked up to her and she started talking really fast under breath about how she did it in self-defense and she didn't mean to kill him. That's where I stopped her chatter and told her to lead me to the room where they were staying. The man was draped across the king size bed, a bullet through his brain, and no gun in sight."

Irene drew in a deep breath as Sherlock glanced at her and she continued.

"Naturally I asked her what she saw and her circumstances. She said that he was like that when she walked in and that she had only gone to grab snacks and some ice. I asked her why they didn't just order up for those items. She responded that they were taking a break from their role playing. That sent up many red flags in my head. I asked her if he had any phone calls or texts before he suggested the break. She was so panicked she couldn't answer, so I called the police. I know someone on the force who would keep everything quiet. But I had warned Mary they were going to ask questions. She said she had nothing to hide, but she had no where to go after everything was said and done. I am a sucker for hard cases, and pretty faces."

"Did the police look in the ice machine for the gun?"

"Excuse me?" Irene was caught off guard by his question.

"The gun?" Sherlock repeated. "Was it in the ice machine?"

The woman furrowed her brow and tapped her chin with her finger in deep thought.

"No, they never found the gun."

Sherlock stayed silent for a beat.

"I thought it would be smarter to send her from a small airport, into JFK airport."

"I have tried to follow your logic, but I am tired and my livelihood just got blown up, so I am happy to let you call the shots, for now." Irene sighed and settled back into her seat and watched as fields and rolling hills zoomed by. "Where are we anyway?"

"Somewhere in Pennsylvania."

Irene looked at Sherlock and opened her mouth to say something, but thought twice about it.

Sherlock simply smirked.

"I will miss you Irene," Mary said as she hugged the woman two hours later.

"Yes, well, I will too." Irene tried to convince herself not to become attached to the poor little rich girl she took under her wing. After the lesson that Sherlock taught her about foolish love and sentiment, she thought she would have learned.

"Take care and I am sure Sherlock will have a way we can keep in touch." Mary's smile was still pretty, hidden under the deep red lipstick and black wig she had on.

"I'm sure he will." Irene said as she glanced over at the man. He approached them talking on a mobile and both Mary and Irene looked at each other with brows furrowed.

"Who are you talking to?" Irene asked as he hung up.

"I have your flights confirmed Mary. There will be someone in London waiting to fetch you. They will be using your given name, so look for that." Sherlock explained.

"Okay, will I see you guys again?" Mary looked from one to the other as Irene and Sherlock glanced at each other.

"Oh bloody hell! I'm just going to get on this plane and start a new life in London." Mary pursed her lips and stormed off toward security.

'I hope you do, Mary.' Sherlock thought as he watched her go.

"Let's go before I get teary." Irene turned, but not before giving Mary a small smile that the other returned.