"Well, make sure to build your heart

Brick by boring brick,

Or the wolf's going to blow it down."

November 24, Five Years Previous

"You can never contact anyone from your old life again. If you do, you will lead him directly to you. You will be given a new name, of course, but lets not take any chances."

Molly nodded. The lights above her hospital bed hurt her eyes, so she cast them reluctantly upon the bundle in her arms. My baby, she thought. His baby. A tear fell on the pink blanket. Molly looked up and met John's eyes. He gave her a wan smile.

"Decided on a name yet?"

Molly shook her head.

"Ms Hooper, if I may have your attention," Mycroft sneered from across the room. "We have very little time."

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"We've found a place for you in Scotland. A small town, only the usual people nosing around in other people's business. You'll just be another single mother running away from her problems." Sherlock scowled at him, and Mycroft smirked back. "It'll be a new start," He added, softening. "We can't hold Moriarty for much longer without due cause, since no charges will be brought against him. Even my influence has a limit."

Sherlock's dark eyes locked on the sleeping infant in Molly's lap. He hadn't spoken to her for months. John coughed uncomfortably.

"Sherlock, fancy a walk?"

Sherlock said nothing, but followed John into the hall. Mycroft wasted no time in their absence.

"Ms Hooper, I cannot overstate the importance of your discretion. Only in the most dire situations can you risk contacting anyone." His eyes became darker and his voice deepened. "In the event of your discovery, you will send a text to Sherlock, using a code word you will receive later. Then you must protect yourself. I cannot guarantee we will be able to get to you in time to defend you in a crisis." Molly swallowed, a weight pressing down on her chest, and nodded. "Once you go undercover, you will be on your own. Can you handle that?"

"Yes," She looked down at her child, pink and soft. "For Poppy, I can."

Present Day

Molly didn't even bother calling Poppy's school to explain her absence. She had thrown the landline out, but her mobile sat on the kitchen table, the camera and microphone taped over. She wasn't taking any chances.

Poppy was in the living room, sprawled across the carpet with an array of books spread around her; A Guide to Scottish Lochs, Queens of England & Scotland, and Water Fowl of Great Britain. She hummed to herself and flicked through the glossy pages, staring at the pictures and waving her legs over her back in magenta corduroy pants.

"Mum, I want to be Queen of the Scots," She shouted over her shoulder. She smiled affectionately at a portrait of Mary Stuart. "I want to be like her."

Molly slid to the floor next to Poppy and gazed at the portrait seriously. She propped herself up on an elbow and draped her arm over Poppy's shoulders.

"Queen of the Scots?" Poppy nodded. "You, know, we already have a queen."

Poppy stuck her tongue out. "But she's English. I want to be queen of Scotland." Her eyes blazed with excitement. A stray lock of dark brown hair fell between her eyes. Molly tucked it behind her ear.

"Then I will follow you into the battle for your kingdom."

A light in the corner of Molly's eye flickered. They both turned to look up at the TV across the room, which had turned itself on. Molly's blood went cold. The screen flickered and glitched, but the image upon it remained constant: Molly and Poppy, arms wrapped around each other in a happy embrace, the house blurred behind them.

"Why are we on the telly?" Poppy rolled onto her back. Molly said nothing. Her mind had gone blank. I didn't take that picture. "Mum?" Poppy tugged on her pant leg. Molly stumbled forward and wrenched open the front door. Winter air bit her nose and ears, but she ignored it. She whirled around, whisps of hair flying over her eyes as she scanned the landscape. The sun peeped over the horizon, hanging onto the sky with fingers of yellow light.

"I know you can see me," She shouted. "I know you can hear me." Her voice cracked and she balled her fists tightly. "Leave us alone, Jim. I swear to God, just leave us alone." Behind her, the door creaked open and Poppy called out to her.

"There's music now!"

Molly stared at the road winding away from the house. She hunched her shoulders against the cold and turned back. Just as Poppy had said, music floated through the open doors to Molly's ears, growing louder as she approached.

'Cause baby,

There ain't no mountain high enough,

Ain't no valley low enough,

Ain't no river wide enough,

To keep me from getting to you, babe.

Poppy spun in circles with her eyes closed, smiling gleefully.

What are you playing at, Jim?

Molly swore under her breath, reached around the back of the TV, and yanked the cord out of its place. The music stopped abruptly and Poppy frowned with disappointment.

"Why'd you stop it?"

Molly pulled herself together with every bit of strength she had. She reached for Poppy's hand and held it tightly.

"Poppy, let's talk for a minute. Let's talk about your dad."

"Do you remember the story about Little Red Riding Hood?" Molly asked. Poppy smiled and nodded.

"The big bad wolf pretended to be her gran," Poppy said, making claws with her fingers. Molly smiled weakly.

"That's right." She sat on the floor and crossed her legs. Poppy did the same, still clinging to her mother's hand. "Your dad is just like the big bad wolf."

Poppy's smile faded. "What?"

"He lies," Molly urged. "He lies to good people, like Red Riding Hood, so he can get what he wants." Poppy's eyes clouded with fear. "Poppy, your dad might look nice, he might be nice to you, but you can't trust him. He's bad."

"Dad's not here, mum," Poppy shook her head and squeezed Molly's hand. "He won't hurt us, will he?"

"You might meet him very soon," Molly pulled Poppy to her chest and rested her chin on her head. "Don't listen to what he says. He'll hurt you if he gets the chance. I'll protect you, I promise."