Taking A Stand

The True Art of Disguise Is Not Being Looked At

Molly quickly changes into pajamas and climbs into the hotel bed, curling up close. Her mind is racing and panicking, wondering about everything that could possibly go wrong. The door of the bathroom swings open, shaking her out of her thoughts and she looks up out of habit. Sherlock comes out of the bathroom wearing navy blue sweats and a grey t-shirt. He has significantly tamed his wiry beard that was beginning to take over his face, and it is now, in her opinion, very sexy stubble with hints of...red? Not only that, but by God, he has cut off all of his glorious curls, and what's left of his now short hair is dyed a natural ginger color!

Molly sits up like a lightening bolt, her jaw dropped. "Oh my GOD, Sh-!"

Sherlock runs over and covers her mouth with his large hand. "Shhh! Do you /want/ to blow our cover??", he whisper yells.

Molly shakes her head, and he removes his hand. "No, sorry. It-It's just- I..."

"Yes, I look very different. That is the pint, you know. I'm not supposed to look like myself, or they'd catch me. Us, technically since you're now helping a fugitive."

He glances over at Molly, who is still staring as if she is seeing a ghost. "Yeah, it's...getting a bit creepy now. I get what John means now."

"I-I'm sorry", she blinks and looks away, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "It's not bad, just...different. It's actually...pretty...good. Oddly good. Like, you're not supposed to look that way, but it still suits you in a weird way."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Thhhhanks?"

"You're welcome", she nods.

"Right, well we should get a good night's sleep. We have to be up early in the morning. I have to catch a flight to Belize, and you'll need to go home and resume your life."

"What?? No no, I am NOT going home, Sherlock!"

"Why not?"

"Because. I am not leaving you."

"Unless you plan on fleeing to Belize with me then I suggest you go home in the morning, before you get in trouble with me."

"Then I guess we're going to Belize", Molly smirks.

Sherlock looks at her sideways and huffs a bit. "Phone." He holds out his hand.

Molly hesitantly hands it to him. "Who are you texting on a burner phone?"

"No one." He promptly tosses it on the ground and smashes it with his foot into small pieces.

Now, let's just go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning, alright?"

Looking at him curiously, she nods, not wanting to add more pressure to his mind, which she can clearly tell is already racing as he grabs a pillow and sets up the small cot, curling up on it, under the cheap blanket. Getting up, she grabs the duvet and quietly drapes it over him. He looks back at her, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I have a sheet and a wool blanket. You only had that thin thing, and the air conditioning could make the room cold tonight. So...you can have it."

"Oh...um...alright, you're sure?"

"Yeah, it's not a problem. Sleep well, Sherlock."

"Sweet dreams, Molly."

Climbing back into bed, she smiles softly before dozing off just moments later.

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When Molly's eyes flutter open the next morning, she almost panics, not seeing Sherlock in the cot. For a split second, she believes that he has truly taken off without her. That is, until she sees him walk out of the bathroom, and she lets out a sigh of relief. It's an odd sight, seeing a short-haired, ginger Sherlock with a goatee in dark-wash jeans and a white t-shirt. But then again, she knows it's all a disguise. Before she can even register the fact that she has just woken up, Sherlock walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, looking at her, and it feels as though she's mesmerized by those ocean eyes when she looks deep into them.