When inspiration hits, write a Fanfiction! This idea has been on my mind for a bit, and I was thinking of including it in my Just Another Day story, but it got too long, and I needed John for this one. So, enjoy! :D

Act 1)

Sherlock walked briskly with his hands in the pockets of his long, black overcoat and blue scarf wrapped around his neck. Normally, the zoo of people would be amusing, to overhear conversation or arguments, and look at the general public. But not today. He was on a mission.

Sherlock was so close to solving the Clyde Breckenridge case that he could almost taste it. A week of investigating, hypothesizing, and eventually observing, and he just needed to confirm that Clyde Breckenridge was not only the murderer of two men, but was also going to murder his girlfriend tonight, taking her money with him and blaming some kind of accident. And Sherlock knew where, in the luxurious home of Mr. Hitcher, co-owner of Giovanni and Hitcher. Clyde and Leonard Giovanni were good friends, and Breckenridge was a trusted employee of his. Giovanni and Hitcher was celebrating their tenth anniversary, and what better way to celebrate than a party?

Sherlock made it to his fake workplace that he had joined just for investigation. He was Sherlock Holmes, Leonard Giovanni's own personal assistant. He brought him coffee, or fetched papers, that sort of nonsense. Sherlock hated it. The good news was that Mr. Giovanni turned out to be quite to social butterfly, and told Sherlock most of what he wanted to know about Clyde Breckenridge, Mr. Giovanni's family friend. The bad news is that Sherlock got everything else as well, about his pet, or what his neighbors were doing, but mostly about his precious wife, Tiffany. He was obsessed with telling Sherlock all about his wife, and it almost made the job not worth it. Giovanni also wanted to know everything about Sherlock, and he had to make up quick on-the-spot lies and stories. As well as being obsessed with his own wife, Giovanni constantly asked about Sherlock's.

Which is how the whole mess started, with Sherlock's talk of a fake wife. Ever since Sherlock had told Giovanni about her, he was obsessed. He didn't know her name, and never asked, strangely enough. But he was always asking what she liked to do, to bring in a picture and whatnot. Of course, Sherlock made things up. His wife worked as a hairdresser, and didn't like her picture taken much, so he had no photos of her on hand and 'accidentally' forgot to bring one every day he asked.

Sherlock climbed up the steps and put on his actor's face as he opened Giovanni's office door. Sitting at a desk directly seven feet away from the door was Mr. Giovanni, in all his bald-headed, pinstriped suit glory. Giovanni smiled at the sight of Sherlock.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes! I'm glad you could make it in this morning!" he said and beckoned Sherlock in.

"Thank you, Mr. Giovanni," Sherlock said, closing the door. All he had to do was get invited to that party Giovanni was holding, and he could wrap up this case and the horrid job. Sherlock plastered a smile on his face. "Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Giovanni?"

"No, no, nothing right now. In fact, I have something for YOU, Sherlock," he said, jolly as Santa Claus himself. It was nearly unsettling to Sherlock, he seemed almost TOO jolly.

"What is it, Mr. Giovanni?" Sherlock asked.

"There's going to be a sort of party tonight at the Hitcher mansion, and I don't suppose that you'd care to attend?" Giovanni said with a smile. "All staff and faculty is invited tonight for the celebration of ten year's good work."

"Oh, but I'm just your assistant, I don't think that-"

"Nonsense, Mr. Holmes! I insist you attend!"

"Thank you, Mr. Giovanni," Sherlock said with a smile. This one was actually partially genuine, because he had gotten into the party.

"There is, however, a rule. A small regulation, I'm sure you won't mind it," Giovanni smiled. Sherlock was instantly on full alert.

"A... regulation, Mr. Giovanni?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"Yes, just a very small one! I won't let you into the party without your wife, Mr. Holmes!" Giovanni laughed. "But, of course, that will be no problem, right, Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock fought a very strong urge to groan.

"Well, truth be told, Mr. Giovanni, she's a little busy tonight, out for a ladies night, and-"

"I won't have it, no lady wouldn't want to attend this party! I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but no wife, no party," Giovanni shrugged. "Maybe it would change your mind if I gave you the rest of the day off? Tiffany is just DYING to meet your wife! Now don't you think that's reasonable?"

"Yes, Mr. Giovanni. Thank you," Sherlock said cheerfully.

"So I can expect you to be there, Mr. Holmes?" Giovanni asked.

"Of course, Mr. Giovanni. Wouldn't miss it for the world!" he faked.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there, AND your wife, Mr. Holmes," Giovanni laughed. "Go run home, tell your wife, pretty her up and whatnot. Good day, Mr. Holmes!"

"You too, Mr. Giovanni," Sherlock said and walked out of the door, shutting it behind him. When it clicked shut, his smile instantly faded and turned into a scowl. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath and walked out of the building with his hands in his pockets. Now he'd made a promise he couldn't keep. He didn't have a wife, he didn't even have any friends. Especially not women friends. He narrowed his eyes and kept scowling. Reaching the door to the building, Sherlock walked quickly out and began walking down the street back to his home, thinking of some kind of way he could get into that party without a wife.

Sherlock flipped out his phone, and scrolled through his contacts quickly. It was pretty easy, since he didn't have many. Suddenly, he came upon a name he hadn't remembered putting into his phone. Did he really have her number? Sherlock began devising a plan quickly, and the gears in his head beginning to spin around. He sighed, since this was both very risky and could send out all sorts of messages. But he finally decided it was a risk he had to take.

He quickly typed out a message:

Meet me at Cafe Martins on 122nd at 8:30AM. -SH

Molly just about screamed. She didn't, but she placed her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Pauline, Molly's Asian best friend as well as roommate, was bringing two mugs of tea over to the couch and immediately looked over to her friend with a raised eyebrow. "What? You look like you've just seen your face in the mirror again," she teased. Molly just sat there, paralyzed and staring at her phone. "What IS it?"

"Sherlock..." Molly whispered. Pauline's expression softened.

"Oh, my God, what happened? Did something happen to him?" Pauline asked worriedly.

"Oh... my GOD!" Molly suddenly unfroze herself and began laughing. "Oh, my God, I think Sherlock just asked me out!"

Pauline's eyes grew big. "WHAT?"

"Read it for yourself!" Molly squealed and hopped up from the couch, jumping up and down like a rabbit. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod!"

"'Meet me at Cafe Martins on 122nd at 8:30 AM. -SH'," Pauline read out loud. "Wait, since when did you get Sherlock's number?"

Molly stopped bouncing up and down and blushed sheepishly. "Well... he was in the bathroom, yeah? And I, uh... kind of texted myself on his phone and put my number into his..." Molly bit her lip and giggled. Pauline rolled her eyes.

"You really are desperate," Pauline sighed.

"But aren't you excited for me?" Molly cried out. "I've got a date with Sherlock!"

"Woah, slow down, sister. Think for a second. Has he ever even been remotely romantic towards you?" Pauline asked Molly.

"Well, he... no. Not really, no."

"Then why should he suddenly text you, and ask to go out for a coffee?" Pauline asked, suspicious. Molly shrugged.

"I don't know, but this is it, Pauline! What I've been waiting for! What time is it right now?" Molly asked.

Pauline looked at the clock on her television. "Uh... 8:02."

Molly stood up. "Oh, my goodness! That barely leaves any time for me to get ready! Pauline, can I borrow some heels? I walked over here to your house in sneakers, and I won't show up in sneakers."

Pauline sighed. "In my closet. You can wear the silver ones."

"Thank you!" Molly cried, already halfway down the hall. "Tell him I'm on my way!"

Pauline rolled her eyes and started texting Sherlock back on Molly's phone. "I'm going to give her one hell of a best woman speech at their wedding."

Sherlock impatiently tapped his fingers on the table at Cafe Martins and rechecked the clock on his phone. 8:35. She was late. He sighed and crossed his arms, stopping his little drumming session. Looking out into the cold, wet London street, he wondered if this was a very, very bad idea. There was a little chime from the bell over the door and Sherlock turned around instantly. There stood Molly Hooper, trying to bring her umbrella down in the doorway. She was wearing an unseasonal pair of tall, silver heels with her jeans and light pink jacket. She seemed to very fond of the color light pink, since she was always wearing it. She was also wearing a very vibrant shade of pink lipstick. She closed the umbrella finally and looked around the little cafe, spotting Sherlock.

Molly's heart began pounding as she spotted Sherlock. She really hoped her hair looked okay as she smiled and waved to him excitedly. Molly's heels clicked all the way over to the table, and she tried to keep herself as balanced as possible. She shrieked a little and nearly lost her balance, flailing her arms a bit. She put her hands onto the table to keep herself from toppling over and nervously laughed.

"Sorry, I'm a little clumsy with heels on," she blushed. She took the seat opposite him and was quiet. She just smiled. She stared at his pale, tall face that matched the rest of him perfectly. She looked at the mass of dark curls that were set perfectly atop his head, and his gorgeous ice blue eyes. Molly had no doubt this was possibly the best day of her life.

"I'm going to cut it to the chase. Molly, have you ever acted before?" Sherlock asked, breaking Molly's perfect silence.

"Well, um, I was in my high school play, but I was just a chorus role. One of the villagers, we were doing Cinderella," Molly said, wondering if that's what couples asked each other on first dates.

"Do you at least know how to act, then?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the starry look in her eyes.

"Yes, I suppo-"

"Good. Molly, I'm going to ask you to do me a favor tonight."

Molly's heart started pounding again. "A favor? What kind of favor?"

"It might involve danger," Sherlock said without smiling. Molly bit her lip.

"Well, I don't know..."

"Molly, have I ever told you that you look stunning in light pink?" Sherlock said, running a gloved finger across her jawline. Molly's heart started racing at about a million miles an hour and she shivered. Molly knew she was being manipulated, she knew it. But she loved it.

"W-What do you need?" she shakily asked, and Sherlock removed his hand from her face, unwillingly on Molly's part.

"Yes. I'm going to need you to pretend to be my wife."

Molly died. Right there, in that spot. She had died and gone to heaven. She was pretty sure if she wasn't sitting down, she might have fainted. "Y-your wife?" she squeaked, biting her lip.

"Don't get too excited, it's only for one night. Now, listen. We're going to a party tonight at the Hitcher Mansion to celebrate the ten year anniversary of Giovanni and Hitcher. I'm only going for investigation, and to potentially stop a murder, so don't be surprised if the party is suddenly cut short. Tonight you'll be known as Mrs. Molly Holmes-"

Molly squeaked. Sherlock cut off in mid-sentence and looked over to Molly. Molly blushed up a storm. "Um, sorry, continue on, please."

"Right... well, you'll be known as Mrs. Holmes, a hairdresser. Do you know a thing about hairdressing?"

"Not at all."

"Then don't talk about it much. All you have to do is be storyteller for Giovanni and his wife, and Mr. Hitcher if he shows up. They are apparently beyond eager to hear about us, and you'll easily have them wrapped up in your lies. Easy enough, I trust?" Sherlock asked. Molly had her elbows on the table with her head resting on her hands as she gazed dreamily up at Sherlock.

"Hm...? Oh, yes, very easy!" she popped up suddenly, bringing her head back up. "I do have one question, however." Sherlock didn't talk, so she continued on. "What sort of dress should I wear?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You know, like what kind of bow-tie are you wearing? So we can color coordinate."

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said, wondering if there was a dumber question she could ask out of anything. "They won't care."

"Then... what do you want me to wear?" Molly hesitated. Sherlock looked over, and raised an eyebrow. Molly looked down to the table. "Okay, I guess that answers that."

"Right, I'll bring a cab around to the hospital at about ten tonight, from there, we'll drive to the mansion, we walk in together, you begin spinning your little web of stories, and I'll sneak off to go fix everything. You won't have to do much, just keep our cover up for a little bit," Sherlock explained, standing up. "I suppose I'll see you tonight, then."

"I-I suppose so," Molly said, standing up as well. She smiled up at Sherlock and slowly held her arms out, grinning awkwardly. "Hug?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment. "Um, no, I'll pass. See you tonight," he said briefly, and then walked off through the door, the little bell jingling as he passed through. A little piece of Molly's heart sank, but not enough to ruin her mood. NOTHING could ruin her mood, not after she had just asked to be Sherlock's wife! Granted, it was a fake marriage, but it was still a match! Molly whipped her phone out and dialed Pauline's number.

"Pauline? You'll never believe what just happened!"

John Watson was sitting at his table, enjoying the Saturday morning paper over a cup of coffee (and enjoying the silence due to the mysterious disappearance of his roommate and friend, Sherlock Holmes) when he was startled by the door bursting open. He nearly jumped a foot in the air, and spilled a bit of his coffee on the table. He whipped around, wondering what on earth could have burst into his room, and almost unpleasantly spotted Sherlock tossing himself face-first into the couch and groaning. John sighed and turned back to his paper. "I knew it was too good to be true, your absence. Where were you all morning, anyways? It was odd waking up and not smelling smoke, or being shot at."

"I think I just made a very big mistake," Sherlock groaned, voice muffled by the pillow. John didn't give him the honors of a glance.

"And what would that be?" John asked, uninterestedly taking a sip of his coffee.

Sherlock turned away from the pillow and faced outwardly. "I think I just asked Molly Hooper out."

John spit coffee all over the table and turned around with a look of disbelief on his face. "WHAT?"

Sherlock groaned again and shoved the pillow on top of his head. "That's fantastic!" John laughed after a moment. "I never knew you actually fancied the girl!"

"I don't," Sherlock grumbled. "I don't fancy anyone."

"Then why did you ask her out?"

"I didn't REALLY ask her out," Sherlock turned over and emphasized with his hands, waving them in the air. "It's for an investigation, she-"

John interrupted him. "Oh, God. You know how much she likes you, Sherlock? She's going to go simply ballistic when it's over, and she learns that you only fake dated her." Sherlock was silent. John sighed. "Well, what is this investigation, then?"

"Simple, really. If I can get into the Giovanni and Hitcher's tenth anniversary party, I can solve multiple murders as well as prevent one. But my fake identification states that I have a wife, and I can't attend the party without a-" Sherlock began, and John moaned.

"Oh, please tell me you didn't ask Molly to be your fake wife," John groaned, hand on his forehead. Sherlock was silent. "Isn't there anyone else you could've asked who's, you know, less sensitive?"

Sherlock cracked a small smile. "Well, I would have asked you, but I supposed that would be awkward for all of us." John rolled his eyes.

"What would Mrs. Hudson think if she heard you say that?" John said. "But don't think you're going to drag me into this, you're on your own for this one."

"You're going to leave me alone with Molly Hooper, who thinks that I might have a thing for her?" Sherlock asked, irritated that John wouldn't come with them to the party.

"Well, maybe if I leave you two alone tonight, maybe you will develop a 'thing' for her," John said, turning his attention back to the paper. "Hey, did you hear that the Prime Minister's cat just had kittens? Says they were born just yesterday."

"John, you've got to come help!" Sherlock argued, sitting up on the couch.

"Oh, aren't they adorable!"

"Damn it, John! You don't even like kittens!" Sherlock said, getting up and snatching the paper from John and tossing it on the floor. John frowned.

"I was reading that!" he argued.

"You're going tonight!"

"No, and that's final!" John said. "I've got a date with Sarah, anyways. I can't go off prancing around with you tonight at some party. You'll have to make do with Molly."

Sherlock growled. "Fine. If that's your final decision." Sherlock stomped out through the door, and slammed the door shut. John could hear each individual stomp down the stairs. He rolled his eyes and picked the paper back up. The door opened again, and John turned towards it. There stood little old Mrs. Hudson.

"What the hell was all that?" she asked.

"Princess Sherlock didn't get her way, again." John smiled. "God help his soul tonight. I'd rather have a million murderers after me than an obsessed Molly Hooper fake married to me any day."

By the way, I'm writing it in three acts, in case you were wondering. And if you were wondering why it's written in acts, it's because I'm an actress (hence the Pen Name Aktress...) and writing it in acts was the first thing that came to mind. :P

(I own nothing but this plot idea and Pauline. And even if I could make money off this, I couldn't. So there.)

Best Wishes,