A/N - Some more fancy outiftssssss...

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After Victor's accident, Sherlock didn't hesitate phoning Mycroft, informing him of the agent's 'unfortunate circumstance'. Because of how unbelievable the situation was, Mycroft even enquired if he, Sherlock Holmes, had anything to do with it.

He was offended by this accusation.

Of course, he had considered having something to do with it, what with the idea of drugging his tea and all, but the universe came to his aid instead. So, unless having the universe on your side qualified as 'having something to do with it', he found himself devoid of all guilt.

Mycroft had argued with Sherlock over him joining the mission instead but eventually Mycroft gave in. The detective had promise that he would work on a disguise which would allow him to not be recognised.

This meant he would have to sacrifice his curls for straightened, slicked back hair.

Mrs Hudson helped him with this, having bought some straighteners a couple of years back, intending them to be a present for someone until Sherlock deduced they wouldn't like them. She didn't complain though as it had appeared they had become useful in the end. By the time she was finished she cooed at the detective.

"Oh, Sherlock, look at you! It's so strange not seeing you with your little mop of curls." Mrs Hudson addressed him in a motherly way.

The detective wasn't keen on the classy look. He preferred some element of chaos in his life - the one constant being his unruly, dark locks. He frowned but accepted the scenario. At least he was able to look out for Elizabeth this way.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." He smiled tightly at her

"No trouble, dear!"

Sherlock left Mrs H's apartment for upstairs. John was sat on the couch reading a newspaper. Admittedly, he was a little gutted that he had to miss out but he was also somewhat happy that Sherlock and Elizabeth would get to spend more time together.

"Well, John?"

The doctor looked up from his paper, stunned at Sherlock's new hairstyle, "Wow. Just - wow. You really do look like a new man."

"Do I still look like me though?"

"...Yes."

Sherlock sighed, "I didn't want to do this but I guess a fake moustache will have to do."

He went over to the bookcase, pulling out a small box with little bits and bobs in it. You never knew when you might need something to add to a disguise - especially a choice from several moustaches. John was perplexed at this.

"You have a box of mosutaches? Fake moustaches?"

"Doesn't everyone?" The detective joked lightly.

John snorted.

"Which one?" He held up two, one a little thinner than the other.

"Possibly the thicker one?"

He nodded. His eyes wandered the flat for a moment, as he pocketed both moustaches, "Elizabeth come out yet?"

"Nope. She's been busy at work in your room." John paused, "You could go and check on her."

"I could."

"Are you?"

"Maybe."

John smiled, "So you are?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered quickly, heading through the kitchen towards his bedroom door.

He knocked. A muffled reply came from inside.

"Just fine - be out in a moment!"

Sherlock shuffled on his feet in the hallway. Again, he hadn't seen her dress - when he asked to see earlier in the day she had smiled, saying he would have to wait to see. Elizabeth seemed to like surprising him. And he liked her surprises.

The door opened to reveal the thief, dressed in a slim, black, elegant dress. Just like the last time, her hair was styled in a sophisticated up-do. She wore two simple, silver earrings to compliment her sparkling silver purse and heels. Her lips were blood red as Irene's had been but somehow she wore it better. Why did he feel the need to compare?

"Sherlock, what have you done to your hair!" She exclaimed when she saw the lack of curls.

"I - Um - " He was thrown off guard by her radiant beauty, "I changed the style of it. People often see me with my natural curly hair. It's all part of the disguise."

Elizabeth pouted but continued through to the living room.

"What do you think, John?" The thief asked, giving a little twirl for the flatmate.

"Stunning as always, Elizabeth."

"Awh thanks." She smiled, turning to Sherlock, "Did Mycroft say when he would pick us up?"

"Twenty minutes." He paused, "Can I ask for your help?"

John peered up from his newspaper, curious of what help was needed.

"I don't know, can you?" Elizabeth replied cheekily.

The detective laughed through his nose, "Which one?" He held up both moustaches again.

Elizabeth's face dropped, "Oh God no. No. You know, I think Verity would prefer her husband to be clean-shaven."

"Well, I still look too much like Sherlock and not enough like 'Anthony'."

She sighed, "Thicker one."

He nodded approvingly of his second opinion. John knew he needn't have asked Elizabeth though as he had already asked him. But perhaps this was his way of getting more 'involved' with her. Little gestures. John thought it sweet of Sherlock - an adjective he didn't think he would ever use when describing the detective.

Sherlock went over to the mirror, applying the fake facial hair to his upper lip. He felt as though the moustache aged him. Sherlock wasn't keen on it but alas, he had to dedicate himself to his cover. His hand reached into his inner blazer pocket to pull out a pair of black-rimmed glasses also and popped them on. He faced John and Elizabeth once again.

"Well..." Elizabeth said, "...You definitely look like more of an Anthony now."

"Perfect, then."

*  *  *  *  *  *

Mycroft had picked them up in his car and they were currently being driven to Mr Armistead's home which was a little way out of London, in the country side. While they discussed the plan and their covers once again, the ride for the most part was silent. No one felt the need to say anything.

Until they arrived, of course.

"Sherlock, will you give Miss Parrish and I a moment alone?"

Sherlock looked to Elizabeth who nodded for him to go. With a sigh, Sherlock got out of the car, shutting the door a little loudly for his own good.

"Why do you always call me by my last name?"

"I prefer to keep things professional, unlike my brother, Miss Parrish.

Elizabeth scoffed.

"There is something that I wanted to say to you."

"Let me guess," She then mimicked him, "Thin ice, Miss Parrish. Remember this is to pay back a debt you owe. Don't try anything..."

"Hm, yes, as amusing as that was for you, that is not what I was going to say."

"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow, mildly stunned.

"Sherlock is...fond of you. You're the only other person who has ever elicited that feeling from him."

"Who was the first?" Her curiosity spiked.

Mycroft smiled tightly, "A girl in his secondary school, but that's hardly the point...I can see that you, too, are fond of him." He paused, "Miss Parrish, the real reason I did not want him to accompany you tonight was more so because I didn't want him getting closer to you.

Elizabeth frowned, "Why?"

"For the simple fact that you will disappoint him and I do not wish to see him get hurt again."

"Why do you think I'll hurt him?"

"I don't think, I know. There's no way you'll ever be able to leave your line of work behind. Sherlock has hope you can get past it, perhaps you have some faux hope of this too, but the fact is that you won't. Breaking that hope of his will crush him."

Elizabeth scowled at him, "You don't know me."

"On the contrary, I've met many like you and they all end up the same."

"You bast - "

"I wouldn't if I were you. Deep down, you know I'm right." He fished a small packet out of his blazer pocket, "Don't forget these."

He gave her the packet, two rings were inside. Wedding rings by the look of it. They were gorgeous.

"The two of you are supposed to be married after all."

Elizabeth turned her back on the older Holmes, ready to open the car door and leave.

"Just don't get attached to my brother, Miss Parrish. Perhaps then we won't have a problem."

She got put of the car, slamming the door behind her and walked over to Sherlock, an expression of thunder on her face. Who was Mycroft to say any of that to her?! Say if they were to get together (and she still didn't think they would), she wouldn't want to disappoint him. Ever. It would break her heart to do so.

But then, wasn't she already disappointing them by lying to them?

Sherlock noticed her drastic change in mood. Of course he would.

"What's wrong? What did he say?"

"Nothing." She handed him his ring, taking a breath to calm herself down.

"Elizabeth?" Sherlock spoke softly to her, "What happened? What did he say?"

The thief looked up at the detective and then shook her head, "It doesn't matter now. Put on your ring."

Mycroft stepped out of the car, earning a glare from Sherlock as he did. The older Holmes was willing to ignore this. He had warned Elizabeth now. Whatever were to happen, he wouldn't feel responsible for anymore. At least, that was in theory.

"Mr and Mrs Ashby, please, follow me." Mycroft instructed as he began walking up the steps to the door of the manion.

Elizabeth forced a smile upon her face. After all, even if you faked a smile it would lift your mood. Sherlock smiled softly back at her, a shine of worry still lingering in his eyes. He offered her his arm. She took it and together they followed after Mycroft.

In the hopes of cheering her up properly, Sherlock quietly said to her, "I never got the chance to say before but you look beautiful this evening. Not - not to say you don't look beautiful everyday, that is."

Elizabeth blushed, "Thank you. I'd say you look quite handsome tonight but it's the moustache and slicked back hair that just don't do it for me."

Sherlock chuckled as they were let into the mansion by who they presumed to be a butler. A man with prematurely greying auburn hair walked over to them, arms wide, and an overzealous look upon his face.

"Mycroft! Welcome, glad you could make it!"

"Yes. It came to my understanding that you thought I never attend any parties so I made a special effort to come tonight. Happy birthday, Charles."

"Who are your extras?" Charles peered behind the older Holmes to get a peek at Sherlock and Elizabeth (mainly Elizabeth).

"The Ashbys. Old friends of mine visiting from France, I hope you don't mind."

"No! No, nonsense, of course not. The more the merrier."

Charles approached Elizabeth, taking her hand and lightly pressing a kiss on her knuckle, "Enchante, Miss Ashby."

"Uh, Mrs Ashby." Sherlock interjected.

Charles put his hands up in defence, "I meant no offence by it, uh - "

"Verity."

"Verity." Charles spoke her name like it was honey.

"And Anthony. Tony, if you will." He shook Charles' hand, "No hard feelings."

"None, at all." Charles nodded.

"A very happy birthday to you Mr Armistead." Elizabeth congratulated him.

"Oh, please, no need for last names here. Call me Charles. Feel free to have wander and mingle."

"Thank you."

"Uh, Mycroft, can we talk?"

"Yes, of course. I'll see the two of you again at some point, if I can find you in the crowd." Mycroft said, sending them on their way.

Once left to themselves, she looked over to Sherlock and batted him with her purse.

"Ow!"

"You're very possessive, you know that?"

"What?"

"What was the real reason you wanted to accompany me tonight? Don't think I didn't notice your behaviour around Victor too." Her mind raced with Mycroft's and Mrs Hudson's words.

"I - I just thought a familiar face would put you more at ease."

"Right." Her arms were folded in disbelief of his statement

He sighed, "I promised to keep you safe."

"Yes."

"This is me doing that. If I don't know what's happening, then how can I do that?"

Elizabeth felt her heart melt a bit at his words. He was trying to be kind. Sherlock heard music coming from one of the rooms to their left. He shuffled on his feet for a moment, realising now that his slightly possessive demeanor didn't make him seem like much of a good person to her.

"I'm sorry." He found he was saying this a lot to her.

Elizabeth's eyes softened, "It's okay."

There was silence between them until Sherlock broke it.

"Do you want to dance?"

"I'm getting deja vü."

He laughed again but offered his hand to her. Elizabeth took his hand and was led into the room where there was live music and a few other couples dancing. Just as before, he took her one hand and rested his other on her waist and together they stepped in time to the instrumental song.

"I never really took you for a dancer."

"I'm not. I'm just - "

"Eager to hide in plain sight? Yeah, that's what you said last time. I didn't believe it then and I don't believe it now." She smiled knowingly, "Sherlock Holmes, detective and dance enthusiast."

He rolled his eyes.

"Nothing wrong with it. A man who can dance is - quite attractive."

"Alright. Yes. I love to dance." He confirmed hurriedly.

She smiled, "I knew it."

Elizabeth looked up at Sherlock through her eyelashes, a doting smile on her face, the same one she had used on Victor. But the real question was, was it faked or real? Part of the cover or part of herself and her own feelings shining through?

Unexpectedly to him, she lay her head on his chest. All part of the loving married couple cover she told herself. She closed her eyes just living in the moment, listening to the echo of a beat in his chest. His heartbeat was erratic. Nervousness she thought.

Sherlock found he liked this, just swaying with her to the mellifluous instrumental melody that played. Whether it was for the cover or not, he didn't seem to care. He just rested his head against hers and shut his eyes too.

Mycroft watched with a scowl from the doorway of the room. How hadn't his words gotten through to her? He knew that Elizabeth would break his brother and he wished he could do anything for it not to happen. But doing anything may very well push Sherlock away too. Perhaps he would have to learn it on his own then? Mycroft wasn't a very sentimental man but he did care for his family in his own way.

When Mycroft saw the signs that they were ready to snap back into their roles, he rapidly disappeared into another room.

The 'couple's' moment together had to end.

Elizabeth gently pulled out of his grip, "Come on, we still have a job to do."