Molly Hooper had experienced depressing Christmases before, but as depressing went, this was the worst by far. She hadn't seen Sherlock Holmes in weeks. There had been a series of incidents which had caused her to question the rationality of her affection for the consulting detective. First, his relapse into the world of drugs, although he had insisted that was for a case. Case or not, she had made her feelings on the subject perfectly clear with a series of slaps to the face. Then came the fiance. And the shooting. She had sat by his hospital bedside, watching him breathe just to reassure herself that he was still doing so. When he left the hospital, for the second time, he had not looked back. She had seen this behavior before when he was obsessed with a case, but he had never excluded her as completely on any other previous occasion. The growing friendship which she felt had been developing since his resurrection was left to wither, almost die. There was no invitation to the the annual Christmas party at Baker Street, as there was no party this year. Instead, Sherlock had asked John and Mary Watson to join him for the holiday at his parent's home in the countryside. Molly had to admit to herself that she was more than a bit jealous that his newer friends were to spend the holiday together, while she was left alone in London, volunteering to work the Christmas shift so that colleagues with happy families and happy lives could be together and, well, happy. Needless to say, Molly Hooper was not happy!
Then came the news of the murder of Charles Augustus Magnussen, one of the most influential men in the publishing world, and long rumored to be one of the most ruthless. Molly began to see a pattern. Sherlock's supposed fiance, Janine, had been the man's personal assistant. Sherlock had been shot by an unknown assailant in his office, and had been unable, or unwilling, to describe the assailant, even though he had been facing him directly at the time. And now the man was dead, and Sherlock was unreachable. Molly may not have been on an overly friendly basis with him for ages, but Sherlock Holmes had never before failed to reply to a phone call or text. Not from her. Not ever. So she did the only thing she could do. She texted Mycroft Holmes.
I NEED TO SEE YOU ASAP - M HOOPER
ON MY WAY - M HOLMES
There were very few people who had the British government on speed dial, but it seems that Dr. Molly Hooper was one of them. They had become friends during Sherlock's long absence, dismantling what was left of Moriarty's network after his death. Mycroft would keep her updated on his brother's condition, and she would ply him with fairy cakes and tea. She found great comfort in talking to the elder brother of the man she loved so much, the only other person who knew the detective was still alive. Mycroft, for his part, found it beyond pleasant to take time away from official business to sit in a homey flat and talk about family. Molly respected, and even liked, Mycroft Holmes, hard to believe since most people would consider him even more unlikeable than his younger brother. Mycroft, in turn, found the young woman a comforting presence in his life, with no agenda of her own aside from her affection for the younger brother he also loved.
Mycroft soon arrived at the flat, and Molly could tell immediately from his demeanor that the situation was grave.
"He killed him, didn't he?" she asked as soon as Mycroft had sat down.
"I would ask how you knew that, except you always have this uncanny ability to read us Holmes men," Mycroft replied solemnly. "But I am curious, nonetheless. How…?"
"There are all sorts of connections between Sherlock and Magnussen, Sherlock is incommunicado, as are John and Mary Watson, who had joined him for Christmas, Magnussen was killed on Christmas day. Where were you, by the way, Mycroft?"
"Mary and I, as well as my parents, were rather inconveniently drugged. Mummy is very distraught. Sherlock was, evidently, working a case. He has yet to tell anyone the name of the client. He went to Magnussen's home, and, as he saw no other option, put a bullet in his head. In front of witnesses, no less!" Mycroft Holmes was as close to losing his composure as Molly had ever seen him.
"So, he's in real trouble?"
"Magnussen was a powerful man. A public figure. His murder will not go unnoticed. Sherlock has made no defense, except to say that it had to be done. If he were brought to trial, he would certainly be found guilty. But any prison to which he would be confined would turn into a death chamber, given the number of hard-core prisoners he has been instrumental in incarcerating. He would have to kept in complete isolation."
"So, you've come up with an alternative," Molly spoke, and it was not a question.
"Exile." Molly Hooper flinched as Mycroft spoke the word. "He has agreed to undertake an undercover mission in eastern Europe. He is scheduled to leave in two days. It should take about six months…"
"And end in his death," Molly completed the sentence with the truth, although Mycroft Holmes would never have spoken it to the gentle woman sitting next to him. "He knows, of course, but has he told the Watsons?"
"No. I don't think he intends to."
"And I take it he also has no intention of telling me. What happens now, Mycroft. Am I to get a brief email, bidding me adieu and farewell, thanks for everything? Or is he relying on you to mention it in passing?" A sob escaped her throat, but it sounded every bit as angry as sad. Molly then straightened her shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, with steely determination, "Fix this, Mycroft!"
"Molly, I assure you…"
"You owe me. You owe Sherlock. How many times has he done your dirty work? How many knighthoods has he turned down for services rendered? I risked my life, my job, my freedom to keep him alive. I didn't' do that so that he could throw his life away a few years later. He wouldn't ask you, but I will. Bloody hell, I'll beg if it will do any good…"
Mycroft could see the tears in her eyes, and barely held back his own. "There are reasons, Molly…"
"I know, I know. If you were to lose your position, or even your life, over this, your parents would be left without any protection I am sure you have made many enemies over the years, Mycroft, and the threat to them may, indeed, be very real. But how would they react if they knew there had been a small chance of saving their son, and their other son had let it pass by, if only to protect them? Think, Mycroft! Fix this!" She spoke with such authority and feeling, that Mycroft Holmes, for the briefest of moments, was more intimidated by her than he had ever been of his mother. And that was saying something.
The man who was the British government gazed at the tiny pathologist, seeing the fierce devotion in her eyes. He had seen that look before many times. It was the way his mother looked when she spoke of his father, and vice versa. His brother certainly didn't deserve it, hadn't earned it. But there it was He couldn't begin to understand it, but he certainly could recognize it. He rose from his seat, and looking down at her, spoke in a soothing voice.
"I'll try my damnedest, Molly. If it can be done, I'll do it!" He then gave her a gentle smile, and touched the side of her head. "Seeing how determined you are, I wouldn't want to get on your bad side. I may not be able to contact you about the arrangements, merely to keep you under the radar, my dear. But, rely on me, if it can be done, it will be done!"
The next two days were the longest forty-eight hours of Molly Hooper's life. She tried to go about her business as if nothing was amiss, all the while waiting impatiently for Mycroft's plan to unfold. And unfold it did, in spectacular fashion. Every media outlet in the country was bombarded with the image of the supposedly dead master criminal, and threat to national security, James Moriarty, repeatedly asking, "Did you miss me?" As a result, the fatal exile of one Sherlock Holmes lasted all of four minutes before he was recalled to serve his country in a different capacity.
John and Mary Watson had been at the airfield to bid a final farewell to their friend, and were amazed to see the plane bearing him away circle the field and return almost immediately. They were summarily informed of the circumstances, and bundled into a waiting car to take them to Baker Street for a security briefing and strategy mapping session. Mycroft Holmes was waiting for his brother as he disembarked, and hurried him into the backseat of the government vehicle.
"I must get to Molly, Mycroft. Moriarty will not have overlooked her a second time. If he knows I'm alive, he must have deduced who helped me pull it off. We must get to…"
"Dr. Hooper is perfectly safe, Sherlock. She has been under my protection since the whole leap off the building thing, as you know…"
"But she must be frightened, seeing Moriarty…"
"I doubt that the good doctor frightens that easily, brother mine. In any case, you have hardly gone out of your way to remain on friendly terms with her for these past few months, Sherlock. perhaps she would not welcome you back with open arms?" Mycroft smirked. "Ah, but that's right! She may not even know about your aborted departure, given the fact that you didn't even have the courtesy to say goodbye, did you?"
"I couldn't, Mycroft. And if you're so damned clever, you should have figured that out!"
"You managed to say goodbye to the Watsons, brother. And Mummy and Papa, even if you failed to mention how permanent the situation was to be. But no goodbye for Dr. Hooper. How interesting!"
"Well, be that as it may, we should go to her now. Bring her to Baker Street for protection and to plan our next move She shouldn't be left alone…"
"I agree, but for entirely different reasons."
Sherlock's mind was now working on the Moriarty problem. " I saw him blow his brains out, Mycroft. How could he be alive. It's impossible!"
"Of course, it is, you dolt. Think! Deduce! I told you Molly was in no danger. Now how would I know that?"
The detective began to study the problem, thinking to himself. If Molly was in no danger, then no one was in any danger. He had seen Moriarty die, therefore Moriarty was, indeed dead. Yet he was on every screen in the country. He had caused Sherlock's recall…
Sherlock Holmes looked at his elder brother and said, for the first time he could recall, a sincere and honest, "Thank you."
"No one must know, Sherlock. As long as you are needed here, the question of your exile will be forgotten. The facade must be maintained, at least until the next crisis arises which requires your unique gifts. Then, I'm sure, all will be forgotten, for the sake of expediency. Governments tend to have very short memories, at least when it is to their advantage."
"I have to go see Molly. She will still be frightened…"
"Since it was her demand that I 'fix this', Sherlock, I really believe that she understands that that is exactly what I have done. I promised her I would, and I did. Given your treatment of her over the past several months, I doubt very much that she is expecting a visit from you immediately, if at all. She will be brought to Baker Street, along with everyone else, to maintain appearances…"
"I need to see her, Mycroft, and I need to see her now! It was selfish of me not to say goodbye to her, but I just couldn't do it. Not again. Now I need to say 'hello', to tell her I'm back, in more ways than one. " Sherlock looked at his elder brother almost pleadingly. "You know me so well, brother. You know I need her. I've always needed her. And now I know that I want her, too, more than anything in this world. I'm telling you this, now. And I intend to tell her. As soon as you can get me to her flat!"
Mycroft leaned forward to whisper instructions into the driver's ear, then turned to to the man next to him with a genuine smile on his face, and said, "Welcome home, little brother. Welcome home!"