The knock on the door was soft but to the two inside the room it was as loud as a gong. "Sherlock, it is time to leave." Even through the door they could hear the sadness in Mycroft Holmes' voice.

Tears flowed freely down Molly Holmes' face. She knew she would probably never see her beloved husband again. From bride to widow in less than twenty-four hours.

The pain in his eyes was evident as he wiped her tears with his thumb. "Molly, I loved you more than I ever thought possible." He didn't bother to wipe his own tears away allowing them to stain his black shirt as he dressed. Molly, his wife, watched him silently. Her reddened eyes and flowing tears speaking for her. They said their goodbyes here. They didn't want a public scene and he didn't want to risk that Molly could become a target. The door opened and Sherlock slipped out without looking back. The door closed with a quiet click. He was gone and she was alone.

Molly Holmes looked around the room. A plain, private room in a maximum security prison wasn't the ideal place to spend a wedding night but it was all she had and all that had been possible. She knew why Sherlock was there and why he had to go. He had killed a man; a man who posed no direct threat to him or anyone else. Sherlock shot an unarmed man at close range. She listened to him tell his story with disbelief. Sherlock was a good man, not a murderer. But kill a man he did, a powerful man. This was two days ago. Yesterday he asked her, through his brother, to visit him in prison. Sherlock explained what had happened, what was to happen, and that it could not be stopped. Molly remembered his words as he asked her to marry him.

"My time is now considerably shortened. I must pay for what I've done. I am a selfish, cruel man with little regard for sentimentality. This aside, I cannot leave without telling you this; I love you, Molly Hooper." He breathed in deeply in an effort to keep control over his swirling emotions. "I am being sent to Europe tomorrow, likely to die. I have been denying this for too long, a fact for which I am beyond sorry, my love. I am asking you to marry me tonight, Molly, we can have at least tonight for each other. Mycroft has made all the arrangements."

Molly nodded numbly as Sherlock brought out the paperwork. This was not what she was expecting when the black car pulled up beside her as walked home from the tube station after work. Being with Sherlock was something she had fantasized about for years but not like this. She knew him. She knew that he could be a bastard to everyone but could be particularly cruel to those he cared about. Before her was not a bastard but a scared, lonely man. Without hesitation, she signed the prepared paperwork and Molly Hooper became Molly Holmes. She didn't stop to think about why the paperwork was ready and witness signatures (Mycroft Holmes and Athena Sherringford) were already there.

Sherlock and Molly spent one night together, loving each other. It was all bitter-sweet and, if Molly were honest with herself, surreal. She was now Molly Holmes, wife of consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. Her husband was being sent to an espionage mission in Eastern Europe and would not return alive.

Molly tried not to think of all this as she dressed and stripped the bed. She needed something to do and removing the sheets from her marital bed was something. When he walked out the door he didn't look back. Molly caught a glimpse of his weary eyes however and they were red and glistening from the tears that had already fallen and those he was holding back. That alone started her tears to fall. Sitting on the edge of the bed she gathered her emotions and waited for her escort. She decided to not dwell on the pain, the loss. She would remember the good times. She would remember the day of cases they went out on together, of working side-by-side in the morgue, and, of course, last night. It had seemed that the world was gone, there were only them, Sherlock and Molly. There would be no one to take him away in the morning, no one to take her home to mourn. But morning came and Mycroft did come.

Molly wanted to pound her fists against her brother-in-law's chest, to yell and scream at him, to slap his smug face and ask him how he could send his baby brother to die. She knew it wouldn't do any good. Sherlock's choice was to die in prison or die working for England. He chose England.

She thought about all this as she sat on the bare mattress where, only a few short hours ago, they both had finally and for the last time expressed their love.

Another soft knock broke through her thoughts. The door opened and Molly heard, "Mrs. Holmes, come with me." Mycroft's PA, Anthea said. The same black car and driver from last night were waiting for her. "Address?"

Molly thought for a moment. She felt that she couldn't go home and if she couldn't be with him, she would go where she felt close to him. "Two-two-one B, Baker Street, please."

Mrs. Hudson let molly into her husband's flat. Molly thanked her but the older woman was too upset to speak and quickly excused herself to go back to her own flat.

Molly Holmes walked around the flat at Baker Street touching Sherlock's things. She straightened a stack of files and reverently ran a finger down the body of his beloved violin. It would never be played again. When she got to the bathroom, Molly found his aftershave. Its woodsy scent hit her and the tears began again.

In the bedroom, the bed was unmade. Sherlock's dressing gown, sleep pants and old, soft tee-shirt were thrown carelessly on the bed. Molly gathered his clothes, lay on his pillow and drank in her husband's scent. Blessed sleep took over and there was darkness and peace.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

She woke sometime later hearing Sherlock's voice, "Mycroft, that was risky."

"What was, little brother?" Mycroft's tone was a warning not to speak of the incident that ended Sherlock's exile and death mission four minutes after it started. "You have a criminal mastermind to find. I will also have annulment papers drawn up."

Molly's heart sank to her feet. She didn't want an annulment, she was Sherlock's wife. Her sleepy fog was lifting. SHERLOCK! He's home! As Molly swung her legs off the bed and stood up she heard Sherlock's voice again, "No."

"You always were given to sentimentality, brother. One night does not a marriage make. Doctor Hooper…"

"Holmes."

"Fine, Doctor Holmes is not your equal. She will never hold your attention for long."

Sherlock was bristling with anger. Surely he was grateful to his brother but to be so dismissive on Molly was inexcusable. "Mycroft," He said with barely contained anger, " I do appreciate all you have done for me and Molly but I will kindly ask you not to insult my bride under our roof. Now, if we could have some privacy…"

"Of course, brother mine. Please remember that the offer remains open." With that, Mycroft Holmes, otherwise known as the British government, closed the door with a soft click and left the rooms at Baker Street.