Of all places he saw her on a train. In his hands he held the missing files belonging to a laboratory in Switzerland. In hers a small child wrapped in layers of pink and red hues to block out the cold March morning. Suddenly the success of his case didn't seem as rewarding when he realized that the paper he held could not hold him back. Truly everyone else dulled in comparison to her radiance in the padded seats of the carriage. How often had he wondered about her?
She glanced across the aisle and he ducked his head behind the Times which was spread out in front of his face. A few light breaths later he peered from out behind an article of France's latest political scandal and watched as the infant was replaced with an excited four, no five year old girl with Molly's exact features. She snuggled right into her mother's lap and pulled out a thin book with pictures of boats wandering through the waves. They read together. He smiled when the girl got stuck on a word because then her face would crinkle in confusion so similarly to that who bore it. By the end of the tale they both yawned and curled up on the seat drifting into sleep. A hand appeared and stroked both heads before his face followed to kiss them on their brows.
Sherlock sat back mentally cursing himself for becoming so involved in the little scene. It was inappropriate he concluded, and yet he could not bring himself to look away as Tom rested a blanket over both shoulders. Of all the things to infuriate him it was that kiss that did him in. But she was sleeping and he could not bring himself to disturb her now. He at least owed her that much of peace. And so he did nothing. He pulled the shades down over his little window diagonally from hers and sat in stormy silence. Hours passed and he sat like this brooding on the edge of destruction but still not completely over it. He resolved to not look out into the aisle until she had gone. This was the way he made it to be after all.
Announcements for the final stop echoed through the carriage as he gathered his things about him. Pensive he sat tensely in his seat until the train had come to a complete stop. He heard the crowd shuffle by and waited until the traffic had cleared before stepping out into the aisle. Looking down towards the exit he saw the face of the little girl over her father's shoulder rounding the corner to the left exit. A soft gasp turned his attention behind him where she was holding the baby. He tried not to look to taken back when she smiled at him warmly and gave him a light hug. She did all the talking of course, but this time he never interrupted as she said how good it was to see him again. There was a pause in the conversation, like she was waiting for something.
At the exit doors she said her goodbyes and turned to leave. It was all ending too soon. He grabbed her shoulder and she became rigid beneath him. "Molly." His first word to her in seven years and she heaved a great sigh.
"Sherlock," she answered allowing him to bring her in towards him so that his head rested on her shoulder. There was a pause; she waited. And suddenly she wasn't there anymore. Peeling herself away from him she stepped out into the platform where in the distance he could hear the calls of her husband and daughter. Blinking his eyes he turned and exited through the opposite door.
Across the empty space of the carriage she looked at him. Eyes shining her hand rose up in a small wave. His own slowly mirrored her gesture while the doors closed shut. The engine rattled leaving smoke in its absence and when it cleared she was gone.