"Wake up, wake up!" Sherlock whispered. "It's time."
Molly opened her eyes and yawned. "Sherlock, what is it?"
"Get your shoes on, it's time to go. Wrap that blanket around you. It's bound to be a bit chilly outside."
Molly noticed then that Sherlock was not only standing up, he had shaved and dressed. He even had his shoes and socks on. "What's going on?" Molly asked.
"It's almost time, we have to..." There was a click and the door opened. "Just follow my lead."
A woman walked into the room wearing a janitor's costume. She nodded at them and then turned around and left the room. Sherlock followed. Molly pulled the blanket around her shoulders and followed Sherlock, stepping over the bodies of the men who had been her guards.
They walked up the stairs, but when she attempted to walk down the hall as she always did, Sherlock grabbed her arm and pulled her through a door to the left. She was in a small grey hallway that exited into what looked like a laundry. The woman reached into a bin and pulled out two coveralls. They put them on, and then walked out of the room and down the hall. She could hear the sound of people talking in the kitchens. They passed quickly by and out of the back door.
The cold air felt wonderful after so many days inside. She took a moment to enjoy the way her cheeks stung. Sherlock was hobbling a bit when he walked. The woman led them behind some topiary and bent down to brush the leaves off of a ladder that she had hidden there. She propped it up against the wall and motioned for them to climb.
Molly put a leg on the ladder, but Sherlock pulled her back. "You're not going that way. I am."
"What do you mean?" Molly whispered. "Aren't we going together?"
"You can't. The police are on their way to arrest The Engineer. They can't find me here."
"But, where are you going? Who is she? I don't understand what we're doing here?"
"We're escaping. Isn't it obvious?"
"But I haven't told you everything he said, about Moriarty and their organization."
"It will have to wait. The police are already here."
She noticed it then, the sound of a siren in the distance getting closer.
"They've found him a bit before we were ready."
"We?"
"My brother and I. I've been sending him messages through the plans I had the engineer make. Three days ago, he got in contact with me, and arranged an escape, but we had to move up the time because the police traced your kidnappers ahead of schedule. They'll be here any moment. You need to go meet them."
"But Sherlock, where are you going?"
"From what I learned from the files he sent me, and what he told you, I've got a good lead on the assassins. I've got to go now. They can't find me here. If anyone knows I'm alive…."
"I know. John, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade are in danger."
"Lestrade is fine now. My brother already told him about the spy in Scotland yard."
"But… you're leaving now! It's so sudden."
"Molly, there's no time." He started up the ladder, and then stepped down and put a hand on her shoulder "As soon as I am back in London, I will come see you, Molly. I promise." She looked up into eyes that were turning blue in the early morning light. Then he turned away, hopping one-legged up the ladder before flopping over the wall to safety.
The woman took the ladder down then and hid it, before leading her to the high stone wall that led to the front lawn. By now, she could see the red of the police lights flashing over the top of the wall. The woman pointed to a small wooden door.
"Tell the police you were a prisoner, but don't mention Mr. Holmes."
"Of course I won't mention him."
"When they ask who else was in the room. Tell them it was a homeless man that you let everyone believe was Sherlock Holmes. Tell them that the man died of his wounds."
"But..."
"It's time, go!" she said pushing Molly through the door and closing it behind her.
Molly stood on the edge of the front lawn. It was a pretty neighborhood with expensive houses, and a curb lined with police cars. She walked toward the car farthest from the front door. At the entry way, an inspector was showing his warrant card to the butler. She walked up to a police woman who stood outside of her car.
"I'm sorry Miss, you can't come this way. Police business."
"I'm Molly Hooper."
"It doesn't matter who you are. I can't let you ..."
"I said, I'm Molly Hooper, the person whose been kidnapped. I escaped."
There was a flurry of activity then as people surrounded her. The police woman called in for orders, and before long she was placed in a car, and whizzed down to the police station where a medic checked her out before sitting her down in a room with a host of officers who listened to her story.
Greg Lestrade entered the room halfway through her tale of a man obsessed with Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty. She told of a super fan who believed that Sherlock wasn't dead, and who thought that he had captured him. She thought that Greg would see right through her story, but he seemed to buy it. She had got much better at lying.
"We found her purse and some clothes in his house, but he claims that she was his guest. His lawyers are here, and they plan to fight the claim of murder and kidnapping. Without the body, I don't see how we're going to get it to stick?"
"What about Joe?" Molly said. "The man that he shot in the warehouse."
"Did you witnessed him shoot this man?"
"No, but he admitted to shooting him."
"Your word against his. He'll simply deny it."
"Then can't you link this murder to the ones he did in Belfast. You do know he's the Red Bag Strangler, don't you?"
The room was completely silent as every eye focused on her. Then suddenly the room was filled with noise as everyone seemed to talk at once. The door opened and people ran out as Greg insisted that they call the PSNI and pull the records for comparison. In minutes, she was in the room with only one attendant and no tea.
Once the excitement died down, someone told her that she could go home. As she walked down the hallway, she passed Ivana in handcuffs. Their met eyes for a moment, and then she was led away.
Molly stood in the lobby with her newly recovered purse and phone, wondering where she should go. They had told her to go home, but the flat where she lived, didn't really feel like home to her. She hadn't had a home since her father died.
Greg saved her from the decision by offering to drive her. He was grinning as he led her out of the station and toward his car.
"You really saved the day, Molly. The body in the abandoned building was a perfect match to the MO of the Red Bag Strangler, and since we had already connected him to the crime scene, I think it will be a relatively straightforward case. I talked to some really happy officers in Belfast. They finally were able to close a case after seven years! The red bag killer has been bagged."
Greg opened the door for her and she climbed into his car. Then he entered and fastened his seat belt. "So, Molly. Where do you want to go? Your apartment?"
"Actually, Greg, I'm sort of concerned about my cat. I think he might be dead."
"You mean Toby? I've got him at my place."
"You do! But how did you…?"
"I went by your work the morning after we met in the market. You had promised to help me with a case, but you'd forgotten to give me your number. I got it from your work colleagues but you never answered your phone, so I went to your flat. That's when I noticed that you hadn't been home. The cat had knocked over its water, and was making the most horrible noises. I decided it would be best to take him to my place until we could find out what happened to you."
"So Toby is all right?"
"Yes, he's fine."
"Can you take me to him now?"
"Of course," Lestrade said turning the car around as he started to drive to his flat.
As soon as she walked through his door, Toby ran toward her and butted her leg hard with his head. She picked him up and hugged him tight. He permitted this for a moment before scratching her and jumping down to the ground again. Molly was so happy that she started to cry.
She spent the night in Greg Lestrade's guest bedroom, lying under a football blanket with Toby sleeping on her chest. She felt content for the first time in ages.
After her Father died, Toby was all that she had to come home to. Starting tomorrow, she would work on making a real home for herself. She would find a nice man, someone who wasn't a psychopath, get married and have a family. It wasn't too late for her. There were plenty of nice men out there if she looked.
She wondered where Sherlock was tonight. Was he even still in the country? Would he remember to take his pills? Did he have a place to return to? A place that he called home? Part of her knew that she would always worry about Sherlock, even when she had a family of her own. She smiled, and closed her eyes.
The Engineer's plan had been to make Sherlock love her. Of course, it had failed. Sherlock Holmes wasn't the kind of person who fell in love. And yet, there was a bond that formed between people who shared adversity, a bond of trust that couldn't be faked. In time, Sherlock might realize that the bond they shared was one of love. She hoped he would, someday.
Sherlock Holmes wasn't the kind of person who fell in love. She, however, was in love with Sherlock Holmes, and she would be for the rest of her life.
