WARNING: Spoilers/Transcript from The Empty Hearse
(Molly's Flat | Third-Person POV)
Molly turned on the telly, switching the channel to the news.
"…that after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did prove to be the creation of James Moriarty…" A reporter stated. Molly changed the channel.
"…amidst unprecedented scenes, there was an uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion…" She changed the channel on another reporter.
"…but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who become something of a celebrity two years ago…" Molly changed the channel again.
"…questions are now being ask as to why police let matters get so far…"
"Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from London's Bart's hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with…" This time, she turned off the television. That seemed to be the only thing on the news.
Sherlock had not been back, and Molly was beginning to lose hope of ever seeing him again. She hadn't heard from him, or Mycroft. Maybe he wouldn't be coming back.
(Serbia | First-Person POV)
With every lash from the large metal pipe, I began to feel weaker and weaker. The chains attached from my wrists to the walls of the interrogation room were rubbing my wrists raw. I was bent over, and I stared at the floor. Never have I ever had to endure this much pain.
The torturer spoke Serbian, but I could translate it easily. "You broke in here for a reason," He had said. "Just tell us why, and you can sleep. Remember sleep?"
I muttered something, which barely I could hear myself.
"What?" The torturer asked, pulling my head up by my overgrown hair and leaning down to hear me. I repeated what I had said.
"Well? What did he say?" A soldier asked, also in Serbian. The torturer dropped my head.
"He said I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair." He told the soldier. He picked my head back up, and I whispered to him in Serbian again. "That the electricity in my bathroom isn't working; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbor!" He picked my head up again, then dropped it after I had whispered again. "The coffin maker! If I go home now, I'll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!" I heard his footsteps as he stormed out of the room.
My whole body was slumped over, my arms upwards, still restrained by the chains. My grown hair dangled in front of my face, blocking my view. I hear slow footsteps towards me as the soldier speaks. "So, my friend. Now it's just you and me. You have no idea the trouble it took to find you." He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head up, leaning his mouth next to my ear.
"Now listen to me," He continues in English, and I recognize the voice immediately. "There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear." Mycroft drops my head. "Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes."
(Mycroft's Office | Sherlock's POV Still)
"You have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft said. "Quite the busy little bee."
I threw the newspaper I had been reading to a nearby trolley and stared up at the ceiling. I was lying flat on my back in a barber's chair and a man was shaving my face with a cutthroat razor. My hair was cut back to its usual length, which felt way better than it had before. Mycroft sat at his desk, watching me.
"Moriarty's network – Took me two years to dismantle it." I tell him.
"And you're confident you have?" He asked me.
"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle."
"Yes. You got yourself deep in there…with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."
"Colossal."
"Anyway, you're safe now."
"Hmm." I grunted.
"A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss." He hinted.
"What for?" I asked.
"For wading in," I held up my hand for the barber to stop as Mycroft spoke. "In case you'd forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu."
I sat up, grunting in pain. I looked at my brother angrily. "'Wading in?' You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp."
"I got you out." Mycroft frowned indignantly.
"No– I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"
"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."
"You were enjoying it." I stated.
"Nonsense." He disagreed.
"Definitely enjoying it."
Mycroft leaned forward. "Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going 'undercover', smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise; the people."
I painfully sank back into the chair, changing the subject, "I didn't know you spoke Serbian." The barber continued to shave me.
"I didn't, but the language has a Slovak root, frequent Turkish and German lone words," Mycroft shrugged. "Took me a few hours."
"Hmm…you're slipping."
"Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all." Mycroft told me. The door opened and Anthea, a woman who works for Mycroft, comes in. She holds a hanger with a dark suit and a white shirt hanging on it.
(St. Bart's Hospital | Third-Person POV)
Molly walked into the locker room at the end of her shift. She walked over to her locker and opened it. When she looked up, she saw the face of Sherlock Holmes in the mirror. She gasped, and quickly turned. After a second, she smiled, and he returned the smile.
"Sherlock!" She said in disbelief, her smile getting wider.
"Hello, Molly." Sherlock greeted her.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back."
"I was too."
"Two years!"
"I told you it wasn't going to be easy."
"So, have you told John?" Molly asked, and then she spotted a cut on his lip, and some dried blood under his nose. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Yes, and let's just say he wasn't very impressed." He laughed.
"So, you've done it then, haven't you? Dismantled Moriarty's network?"
"Yeah. Mycroft found me at the last side, in Serbia," Sherlock explained. "He said there was something going on, so he brought me back."
"Well, I'm glad you're back."
"It's good to be back." Sherlock smiled.
"So, would you like to get some coffee, or something?"
"I'd love to, but there are still a few people I haven't told yet about my return. Maybe next time?"
"Yeah, of course," Molly smiled. "Next time."
They walked out of the hospital together, and then went their separate ways. Molly smiling to herself all the way back to her flat.
