Sherlock and John sat in the helicopter, looking at the large house below them as they descended. They landed on the grass and were led out by security men who then escorted them to the room containing Magnussen, who was waiting for them.
When Sherlock and John arrived in front of Magnussen, he nodded to his security and they abruptly left. Magnussen lifted his glass. "I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive." Sherlock sat down on a sofa. Projected on a glass wall opposite of Magnussen was a footage playing Molly dragged into a van by a few men in dark clothing a few months back.
"Oh," Sherlock said calmly. "It was you."
"Yes, of course," Magnussen replied. John looked back and forth between the two men. The footage continued with van crashing into a tree and Molly emerging from the wreck, shaken and bruised. "Your damsel in distress, rescued herself," Magnussen said with a slight hint of approval.
John glared at Magnussen. "You kidnapped Molly, for leverage? She could have died in that car accident!"
"Oh, I'd never let her die. I had people standing by." Magnussen looked at Sherlock. "I'm not a murderer, unlike your dear Molly."
The atmosphere in the room seemed to freeze. Sherlock sat rigid in his seat and John stood still. Magnussen continued. "Let me explain how leverage works, Sherlock. For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well, apart from me." Magnussen slowly walked the length of the room and then walked back. "Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock. And Sherlock's pressure point is his beloved Molly. I own Molly," Magnussen turned to stare at Sherlock, "I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas." Magnussen held his hand out to Sherlock.
Sherlock shoved the laptop across the sofa towards Magnussen. "It's an exchange, not a gift." Magnussen ran his fingers across the smooth covering of the laptop. "It's password protected," Sherlock added. "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Molly Hooper."
Magnussen chuckled. "Oh she's not as good as you might think. She's bad, that one. You should have seen what I've seen."
"Then why don't you show us?" Sherlock said nonchalantly.
"Show you Appledore? The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"
Sherlock gazed at him intensely. "I want everything you've got on Molly."
Magnussen shook his head a little and chuckled for a few seconds. John gave a distasteful glance at him and exchanged a look with Sherlock. "You know, I honestly expected something good," Magnussen said after sniggering.
"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-" Sherlock said.
"-include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with psychopaths. Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very, very proud big brother." Magnussen emptied his glass.
"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it," Sherlock said.
"Then why am I smiling?" Sherlock looked at Magnussen thoughtfully. "Ask me."
John took one step forward. "Why are you smiling?"
"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear." Magnussen stood up slowly. "Let me show you the Appledore vaults."
Magnussen led the others across the room and through the open glass doors of his study. He walked to a pair of wooden doors at the side of the room and turned back to the others while putting a hand on the doors. "The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all." He took a hold of the door handles and pulled the doors open. Magnussen stepped slowly through the doors as Sherlock and John looked uneasily around. Inside the doors was nothing but a small, white, windowless room. There were no shelves, no library stacks, no filing cabinets, no sculptures. The only thing that was in the room was a low chair, which Magnussen seated himself on.
"Okay," John said uncertainly. "So where are the vaults, then?"
Magnussen looked at him. "Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building." He gestured around the room. "They're all in here. The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock?" Sherlock widened his eyes as John frowned. "How to store information so you never forget it, by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes, and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults, my memories. You see?"
John cleared his throat. "So there are no documents. You don't actually have anything here."
"Oh, sometimes I send out for something, if I really need it. But mostly I just remember it all."
John shook his head. "I don't understand."
Magnussen looked at Sherlock. "It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning."
"But if you just know it, then you don't have proof," John protested.
"Proof? What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to have to prove it, I just have to print it."
Sherlock looked downwards, realizing the gravity of his mistake.
Magnussen stood up and buttoned his jacket. "Speaking of news, you'll both be heavily featured tomorrow, trying to sell state secrets to me." He tutted disapprovingly and glanced at his watch. "Let's go outside, they'll be here shortly." He led them out of the room and to the patio in front of the lawn. "Can't wait to see you arrested."
John stepped close to Sherlock. "Do we have a plan?" Sherlock stared out into the distance, his gaze unfocused. "Sherlock." The detective still didn't reply.
"They're taking their time, aren't they?" Magnussen said, several feet away from them.
"I still don't understand," John said. "You just know things. How does that work?"
"It works like this, John. I know who Molly hurt. I know where she killed. I know who to call, and with a little digging around, evidence will surface. Molly was quite careless in her cover up. All in my Mind Palace, all of it." Sherlock gazed intently at Magnussen as he said those words. "I could phone right now and tear her life down. This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries, just because I know."
John and Sherlock stood staring at Magnussen as the sound of a helicopter approached. It soared over the roof as armed policemen ran towards the patio. Mycroft's voice blared out over a speaker on the helicopter. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Stand away from that man.
Magnussen grinned. "Here we go, Mr. Holmes!"
Sherlock stepped slightly closer to Magnussen. "To clarify: Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there."
"They're not real. They never have been," Magnussen answered.
Sherlock nodded. Mycroft's voice sounded over a speaker again. "Step away."
Magnussen walked forward a few steps. "It's fine! They're harmless!"
John turned toward his friend. "Sherlock, what do we do?"
Magnussen looked over his shoulder. "Nothing! There's nothing to be done. Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!" He smiled smugly. "Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock lifted his head. "Oh, do your research." He stepped closer to John, reached into John's coat pocket, and stepped away again. "I'm not a hero, I'm a high-functioning sociopath." Magnussen widened his eyes as Sherlock glared at him. "Merry Christmas!" Sherlock raised John's pistol, aimed it at Magnussen's head and then fired. Before Magnussen even hit the ground, Sherlock dropped the gun and turned to the helicopter with his hands raised.
"Stand fire!" Mycroft said frantically into his microphone. The policemen ran toward the patio and aimed their guns at Sherlock. "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!"
John stared at Sherlock, his face full of anguish. "Oh, Christ, Sherlock."
"Give my love to Molly. Tell her she's safe now." Sherlock kneeled down onto the patio, his head facing the helicopter.
"Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?" Mycroft said softly.
A black car drove along a runway on which a jet was waiting. Mary and John stepped out of the car and ran to Sherlock, who was waiting beside the jet with Mycroft.
Sherlock smiled at Mary. "You will look after him for me, won't you?"
Mary hugged Sherlock. "Don't worry, I'll keep him in trouble."
Sherlock nodded and stepped over to John. "Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson," Sherlock said to Mycroft and the security man beside him, "Would you mind if we took a moment?"
Mycroft nodded to the guard and they all left to the other side of the jet to give them privacy.
Sherlock turned to John when they were alone. He cleared this throat. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes."
"Sorry?" John said.
"That's the whole of it, if you're looking for baby names."
John chuckled. "No, we've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl."
"Oh. Okay." They were silent for a few awkward moments.
"Is Molly-" Sherlock started.
"She's-" John said at the same time, knowing what Sherlock was dying to ask.
"Uh, go on," Sherlock urged.
"I called her. Left her messages last night and this morning. I don't think she's coming," John said apologetically.
Sherlock looked away, off into the distance. He and Molly hadn't talked since the night he shot Magnussen. Why would she want to talk to him? He murdered, for her. It probably wasn't something Molly would want, and something she could never forget. Sherlock caused only more darkness and black stains on her life.
"Do you want me to say anything to her? To Molly?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to reply when he heard a familiar voice. He and John both turned around, disbelieving.
"Did I hear my name?" Molly said striding up to the pair.
John looked back at Sherlock and grinned. He clapped him on the shoulder and whispered, "Good luck." John then left the two alone.
Molly and Sherlock stared at each other until the silence grew uncomfortable.
"I can't think of a single thing to say," Molly said.
"No, neither can I."
"Thank you," Molly whispered. Her voice would have been inaudible if the wind had not carried it to his ears. "The game is over."
"The game is never over, Molly," Sherlock said firmly. "But there may be some new players now. It's okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end."
"What's that?"
"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path." Sherlock looked into the distance, where the sun was setting over the horizon. "It seeks out the unworthy, and plucks them from the Earth."
Molly looked away ashamedly.
Sherlock, guessing her thoughts, said, "Molly, you're not unworthy." He took her hands and forced her to look him in the eye. "Whatever you did, that's in the past. Your worth is who you are now. And to me, now, you're worth the entire world. I'll never regret what I did Molly, not if it meant I could protect you."
Molly leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips. She leaned into his arms and they settled into an embrace.
"I love you Sherlock," she said, her voice muffled from his coat. "Where are you actually going now?"
"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe," Sherlock said, sounding bored.
"For how long?"
Sherlock was glad her face was hidden in his coat, for he couldn't bear to look her in the eyes when he said this. "Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong."
"And then what?" Molly asked, carefully disguising the sadness in her voice, not that it fooled Sherlock.
"Who knows?" He kissed the top of her head and gently pried her off him. He walked away from her towards the jet. "To the very best of times, Molly."
Molly and the others watched him step on board, and then fly off in the plane. Sherlock gazed out the window at his loved ones until they were into tiny dots.
Meanwhile in Britain, a short clip was being played all over the TV screens across the country. Within the clip, Jim Moriarty was staring into the camera and repeatedly asking, "Did you miss me?"
Mycroft sat in the back of his car with his phone up to his ear, hearing the most recent news. "But that's not possible." He stepped out of the car and looked at John, Mary, and Molly. He frowned.
John released Mary's hand and stepped towards Mycroft. "What's happened?"
In the jet, an attendant was holding a phone out to Sherlock. "It's your brother," he said.
Sherlock took the phone. "Mycroft?" he said into the phone.
"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?"
"I've only been gone four minutes."
"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."
"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"
Mycroft gave an exasperated sigh. "England."
Mary stared incredulously at John. "But he's dead. You told me he was dead, Moriarty."
"Absolutely. He blew his own brains out," John confirmed.
"So how can he be back?"
Molly turned toward her right, where Sherlock's plane was descending. "Well, if he is, he'd better wrap up warm," she said calmly. "There's an East Wind coming."
And despite all the hardship Molly had went through in the past months, she felt like it would be nothing compared to what was to come. She should have felt fear, terror, but instead she felt relief. Relief that Sherlock was coming back, relief that whatever it was they had to face, they would face it together.
"And that's how it will always be," Molly whispered to herself. "You and me, Sherlock. Together."
Well, that's the end of it. After over a year, the end of the story has come! How did you guys like it? And once again, I would like to thank each and every one of you who followed, favorited, or reviewed this story. Your words and encouragement are what got me motivated to write and continue the story. I truly cannot thank you enough. Peace out, and have a great day!