Disclaimer – I don't own the characters. They belong to ACD, MG and SM and the BBC. No one pays me to do this, I do it for love.

Chapter Twenty Five

By the next morning, Molly had made a decision. She did not suckle Freddie. She got up, showered and dressed, woke William and Freddie, gave them their breakfast cereal, washed and dressed Freddie, whilst William took care of himself, and left the flat at eight thirty, to drop William at school and then take Freddie to the crèche before going to work herself. This is do-able, she thought to herself. If she did have to be a single parent again, she knew she could manage the practical side of things. It was the emotional side that would be difficult, if not impossible, to sustain.

Freddie didn't even seem to notice that she had just severed the final strand of the umbilical. William, on the other hand, ever the observer, did.

'Mummy, doesn't Freddie like mummy-milk any more?' he asked, over breakfast.

'He doesn't really need my milk now. He needs to eat normal food.'

Molly wondered whether it had been such a good idea to stop just now but it did make the morning routine easier to cope with. She just hoped there were no negative repercussions, in the future. Looking at Freddie's cheerful expression, she didn't think she need worry on that score. Nothing seemed to faze the little tyke. His temperament was so different to William's. The older boy was his father's son, in so many ways.

She had not been at work long when her phone rang with its generic ring tone. That precluded immediate family and closest friends. She took it from her pocket and saw the caller's number was blocked.

'Hello?' she answered, enquiringly. The voice that responded was that of Greg Lestrade.

'Oh, Molly, hi. Sorry to bother you at work but I have a bit of a favour to ask.'

'Ask away, Greg. If I can do it, I will,' she replied.

'The Galbraith family are coming down to London tomorrow to collect Isabelle's body and take her home for burial. The Coroner has released the body. Adler's legal team have waived the right to a second PM. They've accepted your original report without reservation.'

'Should I be relieved?' she asked, thinking they would have a damn nerve to question her PM report. She was, first and foremost, a professional.

'Not at all, Molly. I wouldn't have expected anything less. You are a bloody good pathologist. But that isn't why I called. The Galbraith's have asked to meet the team who identified their daughter and helped to catch her killer. That includes you, Sherlock and John Watson. So I'm just wondering if you might be able to come over, about lunch time? It shouldn't take more than about half an hour.'

Molly was a little torn. She could appreciate why the family would want to meet the people who had ended their terrible ordeal of ignorance and she was accustomed to dealing with grieving relatives but this case was so personal. She wondered whether she would be able to maintain her usual professional detachment.

'Sherlock won't be able to be there, for sure, Greg,' she began.

'No, I didn't expect him to come. It's not really his area, is it? He's not the most tactful soul.'

Molly chose not to pursue that topic.

'I can probably fit it in during my lunch break. Obviously, I can't speak for John. You'll need to ask him directly.'

'No, that's fine, Molly. Thanks for that. With you on board, I'm sure John will be willing to join in, if he's free.'

'What time are the family expected?' she asked, so that she could work it into her schedule.

'Twelve thirty. Is that OK?'

Molly assured him it was. She said goodbye, promising to see him the next day, and hung up.

ooOoo

Molly arrived at NYS at twelve fifteen the next day and made her way to Lestrade's department. The two rooky PC's, who had helped with the research side of things, were present, dressed in their smartest uniforms, looking nervous and self-conscious. Greg Lestrade greeted Molly and invited her into his office.

'Is John coming?' she asked, as she sat down in the chair indicated by the DI.

'Yes, he said he would, barring a dire emergency at St Mary's. Molly, why didn't you tell me what had happened?' Greg asked, with a mixture of regret and embarrassment.

'In what context?' she enquired, wondering just how much John had divulged, conceding that Greg was both his and Sherlock's friend.

'You and Sherlock….splitting up,' he mumbled.

Molly was stung by the finality of that phrase and she felt the tears starting in her eyes. Greg was instantly mortified and came round the desk to hug her.

'God, Molly, I'm so sorry. That was really blunt of me,' he apologised.

'No, Greg, it's OK. It's just that we haven't 'split up' completely. It's kind of complicated. I can understand why John told you we had, especially since Mrs H told him what Sherlock told her, but Sherlock is not being very rational at the moment so nothing is final.'

'Well, I'm really glad to hear that. I might have over-interpreted what John said so, please, don't blame him.'

'I don't blame anybody,' she reassured him. 'Any way, I better turn off the lacrimal glands before the Galbraith's get here or it'll be like Alice in Wonderland here! I'll flood the place out!'

As if right on cue, DS Donovan appeared in the doorway to announce that Isabelle's family had arrived and were waiting in the incident room. John had not arrived yet but the rest of the team were present, so Lestrade led the way to the second floor, to meet the visitors.

As they entered the room, the family stood up to greet them. Molly was struck, first of all, by the all-pervading air of sadness that emanated from the four people in the room. She could see the familial resemblance between Mrs Galbraith and her late daughter. In her early fifties, the mother was beginning to show some grey in her dark brown hair but she had the fine bone structure and full lips that had marked Isabelle as a Highland beauty.

Mr Galbraith and his son, Charlie, looked every inch the lobster fishermen. They were wiry, strong and weather-beaten. Charlie's wife, Teresa, was fair and rosy-cheeked and about six months pregnant, in Molly's estimation. This family, like Isabelle, were innocent victims of Irene and Moriarty's scheming. Molly felt a fierce sense of satisfaction for the part she had been able to play in bringing them some justice.

Greg had just completed the introductions when John arrived, breathless and flustered.

'And this is Dr John Watson, Mr Holmes' personal assistant,' John raised his eyebrows at that description but couldn't think of a better alternative. He shook hands with all the family members. Charlie Galbraith then spoke on behalf of the family.

'We just wanted this opportunity to thank you all for what you did for our Isabelle. If not for you, we would never have known what became of her and we would not have been able to take her home. At least now, we'll know where she is and we'll be able to visit her, on birthdays and Christmas and the like. We're just sorry that Mr Holmes couldn't be here. We were so honoured that the famous detective could be bothered to look for our Isabelle. We hope that you'll pass on our heartfelt thanks to him.'

Everyone was silenced by that touching speech, given in such a humble manner, but Greg Lestrade was the first to find his voice. Clearing his throat, he thanked Charlie for his kind words and assured him that he would pass on their appreciation to Sherlock. Sally then invited everyone to help themselves to tea or coffee from the table that had been laid out at the side of the room and the people in the room began to mingle and talk together. Before long, Molly found herself being addressed by Mrs Galbraith.

'Dr Hooper, I understand it was you who examined my Isabelle, when she was first brought in?'

Molly confirmed that with a nod and a nervous smile. She was privately dreading what the next question might be.

'Can you tell me, please, did my darling girl suffer?'

Molly's experience in dealing with the relatives of the recently deceased came to her aid. At times like this, a blatant lie was always best. There was nothing to be gained from brutal honesty.

'No, Mrs Galbraith. It would have been very quick. She probably knew nothing about it.'

The lady looked thankful but not totally relieved. She went on.

'But we've been told it has to be a closed coffin because of the nature of her injuries. And my husband has read your post mortem report but he wouldn't let me read it.'

Molly licked her lips, as she chose her words carefully.

'Your daughter's injuries were mostly inflicted after she died, Mrs Galbraith,' she lied again.

The older lady enveloped her in a grateful embrace, which Molly reciprocated. As they separated, the older lady asked,

'Are you a mother, Dr Hooper?'

Molly nodded.

'Yes, I have two boys.'

'Oh, I love my son,' the lady smiled, 'but a daughter is such a blessing.'

'Yes, I'm sure that's true,' Molly agreed.

'Maybe next time?' Mrs Galbraith suggested.

'Yes, maybe.' Molly replied, with a wistful smile.

ooOoo

Sherlock wished everyone would just go away and leave him alone. He didn't want to be bothered with anything or anyone. Answering questions and making choices required thinking and thinking was not high on his list of priorities, at the moment. In fact 'not thinking' was actually at the top of that list, a point that pretty much precluded every other option.

But, despite this, some annoying person persisted in coming in and disturbing him, every five minutes. Had Mycroft fitted a revolving door to this room, or what? Did he want something to eat? Did he need a drink? Did he need to use the bathroom? Take this medication, take that medication, now take this again. How much medication did he need to take? Not that he was complaining. The more the better, if it kept his head full of cotton wool and stopped his brain from functioning.

He had a vague idea that he knew this person but confirming or refuting that hypothesis would require thought and that was off the agenda. Still, whoever they may or may not be, they were back again, already.

'Sherlock, sit up and drink this,' the familiar voice said.

'No, go away.'

'I'll go away just as soon as you sit up and drink this.'

'Oh, for God's sake,' he mumbled, irritably, pushing himself up on one elbow, assisted by two strong hands.

'That's it, good man,' the voice encouraged, as he sipped the liquid through a straw.

Actually, the water was cool and very refreshing. His mouth had been quite dry, he realised, despite the fact that he'd had a drink only a few minutes ago. Having drunk his fill, he pushed the cup away and lay down again, rolling over and curling up into a ball. Maybe the annoying person would leave him in peace, now.

ooOoo

Molly spent the rest of the time chatting with Mrs Galbraith about her life in the village of Helmsdale, in Sutherland, and her job as a volunteer at the Timespan Geological Museum. She told the lady that she had never been to that part of the country and Mrs Galbraith insisted that, if she ever did, she must drop by to say hello. Molly said she would love to do that.

'And bring your wee boys, Dr Hooper, and your husband, too. You will all be more than welcome.'

Molly thanked the older lady and then took her leave, explaining that she needed to get back to work and tackle a large stack of paperwork, before the week end. The gathering was breaking up anyway, as John needed to return to work, too, so everyone said their goodbyes and Sally took the family off to Westminster Public Mortuary, to take possession of Isabelle's mortal remains.

John walked Molly out of the building. Once they were in the lift, alone, he turned to her with an earnest expression.

'Molly, I am so sorry…' he began but she raised her hand to interrupt him.

'It's fine, John, really. I know things looked really bad the other night but I've had time to calm down and I've realised that he never meant it to be a permanent separation. He just needed space to think and sort his head out. I over-reacted and then it all got out of hand.'

'I should have checked with you before I said anything, though. It wasn't my place to be spreading rumours.'

'Telling Greg Lestrade is hardly spreading rumours, is it? He wouldn't tell anyone. He's very discrete. I mean, he's had marital problems of his own, so he knows what it's like.'

'Yes that's true but I'm still sorry.'

'Don't be, John. You're a good friend to both of us.'

'So, are you going to see him?'

'Yes, the boys and I are going out to Hertfordshire this evening. Mycroft says he's been under heavy sedation but they are going to start reducing the dose, today, so he should be more alert by tomorrow.'

'Ok, well, give him my best. I'm on nights, next week, so I might be able to manage a visit one afternoon, if he's in the mood for visitors.'

'I'm sure he's always glad to see you, John. You're his wing man.'

They reached street level and parted, with a hug, John returning to St Mary's and Molly to St Bart's, both back to work.

ooOoo