Sherlock paces around his hotel room, muttering his testimony over and over to himself, repeating it so it sticks his mind in order. Taking a deep breath, he sits down on the flat comforter and looks through the papers of all the evidence he had collected from the news, web, and of course, incident and emotional logs that he was very lucky Mrs. Hudson had kept of her experiences, all dated, like a diary of sorts. Unfortunately, they came with some photos of her children, but Sherlock does his best to put their young faces to the back of his mind and only think of what Frank had done and gotten involved with to cause their demise. That horrible man caused his friend so much pain and had knowingly put her and their children in mortal danger.

Sighing, he decides to take a break and he wanders down the hall, knocking upon another hotel room door. Martha opens up and smiles sadly, brush still combing through her curly hair.

"Oh, Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Yes...erm...I was wondering if you would like to go down for breakfast, they have it as a buffet-style for another hour. I figured that you should eat before going to court."

She smiles weakly and nods. "That's very sweet of you", she says, placing a hand on his wrist gently. "Let me finish up dressing and I'll meet you by the elevators in say, ten minutes?"

Sherlock nods and kisses her cheek. "That works."

Approximately ten minutes later, Mrs. H meets him near the elevators wearing a nice teal blouse and some black slacks. Sherlock gives her a small smile and extends his elbow for her like a gentleman. She takes it and giggles softly.

"Wow, I feel special."

"You are, Hudders", he winks and chuckles, escorting her down to the lobby where the guests are eating breakfast. There is a large buffet-style table with all sorts of brekkie foods, and a wet bar with juices, milk, coffee, and mimosas.

.

.

Later that day they are in the courtroom listening to testimony from both the prosecution for Martha and the defense for Frank. Mrs. H tries to keep her head down, avoiding her husband's deathly gaze as his eyes bore right into her, willing her to look at him.

Sherlock places a hand on hers, calming her down as much as he can without saying a word. Every bit of evidence he had gone over with the prosecutor still makes his blood boil, hearing of the atrocities this man had committed against his own family. He had been rotting in jail for two decades now, and it's about time he was finally put to sleep like the rabid dog he was, eagerly working for the cartels and being the sole reason why his sons were murdered when he decided to risk them for himself.

The defense tries as hard as they can to make it look like Frank had little to no reason to believe that his family was in trouble when he decided to go against the boss of the cartels, taking more than his fair share of money. Sherlock scowls at the thought. "Oh please, even a brain-dead monkey would know there would be retribution for being a traitor. He absolutely knew!"

Mrs. Hudson swallows hard and squeezes his arm as the judge condemns him for his outburst.

"Mr. Holmes! One more outburst and you will be escorted out of my courtroom. Is that understood?"

He grumbles and nods sharply. "Yes, Your Honor."

After a short lunch break, they resume, and the prosecution gets to speak again. The worst part of the trial has come to pass and suddenly they are all looking at the bloodied and mutilated bodies of their small sons in their beds over two decades ago when the cartel has shot them in the heads as retribution for Frank's treason. Jonah and Henry Hudson were only thirteen and sixteen at the time, unknowing and taken away from Martha in the most horrid ways.

Tears rush down her face as she remembers how she had screamed as the criminals had grabbed her around the waist, shoving guns in her own face. Oh, how she had screamed. Begged them to kill her so she could be with her boys. That's when they had shoved her hard, back onto her bed, and left her home, leaving her intact to self-destruct in utter torture that her boys were gone. Frank however, had heard the commotion as he was sneaking home and had shot the killer point-blank. He then had discarded the killer's body, and days later he forced Martha to bury the boys in her family plot in Pensacola, wrapped in blankets; they never got a proper funeral. She was terrified of him as he had been very abusive to her in the past. She knew he would rather torture her than kill her so she could be with her sons.

Months later she had turned him in when he was on one of his "business trips". The police stormed their home when he got back, and he was finally charged for everything. They even caught a couple of the other cartel owners.

Sherlock swallows the lump in his throat, hating his friend's pain. He places a hand on her back and looks over at her. He nods gratefully at the prosecutor as he takes his seat. All of their evidence seems overwhelming enough to convict, and Sherlock is glad he decided to do this for Mrs. Hudson. If he had his own way, he would've put the bastard down himself.

After long hours of deliberation, the verdict is the death sentence. They had done it. He was finally going to be executed for all his crimes. He hugs Martha as she breaks down, a huge weight finally lifted off her chest.

.

.

{The Blog of Doctor Molly Hooper – August 13th, 2009

Well, there goes another terrible date. I thought this one actually had potential, but I was sorely mistaken. He had been a nice enough bloke. Sandy blonde hair, kind green eyes, tall, polite. But that's about where the attraction ended.

We had made some small talk and had a nice lunch, but there was no loss of awkward silences. Listening to him drone on about the financial sector, I honestly thought I was going to fall asleep. Then of course when I finally had a chance to speak and spoke of my job at Bart's and how I was a pathologist, he had gone all pale and gagged into his napkin. To be fair, it probably wasn't the most appropriate time for me to be speaking about one of my autopsies.

After that, we grabbed the check fairly quickly. He was polite when we parted but I could tell that he wanted nothing more to do with me. God, I just have the worst track record in the world. I know the world isn't always fair, but I seem to be a never-ending target of bad karma for some reason.

Anyway, it's been a month since Sherlock has been in London. Of course, I miss Mrs. H too, I have come to look forward to our little chats as I grab brekkie. But no matter what I tell myself about Sherlock Holmes, my heart never seems to get the message. I know he doesn't want me. Hell, he doesn't want anybody, but does my heart listen? Nope. Not one bit. Just thinking of him right now makes my heart race, which is ridiculous. But yes...I miss him. His voice, his intelligence, even a bit of his air of arrogance, because I have no doubt he knows how his aura comes off around people. God and those curls…always bouncing when he moves and works. I always wish I could run my hands through them.

Ugh, there I go again. I should end this entry here. I hope he comes home soon though.

x x x Molly}