She was in the cold cell alone for hours. No one came down the hall, and she asked for nothing. She just sat on the bed looking at her feet. John had followed them out to the police van crying at the top of his lungs that she was innocent. Sherlock, however, had watched in silence. He knew how far she had gone. How much she had been compromised.
She was guilty, she knew, of many things. Wanting Jim was the worst of it, because she did want him. She wanted him to be a better person. She wanted him to not be a killer. She wanted him to get better. No one else seemed to want that, not even Jim.
She liked that she was alone now. No one was there to accuse her of all of the things that she'd done that she knew were wrong. No one was there to ask her to keep any more secrets.
That is until the door opened, and Mycroft Holmes walked in. He was wearing a dark striped suit with a red tie. He was immaculate from the top of his coifed head to the bottom of his leather brogues.
He looked very out of place against the bare grey walls, and yet she felt that he had made many such visits to cold cells to talk to lonely criminals like herself. He looked down at her without smiling. She looked up into his face without hope.
"It was an interesting choice you made saving that man's life. It is not the one that I would have made."
"No, I didn't think you would," she said.
"He is a dangerous man. The people whom he has alerted with his well-timed message will find a way to free him no matter where we keep him, that is if he remains alive."
"Will he remain alive?" Molly asked.
"That, Miss Hooper, will be up to you."
"What do I have to do?"
"The only way to keep James Moriarty from falling into enemy hands is for there not to be a James Moriarty."
"But I thought that you said that he wouldn't be killed."
"No. You must listen carefully. We don't have much time."
"I'm listening."
"You were owed a debt. You will return to your old life. Your employment will remain secure. No mention will be made of your... questionable recording practices."
"And in return?"
"You have a special relationship with Mr Hoehn, don't you? A position of influence. There is so much good that he could do for Britain and the world. His vocalizer has already begun to help others to live better lives. We are using it with soldiers injured in the war. Remarkable achievement, just remarkable. It would never have happened, but for you."
"I don't understand."
"When the time comes, you will know what to do." He turned toward the door and knocked twice with his cane. The door opened.
Molly stood up, "But, what can I do?"
He stood still for a moment with his back turned to her and said, "I do so abhor the destruction of a brilliant mind. I am counting on you, Miss Hooper. We are all counting on you."
Molly stared at the door wondering what he'd meant. A few minutes later, she was escorted out of the cells and given back her things including, surprisingly, the manacles.
John met her in the lobby.
"Thank God!" he said. "We've been trying to get you released all night. Sherlock finally convinced them to drop those false charges. Let Mary and I take you home."
.
Molly followed the news about the new Moriarty trial with interest. The entire country was galvanized by the fact that there had been not only one faked death, but two! The "Did you miss me?" tape was shown repeatedly on the news, and spawned several copycat memes on the internet.
Moriarty's return was everywhere even though the shrunken blond man in the wheelchair looked little like the dapper criminal in the smart grey suit of years past.
But the entire story was thrown into question before the trial could begin. New evidence suggested that the man in the wheelchair wasn't James Moriarty at all, but a noted inventor who had suffered brain injury and simply thought that he was James Moriarty!
Suddenly everyone was saying that they'd known all along. After all, he looks nothing like the old Moriarty. Psychiatrists debated on the news whether a catastrophic brain injury could make a person believe that he was someone else.
Sitting in her office, Molly recognized the face of the doctor from the private hospital where she had sent Jim. He testified that Mr Hoehn had arrived at there facility with no knowledge of his past. It was not only possible, but probable, that he would chose the identity of a famous criminal rather than believe himself an ordinary man. They had just announced Jim's release on grounds of insanity when Sherlock barged through the door. He glanced at the telly.
"You've seen it then. He got away, again! How is it possible that he is always able to slip out of the hands of the law? That is Moriarty. I know it is! Those eyes! How could I not recognize that mad man's eyes? But the paperwork says that he is Hoehn, and we must prove him to be Moriarty before they can reopen the case. But I will prove he is Moriarty without a doubt!"
"How will you do that Sherlock?"
"The apple. He bit into an apple when he came to visit me before. I collected a sample of his saliva and cheek cells! It was too valuable an opportunity to miss. I preserved the samples and froze them. Even now they are taking his blood for comparison. We have him now!"
"But Sherlock, what do you want me to do?"
"You know how to read a multi-chromosome analysis don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then I need you there, the day after tomorrow. The sample will go to an independent lab under guard. We will read the results together in a room with his lawyers and ours. I need you to confirm that the analysis is correct. Will you come."
"To the psychiatric hospital?"
"Yes."
"Will he be in the room with us?"
"Yes, his lawyers insist on that, but Lestrade will be there, and John. We won't let him touch you."
"All right," she said quietly. "I'll be there."
Sherlock left the room. The telly changed to a comedy program of some kind, but Molly didn't hear it at all. She was lost in thought.
The room had walls in a pleasant greenish-blue. It would have been nice if it wasn't for the deadly atmosphere inside. There were three tables. On the left sat Sherlock, John and Greg with their lawyer. On the right sat Jim, his psychiatrist, and his lawyer. At the main table sat the judge who had ruled on the trial.
Molly walked in and stopped, trapped by the glare of Jim's eyes upon her, before crossing to sit beside Sherlock. Jim's eyes followed her. He showed her a thin smile as he looked her up and down undressing her with his eyes. She felt exposed.
A courier entered then with an armed guard beside him. He handed a large brown envelope to the judge who examined that the seal was intact before opening it. There were three sets of identical papers. The judge kept one and handed the others to the bailiff who gave one packet to each table.
Sherlock grabbed their copy and held it in front of his face staring closely. Moriarty didn't bother to look, he simply smiled knowingly.
"Well then, that decides it," said the judge. "A ninety-nine percent match for Mr Quincy Hoehn. That should satisfy all future controversy."
"It's a trick!" Sherlock said rising to his feet. Greg held his shoulder to keep him from jumping over the table.
"Please remember, Mr Holmes, you are the one who requested this more conclusive test, and due to the unusual circumstances of the first trial, it was granted. You provided the sample of Mr Moriarty's DNA. The materials were guarded to and from the lab, and the original data provided to all parties. I am not a medical man, yet even I can see that the man sitting at that table is Mr Quincy Hoehn and not James Moriarty."
The judge pointed and all eyes turned to Jim who had a shocked look on his face. He reached for the papers and read them. "This is a mistake," Jim said. "I am James Moriarty." The judge shook his head sadly, and Jim's psychiatrist put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. "I am James Moriarty! This Hoehn identity was fun at first, but I am Moriarty! I am!"
The psychiatrist rose to his feet. "Your Honor. This procedure has obviously upset my patient. If you will excuse us, it is my opinion that we should get him back to his cell as quickly as possible."
"Of course," the judge agreed and a large orderly entered and pushed Jim out of the room. He kept screaming. "I am Moriarty! Tell them Sherlock! Molly! Tell them who I am!"
Sherlock was still staring at the results. "How did he do it?"
"How did he do what?" John asked.
"How did he get someone else's DNA on that apple? It was a trick, it had to be."
Molly looked up and saw a robin land beside the room's high window. It was building a nest.
.
A month later she sat in the same room listening to the sounds of baby birds chirping. The tables were gone. Instead there were green and brown couches arranged casually around the room. On the other side of the room, two men wearing green cotton uniforms played table tennis. Quincy sat quietly beside her. His head tilted sideways, his eyes lost in thought.
"They say the reason that I had no emotions associated with the memories was because they weren't real. We've been working on my medication, finding the right dose to keep me calm. It controls my moods, but they say that I'll likely never get my true memories back."
"Quincy, the past is the past. You have a whole new life before you. You could do anything! Yes, you've lost a lot, but you've gained so much. You're a genius. Just think of what you can accomplish?"
"Jim, call me Jim. I know now that I'm not... That was just a fantasy, but I still like it when you call me that."
"All right...Jim."
"I really have no idea what I'll do when I finally get out of here."
"You can always teach. Professor Quincy Hoehn, engineering genius!"
He laughed. "A bit of a step down from Ruler of the World, don't you think?"
"Who would want that job?" Molly said. "It would just be work, work, work. Besides, didn't you promise to take me to Paris one day? I'm still waiting."
"You might have to wait a long time. A professor isn't the best paying job you know."
"Then you'll have to keep inventing. Any ideas?"
"Well there are those super strong magnets. I turn them on and off with an electric field. There are many places where they might be useful. Maglev trains for example."
"You know, Jim. I still have those wrist cuffs that you had made for me," Molly said.
Jim raised his head and his nostrils flared.
"Really?," he said.
"And I'm knitting you a scarf. What color do you want?"
Jim's mouth fell open and he looked at her breasts. "I don't care what color it is, just make sure it's long and thin and strong."
Molly blushed straight up to the top of her head.
.
As she walked out onto the moist Spring air, she breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be going well for her. This was confirmed when a black car rolled slowly past and a beautifully dressed woman nodded at her as though she were a colleague.
Later, as she rode home on the tube, she remembered the time before Sherlock's fall. Quincy had wanted his death to mean something. He had asked that his body be used to advance science, and she wouldn't dream of going against such a heart-felt wish by sending it to be cremated.
A company called Cryolite was attempting to make chambers to preserve bodies indefinitely. They had asked for a dead body for testing but their request had been tied up in red tape. When she'd found them one, they were happy to give her samples and access to their data.
They had asked for a multi-chromosome analysis, not just a SNRP test to confirm Quincy's identity. There was only one lab in London equipped to do that test, and she knew who worked there. It was but a matter of minutes to switch the samples when the technician stepped out for a cup of coffee.
Before she'd left the hospital, Jim had asked her what she thought of marriage. She had said, that it was very nice, but she was perfectly fine remaining single. She liked Jim, and every day he was becoming more and more like the man of her dreams. But married people were supposed to be honest with each other, and she had secrets that she could never tell him.
Secrets like how, even though they were now good friends, Sherlock still made her heart jump into her throat whenever he talked to her in that low voice of his. Or how close Jim had come to being killed by Mycroft Holmes. Or that even though the world now claimed that James Moriarty was dead and the second Moriarty trial had been a hoax, the man known as Quincy Hoehn really was James Moriarty. No one must ever know that, not even Jim himself.