Disclaimer: settings and characters as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Meeting a Loose End
Meeting Molly was uncomfortable and slightly unpleasant. She was very wan and kept shooting him Looks – it seemed that she held Sherlock partly responsible for her situation and was definitely looking to him for a solution. Physically, she had let herself go – her hair was lank and her nails bitten. She was wearing rumpled and baggy clothes and hadn't bothered to wear jewellery as she normally did.
Sherlock had promised to be on his very best behaviour. John had warned him before Molly's arrival at the secure location arranged by Mycroft that she was likely to be very sensitive and had to be treated carefully.
"You don't want her to latch onto you as a sort of saviour figure," John had muttered into his ear, "Nor do you want to drive her into blaming you for everything."
"That's illogical," Sherlock had tilted his neck to give John's mouth better access, enjoying the sensation of his Heart chuckling against his skin.
"Yes," John had agreed lightly before returning his attention to their shared kisses: they had been languid and unhurried, not at all arousing, which was good because Sherlock wanted to be able to concentrate.
Molly had taken the news that Moriarty wanted her dead fairly well – she'd cried on John's shoulder and let him assure her that they had a way to protect her, that Sherlock had thought it through very carefully.
"There is some risk involved," Sherlock informed her in a cool voice. He disliked the way she was clutching his John's hand and arm, sitting close and leaning into his side. John was being soothing and supportive and as Sherlock knew that he'd be rubbish at keeping Molly calm and in control of herself, "We'll need to be able to prove that you were in a fatal accident, so we'll need some genetic materials – hair and blood. There is a risk with the blood collection; it will probably knock you out for a bit. The people who are staging the accident for us will take care of you while they're relocating you. You cannot contact anyone from your old life – no family, friends, or colleagues."
"And what will I do once I'm hidden away?" Molly asked in a dreary tone, "Since all I'm good for is to be toyed with by insane geniuses…"
"That's enough, Miss Hooper," John said firmly, "You're an intelligent young woman with a lot to offer. You're about to be a mum and you're being given a chance to start an entirely new life… this is an opportunity of a life time, not a punishment."
Sherlock was pleased to see that John's words were having a positive effect – he'd been about to tell the woman what he really thought of her. That would probably have been Not Good and upset John. Sherlock didn't like it when John was upset: especially when John was upset with him. Molly took a deep breath and nodded, turning to face John and therefore tuning Sherlock out.
"We've set up a new identity for you," John explained, shooting Sherlock an apologetic look, "You'll have a 'trust fund' that pays you a nice monthly dividend and we got you a nice position in a health clinic in Toronto. You won't really need to work, but I thought you might get bored sitting around doing nothing. We've sorted your citizenship out of course and a cover story for why you've moved to Toronto, as well as a new name and all the rest."
"Toronto? That's Canada," Molly breathed, "I've never been out of the country before…"
"Well, now is your chance," John beamed in an encouraging manner, "We've got you a lovely little two bedroom place, with a nice little courtyard garden, in a really secure building. There will be someone keeping an eye on you just until we've eliminated the threat and then you'll be left alone. The trust fund is for life, of course. It's the least we can do."
"And I'll never see you or Sherlock again?"
Sherlock couldn't tell what answer she wanted from that question, but John seemed to understand.
"I'll send you a postcard when the danger is over," he promised, rubbing one of her hands with his, "But you won't see us again. You do understand that you can't return to England and that travelling while you're still in danger is forbidden?"
"Yes," Molly nodded, "It's not like I've got much here anyway… my mother is dead and my father remarried… I haven't any brothers or sisters to worry about me…"
"Then it really is a new start for you. Forget all about us and be happy," Sherlock stated in a quiet voice, not quite happy, but at least not deadpan. Molly shot him a glance and then nodded, turning back to John and hugging him tightly.
"We never really knew each other, but I think I'll miss you most of all," Molly sniffled, "Thank you, John."
John murmured something soothing back and Sherlock summoned the people that would brief her on the accident, her new identity and all the rest of the boring details that he had delegated to Mycroft. The less he and John knew about this the better, just in case they were called in to investigate by Scotland Yard. Of course, they both knew how the accident would be staged, just not how Molly would escape it. The postcard that John had mentioned was already written and sitting in her file in Mycroft's archives, ready to go when Moriarty was finished with. John would never know the address it was sent to.
Sherlock extracted his Heart from Molly's grip and took him away, heading for the secure cab that Mycroft had supplied. He made John sit on the drop down seat, as far away from Sherlock as possible.
"Her scent is on you," Sherlock sniped, "I don't want you near me until it's gone. You're not supposed to cuddle other people, John. It's not right."
"I was comforting her, as any doctor would do for a distressed patient in need of support," John replied crisply, "But I will have a shower when we get home, ok? You can even come in and supervise if you like."
An intriguing offer indeed; one that Sherlock warmed to as the ride progressed.