Finally, Molly and John! Plus, ft. Sherlock Thank you for your reviews, it really helps me to know someone is reading out there! Enjoy…

John Watson was an extremely rational man. Anyone who had hanged around Sherlock as long as he had done just acquired this sense of analysis and comprehension of reality. However, John's hallucinations were very vivid. This one, for example, was the image of Mary, beautifully dressed on her wedding outfit, with soft curls twisted into a loose bun and a smile that could light up a whole town. She stared at John from the other side of the prison bars. Then her expression changed. Her eyes opened widely in terror as her mouth opened and closed repeatedly searching for air. She gasped a few times and her face started turning blue.

John pressed his face against the bars and reached for her, but the fake image of his fiancé was out of his reach, so he had to stand there just watching as she felt into the floor twisting and convulsing for air.

John felt his eye watering as he screamed in frustration.

No, it wasn't real. But it seemed real.

Lestrade had come to inform him that Mary had survived, but she was delicate. That was twenty three hours ago and since then, nothing…

"She could be dead". A voice whispered into his head, but he slammed it away, hitting his fist against the concrete wall

"No!" he screamed out loud, hearing only the echo of his own voice responding.

"She could be dead. You could be in love with a ghost…you killed her John." His subconscious was tricking him. This time he could swear that Sherlock's voice talked inside his head.

"Shut… up …" John muttered, trying to repress the tears.

"Think John, you send her those chocolates, right?" the voice of Sherlock questioned him, making him hit his face against the walls, trying to expel it.

"Yes. I bought them a week ago. There were her favorites, she ate them all the time, and there was no way…"John surrendered to his imminent madness and played along with his dead friend memory

"Think John! Something must have changed! If she ate it all the time, something must have changed this time so,.."

"The boy." John's eyes popped wide open and he even could picture Sherlock rising his eyebrows in surprise. He continued explaining his realization out loud even if he was completely alone on the cell. "The groceries kid. The package I grabbed was a little worn out, so he went looking for a new one on the back of the shop."

"Good. Now think about his looks. What did he was wearing? How old he was? How did he smell?" Sherlock's hallucination now walked around the tiny cell as John rubbed his face and took a seat on the simple mattress, ruining his tuxedo iron on the process.

"How did he smell?" John couldn't repress a grin. Even Sherlock's memory was irritating.

"Seriously?"

The hallucination figure just rolled his eyes.

"He was young, almost twenty I'd guess. Covered with pimples and greasy curly hair. He wore glasses. That's it…" John described the boy as he mentally pictured his image, then he noticed a detail he had missed before. "The tag."

Sherlock's image waited patiently.

"The employees wear a tag with their names clipped on their vest. To identify them." John was excited because he knew that detail was important but he couldn't figure out why it was important. "The tag of the boy, it had letters. Random letters that didn't formed any word."

"Good! And what does that tells us?" the hallucinated image of Sherlock encouraged John to talk, but then someone opened the door of the cell and the image of Sherlock vanished in the air.

An unexpected visitor.

"Molly?" john doubted before standing up and analyzing the face of the person standing inside the cell. It was true, the person did resemble a little Molly Hooper, but that couldn't be her. To begin with, why did she have bruises and cuts all over her face? Why did she have those dark circles around her eyes?

The unknown person tried to smile, but her eyes watered and she had to hide her sobs behind the long sleeves of her sweater.

"Molly!" John recognized her as soon as she started crying and she held her on a tight hug.

The gesture was a little awkward. They had never been exactly close, but John was glad to see a familiar face and molly just seemed like she needed to be hugged.

It took some time for both to calm down and break apart the embrace, but when they finally did Molly seemed much calmed. "John, Lestrade send me."

John nodded to prove he was hearing closely and invited molly to seat next to him on the mattress. The place was still a prison cell and John couldn't help but to be a little embarrassed for the urine smell and the obscene drawings on the walls, but she didn't seemed to care.

"She says Mary has been moved to the common room with other patients and that she's recovering." Molly repeated the words like she had learned them by memory, which she probably did. "He also wanted to apologize because he is not going to be able to help you anymore. Internal Affairs is investigating him for complicity on your…crime."

John remained quiet, assimilating the news.

"There's more..." molly closed her eyes and fist as she got ready to let go of the secret that had been drowning her for months. She took a deep breath and then let go. "Sherlock is alive."

John didn't even blink. The possibility that Sherlock might be alive was too harmful for his mind to even begin processing it. Considering it would be lighting up a light, a hope, that might be blown away as soon as it lighted up. For months now, Watson had seen his former best friend on every shadow on the night, on the face of strangers passing by him on the street, on some suspicious case on the newspaper. Each and every time it had turned out to be just a devastating disappointment.

He couldn't bare another one, not now.

"Molly, dear…" John started awkwardly. "I know it's painful. I can imagine how painful it must be for you, but this lie you have made up…"

Molly jumped out of the mattress and when she did so her face flinched in pain as she grabbed her ribs. "I'm not lying! I helped him fake his dead! I signed a fake defunction act so that everybody thought..."

"I saw him. I saw him jumping and I saw…" John's voice broke off a bit as he stood up to face Molly with his fist closed. He tried to control his rage, but this was just too much for him. "Stop it Molly!"

"No!" Molly yelled. She then blurted out explanations that were too good to be true. "He planned it all, the messenger on the bike knocked you out so you couldn't see the cable that pulled him to a soft landing, I placed the blood myself, he had this drug anoxemilia algerrobe…doesn't matter, it slowed his heart beat so it was unperceivable.

"He's dead!" this time John screamed at her with pure rage and he stepped forward a bit too aggressively. She instinctively protected her face as her whole body started shaking.

John realized what he had done and he felt purely embarrassed. Molly looked very fragile as she stood there, trying to shield her tiny body with her hands and repressing the urge to cry. That was clearly a defensive posture that she was used to; but why? "What have they done to you Molly?" he thought as he felt his body relaxing

"I'm so sorry. I am." John couldn't find the right words to express his regrets, so he tried to pronounce the only one he knew with as much feeling as he could.

"It's okay." Molly lowered her hands and then added with a soft smile. "Really."

The buzzing of a phone interrupted the conversation. Molly pulled out her cell phone and read "Unknown number" on the screen. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Turn the speaker on…" her heart skipped a beat when she heard the voice of the detective

Sherlock sent the text just in time to look up and see the teenager and the owner of the shop pointing at him with guns.

"So predictable…" he thought.

First of all he had to get off their target. He quickly slipped under the table, just in time to avoid the first bullet that crashed on the screen of the computer he was using. The floor was made up of tiles and it was easy for him to use the impulse of his own body to knock the teenager down. Just as quick as he knocked him down, he stood up and forced the teenager to get up as well.

Now he was on a better position. He stood behind the teenager, capturing his head with his left hand on a tight judo position he had read about once. With his right hand he was capturing the teen's arm, controlling the direction to which the gun on his hand pointed. And right now, it pointed to the second shooter, who looked more than worried now.

Sherlock considered all the possibilities in about .45 millisecond (exactly) First he thought he could let one safe and shoot the other. But from the angle of the gun and the fact that he could only shot the one who seemed elder and more professional (therefore, more useful) he tossed that idea.

Instead he remembered Tuesday 8 of 2010 on the lab with Molly Hooper.

That day he had agreed to stay over extra hours to see how she practiced a pigmentation study on a corpse. It consisted on injecting a blue dye into the veins and to see on a X ray how the dye travelled through the veins. It had been amazingly interesting and it had provided him very useful annotations for further research even if he did had to bear with Molly asking about his favorite colors and blushing every time he brushed accidentally any part of her body.

But, most important, he learned where all the important veins were located ( he already knew the topic, but this time he learned to locate even the smallest tiny vessel of the human body) so it came across like no problem to shoot the shop owned on five inches above the clavicle, making his gun fall to the ground and leaving his arm completely unuseful ( probably for the rest of his life) Then he gave the kid a soft hit on the back of his nape on a very specific place, knocking him down immediately.

Mental note, he must get the next volume of Martial Advanced Arts.

Unfortunately, when he walked over to interrogate the owner, he discovered he was dead. Judging by the trail of saliva coming down his mouth and the fact that his face looked swallowed and his eyes a bit popped out, Sherlock inferred he had consumed a suicide pill.

His employer must had been very careful to command him to ingest the pill to avoid any interrogation; clever man.

Without having time to regret the lost of his source of information, Sherlock perceived the vibration of his phone.

-DR. Hooper is visiting Dr. Watson on his cell. It's time for you to come back, brother.

-MH

Sherlock sighted as he dialed Molly's number. She picked up and without further introductions he ordered. "Turn on the speaker."

Both persons in the cell looked at each other and then at the cell phone now resting on the mattress.

"Hello John." Sherlock greeted with casual voice, but John had a knot on his throat that prevented him from greeting back. "Okay. That's rude. I come back from dead and you don't even..."

The noise of a crowded street suffocates Sherlock's last words. "Wait a minute."

The roar of the street is replaced by the sound of light conversation and glasses and dishes hitting. "That's better." Sherlock sights. "Now, Molly Hooper. Why the hell would you be this stupid?"

John looks at Molly, who seems embarrassed at first, but then something clicks on her thoughts and her look fills with rage.

"How did you found out I was here?" she asks firmly.

"Well, I had Mycroft supervising the persons with which I held some kind of close relationship. John was top of the list…" Sherlock explained casually and John understood then where the conversation was heading and he tried to prevent his friend.

"Sherlock…" he pronounced the name with fear that it might slip out of his mouth and then vanish.

"Oh, John! Is good to hear your voice again. Now, talking about your shameful situation, I think I have a solution." Sherlock, unaware of the disturbance he caused on the emotion of his friends, sounded quite exited.

"In what place I am, Sherlock?" Molly interrupted Sherlock. She had her eyes closed and she breathed heavily.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock's voice questioned.

"In what place of the surveillance list you gave to your brother am I in?" Molly had her eyes still closed and John noticed that she held her breath as she waits for an answer.

"Oooh! Well…this is awkward.. You're not in the list." Sherlock answered and Molly opened her eyes suddenly. They were filled with tears. "You are not part of my closest environment circle. Molly, you don't need protection, anyway."

Molly let out a cold and cruel laugh. Then she looked at John and he had to repress a shiver caused by the coldness of her staring. "Good luck with him."

She collected her coat and her bag, but leaved the phone. Before leaving, she turned back a last time and talked to the phone. "Sherlock?"

"Yes?" Sherlock seem as uncomfortable as John.

"You don't know shit." She muttered and then leaves.

John remains in silence, trying to assimilate what just happened. "What's wrong with that woman? Her shift of humor may be coherent with her lack of progesterone…is she menopausic? Not likely…maybe some disorder…" Sherlock had lost himself on his mind palace and John has to interrupt him.

"Sherlock. I don't want to be rude or anything." He ran his hands trough his face. "But I'm on a bloody cell and you're dead. So either I'm losing my mind, or you tricked me an d believe me , you better tell me I'm insane!"

"Your mind is completely healthy John. Well, besides a sick need for a woman's affection…" Sherlock sounded serious, but he was probably grinning. "Now walk out of there and get into the car waiting for you outside. I'll join you and Molly on the airport."

John had to repress a course "This is jail! I can't just walk away!"

"Yes you can. Well, only for the next fifteen seconds. That's as long as Mycroft could arrange. So…go." Sherlock ordered.

Then he hanged up. Just like that.

John wanted to think things through. He hadn't accepted the fact that Sherlock was still alive. In his mind all what had happened, included Molly, was just a gigantic (and very real) hallucination but before he can reconsider, he found himself inside the black car. "Shit!" he muttered as the vehicle started moving.

Santiago's POV

The girl was pretty. Okay, she was kind of gorgeous. Even from the distance Santiago could appreciate the softness of her hair flying with the wind and her perfect features staring at the darkness of the park. What is she doing with the gothic freak? The young man wondered. Until now, Holmes had kept his part of the deal and his monthly doze of cocaine had arrived punctually each time. So he had kept his part of the deal and he kept looking after the girl. Santiago couldn't help to feel like he was taking advantage of the man because on this month, the girl ( Valentina…that was her name) had been perfectly safe. Excepting that moron who was staring at her legs on the bus. Santiago had beat the crap out of him just for doing that.

He was in fact just about to turn off the cigarette and call it a night ( the girls didn't seemed to be going any soon) when he spotted the figure. He was tall, almost two meters and with the complexion of a footballer. He approached the girl silently and she didn't noticed him; not even when he was just a few inches away.

"Fuck!" Santiago muttered as he started jogging towards the bridge. The enormous footballer took out a plastic bag and with a single and fluid movement he covered the girl's face. She didn't even had time to scream and by the time that Santiago was reaching the beginning of the bridge, the man was pulling the bag so tight around her head that she was lifting the girl's body entirely and her feet kicked desperately looking for support. Santiago talked the man and the girl, knocking both over the bridge and into the cold water of the pond below.

The water wasn't deep and besides the shock of the freezing water against his skin, Santiago felt his skin peeling off at the contact of the rocky button. "So English man was not paranoid then, huh?" he concluded with a note of humor. Then he reached up for air, but his attempt was blocked by a gigantic hand that covered his head and pushed him under.

"The troll is alive, great!" he thought with the little neurons that were not asphyxiating yet.

The lack of oxygen made every breath painful, but he had always been able to keep his head cool, even under the most stressful conditions. He looked for a rock big enough to knock the gigantic down and then he slammed it against his head.

The immediate release of his body and the splashing sound next to him made it very clear he had hit his target. After taking a good breath of fresh air, he reached for the girl, who was floating unconscious. He turned her around and with relief he noticed she was still breathing. After brushing the wet pieces of hair out of her face, Santiago realized the girl was astoundingly beautiful.

"Who are you, dear?" he asked out loud as he prepared to lift her princess-style. "And why everybody seems so interested in you?"

No one answered and Santiago lifted the girl and walked away from the pond. Meanwhile the blood was starting to dilute with the water leaving a bright red color shining on the reflection of the moon in the pond.