Life After Death - A Post-Reichenbach Trilogy

Part Three – Unfinished Business

Chapter Two

Molly lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, going over and over in her head what Mycroft had told her. The last of Moriarty's lieutenants had been 'neutralised', one way or another, and his vast organisation dismantled. The calls Mycroft took that evening had confirmed this. So there was no longer any barrier to Sherlock returning. It was just a matter of making the necessary arrangements. Mycroft calculated that Sherlock could be arriving back in the UK as early as the following Tuesday – in just six days' time.

Molly was anxious that Sherlock be told about his son as soon as possible and she was adamant that she should be the person to tell him.

'I need to meet with him, as soon as he gets back,' she insisted.

So, it was agreed that, by which ever means Sherlock returned – air, sea or rail – Molly would meet him at the port of entry and they would be given a private place to talk.

After Mycroft left, Molly went to her bedroom and opened the safe in the bottom of the heavy oak wardrobe, taking out a plain, buff, jiffy bag. She took from the bag a memory stick, fitted it into her lap top and brought up the list of folders. Opening each folder, one at a time, she looked at the contents.

The first folder was labelled 'Before'. In this were all the photos Maria had taken of her during her pregnancy, the videos of her two scans and a copy of each of the scan images, showing the developing foetus, in-utero.

The second folder was labelled 'During'. This contained the video of her labour and William's birth and photos of him lying on her chest, immediately after the birth.

The third was labelled 'After'. It contained photos of her with William, taken in the Mother and Baby Unit, feeding him, playing with him, cuddling him.

The next folder was labelled 'William's First Year'. It was full of stills and videos of all the landmark moments of her son's first year – first smile, first tooth, rolling over, sitting up, pulling himself to his feet, his first faltering steps and so on and so on. She scrolled through this record of her son's life, on to 'William's Second Year' and then the latest edition, 'William's Third Year'. This one was only half complete.

Molly had created this biography for one reason only – to give it to Sherlock, on his return, so that he could share in every significant moment of his son's life. She closed all the documents, removed the memory stick and pressed it to her lips, then put it back in the jiffy bag and returned it to the safe, until next Tuesday...

Lying in bed, Molly tried to picture in her head how her first meeting with Sherlock might go, but every scenario seemed to end with him storming out. In the end, she gave up trying to second guess the situation. She would just have to play it by ear. When the call came from Mycroft, two days later, Molly was both excited and apprehensive to learn that Sherlock would be arriving at Heathrow at eight-thirty in the morning, the following Wednesday. In just a few short days, she would see him again.

ooOoo

Molly sat in a private Arrivals lounge, in Terminal 5, at Heathrow airport, dressed in a beige wool suit and tan court shoes. She wore a plain Alice band, holding her hair back off her face but allowing it fall over her shoulders. She had applied her make up with extra care – the red badge of courage. She wanted to look her best for him.

She stood and walked over to the glass wall, which gave a panoramic view of the air field. In the grey light of early morning, there were many flashing yellow lights on moving airport vehicles, weaving in and out, amongst the aeroplanes, servicing their needs. As she stood, looking outside, she heard the door open. She took a deep breath and turned around.

The person walking toward her, across the plain grey carpet was so familiar and yet so strange. His hair was cut short at the back and sides and brushed back off his forehead. He wore his black overcoat but it looked scuffed and worn and it hung a little loosely from his shoulders. His face was thinner, making his cheek bones even more prominent. He wore dark glasses, like a rock star.

'Mycroft too busy running the country to come himself, was he?' His voice was the same rich baritone but it had a hard edge to it. Molly stepped forward to meet him in the middle of the room, and he stopped, suddenly, removing his dark glasses.

'My God… Molly, I …..I didn't recognise you!' He was clearly taken aback. Standing with the daylight behind her, he had only seen her in silhouette, and he had assumed she was one of his brother's minions, like the man who had met him off the plane and brought him to this room.

'Welcome home, Sherlock,' Molly said. She reached out to hug him but saw his body stiffen and his head jerk back, in an involuntary reflex. Instead of the hug she so wanted to give him, she squeezed his arm and stepped back out of his personal space. Three years of deep cover, alone and isolated, facing untold dangers, had left its mark. This man was not the same.

They stood looking at one another for an awkward moment, and then Molly indicated the seating area, inviting him to sit down, sitting down herself.

'I asked Mycroft if I could meet you off the plane,' Molly explained. 'He wanted to come himself but he let me come instead.'

She paused. Sherlock seemed to consider this information, then gave a slight shrug, took off his coat, laid it over the backrest and sat down opposite her.

'You look different, Molly. You've….changed.' He was scrutinizing her, scanning her, taking in all the little micro features and analysing them, as he did when meeting someone for the first time. She smiled, looking down at her hands, feeling a little flustered, like in the old days, when he complemented her on her appearance.

'I asked them to bring some tea, when you arrived,' she said, to change the subject. 'It should be here in a minute.'

Right on cue, the door opened and a young woman in cabin crew uniform came in with a tea tray. She placed it on the coffee table between them, smiled and left, without a word. Molly set about serving the tea.

'So, are you here to debrief me?' Sherlock asked, with a slightly mocking smile.

'To bring you up to speed, I think would be more accurate,' she replied.

'Oh,' he exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. 'So, what's everyone been up to while I've been away?' He sipped his tea and looked at her over the rim of his cup. 'How's John?'

'John's really good,' Molly said, with a smile of affection for the subject matter. 'He's gone back into practice, doing A and E at St. Mary's and making quite a name for himself as a trauma specialist. I think it really suits him. Reminds him of Afghanistan, I expect.'

She hesitated, fractionally, before going on.

'He met someone. She's called Mary and she's a solicitor - or a barrister, maybe. Something in the law, anyway. She's nice. They…er…they got married. Just over a year ago.' She glanced at his eyes, trying to gauge how he was taking this news but his face remained inscrutable. He nodded and said,

'That's good. That's what he wanted, to meet someone and settle down. Good for him.' He made an attempt at a smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

'What about Lestrade?' he asked.

'Ah, kind of the opposite, really. He was suspended for three months after, well, after you were arrested and escaped and all that. But once it was proven that all the crap Kitty Riley wrote was cooked up by Moriarty and that you were innocent after all, he was reinstated. And he got divorced, this time last year.'

'About time, too,' Sherlock scoffed. 'That wife of his couldn't be faithful if her life depended on it. I'm glad he finally saw sense.' He surprised Molly with the sincerity with which he spoke. He seemed genuinely aggrieved at the unfaithful wife, on his friend's behalf. Could it be that he had discovered empathy?

'Mrs Hudson?'

'Oh, she's absolutely fine. I see her quite often. She comes to stay over-night, now and then, or I go and see her or we just meet for coffee.'

Molly carefully avoided expanding on the reason for Mrs Hudson's over-night stays – as William's baby-sitter. That would come soon enough.

'Sherlock, about John and Greg and Mrs H, I've seen quite a lot of them whilst you've been away and I've told them an awful lot of lies over the years. When they find out you're alive, they'll know I've lied to them.'

She paused, momentarily, to think about what she was about to say. He pursed his lips and looked down at the floor.

'I am sorry, Molly. I should never have involved you in all of that and then left you to cope with the fall out,' he sighed, clearly mistaking her words for a rebuke..

'No, Sherlock, please don't be sorry. It had to be done and I did it willingly. I would have done anything to keep you and them safe. I don't regret any of it. But,' she beetled her brows, preparing herself for what she had to say next. 'Since I told the most lies, I really would like to be the one to tell them the truth. Please, would you let me do this?' She looked at him, beseechingly.

Sherlock was lost for words. The thing he had dreaded most about coming back was having to face the friends that he had duped, and admit to the deception. Yet here was Molly, actually volunteering to take on this onerous task. He did not know what to say.

She went on,

'I think it would be best if I got them all together and told them at the same time. It will be easier, only having to say it once, and I think it will be better for them, too, having each other there for support.'

He was struck by the simple logic of her plan. He could not see any flaws but then, he was no expert where this sort of situation was concerned. How did one go about breaking such news?

'Do you really want to do this?' he asked.

'Oh, I have to,' she replied, emphatically.

'Tell Mrs Hudson first,' he declared, endorsing the plan. 'She will understand and she'll help you. You'll need back up, in case things get out of hand. I'm thinking about John. He can be a bit irrational. She will know how to handle him. She's tougher than you think.'

Molly smiled. This was the old Sherlock, cutting straight to the heart of the problem and not bothering with the conventional niceties. And he was right about Mrs Hudson, who would be an invaluable ally in the difficult task ahead. She picked up the tea pot and offered him more tea.

'You are looking really well, Molly,' he said, as he accepted the refill. 'What has happened to you?' he asked, a little mystified wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows.

'I was thinking you might be able to tell me that. You've been scanning me ever since you got here,' she smiled, teasingly. 'What can you see, Sherlock? I'm sure you haven't lost your touch.'

He put down his cup and gazed at her, intently.

'You're self-assured, confident. Something has happened to give you a much stronger sense of your own worth. You look happy, fulfilled, in control of your own destiny.'

Molly felt a shudder run through her, at the intensity of his gaze and the devastating accuracy of his assessment but then he looked down at his tea and she breathed again.

'Will that do for starters?' he asked, picking up his cup and taking a sip. 'Tell me though, Molly, what has happened to you to bring about this….. transformation?'

She could not put it off any longer. Looking straight into his eyes, she said,

'I had a baby.'

He stared at her, frozen in the act of lowering his cup to its saucer, not even blinking, as his brain raced to process this information, as all the synapses fired, as the neurones configured and reconfigured and clicked into place and he made the logical deduction.

'What sex?'

His voice sounded hollow, almost disembodied.

She reached into her hand bag and took out a photo service envelope.

'He's a boy', she answered, holding out the envelope for him to take. 'His name is William.'

Sherlock put down his cup and saucer and took the proffered envelope. Molly saw that his hands shook as he opened it and slid out the photo print, turning it over to look at the image.

'It's very recent. I took it the day before yesterday,' she explained.

He stared at the picture of the small boy with dark wavy hair and piercing eyes. His free hand went involuntarily to his mouth, as he recognised his own features in this other human being. This child was the very image of him.

Molly began to talk rather fast.

'I hope you understand why I didn't let Mycroft tell you about him. I wanted to tell you but I knew it could put you in danger. I couldn't risk that. He's so like you, Sherlock. He's really clever, smart beyond his years. He thinks about things. He works things out. And he is beautiful...'

Sherlock was still sitting very still, staring at the face of his son.

Molly went on.

'I understand that this must be a huge shock, especially after everything you've been through but I needed to tell you before you found out some other way. I hope you understand.'

She was beginning to panic. This was not going well. She reached inside her hand bag again and took out the jiffy envelope, extended her hand and offered it to him. He took the jiffy, automatically, and held it in his hand without looking at it.

Molly stood up and said,

'It's all in there. Please look at it, Sherlock. Take as long as you need.'

She stood up, stepped over to him, put her hand on his shoulder, leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek, then picked up her coat and bag. He still had not moved.

'I want you to know that I make no demands and I have no expectations,' Molly gasped, 'but I would love for you be a part of your son's life, for him and for you,' she concluded, with a quick nod, then turned and walked out of the room.

ooOoo

Sherlock sat, for a long time, unmoving except for his eyes, which followed his thoughts around as they tried to organise themselves inside his mind. Then he seemed to come out of his trance. He opened the bag, looked inside and took out the memory stick. He got up and went to the door. When he opened it, the man standing outside said,

'Are you ready to go, sir?'

'No,' he snapped. 'Bring me my laptop. And more tea.' He shut the door and walked over to the window where he stood and stared outside but saw nothing. The door opened again and the tea and the lap top were delivered. He gestured for them to be put on the coffee table, then waved the bearers away.

'I don't want to be disturbed,' he said, curtly. He sat down, booted up the laptop, plugged in the memory stick and began to scroll through the contents.

ooOoo

Molly scurried through the airport, oblivious to the many travellers and airport staff milling around in the huge concourse. She found the exit, broke through the door into fresh air and leaned against a barrier, gasping for breath. As she stood, trying to regain some semblance of composure, a sleek, shiny, black shape eased alongside her and the chauffeur who had brought her here jumped out of the car, coming round to open the rear passenger door.

Molly slipped inside, gratefully, and leaned her head back against the leather upholstery. All of her nightmares had come true. She was consumed with panic, apprehension and regret. What had just happened? Had she been too abrupt? Could she have broken the news more gently? What was he thinking now? Would he ever forgive her?

'Oh, god! What have I done?' she wailed, in despair.

ooOoo

Four hours later, Sherlock opened the door to the airport lounge and said to the man, still standing outside,

'Take me to my brother.'

ooOoo