Present Day. Private Airstrip outside London
As the plane touched down at the small airstrip outside London, Sherlock could see two figures standing in the distance. Taxiing nearer, he made them out to be John and Mycroft—doubtless there to congratulate him on his latest triumph, Sherlock thought. But the one person he wanted to see the most was probably still on her way back from Portsmouth visiting family. With all this behind them, they could begin their lives together properly, without any clouds overhead or even glowering in the distance, threatening them.
And that's what it was: the beginning of a life together. For Sherlock knew that Molly would be the only woman in his life that could tempt him into such a relationship. If she decided one day to throw him over—an outcome any sane person would put all their money on—there would be no other women for Sherlock. Dr. Doyle might say such a contention was premature, but, on this, Sherlock finally knew his own mind. While most men would be horrified by the idea of only having had sex with one woman throughout their entire lifetime, Sherlock felt he could never desire a woman as he had Molly and would be perfectly content to have her be his only lover.
When the plane came to a complete stop and the door opened to allow him to disembark, he bounded down the stairs, a man that simply couldn't contain his excitement. He was so lost in his own sense of a new, boundless future that he didn't notice that the two men on the tarmac did not share his elation and looked instead as if attending a funeral.
"With a week to spare," Sherlock yelled joyfully at the two men. "And you two had all lost faith in me! Ok, I concede, I lost faith in myself there for a bit, but, alas I am triumphant once again. I . . . "
"Sherlock," John said gently, interrupting Sherlock's reverie. It was then that Sherlock at last noted the dour looks on both of their faces.
"Why the glum faces?" Sherlock asked, confused. "You received my messages, right? I won. I dominated the dominatrix. I . . . "
"Sherlock," John began again, "Molly's gone." Sherlock didn't seem to understand what the man was saying, so he looked at Mycroft, as if his brother could make sense of the strange, incomprehensible words coming out of his friend's mouth.
"She went into the bathroom at Waterloo Station," Mycroft explained. "Her guards waited ten minutes and, when she didn't emerge, they went in after her. In there, they found her discarded mobile phone and a large envelope filled with several letters. This one was addressed to you, Sherlock." Mycroft held out the letter addressed to Sherlock in Molly's hand. Sherlock looked at it as if it were a bomb. He didn't want to touch it. To touch it meant that the bizarre statements of John and Mycroft were true. And they simply couldn't be. They didn't make sense. He had won. What were these insane men on about?
Eventually he took the letter and opened it up, having no idea what it could possibly say that would make any sense of what was happening.
Dear Sherlock,
By the time you read this letter I will be gone.
Several weeks ago, when Mycroft and John told me the whole story of Irene Adler's plan and then John warned me of the potential leak inside the government, I decided my best chance for long-term survival was if I engineered my own departure and if no one but myself knew my ultimate destination.
I'm so sorry to be doing this to you, but, in time, you'll no doubt realize that it is for the best and, in fact, you may indeed already be breathing a sigh of relief.
I know it was nothing but a mixture of duty and pity that was behind your declaration of love to me last night as well as behind your decision to come with me into hiding. When you take a case, you own every part of it and take everything about it upon yourself, including ultimate responsibility for the outcome. Believing that you failed me and that you were somehow responsible for Irene Adler being alive, you stepped in to do what you felt was your duty—to protect me for the rest of my life if need be.
For that, I am so very grateful. While I know you have genuine love for me as a friend, I cannot pretend that your love in any way equals the love I have always felt and still do feel for you.
Last night was simultaneously one of the greatest nights of my life and the most bittersweet. I wanted to be with you so for long that I didn't stop what happened, even though I knew I should have. I took advantage of your desire to convince me that you really loved me in that way and wanted to be with me. For my own part, I wanted you so much, I just didn't think or care to think about why this was all happening in the moment. I just wanted to feel you inside me.
But deep down I knew.
And your offer to go with me into hiding showed me even more the depth of your sense of duty and how kind and good a man you really are, Sherlock Holmes. But, as I told you, no matter what you'd choose to do in life, you'd be extraordinary. There is no living a life of anonymous drudgery for you.
Eventually even your sense of duty and right would not be strong enough to hide your boredom and resentment at me for forcing you into a relationship and a life you never asked for or wanted.
And I will not be the ruin of you. I love you too much for that.
Please do not reproach yourself for not being able to return the love I have for you or believe that you could have said or done anything to alter this outcome.
Please take care of my little Rosie. Tell her how much her Godmother cares for her, even far, far away. And take care of yourself Sherlock Holmes. I won't forgive you if you don't.
Your friend and admirer always,
Molly
At first Sherlock just swayed a little. Then he collapsed onto the runway. Both and John and Mycroft rushed over to him, but he waved them off angrily. He struggled to regain his feet. Once fully standing, he made as if he was going to rip Molly's letter to pieces, but found that he couldn't.
"Sherlock, I promise I will do everything I can to find her," Mycroft tried to assure him. He wasn't even sure Sherlock heard him. "I'll never stop looking for her. I promise."
Sherlock regained a little of his senses. "She couldn't have done this alone. She would have needed help." Sherlock paced on the tarmac, considering this.
"Sherlock," John said, "let's get you home."
"No!" Sherlock yelled, "Who the fuck helped her?" He resumed his pacing and then stopped abruptly. "Martin, Milton, Marcus, no, no—Malcolm."
"Who's Malcolm?" John asked.
"One of her Secret Service guards. He cares for her. He helped her, I'm sure of it. We need to talk to him," Sherlock said, frantic.
"Sherlock . . . " Mycroft began.
"Now, Mycroft! The longer we wait, the farther away she gets. I want to talk to Malcolm now!"
Mycroft took out his mobile phone and dialed. "Yes, is there a man named Malcolm assigned to Molly Hooper's security detail?" He waited for the answer. "Ah, yes, alright. Have him in my office in half an hour."
Appeased, Sherlock followed the two other men into Mycroft's car and drove toward the city and Mycroft's office, looking desperately for a way to track Molly.
A veteran who served three tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq, Malcolm Hawkins cut a large, imposing figure. But Sherlock, who had experienced first hand the man's awesome brute strength would not be cowed by him this day.
"Molly Hooper. Where is she?" Mycroft asked him.
"I have no idea, sir. I work the third-shift on her security detail. I believe she disappeared on what would have been the first shift's time with her."
"Cut the shit, Malcolm," Sherlock yelled at him. "I know you helped her get away from the security at Waterloo Station. Who else would know better how they work and how to get away without their knowing than one of their own?" Hawkins said nothing to this, giving away nothing by his expressions. "Doubtless she asked you because you had formed a sort of friendship," Sherlock continued. "You care for her, don't you, Malcolm?" Here Sherlock saw the man swallow, a sign that he was right. "You wanted her safe and she explained to you why she couldn't trust the British government to relocate her themselves, isn't that right?"
Still the man said nothing. Sherlock continued, "It's alright now, though—she's safe. She's not in any danger here or anywhere else. The crisis has passed. She doesn't need to relocate." At this news, Malcolm blinked and looked at Sherlock, then at Mycroft.
Mycroft backed his brother up. "He's telling the truth, Hawkins. And so you should too, if want dismissal from your job to be the worst thing you'll be facing. Now, where is Dr. Hooper?"
"I don't know," Malcolm said, finally. "All I did was help her escape Waterloo Station. That's all. She said she could take care of everything else. She said her life depended upon as few people as possible knowing where she'd be going. I did what I thought was right."
Mycroft collapsed into his chair and Sherlock slumped away from the man, both of them realizing that the task of finding Molly Hooper had just become infinitely more difficult than they had thought.
"You can be assured, Hawkins, that you will never work for any branch of the British government ever again," Mycroft said angrily. "You may not even be able to get a job at a stockboy at Tesco."
"Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft," chided Sherlock, "You have here the rarest of creatures: an honorable man in the government. Don't fire him; give him a promotion and a raise. You shall not easily find many such men. He did his duty to the utmost: he kept Molly safe, even if it meant jeopardizing his job. Don't be stupid and lose this one, Mycroft."
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