On the sixth day of Sherlockmas: Caught Up In A Great Game, for Doctor WTF (3/3)
Author: scandalbaby
Title: Caught Up In A Great Game (3/3)
A gift for: Doctor WTF
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Irene Adler, Henry Knight, Greg Lestrade
Category: Het/Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Major character death
Summary: How different things would have been if Moriarty took the same interest in Molly that he took in Sherlock, and Sherlock had decided he didn't want her blood on his hands.
Author's Notes: So my prompter gave me what is alternately the best prompt ever and the worst prompt ever: write whatever you feel like writing. What I ended up writing was a rewrite of "The Great Game" and all of season 2 with the slant that Molly gets pulled into Moriarty's game with Sherlock as one of the obvious targets of it. I had so much fun with this one, I really did. It practically wrote itself.
Sherlock had made plans for the next morning, plans that involved questioning various people in Dartmoor and trying to get back into Baskerville. The ID ploy would not work again, because he had barely managed to get out without trouble the first time. He had gotten ready early in the morning, and met John outside his room. They had made their way to the dining area, but instead of the inn's owners they got a surprise. Standing there looking around was Greg Lestrade. He caught sight of the two of them and came over. "Fancy seeing you two here," he said with a grin.
"Lestrade," Sherlock said with an inclination of his head.
"So." Lestrade looked at the two men and Sherlock sighed. Of course his brother would send someone to check on him after Baskerville. It wasn't that he didn't like Lestrade; he found him to be a decent man and a competent detective inspector, but this was just one more person in the mix and he rather resented it. If Mycroft wanted to know what he was up to he could damn well find out by himself. "I was in the area and--"
Sherlock held up a hand. "No need to lie. My brother sent you to check on what I was doing."
Lestrade looked almost relieved. "Your brother was rather pushy that I come out here before returning to work."
"It figures," Sherlock said sourly. "Just because I used his ID to get into a highly secretive military installation doesn't mean I need a keeper."
"Maybe that's exactly what you need," John said, a slightly amused grin on his face.
He glared at John. "Don't start." Then he turned to Lestrade. "You might as well stay. There's people here who need questioning so I can exclude a few theories. Throwing around your weight might help."
Lestrade glared. "I am not heavy."
"Your weight as a detective inspector," Sherlock said slowly.
"Oh," Lestrade said sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Where were you at, anyway?" John asked. "You're quite tan."
Lestrade grinned. "The States. I was in Florida for a convention and I took a few days to myself. It was quite nice to be away from here, being able to spend some time on a beach."
"You may have overdone it," Sherlock said. "You're brown as a nut."
"At least I'm not red as a tomato," Lestrade pointed out.
Sherlock thought about it a moment. "Touché."
"Sherlock, didn't Molly say she'd like breakfast?" John said.
"Right," Sherlock said with a nod.
"Molly's here?" Lestrade asked, a surprised look on his face.
Sherlock and John shared a glance. With everything going on with the game Moriarty had them in they hadn't shared the information with anyone. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to share it with Lestrade, Sherlock had thought many times, but in the end the need to protect the John and Molly had won out. John shook his head, and Sherlock bit back a sigh, turning towards Lestrade. "She wanted a break from London. I thought this was a good opportunity."
"She must be bored out of her mind," Lestrade said. "I know I would be."
"She's keeping herself entertained," Sherlock said with a slight shrug. Then he paused. He just realized with Lestrade being out of town he probably didn't know the news unless Molly had texted or called him. "Did you speak with Molly in the last few days?"
Lestrade shook his head. "No, I haven't. Been kind of ignoring my phone, at least until your brother began calling me every twenty minutes. Why?"
"She's pregnant."
Lestrade's eyes grew wide. "Get out of here. Really?"
"Yes, really," Sherlock said, getting just a tad annoyed.
"How far along is she?"
"Two months," Sherlock said.
"I suppose congratulations are in order?" Lestrade asked, a little cautiously.
"Yes, they are," Sherlock replied.
"Then congratulations, Sherlock," Lestrade said with a wide grin. He extended his hand and Sherlock shook it. "I should buy you a drink."
"Perhaps after all of this is over," Sherlock replied.
"All right then." Lestrade pulled his hand away. "So I guess if I'm not checking up on you I can at least help. Like you said, throw my weight around. What do you need me to do?"
"John said he had made an interesting observation," Sherlock said. "Why don't the two of you discuss that while I get Molly something to eat?"
Lestrade nodded. "Shall we, John?"
"Sure," John said. "Let's get out of earshot of the owners since it concerns them." The two of them walked away and Sherlock went outside to see what else there was for places to get breakfast. Her appetite had come back that morning, and he figured the saltines she had been nibbling on the last few days would not suffice. He saw a bakery that was open and went inside. He had lived with her long enough to know what she ate for breakfast, and he found they had some of her favorite foods there. He ordered a few items and then when it was all packaged up he took it back to the inn. John and Lestrade were still talking quietly in the corner when he came back in so he went back to his room. He knocked on the door and waited. It was easier than digging out the key.
Molly opened it up a few minutes later. "Oh, that smells wonderful," she said, looking at the bag.
"Freshly baked," he said, handing it to her.
"I didn't even realize I could get this hungry," she said as she took the bag from him. She went back to the bed and sat on it, pulling her legs under her. She opened it up and smiled. "Croissants and scones."
"I hope you like the scones. I forgot what flavor you liked."
"These look like they're currant. I like those." She pulled out a croissant and pulled part of it off, popping it in her mouth. She shut her eyes as she chewed with a smile on her face and he found himself entranced, smiling slightly himself. When she found something she enjoyed she enjoyed it fully, and it was always a pleasure to see. She opened her eyes and reached into the bag, pulling out the second croissant and offering it to him. "You should eat, too."
"I will. Later. I have things to attend to." He paused. "Lestrade is here."
"Why would he be here?" she asked, confused.
"My brother sent him. Apparently he thinks I need a keeper."
"Then I must not be doing a good enough job," she said with a chuckle.
"You are my girlfriend, not my keeper," he said with a frown.
She put the croissants back in the bag and got off the bed, coming over and kissing his cheek. "I know. I was teasing. I can do that."
"I suppose." She moved closer and he put his hands on her waist. "You know, you can actually give me a real kiss."
"I just did. It was still a real kiss even though it wasn't on the lips."
"Well, I would like a different one," he said.
She put her arms around his neck. "See, you just have to ask. I'm always happy to oblige on that front." She got closer and kissed him softly. They stayed like that for a moment before he deepened it. He could always get lost in a kiss with her. He hoped that never changed. She kept him close and only pulled away when the two of them needed to breathe. He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. "How soon do you need to be back with the two of them?" she asked.
"They can be without me for a bit," he said. "Why?"
"Because I'd like to take you back to bed."
"I just woke up an hour ago."
"But I wasn't awake then, not until you were ready to leave."
"Aren't you hungry?"
"I am, but not for food." She pulled away and looked at him. "Do you not want to shag?"
He thought for a moment, then pulled her back to him. "I suppose they can do without me for a little while," he murmured.
"Exactly what I wanted to hear," she said before kissing him again. He let her pull him over to the bed at that point, and she only pulled away to deposit the food on the nightstand. He let her take the lead and savored the experience, because this was something he found he enjoyed as much as a challenging case. Before Molly he had not thought much about it, but since Molly he found that it was something he quite enjoyed. If she was in the mood he would oblige her. It was the least he could do.
He took his time but when they were finished he knew he needed to go out to the others. She looked as though she was going to go back to sleep so he gave her one last kiss and went to go take a quick shower before getting dressed again. Then he made his way back to the dining area. John and Lestrade were enjoying breakfast. Both men looked at him with a raised eyebrow but he ignored the looks. "Someone took their sweet time," John said with an amused grin after he got closer.
"I was otherwise occupied," he said tersely.
"Oh, I bet you were," Lestrade murmured before hiding his smile by taking a bite of his food.
Sherlock resisted the urge to glare. "Have you discussed John's observations?"
"That took five minutes. We've been waiting for you since then," John replied with a smirk. "As soon as we're done eating we can question them."
"Food sounds good," Sherlock said.
"Didn't Molly share with you?" Lestrade asked with an almost innocent air. "I assumed you were sharing breakfast with her, with as long as it took."
This time Sherlock did not resist the urge. "I know you both know what happened. Stop acting so coy about it."
"For a man who just got a morning shag you're in a really bad mood," John pointed out. "Isn't that not supposed to be the case?"
"I was in a good mood. Now I'm not," Sherlock said tersely. "I'm going to get breakfast now before I get the urge to hit one of you." And with that he turned and went to get breakfast. He no longer held any hope that this day was going to go well, and it was all their fault. He didn't mind being teased sometimes but not about that and certainly not now. He just hoped the day got better and not worse.
-
The day had certainly not gotten better. Yes, they had solved the case, but not before Henry nearly killed his therapist and the four of them had gotten a scare. Sherlock had known it was all hallucinations, and that was why he had been able to fight the panic and get Henry to see reason before he did something he would regret. Dr. Franklin had deserved to pay for his crimes, but he had run, and the chance for justice was not going to be Henry's.
The sound of the land mine exploding had shaken Sherlock almost as much as the sights the night before had, but when he had glanced at John and Lestrade he had seen it had barely fazed them. That was the difference between them, he had realized; while a violent death like that was still shocking to him, even though he had seen the aftermath of it many times, his friends had seen so much violence that it no longer shocked him. That observation was rattling around in his head when he got back to the inn after depositing Henry at his home and informing the constable of what had happened in Dewer's Hollow.
He let himself into the room and saw Molly was curled up on her side, sleeping. He took a few moments to study her. He wondered if she was shocked by death anymore. They both saw what violence could do to a person, but she was much more intimately associated with death. While he looked at each case as a puzzle, something that needed to be classified and studied and solved, she looked at each body that entered her morgue as an actual person and respected them as such. The more he thought about it the more he wondered what was wrong with him that he didn't do the same.
He changed as quietly as he could and slipped into bed next to her, pulling her close. He had found the night before, when he woke up unable to sleep because of the images of Moriarty that ran through his head after he had been dosed with the gas, that his hand drifted towards her abdomen. Yes, he knew it was still far too soon for there to be any sign that there was a child inside her, but he imagined that soon enough he would be able to feel his child kick. There would be a real sign that the child was alive and growing. He knew he would wait impatiently for that day.
She nestled against him for a moment. "She's still not going to kick, Sherlock," Molly murmured sleepily. "Too soon."
"I know," he said his lips near her ear. "I'm sorry I woke you up."
"It's all right." She turned in his embrace and yawned slightly. "How did it go tonight?"
"Poorly. The case is solved, but the man who killed Henry's father will never be brought to justice. He was killed by one of the land mines around Baskerville."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "But your client knows the truth now, right? That's some good to come out of all this."
"I suppose it is," Sherlock said with a nod. "Still, the man will not see trial. Henry has lost his father and any chance he had at seeing justice done."
"Maybe it's karma, that he killed his father and then died a horrible death himself," Molly said, reaching over to touch his face. "I know you don't believe in that, but maybe there's something to it all."
"Perhaps," Sherlock said. He reached up to grab her hand, then pulled it to his lips and kissed her palm. He watched her shut her eyes and let out a contented sigh. "I want to forget tonight," he said quietly. "Please, help me forget."
"Of course," she said, leaning in and kissing him. It didn't take long for it to escalate and he knew, at least for a little while, the whirring thoughts and ceaseless questions would stop. For a little while he would forget and lose himself in her, and then, perhaps, he could sleep tonight.
It had been four months since he had started to think that, perhaps, things would end well. But he had been wrong, so very wrong. It had all gone to hell, almost every last aspect of his life. Moriarty had gotten what he wanted: Sherlock was discredited, his life a shambles. Even Lestrade had been turned to the idea that Sherlock could very well be a criminal mastermind. There was no way he was going to get out of this with anything at all about his life intact. The only real chance he had was to convince Moriarty to allow him his life. He would beg and plead if he needed to. Moriarty had reduced him to that. He had won. His only constants now, the only ones who believed in him fully, were Molly and John.
John had gone with Molly to work that morning. She had insisted on living an actual life, even with Moriarty beginning his final stages of the great game he had started when Sherlock made himself known, the game that had dragged so many innocent people into it. She had put up with the accusations and shunning at work with her head held high, and he would never forget that. He was a wanted man now, though, and he had to be careful. He carefully made his way to the morgue and paused at the door, looking in and seeing them inside. Today might very well be the last time he ever saw them.
He pushed open the doors and Molly looked up. "Sherlock," she said quietly. She moved away from the body she had been working on, stripping off her gloves and tossing them on the table, and she rounded the table to come to him. They had only found out the week prior that she was carrying twins, a boy and a girl. He looked at her and knew full well that he would break his promise to her, that he would not be there for their birth. He would have to leave her to keep her safe, and that made him want to wring Moriarty's neck with his bare hands.
She embraced him and he held her close, looking past her and seeing John standing there. He wanted to savor this moment because he knew, deep down, that this might be the last time they were close like this. He nodded slightly to John, and John looked down for a moment before going into Molly's office, giving them some time alone. He pulled away after a few moments and looked at her. "I have to leave you," he said quietly. "I will have to leave for quite some time, if I am ever able to return at all."
"It's all his fault," she said, shutting her eyes. He could see she had balled up her fists. She was angry, and that was good. She needed to be angry, because soon she would be in pain, and she needed something to focus on. "What's going to happen?"
"I'm going to meet him on the roof," he said. "There is a good chance I will not be able to get my life back, even if I capitulate to him. I do not think he will stop until I'm dead. But I will try and get him to give me the computer code, see if I can salvage some aspects of my life."
"You can't die," she said. She unclenched her fists and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket. "Please. Don't leave me to do this alone with no hope of you coming back."
"How can I fake my death?" he asked. "If I need to appear to die today, how can I do it convincingly? You must have some idea."
"Are you intending to jump off the roof?" she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Sherlock, you'll die doing that! You'll actually die."
"People have fallen from that great a height and survived before," he said. "What do I need to do to avoid death?"
She let go of him, then went to an empty table and placed her hands on it, facing away from him. He wanted to comfort her, make a move towards her, but he held back. If anyone could help him fake his death it was her. He needed her help. He was afraid he might have asked too much of her, though. When he finally took a step towards her, though, she spoke. "It all depends on how you fall. Land feet first and you'll shatter your spine. Land head first and you'll break your neck. You have to be very careful in how you land." She didn't turn to look at him. "Place a small ball under your shirt, at your armpit, on your left side. When someone checks for a pulse they won't find one."
"Do you have one?"
"In my office."
He moved over to her and he saw she was shaking. As he got closer he realized she was crying, quiet wracking sobs that she was trying very hard to hold back. His hands hovered over her shoulders for a moment before they settled. "Thank you, Molly."
"Don't die," she whispered. "I won't be able to deal with that if you really die."
"I will not die," he said, pressing against her. She let go of the table and turned, holding him close. "I will try and get him to back off, try and keep it from getting to the point where I need to jump. I am fairly sure if I can get him to give me the security code I can erase Richard Brook and prove to the world that Moriarty truly exists. If I convince him that he has won we may still have him lurking around, but all of this would be undone."
"If you can't, what happens next?"
"I come here and you set me to rights. And then I leave." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "If I have to leave, I will do my best to take down the organization he has left behind."
"He's not going to do it," she said, pulling back. "Don't you see? He wants you dead. He's not going to willingly give you anything, not when he can take so much away."
He knew she was speaking the truth, but he had to have hope. He had to at least try. "I will not let him hurt you."
"He already has," she said quietly, She pulled away from him. "I need...I need..." She stopped and took a deep breath. "I need to go. I can't be here right now. I need to deal with this by myself for a bit."
"I understand," he said with a nod. She looked at him, then leaned in and kissed him softly. She didn't say anything as she pulled away, turning away from him and heading towards her office. A few minutes later John came out, a rubber ball in his hand. "I need you to take care of her," he said quietly.
"You know I'll do that regardless," John said. "He's going to kill you, isn't he? Or make you kill yourself?"
"I don't know. He's unpredictable. There is the chance I can get him to give me the code. I have to take it."
"I'm not going to talk you out of it," John said. "If Molly couldn't do it I know there's no way in hell I'll be able to. Just get out of this alive, all right?"
Sherlock nodded. "When I call you, go outside. I will need you to make sure everyone believes I died. Act the distraught friend, play the part."
"That won't require much acting," John said with a grim smile. "You're leaving us alone for God knows how long. And there's always the chance you won't come back. And even if you do, nothing will be the same." He handed Sherlock the small rubber ball. "I'll tell Mycroft what you're planning. We'll need his help."
Sherlock nodded. "He made you promise to keep me safe, didn't he?"
"And I wasn't able to do that," John said.
"This is beyond your control," he said. "This is beyond any of our control."
"Yeah, I know." John came up and roughly embraced Sherlock. They had never had an exceptionally touchy feely relationship, but he knew this was what John needed. He hugged his best friend back, then pulled away and made his way to the roof.
Moriarty was already there, sitting on the edge and looking out. Sherlock pulled his phone out. And hit the record button on his recording program. He had set it up before he exited the stairwell, just in case it all went to hell today. At least then he would have proof. "Moriarty," he said as he approached.
"How do you know I'm not really Richard Brook?" Moriarty asked as he stood. "I mean, there is no Richard Brook, of course. He's all a carefully crafted lie. But how do you know you haven't been played the fool for the entire time I've been in your life?"
"I don't have time for games," Sherlock said tersely.
"And I have nothing but time," Moriarty snapped in reply. "I had nothing but time when your brother was interrogating me. He's an idiot, you know. Everything I really learned about you came from him. I played him for a fool, just like I played you."
"You did not play me for a fool," Sherlock said. "The computer code. You tapped it out when we met at my home."
"Newsflash, Sherlock!" Moriarty said, raising his voice and waving his arms slightly. "There is no computer code. It was all a ruse, one you took at face value. If you had bothered to look deeper, you would have known. But you were too blinded by all the attention you were getting."
"I didn't want it," he said.
Moriarty looked at him. "No. No, you didn't. You would have been happy to live a contented life with Molly and your children." Then he grinned. "Heard you're having a boy and a girl. Word does get to me quite quickly when it concerns dear Molly."
"Leave her out of this," Sherlock said, going up to Moriarty and grabbing him by his shirt, pulling him up slightly.
"I'll have her killed when she leaves the hospital, I think. Shot in the abdomen so there's no chance of saving the children, and maybe a shot to the head, just to be sure. And John too, of course. A pretty little head shot should do the trick. And then there's Mrs. Hudson at home, and Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Can't leave any of your friends alive." Then he grinned a feral grin. "Unless you die first."
"You have a fail safe," he said, realization dawning on him. "There is something you can do to make them stop."
"Why wouldn't I have one?" Moriarty said with a smug look on his face. "It doesn't matter, though. They're all more important to you than your own life. Jump off the roof, Sherlock. Jump and I make sure they all live to see another day."
"What's to stop you from going after them after that?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing, of course. You'll have to trust that I'm a man of my word." Moriarty put his hands over Sherlock's and pulled them off his shirt. Then he smoothed his shirt down. "It's been fun playing the game, it really has, but with you gone it just won't be fun anymore. Jump off the roof and I'll let them all go. You'll keep Molly alive, she'll give birth to children you'll never see, and they'll have to live with the shame of having you as a father. That will be torture enough for me to be happy."
"What's to keep me from dragging you into Scotland Yard and making you confess?"
"We saw how a trial went already, Sherlock. Didn't you learn anything? I have a long reach, longer than you ever dreamed of." He moved around Sherlock, taking a few steps back towards the stairwell. "You want to know my fail safe, don't you? You want to ensure your family and lover and friends are kept safe. You would give anything to keep them safe, even your own life."
"Yes," he said quietly, hating to admit it to Moriarty.
"That's what I wanted to hear," Moriarty said, turning to face him, smug smile on his face. "Beg for their lives, Sherlock. Beg for them before you jump."
The way he was being wheedled by Moriarty was aggravating him. He knew before that he had thought he would beg and plead, but now that the moment was upon him he found he wanted to punch the smug smile off his face instead. "I would rather die first."
"Pity. If you had begged I would have triggered the fail safe. I may even have let you live, and we could have gone for round three at a later date. Or is it round four?" He thought for a moment. "The testimony was round two. This is three, so it would have been four."
"What is your point?" Sherlock asked.
"My point, Sherlock, is you made the wrong move. You keep making the wrong moves. You haven't made a right one in the entire game. You shouldn't have started a relationship with her. She made you vulnerable and stupid. This whole game has been entirely too disappointing. So I'm going to force you to do what I want." Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a gun, putting the barrel in his mouth.
"No!" Sherlock shouted, moving towards him. But there was too much distance. Moriarty pulled the trigger, and the crack of the gunshot echoed in the air. Then he fell down. Sherlock went over to him, knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was none. "Damn," he said, hanging his head. Moriarty had won the game after all. There was nothing left for him to do but jump. He walked just short of the edge and pulled out his phone, stopping the recording. Then he pulled up John's number, hitting send.
John picked up after two rings. "Did you get the computer code?" he asked.
"There was no code. Moriarty is dead. And I need to be dead now, too."
"Damn," John muttered. "What do you need me to do?"
"Exit the hospital. Go farther down the street, where you can get a good view."
"You had best know what you're doing," he said.
"I am saving everyone's lives," he said. "Talk to me, John. Reassure me that I am making the right decision. Tell me that this will all work out in the end."
"You want me to lie to you?" he asked.
"Yes. Please." He scanned the crowds below. No one had noticed a man on the rooftop ledge, not yet. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He took a step back and shifted his hold on the phone, doing what Molly had instructed with the rubber ball. Then he stepped back to the edge. He realized John had not spoken in a few minutes. He wondered if John was alone or not, if it was safe to have this conversation. "John?"
"It's going to work out," he said a moment later. "You will come back, and you'll pick up your life and things will be fine. You're doing this for the right reasons, even if I think you're a bloody idiot."
"There's no other way."
"There's got to be one."
"I can't risk it, John. I will not lose any of you to him He said he would have Molly killed, and you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I have to take him at his word." He could see John quickly walking away from the hospital now. "Keep walking, and turn when I say."
"I don't want to watch you do this."
"You have to. You have to help me." Sherlock watched him walk one block away. "Stop now and turn around. Look up at the roof."
He could just see John do as he was told. "Sherlock, I can't."
"You must. It's the only way to keep all of you safe. When all of this is over, come up to the roof. Get my phone and give it to my brother. I recorded Moriarty's conversation with me. Hopefully the world at large will not think I am a fraud after it all comes out. My children will not be ashamed of their father."
"Are you sure there isn't another way?" John asked, nearly pleading.
"No, I am not sure, but I cannot take the risk. When you have the phone go to Mycroft. Give it to him. Then come back for Molly. I do not want her left alone right now. You will have to be strong for her. Be strong enough for the both of you."
"All right," he said.
"Good-bye, John," Sherlock said. He ended the call and tossed the phone to the side. Falling was a great deal like flying, he supposed, only with a more permanent destination. He hoped he could control his fall well enough to not die. It would all be pointless if he actually died. And with that, he fell. He had to keep his eyes open. Watching the pavement come closer was hell, pure hell. But he had to fall in a way that did not kill him instantly, and to do that he needed to keep his eyes open. He was careful not to put his feet down, or not to lean forward too much. As the pavement got closer, he prayed he would pull it off.
The landing filled him with excruciating pain. If he had not felt the pain he was sure he would have doubted if he had survived. But he clearly heard the screams from horrified onlookers. Now was the hard part. Now he had to pretend that for all intents and purposes he was very much dead. He could hear John yelling, hear him coming up on the scene. He felt a hand search his neck for a pulse, and he prayed it was John so that if the trick had not worked he could lie. And then the hand was snatched away and another took its place.
He had once practiced a way to slow his breathing so it appeared he was not breathing at all. He began to do that so his chest was not moving up and down noticeably. He remained limp, letting those who were moving him think he had broken every bone in his body, which he thought could very well be the case with as much pain as he was in. He felt himself being lifted onto a stretcher, and then wheeled away. After a moment his perspective changed. He had seen sky before, sky that now rapidly became the ceiling of a hallway. It was hard not to blink, but he kept his eyes open until he recognized the sound of the morgue doors being opened. He heard Molly scream, and that was the hardest thing to take. The man who had wheeled him in had apologized, but Molly was having none of it. She came over to him and threw herself over him. "I am alive," he whispered, and the very act of speaking took considerable effort.
She reached for his hand and squeezed, crying over his body. When the doors closed again the crying stopped. "Don't sit up," she said, getting off of him. "You must be in pain."
"Excruciating," he said.
"Rest," she said. She leaned over and kissed his forehead gently. "Your brother called as soon as John got off the phone with him. He's arranging to have another body here to be buried in your place. Then he'll collect you and take you someplace you can heal before you have to go." She was quiet a moment. "He expected it to end this way. I'm just sad he was right."
"I will come back," he said, squeezing her hand slightly.
"You had better." She let go of his hand and he turned his head to look at her. That hurt so much more than he had thought it would. He knew some of his bones were broken, though not his legs. He was fairly sure his wrist and arm on his left side was broken, and the wrist on his right side was badly strained. His knees hurt very much, and he feared he may have inadvertently shattered his kneecaps. But the pain had been worth it to make sure she and the children were okay.
"Will you give our son my name?" he asked quietly after a few minutes of watching her.
"Of course," she replied.
"And our daughter will be named Alexandria?"
She nodded. "Alexandria Lynette."
"Good." He turned his head again. "I am sorry I will not be there, for their birth."
"I know," she said softly. She came back over to him and smoothed his hair back. Then she paused in her actions. She took his hand and moved it slightly so it was on her abdomen. "One of them is kicking. Do you feel that?"
"Yes," he said. He had spent many nights sleeping next to Molly with his hand over his children, waiting for one of them to kick. Every time they had he felt a sense of peace settle over him. He was glad he got to feel them today because he would never get to do it again. "They are kicking quite strongly."
She smiled down at him, a sad smile, and when she let go of his hand she went back to smoothing back his hair. It must kill her to see him like this, he realized, and yet she was giving him comfort. He hoped John could comfort her when he was gone. "I will take good care of them," she said after a few more minutes. "I will make sure they know who you are, so when you come home they will know you."
"I will be a stranger," he said.
"They'll know their father is a good man," she said, leaning forward and kissing his forehead again. "They'll know he made this sacrifice for them."
"I love you, Molly," he said as he shut his eyes. There was no way he could comfort her right now, and that hurt him more than any of his physical injuries. He would not be surprised if he opened his eyes and saw she was crying.
"I love you too, Sherlock," she said. Then she paused. "Be quiet. Someone is coming." She reached over and pulled a sheet over him. He could hear the doors open and then the sheet was lifted again and he opened his eyes. "It's your brother and John."
"Sherlock," Mycroft said sadly. "He left you no other choice, did he?"
"None," he said. He tried to sit up but there was too much pain and he gave up. He turned his head in the other direction, and it was just as painful as it had been to turn to look at Molly. "Did John get the phone?"
"Yes," Mycroft said with a nod. "It is in my possession." He looked over Sherlock to Molly. "There will be no body to take his place. We will bury an empty coffin. For now I will have you make a cursory examination of him to tell me the extent of his injuries, and from that we will doctor up an autopsy report. I will have him taken away in an ambulance driven by people I trust and I will take him to a place he can heal before he begins dismantling Moriarty's organization. So do the examination and then say your good-byes."
"Very well," Molly said with a nod. She pulled the cover back all the way and then began looking him over closely, asking him to do different things. Then she had John wheel his stretcher to the full body X-ray machine and she X-rayed him. She looked at the first set of films she had made, then gave them to Mycroft while setting the other set to the side. "He's hurt very badly, and if there's internal bleeding I wouldn't know. He has a lot of broken bones but he isn't paralyzed. Give him a few months and he'll make a full recovery, I think. But you need to have someone set the bones as soon as possible, or else there will be too much damage for him to function properly."
"I will do that and give him as much time as I can to heal." Mycroft checked his watch. "Make your good-byes now. The sooner he leaves the sooner we may put on the charade."
John came over to his left and grasped Sherlock's hand. "You come back in one piece, all right?"
"I will try my best."
"Try more than your best. I'll take care of Molly and the children. Don't worry about them." John squeezed it and Sherlock squeezed back with a semi firm grip. Then he let go and moved over towards Molly.
"Come back to me as soon as you can," she said, moving over. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a kiss he returned with as much eagerness as he was able to. "Don't worry about us. I'll make sure John takes good care of us. I love you, all right? Don't forget that."
"I won't. I love you too."
"Good." And with that, she pulled away, and then the sheet was being pulled over him again. As he could feel himself being wheeled away he knew that it would be a long time before he saw any of them again, and he just hoped they were as strong as he knew he needed them to be, or else the plan would never work. And the plan absolutely had to work; he had not come so far to lose them to that madman, not now, not ever. He had to have faith that it would all work out in the end, and he just hoped they had faith too.
Four Years Later
He was finally home.
He had spent the last four years keeping everyone safe, and he had paid a steep price for it. He had not been there for the birth of his children, had not been there for first smiles and first steps and first words. He was coming back a stranger to two of the people he loved more than anything in the world, the two people he had never gotten to meet in person and had only seen in photographs and videos sent by Mycroft through occasional e-mails and text messages. He had no clue how they would react when he saw them. He just fervently hoped it was happily.
He had not escaped without injury; he had been shot in the leg and had a limp now, for which he had a cane that he preferred to use as little as possible. And in his encounter with the last of Moriarty's subordinates, an assassin named Sebastian Moran, his right arm had been broken in two places and his fingers had been broken as well. He was in a cast up to his elbow at the moment with pins in his arm to keep the bones in place, but the doctor who had treated him had been confident he would be better in a few months.
Mycroft had given him the new key to his old home. There had been trouble for a little while after his death, and Mrs. Hudson had had to change the locks several times. After a year it had died down, but the occupants of the house had been on high alert; Molly and John had known that he had only faked his death because Moriarty had made the threat, and none of them had been sure if the threat remained even after Moriarty's actual death and Sherlock's faked one. So until he returned home they had promised to be on their guard.
He opened the door, listening for sounds. There was excited chatter coming from the sitting room. He could make out John's voice, and Molly's as well. Then he heard a little boy say something. He nearly lost it right then, and then his daughter spoke. They were talking in sentences. They were already so grown, he realized. He had missed so much and now they were going to meet a man who was only a picture to them. It had not been safe for him to call his home just in case phone lines were being tapped. He had spent four years not speaking to any of them, only receiving the photos and videos at sporadic points. So he knew the sound of their voices, knew how they looked, but really, that had not been enough. And now he was nervous, not sure what to expect when he got up the stairs.
He made his way up to the sitting room. Molly was sitting in the chair he had always preferred, a little girl with curly brown hair the same shade as her mother's on her lap. She had his eyes, though; he could see that from the doorway. Molly was reading a story to her, and reading it in the voice of one character before switching to another in a different voice. He glanced to the side and saw an elaborate wooden train track on the floor, and a little boy who also had curly brown hair and an engineer's cap on his head moving a train along it, with John narrating his actions. These people, they were his family, even John. They were safe and they were happy. He almost felt like an intruder.
His daughter appeared to be bored with the story and so she looked around. She spotted him first and pushed her way off her mother's lap, a wide grin on her face. "Alex, sweetie, what's wrong?" Molly asked, looking down at her daughter.
"Daddy's home!" she said happily.
Molly snapped her head up so fast Sherlock was worried she might have hurt herself. Alexandria got on the ground and ran over to Sherlock, wrapping her arms around his injured leg. He looked down at her. "Hello, Alexandria," he said, his voice thick. She pulled away from his leg and looked at him, lifting her arms up. He shifted his hold on his cane and knelt down to pick her up, holding her close and pressing a kiss in her hair.
"Oh my God," Molly said, standing up. The book that had been on her lap slid to the floor. "Sherlock? Is it really you?"
"Yes, Molly, it's really me," he said. John had noticed at that point and he stood up as Sherlock turned to him. He had a bewildered look on his face that slowly blossomed into a wide grin. "Hello, John."
"It's good to see you," he said, his own voice sounding as though there were a lot of emotions just below the surface. And then Molly hurled himself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and staying as close as she could. He nearly lost his balance as his injured leg buckled slightly but he righted himself. "Molly, he should probably put Alex down before he hugs you," John said. "Or before he topples over."
"Oh. Right. Of course," Molly said, pulling away. Tears were streaming down her face. "Alex, let Daddy put you down, all right?"
"No. I want to hug Daddy," she said, shaking her head before wrapping her arms around his neck. "Missed you, Daddy."
Sherlock rubbed her back gently before tangling his fingers in her hair slightly. "I've missed you too, Alexandria," he said quietly.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and that was when he felt his son come up and hug his other leg. "Daddy," he said, looking up at Sherlock. "Give me a hug too?"
"As soon as I set your sister down," he said with a grin.
"Your mum gets a hug first," John said as Sherlock set his daughter down. He looked over at Molly. "I'd get in there before Sherlock starts climbing up his father's leg."
"Right," she said with a wide grin, moving over to Sherlock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. He held her close, happy to be able to kiss her again, to hold her close, to be there for her in a way he hadn't been able to be there since the fall. They kissed until he heard his son make gagging noises, and Molly pulled away and chuckled. "Sherlock, that's rude."
"Kissing is gross," his son said, making a face.
"Kissing is how you got here in the first place, love," Molly said, looking down at her son. "We went over that when you asked why Mary was big in her tummy."
"Oh, yeah," he said. Then he looked up at his father and lifted his arms up. "Pick me up?"
"Of course," Sherlock said with a nod, squatting down again and picking his son up. He ignored the pain coursing through his leg as he stood. Then he looked at Molly and John, who had come over to her. "How do they know who I am? I thought I would have been a stranger to them."
"We all made it a point to tell them all about you, and what you did before you jumped," John said. "Mycroft sent us bits of video and snippets of your voice, the messages you asked him to pass on to us, and we had photographs of you that we showed them all the time. They've been waiting for you to come home so they could see you in person."
Sherlock turned towards his son and pressed a kiss in his hair. "Eww," he said, pulling away and making a face.
"Sherlock thinks kisses are how cooties spread," Molly said with a chuckle. "He thought John's wife was full of cooties when her pregnancy started showing."
"Her name is Mary, right?" Sherlock asked.
John nodded. "She's due any day now. She knows your secret. There's a few others who do. Mrs. Hudson, Greg...a few others figured it out but they've all kept it quiet so you could keep working on taking the organization out. Sally was the most surprised, I think, but she's stayed quiet as well. They've all kept it close to the vest."
Sherlock set his son down and went back to Molly. "I missed you very much," he said quietly.
"I missed you too," she said, placing her hands on his chest. "We all did."
"I have something for you," he said, looking down and reaching into his pocket. "Mycroft helped by getting your size. I don't know if it will fit, but I bought this in Paris and I figured now would be a very good time to give it to you." He pulled a ring box out of his pocket. She stared down at it and then looked back up at him. "I promised myself if I ever got home I would do this the moment I saw you. I should have done this before I jumped." He opened the lid and watched as Molly's eyes went wide and she removed her hands from his chest to cover her mouth. "Marry me, Molly. Please. I will do my best to be a good husband, a good father. We have years to make up for, and I want to spend the rest of mine with you."
"Yes! Yes, of course I'll marry you!" she exclaimed, lowering her left hand. He slipped the ring on her finger and then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers. "Oh, I love you Sherlock. I love you so much."
"I love you too," he said quietly. "And I promise I will not leave again. I promise you I will stay here and live with all of you until the end of my life."
"Good," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. He wiped them away as best he could, and then she hugged him, resting her head on his chest as he held her close. He could feel his daughter hug the two of them on his right and his son hug the both of them on his left, and he felt complete at last. He was home, and he had been missed, and he was loved. He could not ask for anything more than that.
Title: Caught Up In A Great Game (3/3)
A gift for: Doctor WTF
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Irene Adler, Henry Knight, Greg Lestrade
Category: Het/Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Major character death
Summary: How different things would have been if Moriarty took the same interest in Molly that he took in Sherlock, and Sherlock had decided he didn't want her blood on his hands.
Author's Notes: So my prompter gave me what is alternately the best prompt ever and the worst prompt ever: write whatever you feel like writing. What I ended up writing was a rewrite of "The Great Game" and all of season 2 with the slant that Molly gets pulled into Moriarty's game with Sherlock as one of the obvious targets of it. I had so much fun with this one, I really did. It practically wrote itself.
Sherlock had made plans for the next morning, plans that involved questioning various people in Dartmoor and trying to get back into Baskerville. The ID ploy would not work again, because he had barely managed to get out without trouble the first time. He had gotten ready early in the morning, and met John outside his room. They had made their way to the dining area, but instead of the inn's owners they got a surprise. Standing there looking around was Greg Lestrade. He caught sight of the two of them and came over. "Fancy seeing you two here," he said with a grin.
"Lestrade," Sherlock said with an inclination of his head.
"So." Lestrade looked at the two men and Sherlock sighed. Of course his brother would send someone to check on him after Baskerville. It wasn't that he didn't like Lestrade; he found him to be a decent man and a competent detective inspector, but this was just one more person in the mix and he rather resented it. If Mycroft wanted to know what he was up to he could damn well find out by himself. "I was in the area and--"
Sherlock held up a hand. "No need to lie. My brother sent you to check on what I was doing."
Lestrade looked almost relieved. "Your brother was rather pushy that I come out here before returning to work."
"It figures," Sherlock said sourly. "Just because I used his ID to get into a highly secretive military installation doesn't mean I need a keeper."
"Maybe that's exactly what you need," John said, a slightly amused grin on his face.
He glared at John. "Don't start." Then he turned to Lestrade. "You might as well stay. There's people here who need questioning so I can exclude a few theories. Throwing around your weight might help."
Lestrade glared. "I am not heavy."
"Your weight as a detective inspector," Sherlock said slowly.
"Oh," Lestrade said sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Where were you at, anyway?" John asked. "You're quite tan."
Lestrade grinned. "The States. I was in Florida for a convention and I took a few days to myself. It was quite nice to be away from here, being able to spend some time on a beach."
"You may have overdone it," Sherlock said. "You're brown as a nut."
"At least I'm not red as a tomato," Lestrade pointed out.
Sherlock thought about it a moment. "Touché."
"Sherlock, didn't Molly say she'd like breakfast?" John said.
"Right," Sherlock said with a nod.
"Molly's here?" Lestrade asked, a surprised look on his face.
Sherlock and John shared a glance. With everything going on with the game Moriarty had them in they hadn't shared the information with anyone. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to share it with Lestrade, Sherlock had thought many times, but in the end the need to protect the John and Molly had won out. John shook his head, and Sherlock bit back a sigh, turning towards Lestrade. "She wanted a break from London. I thought this was a good opportunity."
"She must be bored out of her mind," Lestrade said. "I know I would be."
"She's keeping herself entertained," Sherlock said with a slight shrug. Then he paused. He just realized with Lestrade being out of town he probably didn't know the news unless Molly had texted or called him. "Did you speak with Molly in the last few days?"
Lestrade shook his head. "No, I haven't. Been kind of ignoring my phone, at least until your brother began calling me every twenty minutes. Why?"
"She's pregnant."
Lestrade's eyes grew wide. "Get out of here. Really?"
"Yes, really," Sherlock said, getting just a tad annoyed.
"How far along is she?"
"Two months," Sherlock said.
"I suppose congratulations are in order?" Lestrade asked, a little cautiously.
"Yes, they are," Sherlock replied.
"Then congratulations, Sherlock," Lestrade said with a wide grin. He extended his hand and Sherlock shook it. "I should buy you a drink."
"Perhaps after all of this is over," Sherlock replied.
"All right then." Lestrade pulled his hand away. "So I guess if I'm not checking up on you I can at least help. Like you said, throw my weight around. What do you need me to do?"
"John said he had made an interesting observation," Sherlock said. "Why don't the two of you discuss that while I get Molly something to eat?"
Lestrade nodded. "Shall we, John?"
"Sure," John said. "Let's get out of earshot of the owners since it concerns them." The two of them walked away and Sherlock went outside to see what else there was for places to get breakfast. Her appetite had come back that morning, and he figured the saltines she had been nibbling on the last few days would not suffice. He saw a bakery that was open and went inside. He had lived with her long enough to know what she ate for breakfast, and he found they had some of her favorite foods there. He ordered a few items and then when it was all packaged up he took it back to the inn. John and Lestrade were still talking quietly in the corner when he came back in so he went back to his room. He knocked on the door and waited. It was easier than digging out the key.
Molly opened it up a few minutes later. "Oh, that smells wonderful," she said, looking at the bag.
"Freshly baked," he said, handing it to her.
"I didn't even realize I could get this hungry," she said as she took the bag from him. She went back to the bed and sat on it, pulling her legs under her. She opened it up and smiled. "Croissants and scones."
"I hope you like the scones. I forgot what flavor you liked."
"These look like they're currant. I like those." She pulled out a croissant and pulled part of it off, popping it in her mouth. She shut her eyes as she chewed with a smile on her face and he found himself entranced, smiling slightly himself. When she found something she enjoyed she enjoyed it fully, and it was always a pleasure to see. She opened her eyes and reached into the bag, pulling out the second croissant and offering it to him. "You should eat, too."
"I will. Later. I have things to attend to." He paused. "Lestrade is here."
"Why would he be here?" she asked, confused.
"My brother sent him. Apparently he thinks I need a keeper."
"Then I must not be doing a good enough job," she said with a chuckle.
"You are my girlfriend, not my keeper," he said with a frown.
She put the croissants back in the bag and got off the bed, coming over and kissing his cheek. "I know. I was teasing. I can do that."
"I suppose." She moved closer and he put his hands on her waist. "You know, you can actually give me a real kiss."
"I just did. It was still a real kiss even though it wasn't on the lips."
"Well, I would like a different one," he said.
She put her arms around his neck. "See, you just have to ask. I'm always happy to oblige on that front." She got closer and kissed him softly. They stayed like that for a moment before he deepened it. He could always get lost in a kiss with her. He hoped that never changed. She kept him close and only pulled away when the two of them needed to breathe. He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. "How soon do you need to be back with the two of them?" she asked.
"They can be without me for a bit," he said. "Why?"
"Because I'd like to take you back to bed."
"I just woke up an hour ago."
"But I wasn't awake then, not until you were ready to leave."
"Aren't you hungry?"
"I am, but not for food." She pulled away and looked at him. "Do you not want to shag?"
He thought for a moment, then pulled her back to him. "I suppose they can do without me for a little while," he murmured.
"Exactly what I wanted to hear," she said before kissing him again. He let her pull him over to the bed at that point, and she only pulled away to deposit the food on the nightstand. He let her take the lead and savored the experience, because this was something he found he enjoyed as much as a challenging case. Before Molly he had not thought much about it, but since Molly he found that it was something he quite enjoyed. If she was in the mood he would oblige her. It was the least he could do.
He took his time but when they were finished he knew he needed to go out to the others. She looked as though she was going to go back to sleep so he gave her one last kiss and went to go take a quick shower before getting dressed again. Then he made his way back to the dining area. John and Lestrade were enjoying breakfast. Both men looked at him with a raised eyebrow but he ignored the looks. "Someone took their sweet time," John said with an amused grin after he got closer.
"I was otherwise occupied," he said tersely.
"Oh, I bet you were," Lestrade murmured before hiding his smile by taking a bite of his food.
Sherlock resisted the urge to glare. "Have you discussed John's observations?"
"That took five minutes. We've been waiting for you since then," John replied with a smirk. "As soon as we're done eating we can question them."
"Food sounds good," Sherlock said.
"Didn't Molly share with you?" Lestrade asked with an almost innocent air. "I assumed you were sharing breakfast with her, with as long as it took."
This time Sherlock did not resist the urge. "I know you both know what happened. Stop acting so coy about it."
"For a man who just got a morning shag you're in a really bad mood," John pointed out. "Isn't that not supposed to be the case?"
"I was in a good mood. Now I'm not," Sherlock said tersely. "I'm going to get breakfast now before I get the urge to hit one of you." And with that he turned and went to get breakfast. He no longer held any hope that this day was going to go well, and it was all their fault. He didn't mind being teased sometimes but not about that and certainly not now. He just hoped the day got better and not worse.
-
The day had certainly not gotten better. Yes, they had solved the case, but not before Henry nearly killed his therapist and the four of them had gotten a scare. Sherlock had known it was all hallucinations, and that was why he had been able to fight the panic and get Henry to see reason before he did something he would regret. Dr. Franklin had deserved to pay for his crimes, but he had run, and the chance for justice was not going to be Henry's.
The sound of the land mine exploding had shaken Sherlock almost as much as the sights the night before had, but when he had glanced at John and Lestrade he had seen it had barely fazed them. That was the difference between them, he had realized; while a violent death like that was still shocking to him, even though he had seen the aftermath of it many times, his friends had seen so much violence that it no longer shocked him. That observation was rattling around in his head when he got back to the inn after depositing Henry at his home and informing the constable of what had happened in Dewer's Hollow.
He let himself into the room and saw Molly was curled up on her side, sleeping. He took a few moments to study her. He wondered if she was shocked by death anymore. They both saw what violence could do to a person, but she was much more intimately associated with death. While he looked at each case as a puzzle, something that needed to be classified and studied and solved, she looked at each body that entered her morgue as an actual person and respected them as such. The more he thought about it the more he wondered what was wrong with him that he didn't do the same.
He changed as quietly as he could and slipped into bed next to her, pulling her close. He had found the night before, when he woke up unable to sleep because of the images of Moriarty that ran through his head after he had been dosed with the gas, that his hand drifted towards her abdomen. Yes, he knew it was still far too soon for there to be any sign that there was a child inside her, but he imagined that soon enough he would be able to feel his child kick. There would be a real sign that the child was alive and growing. He knew he would wait impatiently for that day.
She nestled against him for a moment. "She's still not going to kick, Sherlock," Molly murmured sleepily. "Too soon."
"I know," he said his lips near her ear. "I'm sorry I woke you up."
"It's all right." She turned in his embrace and yawned slightly. "How did it go tonight?"
"Poorly. The case is solved, but the man who killed Henry's father will never be brought to justice. He was killed by one of the land mines around Baskerville."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "But your client knows the truth now, right? That's some good to come out of all this."
"I suppose it is," Sherlock said with a nod. "Still, the man will not see trial. Henry has lost his father and any chance he had at seeing justice done."
"Maybe it's karma, that he killed his father and then died a horrible death himself," Molly said, reaching over to touch his face. "I know you don't believe in that, but maybe there's something to it all."
"Perhaps," Sherlock said. He reached up to grab her hand, then pulled it to his lips and kissed her palm. He watched her shut her eyes and let out a contented sigh. "I want to forget tonight," he said quietly. "Please, help me forget."
"Of course," she said, leaning in and kissing him. It didn't take long for it to escalate and he knew, at least for a little while, the whirring thoughts and ceaseless questions would stop. For a little while he would forget and lose himself in her, and then, perhaps, he could sleep tonight.
It had been four months since he had started to think that, perhaps, things would end well. But he had been wrong, so very wrong. It had all gone to hell, almost every last aspect of his life. Moriarty had gotten what he wanted: Sherlock was discredited, his life a shambles. Even Lestrade had been turned to the idea that Sherlock could very well be a criminal mastermind. There was no way he was going to get out of this with anything at all about his life intact. The only real chance he had was to convince Moriarty to allow him his life. He would beg and plead if he needed to. Moriarty had reduced him to that. He had won. His only constants now, the only ones who believed in him fully, were Molly and John.
John had gone with Molly to work that morning. She had insisted on living an actual life, even with Moriarty beginning his final stages of the great game he had started when Sherlock made himself known, the game that had dragged so many innocent people into it. She had put up with the accusations and shunning at work with her head held high, and he would never forget that. He was a wanted man now, though, and he had to be careful. He carefully made his way to the morgue and paused at the door, looking in and seeing them inside. Today might very well be the last time he ever saw them.
He pushed open the doors and Molly looked up. "Sherlock," she said quietly. She moved away from the body she had been working on, stripping off her gloves and tossing them on the table, and she rounded the table to come to him. They had only found out the week prior that she was carrying twins, a boy and a girl. He looked at her and knew full well that he would break his promise to her, that he would not be there for their birth. He would have to leave her to keep her safe, and that made him want to wring Moriarty's neck with his bare hands.
She embraced him and he held her close, looking past her and seeing John standing there. He wanted to savor this moment because he knew, deep down, that this might be the last time they were close like this. He nodded slightly to John, and John looked down for a moment before going into Molly's office, giving them some time alone. He pulled away after a few moments and looked at her. "I have to leave you," he said quietly. "I will have to leave for quite some time, if I am ever able to return at all."
"It's all his fault," she said, shutting her eyes. He could see she had balled up her fists. She was angry, and that was good. She needed to be angry, because soon she would be in pain, and she needed something to focus on. "What's going to happen?"
"I'm going to meet him on the roof," he said. "There is a good chance I will not be able to get my life back, even if I capitulate to him. I do not think he will stop until I'm dead. But I will try and get him to give me the computer code, see if I can salvage some aspects of my life."
"You can't die," she said. She unclenched her fists and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket. "Please. Don't leave me to do this alone with no hope of you coming back."
"How can I fake my death?" he asked. "If I need to appear to die today, how can I do it convincingly? You must have some idea."
"Are you intending to jump off the roof?" she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Sherlock, you'll die doing that! You'll actually die."
"People have fallen from that great a height and survived before," he said. "What do I need to do to avoid death?"
She let go of him, then went to an empty table and placed her hands on it, facing away from him. He wanted to comfort her, make a move towards her, but he held back. If anyone could help him fake his death it was her. He needed her help. He was afraid he might have asked too much of her, though. When he finally took a step towards her, though, she spoke. "It all depends on how you fall. Land feet first and you'll shatter your spine. Land head first and you'll break your neck. You have to be very careful in how you land." She didn't turn to look at him. "Place a small ball under your shirt, at your armpit, on your left side. When someone checks for a pulse they won't find one."
"Do you have one?"
"In my office."
He moved over to her and he saw she was shaking. As he got closer he realized she was crying, quiet wracking sobs that she was trying very hard to hold back. His hands hovered over her shoulders for a moment before they settled. "Thank you, Molly."
"Don't die," she whispered. "I won't be able to deal with that if you really die."
"I will not die," he said, pressing against her. She let go of the table and turned, holding him close. "I will try and get him to back off, try and keep it from getting to the point where I need to jump. I am fairly sure if I can get him to give me the security code I can erase Richard Brook and prove to the world that Moriarty truly exists. If I convince him that he has won we may still have him lurking around, but all of this would be undone."
"If you can't, what happens next?"
"I come here and you set me to rights. And then I leave." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "If I have to leave, I will do my best to take down the organization he has left behind."
"He's not going to do it," she said, pulling back. "Don't you see? He wants you dead. He's not going to willingly give you anything, not when he can take so much away."
He knew she was speaking the truth, but he had to have hope. He had to at least try. "I will not let him hurt you."
"He already has," she said quietly, She pulled away from him. "I need...I need..." She stopped and took a deep breath. "I need to go. I can't be here right now. I need to deal with this by myself for a bit."
"I understand," he said with a nod. She looked at him, then leaned in and kissed him softly. She didn't say anything as she pulled away, turning away from him and heading towards her office. A few minutes later John came out, a rubber ball in his hand. "I need you to take care of her," he said quietly.
"You know I'll do that regardless," John said. "He's going to kill you, isn't he? Or make you kill yourself?"
"I don't know. He's unpredictable. There is the chance I can get him to give me the code. I have to take it."
"I'm not going to talk you out of it," John said. "If Molly couldn't do it I know there's no way in hell I'll be able to. Just get out of this alive, all right?"
Sherlock nodded. "When I call you, go outside. I will need you to make sure everyone believes I died. Act the distraught friend, play the part."
"That won't require much acting," John said with a grim smile. "You're leaving us alone for God knows how long. And there's always the chance you won't come back. And even if you do, nothing will be the same." He handed Sherlock the small rubber ball. "I'll tell Mycroft what you're planning. We'll need his help."
Sherlock nodded. "He made you promise to keep me safe, didn't he?"
"And I wasn't able to do that," John said.
"This is beyond your control," he said. "This is beyond any of our control."
"Yeah, I know." John came up and roughly embraced Sherlock. They had never had an exceptionally touchy feely relationship, but he knew this was what John needed. He hugged his best friend back, then pulled away and made his way to the roof.
Moriarty was already there, sitting on the edge and looking out. Sherlock pulled his phone out. And hit the record button on his recording program. He had set it up before he exited the stairwell, just in case it all went to hell today. At least then he would have proof. "Moriarty," he said as he approached.
"How do you know I'm not really Richard Brook?" Moriarty asked as he stood. "I mean, there is no Richard Brook, of course. He's all a carefully crafted lie. But how do you know you haven't been played the fool for the entire time I've been in your life?"
"I don't have time for games," Sherlock said tersely.
"And I have nothing but time," Moriarty snapped in reply. "I had nothing but time when your brother was interrogating me. He's an idiot, you know. Everything I really learned about you came from him. I played him for a fool, just like I played you."
"You did not play me for a fool," Sherlock said. "The computer code. You tapped it out when we met at my home."
"Newsflash, Sherlock!" Moriarty said, raising his voice and waving his arms slightly. "There is no computer code. It was all a ruse, one you took at face value. If you had bothered to look deeper, you would have known. But you were too blinded by all the attention you were getting."
"I didn't want it," he said.
Moriarty looked at him. "No. No, you didn't. You would have been happy to live a contented life with Molly and your children." Then he grinned. "Heard you're having a boy and a girl. Word does get to me quite quickly when it concerns dear Molly."
"Leave her out of this," Sherlock said, going up to Moriarty and grabbing him by his shirt, pulling him up slightly.
"I'll have her killed when she leaves the hospital, I think. Shot in the abdomen so there's no chance of saving the children, and maybe a shot to the head, just to be sure. And John too, of course. A pretty little head shot should do the trick. And then there's Mrs. Hudson at home, and Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Can't leave any of your friends alive." Then he grinned a feral grin. "Unless you die first."
"You have a fail safe," he said, realization dawning on him. "There is something you can do to make them stop."
"Why wouldn't I have one?" Moriarty said with a smug look on his face. "It doesn't matter, though. They're all more important to you than your own life. Jump off the roof, Sherlock. Jump and I make sure they all live to see another day."
"What's to stop you from going after them after that?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing, of course. You'll have to trust that I'm a man of my word." Moriarty put his hands over Sherlock's and pulled them off his shirt. Then he smoothed his shirt down. "It's been fun playing the game, it really has, but with you gone it just won't be fun anymore. Jump off the roof and I'll let them all go. You'll keep Molly alive, she'll give birth to children you'll never see, and they'll have to live with the shame of having you as a father. That will be torture enough for me to be happy."
"What's to keep me from dragging you into Scotland Yard and making you confess?"
"We saw how a trial went already, Sherlock. Didn't you learn anything? I have a long reach, longer than you ever dreamed of." He moved around Sherlock, taking a few steps back towards the stairwell. "You want to know my fail safe, don't you? You want to ensure your family and lover and friends are kept safe. You would give anything to keep them safe, even your own life."
"Yes," he said quietly, hating to admit it to Moriarty.
"That's what I wanted to hear," Moriarty said, turning to face him, smug smile on his face. "Beg for their lives, Sherlock. Beg for them before you jump."
The way he was being wheedled by Moriarty was aggravating him. He knew before that he had thought he would beg and plead, but now that the moment was upon him he found he wanted to punch the smug smile off his face instead. "I would rather die first."
"Pity. If you had begged I would have triggered the fail safe. I may even have let you live, and we could have gone for round three at a later date. Or is it round four?" He thought for a moment. "The testimony was round two. This is three, so it would have been four."
"What is your point?" Sherlock asked.
"My point, Sherlock, is you made the wrong move. You keep making the wrong moves. You haven't made a right one in the entire game. You shouldn't have started a relationship with her. She made you vulnerable and stupid. This whole game has been entirely too disappointing. So I'm going to force you to do what I want." Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a gun, putting the barrel in his mouth.
"No!" Sherlock shouted, moving towards him. But there was too much distance. Moriarty pulled the trigger, and the crack of the gunshot echoed in the air. Then he fell down. Sherlock went over to him, knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was none. "Damn," he said, hanging his head. Moriarty had won the game after all. There was nothing left for him to do but jump. He walked just short of the edge and pulled out his phone, stopping the recording. Then he pulled up John's number, hitting send.
John picked up after two rings. "Did you get the computer code?" he asked.
"There was no code. Moriarty is dead. And I need to be dead now, too."
"Damn," John muttered. "What do you need me to do?"
"Exit the hospital. Go farther down the street, where you can get a good view."
"You had best know what you're doing," he said.
"I am saving everyone's lives," he said. "Talk to me, John. Reassure me that I am making the right decision. Tell me that this will all work out in the end."
"You want me to lie to you?" he asked.
"Yes. Please." He scanned the crowds below. No one had noticed a man on the rooftop ledge, not yet. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He took a step back and shifted his hold on the phone, doing what Molly had instructed with the rubber ball. Then he stepped back to the edge. He realized John had not spoken in a few minutes. He wondered if John was alone or not, if it was safe to have this conversation. "John?"
"It's going to work out," he said a moment later. "You will come back, and you'll pick up your life and things will be fine. You're doing this for the right reasons, even if I think you're a bloody idiot."
"There's no other way."
"There's got to be one."
"I can't risk it, John. I will not lose any of you to him He said he would have Molly killed, and you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I have to take him at his word." He could see John quickly walking away from the hospital now. "Keep walking, and turn when I say."
"I don't want to watch you do this."
"You have to. You have to help me." Sherlock watched him walk one block away. "Stop now and turn around. Look up at the roof."
He could just see John do as he was told. "Sherlock, I can't."
"You must. It's the only way to keep all of you safe. When all of this is over, come up to the roof. Get my phone and give it to my brother. I recorded Moriarty's conversation with me. Hopefully the world at large will not think I am a fraud after it all comes out. My children will not be ashamed of their father."
"Are you sure there isn't another way?" John asked, nearly pleading.
"No, I am not sure, but I cannot take the risk. When you have the phone go to Mycroft. Give it to him. Then come back for Molly. I do not want her left alone right now. You will have to be strong for her. Be strong enough for the both of you."
"All right," he said.
"Good-bye, John," Sherlock said. He ended the call and tossed the phone to the side. Falling was a great deal like flying, he supposed, only with a more permanent destination. He hoped he could control his fall well enough to not die. It would all be pointless if he actually died. And with that, he fell. He had to keep his eyes open. Watching the pavement come closer was hell, pure hell. But he had to fall in a way that did not kill him instantly, and to do that he needed to keep his eyes open. He was careful not to put his feet down, or not to lean forward too much. As the pavement got closer, he prayed he would pull it off.
The landing filled him with excruciating pain. If he had not felt the pain he was sure he would have doubted if he had survived. But he clearly heard the screams from horrified onlookers. Now was the hard part. Now he had to pretend that for all intents and purposes he was very much dead. He could hear John yelling, hear him coming up on the scene. He felt a hand search his neck for a pulse, and he prayed it was John so that if the trick had not worked he could lie. And then the hand was snatched away and another took its place.
He had once practiced a way to slow his breathing so it appeared he was not breathing at all. He began to do that so his chest was not moving up and down noticeably. He remained limp, letting those who were moving him think he had broken every bone in his body, which he thought could very well be the case with as much pain as he was in. He felt himself being lifted onto a stretcher, and then wheeled away. After a moment his perspective changed. He had seen sky before, sky that now rapidly became the ceiling of a hallway. It was hard not to blink, but he kept his eyes open until he recognized the sound of the morgue doors being opened. He heard Molly scream, and that was the hardest thing to take. The man who had wheeled him in had apologized, but Molly was having none of it. She came over to him and threw herself over him. "I am alive," he whispered, and the very act of speaking took considerable effort.
She reached for his hand and squeezed, crying over his body. When the doors closed again the crying stopped. "Don't sit up," she said, getting off of him. "You must be in pain."
"Excruciating," he said.
"Rest," she said. She leaned over and kissed his forehead gently. "Your brother called as soon as John got off the phone with him. He's arranging to have another body here to be buried in your place. Then he'll collect you and take you someplace you can heal before you have to go." She was quiet a moment. "He expected it to end this way. I'm just sad he was right."
"I will come back," he said, squeezing her hand slightly.
"You had better." She let go of his hand and he turned his head to look at her. That hurt so much more than he had thought it would. He knew some of his bones were broken, though not his legs. He was fairly sure his wrist and arm on his left side was broken, and the wrist on his right side was badly strained. His knees hurt very much, and he feared he may have inadvertently shattered his kneecaps. But the pain had been worth it to make sure she and the children were okay.
"Will you give our son my name?" he asked quietly after a few minutes of watching her.
"Of course," she replied.
"And our daughter will be named Alexandria?"
She nodded. "Alexandria Lynette."
"Good." He turned his head again. "I am sorry I will not be there, for their birth."
"I know," she said softly. She came back over to him and smoothed his hair back. Then she paused in her actions. She took his hand and moved it slightly so it was on her abdomen. "One of them is kicking. Do you feel that?"
"Yes," he said. He had spent many nights sleeping next to Molly with his hand over his children, waiting for one of them to kick. Every time they had he felt a sense of peace settle over him. He was glad he got to feel them today because he would never get to do it again. "They are kicking quite strongly."
She smiled down at him, a sad smile, and when she let go of his hand she went back to smoothing back his hair. It must kill her to see him like this, he realized, and yet she was giving him comfort. He hoped John could comfort her when he was gone. "I will take good care of them," she said after a few more minutes. "I will make sure they know who you are, so when you come home they will know you."
"I will be a stranger," he said.
"They'll know their father is a good man," she said, leaning forward and kissing his forehead again. "They'll know he made this sacrifice for them."
"I love you, Molly," he said as he shut his eyes. There was no way he could comfort her right now, and that hurt him more than any of his physical injuries. He would not be surprised if he opened his eyes and saw she was crying.
"I love you too, Sherlock," she said. Then she paused. "Be quiet. Someone is coming." She reached over and pulled a sheet over him. He could hear the doors open and then the sheet was lifted again and he opened his eyes. "It's your brother and John."
"Sherlock," Mycroft said sadly. "He left you no other choice, did he?"
"None," he said. He tried to sit up but there was too much pain and he gave up. He turned his head in the other direction, and it was just as painful as it had been to turn to look at Molly. "Did John get the phone?"
"Yes," Mycroft said with a nod. "It is in my possession." He looked over Sherlock to Molly. "There will be no body to take his place. We will bury an empty coffin. For now I will have you make a cursory examination of him to tell me the extent of his injuries, and from that we will doctor up an autopsy report. I will have him taken away in an ambulance driven by people I trust and I will take him to a place he can heal before he begins dismantling Moriarty's organization. So do the examination and then say your good-byes."
"Very well," Molly said with a nod. She pulled the cover back all the way and then began looking him over closely, asking him to do different things. Then she had John wheel his stretcher to the full body X-ray machine and she X-rayed him. She looked at the first set of films she had made, then gave them to Mycroft while setting the other set to the side. "He's hurt very badly, and if there's internal bleeding I wouldn't know. He has a lot of broken bones but he isn't paralyzed. Give him a few months and he'll make a full recovery, I think. But you need to have someone set the bones as soon as possible, or else there will be too much damage for him to function properly."
"I will do that and give him as much time as I can to heal." Mycroft checked his watch. "Make your good-byes now. The sooner he leaves the sooner we may put on the charade."
John came over to his left and grasped Sherlock's hand. "You come back in one piece, all right?"
"I will try my best."
"Try more than your best. I'll take care of Molly and the children. Don't worry about them." John squeezed it and Sherlock squeezed back with a semi firm grip. Then he let go and moved over towards Molly.
"Come back to me as soon as you can," she said, moving over. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a kiss he returned with as much eagerness as he was able to. "Don't worry about us. I'll make sure John takes good care of us. I love you, all right? Don't forget that."
"I won't. I love you too."
"Good." And with that, she pulled away, and then the sheet was being pulled over him again. As he could feel himself being wheeled away he knew that it would be a long time before he saw any of them again, and he just hoped they were as strong as he knew he needed them to be, or else the plan would never work. And the plan absolutely had to work; he had not come so far to lose them to that madman, not now, not ever. He had to have faith that it would all work out in the end, and he just hoped they had faith too.
Four Years Later
He was finally home.
He had spent the last four years keeping everyone safe, and he had paid a steep price for it. He had not been there for the birth of his children, had not been there for first smiles and first steps and first words. He was coming back a stranger to two of the people he loved more than anything in the world, the two people he had never gotten to meet in person and had only seen in photographs and videos sent by Mycroft through occasional e-mails and text messages. He had no clue how they would react when he saw them. He just fervently hoped it was happily.
He had not escaped without injury; he had been shot in the leg and had a limp now, for which he had a cane that he preferred to use as little as possible. And in his encounter with the last of Moriarty's subordinates, an assassin named Sebastian Moran, his right arm had been broken in two places and his fingers had been broken as well. He was in a cast up to his elbow at the moment with pins in his arm to keep the bones in place, but the doctor who had treated him had been confident he would be better in a few months.
Mycroft had given him the new key to his old home. There had been trouble for a little while after his death, and Mrs. Hudson had had to change the locks several times. After a year it had died down, but the occupants of the house had been on high alert; Molly and John had known that he had only faked his death because Moriarty had made the threat, and none of them had been sure if the threat remained even after Moriarty's actual death and Sherlock's faked one. So until he returned home they had promised to be on their guard.
He opened the door, listening for sounds. There was excited chatter coming from the sitting room. He could make out John's voice, and Molly's as well. Then he heard a little boy say something. He nearly lost it right then, and then his daughter spoke. They were talking in sentences. They were already so grown, he realized. He had missed so much and now they were going to meet a man who was only a picture to them. It had not been safe for him to call his home just in case phone lines were being tapped. He had spent four years not speaking to any of them, only receiving the photos and videos at sporadic points. So he knew the sound of their voices, knew how they looked, but really, that had not been enough. And now he was nervous, not sure what to expect when he got up the stairs.
He made his way up to the sitting room. Molly was sitting in the chair he had always preferred, a little girl with curly brown hair the same shade as her mother's on her lap. She had his eyes, though; he could see that from the doorway. Molly was reading a story to her, and reading it in the voice of one character before switching to another in a different voice. He glanced to the side and saw an elaborate wooden train track on the floor, and a little boy who also had curly brown hair and an engineer's cap on his head moving a train along it, with John narrating his actions. These people, they were his family, even John. They were safe and they were happy. He almost felt like an intruder.
His daughter appeared to be bored with the story and so she looked around. She spotted him first and pushed her way off her mother's lap, a wide grin on her face. "Alex, sweetie, what's wrong?" Molly asked, looking down at her daughter.
"Daddy's home!" she said happily.
Molly snapped her head up so fast Sherlock was worried she might have hurt herself. Alexandria got on the ground and ran over to Sherlock, wrapping her arms around his injured leg. He looked down at her. "Hello, Alexandria," he said, his voice thick. She pulled away from his leg and looked at him, lifting her arms up. He shifted his hold on his cane and knelt down to pick her up, holding her close and pressing a kiss in her hair.
"Oh my God," Molly said, standing up. The book that had been on her lap slid to the floor. "Sherlock? Is it really you?"
"Yes, Molly, it's really me," he said. John had noticed at that point and he stood up as Sherlock turned to him. He had a bewildered look on his face that slowly blossomed into a wide grin. "Hello, John."
"It's good to see you," he said, his own voice sounding as though there were a lot of emotions just below the surface. And then Molly hurled himself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and staying as close as she could. He nearly lost his balance as his injured leg buckled slightly but he righted himself. "Molly, he should probably put Alex down before he hugs you," John said. "Or before he topples over."
"Oh. Right. Of course," Molly said, pulling away. Tears were streaming down her face. "Alex, let Daddy put you down, all right?"
"No. I want to hug Daddy," she said, shaking her head before wrapping her arms around his neck. "Missed you, Daddy."
Sherlock rubbed her back gently before tangling his fingers in her hair slightly. "I've missed you too, Alexandria," he said quietly.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and that was when he felt his son come up and hug his other leg. "Daddy," he said, looking up at Sherlock. "Give me a hug too?"
"As soon as I set your sister down," he said with a grin.
"Your mum gets a hug first," John said as Sherlock set his daughter down. He looked over at Molly. "I'd get in there before Sherlock starts climbing up his father's leg."
"Right," she said with a wide grin, moving over to Sherlock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. He held her close, happy to be able to kiss her again, to hold her close, to be there for her in a way he hadn't been able to be there since the fall. They kissed until he heard his son make gagging noises, and Molly pulled away and chuckled. "Sherlock, that's rude."
"Kissing is gross," his son said, making a face.
"Kissing is how you got here in the first place, love," Molly said, looking down at her son. "We went over that when you asked why Mary was big in her tummy."
"Oh, yeah," he said. Then he looked up at his father and lifted his arms up. "Pick me up?"
"Of course," Sherlock said with a nod, squatting down again and picking his son up. He ignored the pain coursing through his leg as he stood. Then he looked at Molly and John, who had come over to her. "How do they know who I am? I thought I would have been a stranger to them."
"We all made it a point to tell them all about you, and what you did before you jumped," John said. "Mycroft sent us bits of video and snippets of your voice, the messages you asked him to pass on to us, and we had photographs of you that we showed them all the time. They've been waiting for you to come home so they could see you in person."
Sherlock turned towards his son and pressed a kiss in his hair. "Eww," he said, pulling away and making a face.
"Sherlock thinks kisses are how cooties spread," Molly said with a chuckle. "He thought John's wife was full of cooties when her pregnancy started showing."
"Her name is Mary, right?" Sherlock asked.
John nodded. "She's due any day now. She knows your secret. There's a few others who do. Mrs. Hudson, Greg...a few others figured it out but they've all kept it quiet so you could keep working on taking the organization out. Sally was the most surprised, I think, but she's stayed quiet as well. They've all kept it close to the vest."
Sherlock set his son down and went back to Molly. "I missed you very much," he said quietly.
"I missed you too," she said, placing her hands on his chest. "We all did."
"I have something for you," he said, looking down and reaching into his pocket. "Mycroft helped by getting your size. I don't know if it will fit, but I bought this in Paris and I figured now would be a very good time to give it to you." He pulled a ring box out of his pocket. She stared down at it and then looked back up at him. "I promised myself if I ever got home I would do this the moment I saw you. I should have done this before I jumped." He opened the lid and watched as Molly's eyes went wide and she removed her hands from his chest to cover her mouth. "Marry me, Molly. Please. I will do my best to be a good husband, a good father. We have years to make up for, and I want to spend the rest of mine with you."
"Yes! Yes, of course I'll marry you!" she exclaimed, lowering her left hand. He slipped the ring on her finger and then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers. "Oh, I love you Sherlock. I love you so much."
"I love you too," he said quietly. "And I promise I will not leave again. I promise you I will stay here and live with all of you until the end of my life."
"Good," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. He wiped them away as best he could, and then she hugged him, resting her head on his chest as he held her close. He could feel his daughter hug the two of them on his right and his son hug the both of them on his left, and he felt complete at last. He was home, and he had been missed, and he was loved. He could not ask for anything more than that.