Her Final Goodbye

Summary: Sherlock has to say goodbye to the woman that mattered the most. [Spoilers for Series Three]

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes had been in and out of jail cells numerous times in his life, but this one was by far the…nicest. It did help that he was locked in a windowless bedroom somewhere under his brother's supervision to ensure that he would not run away from his impending death sentence or rather
"undercover work" for MI6.

He knew he wasn't going to live longer than six months out there, so he had very few chances to say goodbye.

"Any last wishes, brother dear?"

"Just two. Permit John and Mary on the tarmac before the plane leaves so I can say goodbye in person."


"…bring me Molly Hooper. Please."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of his bed neatly made four poster bed; the only piece of furniture in the room. It was the last bit of luxury he was allotted before he was sent away. He rested his hands on his knees and stared straight ahead at the door, listening intently for any signs of his brother or his men approaching his door.

If Molly Hooper even agreed to visit him, he knew she would do so immediately. He anticipated that she was aware of his incarceration, but he hoped that she would come anyway. He hadn't seen her outside of his mind palace since a month after the wedding, but he knew she had seen him. He slept a lot for the six months he was in the hospital, and her perfume always lingered in his room.

Sherlock heard footsteps coming towards the door, and he jumped to his feet, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His pulse was beating like a drum and he could hardly hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

All he could do was wait and see if Molly Hooper would come.

When the door opened, Sherlock wasn't disappointed.

Molly Hooper stood before him, her hair pulled back in its customary ponytail, a vibrant coral jumper paired with jeans and simple black flats adorned her feet. She didn't carry a bag, and Sherlock had a deduced that Mycroft's men took it before she entered the room. She was the woman who helped him fake his death, he didn't blame the other men in fearing that she would somehow aid him in escaping.

But that wasn't his plan.

"The door must be closed, Doctor Hooper. And we will be watching," the guard said a bit menacingly as he pushed Molly further into the room and then closed the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed around the small room.

Sherlock couldn't tear his gaze away from Molly, taking in her appearance and memorizing as much as he could into his mind palace. If this was the last time he ever saw her, he needed her visage to be as up to date as possible.

He clenched his fists tighter when she took a hesitant step forward.

"You're going to die, aren't you?"

Sherlock was nearly bowled over by her question and he stumbled backwards just a few steps. But then he realized belatedly that she always saw him. An imperceptible nod was all it took for Molly to clap a hand over her mouth and tears to flow from her eyes. He flinched at the sound of her suddenly ragged breathing; he always did this to her.

How many more times can I break her heart?

"They can't do that. You can only be held for life imprisonment for committing treason!" Her voice sounded confident; she was aware of the laws for their country. Sherlock couldn't help but smile sadly at her.

"I killed a man in cold blood, Molly."

"No!" Molly said firmly, shaking her head wildly. "You did not!" She choked on her sob and covered her face with both hands. She began rocking just slightly back and forth, and Sherlock could see her crumbling slowly; it nearly killed him.

"Please," Sherlock whispered, moving his arms to his sides. "Please come here."

She ran towards him, and Sherlock enveloped her in his embrace. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he apologized softly, hoping it was enough for her, knowing that it would never be.

Molly buried her face against his chest, clutching his crisp white shirt tightly in her hands. He lowered his head and nuzzled her soft hair, taking a shaky breath. He tightened his arms around her and whispered, "I have one favor, just one."

"Anything." Molly pulled away from his chest, not bothering to wipe away her tears as they steadily slid down her cheeks. Sherlock found it difficult to speak at the sight of the fierce loyalty in her eyes. Molly just stared up at him, waiting patiently. When he couldn't seem to get her voice to work, she prompted softly,

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just listen to me." He dropped his forehead so it was resting against hers. "I can't die without you knowing—" he hesitated a moment and then whispered, "You deserve to know how much I have come to care for you." The soft cry Molly emitted caused a blinding pain to flare across his chest, reminiscent of the nearly fatal gunshot wound he received just months earlier. He gripped her tighter but was unable to open his eyes to look at her. "I love you, Molly Hooper, and I am so sorry you had to find out this way. Know that your love will comfort me until my dying breath."

"Sh—Sherlock!" she cried, suddenly wrapping her arms around his neck and lifted on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. She pulled away, brokenly whispering, "This isn't fair!"

"I know but—" Molly silenced him with another kiss, this one more passionate than the first.

Sherlock suddenly found himself holding her tightly and stumbling backwards towards his bed, desperate to have her as close as possible.

In the end, Sherlock found it unfair to show Molly exactly how he was feeling with the British Government watching over them, but he did the best he could, cradling her gently in his arms on his bed, whispering his love for her until his voice grew hoarse and their tears stopped flowing. He didn't know how much longer he had with her before Mycroft's men declared visiting hours over.

"What are they going to do to you?" Molly asked softly, her face hidden between his neck and shoulder. Her breath was warm on his skin, and he shuddered at the feeling.

"I'm going undercover in Eastern Europe. Mycroft estimates I won't last longer than six months. It's a death sentence, but better than being sent to prison for the rest of my life."

"Will I know if…" she trailed off, and Sherlock winced at the crack in her voice.

"Mycroft will inform you when it happens."

"Okay," she whispered shakily.

"I'm so sorry."

"I am too."

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly and for the rest of the evening, he and Molly laid in companionable silence, holding each other tightly. In the early hours of the morning, there was a knock on the door, signaling that Molly had to leave.

With one last kiss, Sherlock reluctantly let Molly go.

He tried to ignore the sound of her gasping sob as the door closed behind her and he made his way back to his bed. With only a few hours left before he had to leave, he curled into his bed and clutched the pillow that smelled faintly like Molly Hooper to his face, and waited.


A/N: Just a missing moment from His Last Vow, because I believe Molly would have gotten a proper goodbye, just like John and Mary.