Sherlock sat in the back seat of Mycroft's car on the way to the private jet that would take him away to his "exile assignment." Basically he was on his way to face his death after shooting a man in the head.
"Mycroft, can I borrow your phone? Your goons have taken mine and I need to send a text before my...exile."
Without looking back at his little brother Mycroft handed Sherlock his mobile and asked, "Who on Earth could you need to text now? John and Mary will be there to send you off. You've already farewelled Mrs. Hudson and the Detective Inspector, as well as Dr. Hooper."
Sherlock didn't answer right away; he typed out the text message, entered the number, and hit send. He didn't expect a reply. As he handed the phone back he merely said, "Just getting back into someone's good graces before my untimely end."
Miles and miles away in a cottage in Sussex, a woman received a text message.
Anything Magnussen had on you is gone. Keep the beehives, honey is money. Now we're good.
The woman smiled and breathed a sigh that spoke of both relief and a bit of regret.