Months later, the day of Sherlock's sentencing, Molly finishes work and rushes to the prison to visit with him.
Sherlock is brought into the visitor's room wearing handcuffs and is then handcuffed to a table. "Molly..." He looks rough and has stubble growing.
"Hi...I didn't watch the news because I don't want to see all the people who dislike you slamming you and such. I wanted to come to the sentencing today, but I had work and...I don't know if I could've handled it...," she says softly and tears up.
He nods slowly. "Before I tell you the outcome, do you have the journal of my cases and the people I've saved?"
"I do..."
May I see it?
"Of course" She takes it out of her bag and hands it to him gently.
Sherlock looks through it nonchalantly and murmurs to her. "So I got twenty-five years to life, with the possibility of parole."
Molly gasps and covers her mouth, tears filling her eyes and blurring her vision, the air sucked out of her lungs for a few moments. "Oh, Sherlock...no!! No, you can't...they can't! I'm so sorry...I tried my best", her voice cracks.
"I know, Molly, and it's not your fault, don't be ridiculous, hm?" Sherlock continues to look through the book, avoiding her gaze.
"I-I wrote descriptions and as many names as I could get to cover you...for some reason...just-I don't know, I guess in case this happened and...it didn't even work..."
"Criminals have connections just as much as I have. I suppose the old trick still works. Magnussen's family lawyer rigged the jury. He was the king of blackmail, where do you think he learned it from? The same family that has their own personal lawyer that they pay pretty heftily. The jurors had no choice. If there's a certain group of people I can always read with ease, it's jurors. Their feelings are written on their face, in their clothes, in the way they fidget."
"Oh my God...do you have proof? We could get you out of here Sherlock!"
"What's the point, Molly? I don't exactly have Mycroft on my side to take care of the legal stuff. There's no proof to be had and nothing to be done."
"What?? What's the point?? You wouldn't have to rot in here for trying to protect our friends!"
"I've made my peace...it's alright, Molly. Really." For the first time, he raises his eyes to look directly into hers. They swirl with a hint of determination, not matching his words and she's taken aback, slightly confused.
"Your friends haven't...I haven't." Molly reaches over and places a hand on his cuffed one.
"We're not letting this go without a fight. You're not a quitter. Don't you dare quit now."
"John's moved on. He's happy now. London doesn't need Sherlock Holmes anymore; they've proven that today. They need more people like you Molly Hooper, more people that actually care."
"John may have gotten married and started a family, but you're still his best friend and mine, and Mary is very fond of you too, you know that. Greg is still on your side as well. London will always need Sherlock Holmes. Always. And once it's too late, everyone will see that..."
Sherlock hands the journal back to her* "You need to move on too you know."
"Me? I'm fine as I am Sherlock, but I won't let you just rot in here. If I have to, I'll prove that they manipulated the jury. I'm no you, but I can try."
Sherlock sighs softly and looks over her face. "What was going to be your answer?"
"My answer? To...how I'll prove it?"
"No...I mean the question that the lawyer asked you yesterday. The...personal...one."
"Oh.../that/ question...", she blushes.
Before Molly can answer a guard comes in. "Visiting time's over." He uncuffs Sherlock from the table to take him back to the cell.
"Yes", Molly blurts out, causing his head to turn and him to catch her eye, as she shed tears.
Molly watches as the guard leads him out, and suddenly sees a small piece of paper slip from his shirtsleeve onto the floor, unnoticed by the guard.
Molly snatches up the paper in case it is something important, knowing that with Sherlock, it just may be. Tears fall down her face as she makes her way to the parking lot and back to her vehicle. Once she's seated in her car, she carefully unfolds the note.
{Go to my flat. Get me a suit, shirt, and shoes. Leave your car there, there is a new blue sedan in front of Baker Street. If you want to help me, this is the only way. You bring my clothes with you into the new car and then drive to France. You'll receive a text from an unknown number with further instructions. I'm counting on you to save my life again, Molly Hooper -SH}
Molly's eyes widen, but out of pure disbelief, she laughs, taking in the obscenity of the situation. Could she really do this? She's never done a "bad" thing in her life. Is she really willing to do something potentially on the outskirts of the law? She knows the answer is yes because it's for Sherlock. The man she would do anything for at any time because she loves him. Oh, how she wishes she didn't sometimes, but alas, it's her truth.
"You bastard...letting me think you didn't have a plan and that you'd given up", she mumbles to herself as she drives to her flat to gather a bunch of things, then to 221B Baker Street to collect what Sherlock wanted, plus a bit extra. She texts her neighbor asking her to take care of Toby due to a "family emergency", and gawks at the shiny, brand new, blue car that she was told to take. Shaking herself out of it, she gets into the driver's side and makes her way to France, her stomach in knots the entire time, and her mind filled with "what-ifs".
Making only one pit stop along the way for a bathroom break, she does in fact receive a text from an unknown number that tells her to drive to a specific hotel and open the trunk, but not until she is safely there.
Returning to the driver's seat, she makes the rest of the journey to the hotel and parks in the garage, rubbing her bleary eyes. Getting out, she swallows hard and then slowly opens the trunk, almost afraid of what she would find.
Sherlock is lying in there, asleep in his prison jumpsuit. Molly squeaks in terror then surprise, and his eyes open slowly.
"Bloody hell Sherlock!? H-How...how did...", she sputters, utterly confused.
"You know my methods Molly, I am known to be particularly flexible, not to mention meticulous."
"Go to the front desk and check-in using the name Lauren Conners. It's a first-floor room, pretty cheap. Once there, unlock the patio door and let me in through the back."
"Oh my God...what is happening here, Sherlock?? I-we...this is totally illegal; you could get more jail time if you get caught!"
"Shhhh! If you keep quiet, I don't plan on getting caught. This is merely until I prove my case, okay? Noe, can I trust you or not? I don't want to pull you into this if you aren't willing, Molly. I respect you too much now to force these things on you, so tell me now if you can't do this and I'll do it myself."
Molly takes a shaky breath and looks into his eyes. "I-...this is ridiculous and dangerous and...and...I know you need to prove yourself, so yes. Yes, I'll help you."
"Lovely. Now hurry up and meet me at the back door of your room. Remember, you're Lauren Conners."
Molly nods sharply and takes her ponytail down, heading into the hotel. She checks in as she was instructed and gets the key to the room. Once safely inside, she unlocks the glass patio door and Sherlock is waiting there for her. He slips into the room and locks the door again behind him.
"Now, you brought my clothes in that suitcase, I hope?", he quips. He is standing in his undershirt and boxers. "Before you ask, I'm in my underclothes because I couldn't take the risk of being seen in a flashy orange jumpsuit. Plus, this way, I could pretend to be homeless if I had by some rare chance been caught sneaking around.
Molly lets out a deep, exasperated sigh and nods. "Yeah, there's a couple of days' worth of clothes in there for both of us.
"Fantastic", he winks at her, causing a blush to rise up to her cheeks.
Sherlock grabs his clothing from the suitcase and heads to her personal bathroom to shower and freshen up. Molly can't believe what she's just gotten herself into. Dear God, she's harboring a fugitive. A very scruffy, handsome, brilliant, gorgeous, sexy, fugitive. But an escapee, nonetheless. How in the world is she going to get him, and herself, out of this one?