He smiles. There's something strangely reassuring about having her this close to him. Like knowing he's got a gun in his jacket, or a knife up his sleeve, even though she's only vulnerable flesh and blood like him.
"Good night, Molly Hooper."
*
From: John To: Sherlock
Sent: 8:47 AM
Sherlock you're late for your check-in. You'd better be out getting chips.
Sent: 9:01 AM
Where the hell are you?
Sent: 9:05 AM
Right. We'll do it the hard way. There's more than one GPS tracker on your phone.
Sent: 9:15 AM
Took me a minute to remember the address. What I said when I thought it was just Irene? That still applies. It'll be good for you, trust me. Molly's a good woman. Don't blow it.
*
For the first time in weeks, Sherlock sleeps without dreaming of Eurus, without hearing terrible and beautiful music, without having to listen to his brothers try to bait him into shooting them. Instead, there's only rest, and a sense of warmth, and a vague knowledge that he's just pulled off something incredible.
no subject
"Good night, Molly Hooper."
*
From: John
To: Sherlock
Sent: 8:47 AM
Sherlock you're late for your check-in. You'd better be out getting chips.
Sent: 9:01 AM
Where the hell are you?
Sent: 9:05 AM
Right. We'll do it the hard way. There's more than one GPS tracker on your phone.
Sent: 9:15 AM
Took me a minute to remember the address. What I said when I thought it was just Irene? That still applies. It'll be good for you, trust me. Molly's a good woman. Don't blow it.
*
For the first time in weeks, Sherlock sleeps without dreaming of Eurus, without hearing terrible and beautiful music, without having to listen to his brothers try to bait him into shooting them. Instead, there's only rest, and a sense of warmth, and a vague knowledge that he's just pulled off something incredible.