John Watson's POV:

I think it's time to move on. Sherlock has been dead for 2 years now and I think I need to move on. I don't mean act like he never existed, but…maybe… just…let him rest in peace. This will be the last time I post whenever I look back at our cases it just makes me sad. I'm even getting married. It's time to leave that part of my life behind me and carry on.

For the Very Last Time,

John H. Watson

I could barely finish my final post. I had to keep revising and editing. I felt for so long that I wouldn't be able to do Sherlock justice with this. He deserved more. I can only hope that someday his name will be cleared. Wherever he is I hope that he's alright.

Sherlock Holmes's POV:

An Avada Kadavra flew passed me and struck the Auror just a stride away. I didn't have time to stop. I must get to the Ministry. I must see Mr. Potter. He may be the only one who knows what to do. Going back to 221b meant I would have to tell John about what happened. I could never do that. He wouldn't believe me anyways. The sound of approaching dementors pulled me out of my thinking. I was in the city. The Deatheaters were still just a stride or two away. The way to the ministry was shown like a map in my head. Left. Right. Scale the fence. Right. Left. Left. Step into the phone booth and you've arrived. My pounding heart didn't stop me from making deductions has I rode the elevator to the Head Auror's office. The witch next to me was acholic. She has come in for a hearing about the use of obliviate spell on a muggle bartender. She had toast for breakfast after catching the 2:00 am train. The man next to me I recognized. Draco Malfoy. I had spent my entire first year listening to him go on and on about Potter. While we were eating dinner. While playing Cluedo. Every time he could. He caught me staring.

"Holmes?" He knitted his brow.

"Yes, it's me Malfoy," I muttered. Being a muggleborn Slytherin made you Malfoy's prime target. But, somehow he looked happy to see me.

"Sherlock, merlin's beard it's really you! How's the consulting detective thing been going for ya?" He was more chipper than I remembered. Oh…now I see it. A wedding ring was glowing brightly on his left hand. A picture of what I could presume is his newborn son was poking out of his dress robe.

"It's been…well," I muttered my response. I didn't necessarily want to talk to Mr. Malfoy at the moment.

"I sent you a wedding invitation. I was hoping you would come and play your violin. Remember, every Sunday you would brush off the dust and perform to Slytherin." Malfoy wanted something.

"Your owl must have dropped it." I was lying. Just like I skipped Mr. Potter's wedding, I skipped his. I knew if I went back I would break down.

The elevator chimed. Without turning to say goodbye to Malfoy I continued my walk to Mr. Potter's office.

I found myself staring at a lion-headed knocker with chipped gold paint. He has many visitors. The knocker its self-was almost completely devoid of paint. Mr. Potter hadn't replaced the rug outside the office. It reminded me of her. Don't think about that Sherlock. She's in Azkaban rotting away. You are safe. I knocked.

"Give me a minute!" I heard a shuffling of papers. A head of disheveled black hair and crooked glasses peeked out of the door.

"Holmes?" Harry Potter asked.

"It appears that way," I responded.

"Come in." He held the door for me as I pulled up a seat.

"I know you wouldn't come back unless it was something important. So…what happened?" He asked. I avoided his question.

"Ginny isn't doing well, is she? She has dragonpox. You wanted to stay home today but the paperwork is piling up and you're just getting by with work as it is. Your oldest son, James, just had his birthday and the cake had too much blue food dye staining your teeth blue. You haven't gotten the chance to spell the color because of your newborn, Albus, he cried through the night. You may want to bring him to a healer. Also, you had a muffin for breakfast." I stated.

"That's nice Holmes. But, I don't think you came here to talk about me." Potter said.

"There's a Deatheater population in London," I said through clenched teeth. Potter was never impressed by my deductions.

"Moriarty?" He was sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Yes."