Iris

People were applauding as the Queen issued an official pardon for the crimes that Sherlock Holmes did not commit to the British people. Iris sat to the side in a tight black skirt, white blouse and tight blazer with a face that could only be described as patient. Even as the pardon was issued and cameras and newscasters began interrogating her- she was patient.

"Miss Brook, do you still take cases?"

"How do you spend the anniversary of Sherlock's death?"

"Is it true you work for the eldest Holmes?"

"Do you still own 221B?"

"Do you keep in contact with John Watson?"

"Why do you still wear your engagement ring? Will you move on?"

She stood to walk to her car; an assistant waiting by the side offered her rounded sunglasses for the unusually sunny day which she took as the voices continued to clamor in her ears.

Only when the door closed, did she review the questions.

Only the most interesting.
Alone, drinking a bottle of wine, watching Breakfast at Tiffany's because Sherlock hated that film.
Do you know who the eldest Holmes is?
No, never did. Mrs. Hudson wasn't just a housekeeper.
Yes, we go for chips every Friday.
… It was still a shimmer on her hand. Because it's pretty sounded too vacant. Because I don't want to think he's gone sounded too desperate, not to mention the "empty hearse" club of Anderson's these days. Because I loved him was too close to the truth to let the press hear. No, Iris was not the same girl she was two years ago. But she would do anything to have Sherlock see her now, different-but still his best friend.

"Because I would've married him."

Her assistant looked up, Julie, and saw her boss staring at the diamond on her left hand. The girl only smiled and went back to arranging the plans of the day on her phone, ignoring Iris, knowing that it was only going to get more difficult as the day went on.

Mycroft was back from Serbia.

Lily

Meet me at Diogenes. You will be paid overtime. Check in your phone at the door with Anthea.
MH

This was not the first text Lily received of this general nature, so after her last class of the day it is exactly what she did. It was odd the Mycroft texted her and not Iris but nonetheless, Lily knew quite well how busy the two usually were.

Sharing a flat with Iris had only brought the two sisters closer. Sure, before going to school Iris and Lily had been inseparable, now they just regained that confidence.

When their mother passed away Iris barely shed a tear, instead holding Lily up. Lily had repaid the favor when Sherlock died, and Iris still would only cry at night, when she'd be waiting to go to bed, until she realized she was waiting for someone to come home, who wouldn't. Then she'd cry. Then Lily would walk over from the study where her homework was, to hug her sister.

She had only met Sherlock that once, but she knew him to be an intelligent man, one of the brightest according to her sister. Although his people skills were lacking sufficiently. In fact Iris complained about him more than she complimented him sometimes. Sherlock was supposedly brilliant and a complete arse sometimes with the best intentions.

Lily turned in her phone to the woman at the door to the club and walked down the first flight of cement stairs to the basement. It always made her cold to be down here. She could hear Mycroft's voice from his office.

"Mycroft, is my sister arou-"

She paused in the doorway, slack jawed and eyes tearing up.

With all she knew about Sherlock, she should have seen this coming.

For behind Mycroft's large ornate desk, sat a man, shaving his beard over a compact mirror with stainless steel blades. A very familiar man.

A very stupid man.

"Sherlock Holmes." The words came out harder than Lily expected. Even Mycroft stared at her surprised at the apparent amount of emotion in those two words as the young girl stared at the shaving man.

"Oh," Sherlock began, speaking only when he lifted the razor from his cheek, "Hello Lily, how are you today?" His tone was the most annoying thing Lily had ever heard, she was sure.

"How am I?" She asked incredulously walking closer to the desk.

Sherlock looked her up and down, "Aren't you going to welcome me home?"

Lily was speechless as she stared at the dark haired man behind the desk. Slowly words began to come to her but she waited- forming them carefully. All the while her eyes were narrowing into slits.

Then, her eyes widened and she let out the most dramatic sigh, "Of course, the great idiot Sherlock Holmes."

Both brothers stared at her in shock at the term chosen.

"You faked your own death! Welcome home!" Lily began to pace, shutting the door in her own knowledge that Mycroft didn't like noise running wild through his offices, especially not upstairs, "You destroyed everything you had! Welcome home!"

Lillian Brook was furious, a sight Mycroft had never seen before, on either her or Iris. But the signs were there.

"You have invented a new kind of stupid." Her voice was growing still and Mycroft stood shocked as she leaned over the desk to Sherlock who finished his shaving just in time to be insulted, "A damage you can never undo, kind of stupid. Are you aware of what you left behind? To come here and pretend nothing happened?"

Sherlock stood slowly from Mycroft's chair with a confused face, "Excuse me? It was-"

Mycroft strode forward to stand a tad too close to the girl, leaning back on his desk, "Lily, if you are going to be indignant," This was really ridiculous, "It was a like a move in a chess game, giving up a pawn to gain a knight. Sacrifices were made." He was fond perhaps of the younger Brook, but she was the more emotional one, he found. The less logical. It was good to know it wasn't just him and his brother like that.

Lily scoffed, looking up at him defiantly, "Sacrafice? Do you know how many nights I held my sister as she cried for the fiancé she lost? The friend?" She looked back to Sherlock with eyes that were beginning to cry, "Do you know," She took a breath, "She never cried at our mother's funeral. She only comforted me. She comforted father. I was at your 'presumed' funeral Sherlock Holmes and it would pride me to say she didn't cry for you either. She held John, she consoled Mrs. Hudson, and she's been outstanding."

Mycroft saw his little brother beginning to crack under this one girl and rolled his eyes, "It was to keep her safer, everyone safer." It worked too. But now, London needed him most.

Lily paid Mycroft no heed, "You could have told her." Sherlock was holding her gaze even as a tear rolled down her cheek, "She would've gone to the ends of the world for you. She stayed in London almost a decade ago for you."

Sherlock was watching Lily and Mycroft sighed, the dramatics of goldfishes.

"You should've told her, and now you'll pay for it Sherlock Holmes. You didn't sacrifice a pawn, you sacrificed the queen and she does not take betrayal well. Not even from a king." Lily looked between Mycroft and Sherlock with what can only be described as scorn, "Why did you call me here?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and Lily stepped away from him, noticing how close she got in anger, "He wanted to see a typical reaction to his return. I called you."

Lily rolled her eyes, "You texted me." She looked back to Sherlock was looked cleaned up once more, face shaven and hair done, "We both know Iris has always allowed you too many kindnesses. You better hope she still has some." Lily had heard all about Sherlock in the past two years. Through dinners with John, Molly, Iris- really it was remarkable how much her sister loved this man.

But after this?

Iris

Iris never got bored of walking into the quiet building as the only woman and wearing heels unashamedly. Her office was downstairs and it took her all of ninety seconds to smell the cologne.

Just a whiff but familiar. So familiar.

Her office was plain but with knick knacks of sorts all over and Julie went to work collecting files that Lady Smallwood asked for earlier while Iris just sat down and looked through the daily for that day.

Finally, she was too curious. Picking up the desk phone she telephoned Mycroft.

"Helloo…" Mycroft answered in his aristocratic drawl that made Iris want to roll her eyes.

"Mycroft, do we have company?" The words were not pointed, just honest. Mycroft knew she'd catch the cologne that Sherlock usually wore. But he also knew Iris would not jump to the correct conclusion.

"Yes, if you want to come down, bring the Sherringford file."

Iris furrowed her brow, sure that she'd never seen such a file in her office. Nonetheless she looked but found nothing under S so she decided to just walked down to Mycroft's anyways. Her office was so well organized if she hadn't found it, she had reason to believe it wasn't there.

Her heels clicked down the cement hall. Mycroft's door was open.

Sherlock

Had she gotten slower in two years or was he imagining it? Imagining it. Mycroft had sent her searching for a fake file just to keep her occupied for that extra moment. Sherlock had been pacing nervously, now though he just stared at the open door. Waiting. Agonizingly waiting.

He should have gotten flowers, or something. What would he say? He imagined her happy but what if Lily was right and she's upset at him. How will she react?

He got an idea. Smoothly he walked to the door and then burst out in perfect timing with the near foot steps, knocking into Iris smoothly.

In perfect reflexes, Sherlock grabbed her hand with one hand pulling her back up and then a hand to her waist to steady her.

He was proud- that could be romantic.

Her eyes were wide, her hair a tad lighter and in a ponytail, her body frozen as she stared at him in very close proximity. A part of him told him too close, and the other part told him not close enough.

Sherlock began to feel self-doubt settle in as she stared, still shocked and being held up almost only by his arms. He coughed, "I had," He looked away from her and down, between the little space between them, "Thought it would be a tad romantic this way. A throwback, if you'd like." She still said nothing though her mouth closed and she licked her lips nervously, "I now think I should have just gotten more flowers." He would've removed his hands if she wasn't putting so much force on him.

"Sherlock." Iris stated, not a question Sherlock noted, a statement.

"Iris." Sherlock replied, smiling at hearing her say his name.

Her arms suddenly flew up, wrapping around his neck with a tightness and the space between them evaporated. Her head rested in the crook of his neck and he breathed in her perfume of honey and flowers with a sigh. Her breath tickled his ear lightly and he held her tighter.

"Ris." He repeated as a sigh, holding her head with one hand, the other encircling her waist, keeping her close to him.

"I missed you." Her words were soft, but pointed, "What took you so long?"

Sherlock wasn't expecting the amount of relief those words and her voice brought him. She was always better than he deserved but that didn't stop him from tightening his grasp on her.

He was home again.