Lolly had gone missing for a total of thirty minutes on the first warm day after a particularly damp and chilly winter. Mary had taken their daughter to the park to enjoy the sunshine and work off some of her extra energy. John was enjoying the peace and quiet away from his wife. He couldn't deny that they had grown more and more distant since Lolly had been born. John loved his daughter and his quiet domestic life, but he couldn't stop thinking back to his time with Sherlock. Their mad adventures were his fondest memories. The time he spent with Sherlock felt like reality and his time with Mary a hazy dream that he couldn't seem to wake up from.

While his wife and daughter were out John sat typing up the last case that he and Sherlock had solved together. His blog's popularity had only grown since Sherlock's aborted banishing. John was chuckling softly to himself as he described how in their last case Sherlock had tricked the killer into confessing by dressing as a woman and seducing him when Mary rushed in slamming the door into the wall and nearly falling over in her rush to get inside. John quickly cleared his throat and shook the strangely appealing image of Sherlock in that dress out of his mind.

"What's wrong? John asked "Where's Lolly?"

Mary stammered "John-I John-I'm sorry, I stepped away to make a call, she was on the swings laughing, I looked away for two minutes I just..." Suddenly, the room was too warm and John began to feel light headed. His vision blurred and he thundered

"Where is Lolly?"

"She's gone missing, John, I'm sorry, I only looked away for a second to answer the phone"

He grabbed his mobile and began to dial. "I've already phoned the police." Mary managed to communicate through her tears. The police? John looked at her, confused for a moment. He hadn't even considered calling the police. His first thought was Sherlock. Sherlock would find her. He finished dialing and hit send.

"Holmes here" Sherlock answered. John could hear the hum of an acetylene torch in the background. It was truly a miracle that the rooms at 221B Baker Street had not burned to the ground in his absence.

"Sherlock, it's John, Lolly went missing about 5 minutes ago." The act of saying those words out loud made John's world spin around again and sent him tumbling towards the nearest chair. "Mary lost her at the park, I think, someone might have…"

"John, stop" Sherlock interrupted in his authoritative, I am not to be questioned tone. John instantly obeyed and fell completely silent. "I will meet you at the park, bring Mary. The next few minutes are crucial and I need you to remain calm and focused. Emotion is a hindrance at this point"

"Damn you, Sherlock, she's my daughter!"

"John, focus" Sherlock repeated and hung up.

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling himself. Sherlock was right of course. He needed to stay calm and collected. In that instant his mind cleared and his army training came back to him. He was John the soldier now and was ready to deal with the situation and find his daughter.

John glanced briefly at Mary and in a tone that was dripping with disgust and anger barked "Let's go." He grabbed his jacket and revolver and without sparing another glance at his wife rushed out the door and headed to the small park around the corner.

When he arrived he noticed that the police still had not arrived. Frankly, John didn't care, he was skeptical of their abilities after watching the great Sherlock Holmes find solutions to cases that the yard couldn't have solved in a million years. He methodically started looking for clues. He hadn't merely followed Sherlock like a puppy into the darkest corners of London; he had learned a lot from the brilliant detective and was now applying those skills to find his daughter. He paused for a moment to ask Mary where Lolly was seen last.

"She was by the swings." Mary was weeping and frantically calling Lolly's name over and over. John shook his head and noted that once again Sherlock was right. Emotion was a hindrance at times like this. Mary was so hysterical that she wouldn't see a clue if it was two inches from her face.

Next, as if thinking about Sherlock had summoned him he appeared at John's side. John felt relief flood his body. Sherlock would solve it, he would find her. John looked at his friend's face and was annoyed to see him smiling. He noticed that his friend's eyes were sparkling blue and happy. John was about to say something when Sherlock glanced down. John followed his gaze and saw Lolly clutching Sherlock's trademark coat. John fell to his knees and kissed her sweet, sticky face.

"Where on earth were you, love?"

"Ice cream!" Lolly exclaimed. John glanced back up at Sherlock hoping for an explanation.

"Quite simple really, she found a fiver on the ground and thought that he would have an ice cream from the shop. I saw her eating it on the stoop as I was running over. I just can't see how she snuck away without you or Mary noticing."

John's relief turned to rage. This was Mary's fault. I could have lost my daughter forever because she was chatting on the phone to god knows who! Sherlock interrupted John's racing thoughts by calling over to Mary who was halfway across the park still screaming for her lost daughter. Mary sprinted across the playground and scooped Lolly up. She couldn't speak. She just kissed and hugged the little girl until Lolly called out "Daddy make her stop" in her sassiest three year old voice.

The police arrived then. Lestrade exited the car and made his way briskly towards the small group. He looked relieved that Lolly had been found so quickly and that no harm had come to the little girl who called her Uncle Greg.

"Ahh, the Yard's finest" Sherlock joked "always so timely." Lestrade responded to Sherlock's comment with a raised eyebrow and a furtive two fingered salute. He bent down to check Lolly over and when he was satisfied that she was fine he pulled her aside to talk to her about the dangers of running off alone. Sherlock, Mary, and John stood close together while Lestrade was giving Lolly a little lecture.

"How could you" John spat out at his quietly sobbing wife. Mary began to cry uncontrollably once more. John didn't care. Let her cry. She deserves it.

"I stepped away for two minutes." She spluttered between great heaving breaths.

"She is three years old, I could have lost her forever because of you."

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry"

"Who was the call from?" John asked barely concealing his obvious anger.

"Wrong number" Mary replied quickly.

During this exchange Sherlock had taken a few steps back and observed the couple. Interpreting the available data and making conclusions was like breathing to him. He couldn't control it. He concluded that Mary was lying about who the call was from. He glanced over at John and was shocked to see that underneath the anger in his face was a sign of exhaustion, in the tone of his voice was a note of finality. This would be the end of their ill-fated coupling. Sherlock's heart started pounding. He had only one regret in his life, and that was that he had never told John how he felt, He had wasted so many opportunities. Let so many words go unspoken. Suddenly, his train of thought was derailed by John's voice sharply yelling.

"Show me your phone!" John hissed.

Sherlock stepped back towards John and put his hand on the small of his back. "John" Sherlock said firmly into his ear "not here, not now, get Lolly home and cool off. You two can discuss this later, calmly." Looking briefly down into John's hurt eyes he turned away and began walking back towards Baker Street. John watched him go, feeling that familiar tug, somewhere below his navel, that hard stone in his stomach, that longing to follow him back to Baker Street, back home. He had regretted marrying Mary, and frankly if it weren't for Lolly he would have left long ago. Sherlock was his true north and every day since he had found out the truth about Mary had felt like he was lost in the forest without a compass.

Later that night, with Lolly tucked safely in bed, John and Mary sat across from each other at their small kitchen table. The lights were dim and the streetlights shone in through the open window. John had not been able to look at her face since they walked home from the park. He made himself look at her. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. She looked completely spent. They looked at each other, neither one willing to be the first to break the oppressive silence that filled their flat. The only sound was the soft rustling of the new spring leaves outside. Then Mary spoke her voice shattering the fragile glass of quiet.

"John, I'm sorry" she whispered in a barely audible hush. John nodded minutely and responded in a carefully controlled voice

"Sorry isn't good enough for me this time. Who was calling? And don't lie; I have had enough of that from you to last a lifetime." John had asked the question but he already knew the answer. He wasn't stupid he had suspected she was having an affair. She had been clumsily sneaking about for a while. She had been so clumsy about it in fact that he thought she had almost wanted to get caught. He knew it but he wanted to hear the words. He wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to tie her own noose and hang herself on her own mistakes. She began crying again and then obliged him by saying

"It was Forrest, from work; we've been seeing each other for a while."

John felt all his anger leave him, almost like a wave leaving the shore. He looked down and uncurled his clenched fists. The muscles in his neck and back relaxed. He placed his hands flat on the table and smiled into his lap. It was a tiny smile, a smirk really, and it was gone when he looked back across the table at Mary.

"I'm sorry it just happen-"she began again.

"Stop." John cut her off. He didn't want the details. He frankly, didn't care, she had just handed him his second chance to be happy, his chance to be with the person he was supposed to be with, if only that person felt the same.

"Please let me explain"

"No." John interrupted again. "I will explain it to you. We are finished. You chose to betray my trust again. You chose a lie over your family. You made the choice and now you can live with it. I'm done with you." Mary almost said more but the hard look that had settled onto his face spoke volumes. It told her it was over. John stood shook his head, pushed the chair in, and put the kettle on to boil.

Over the next few weeks John and Mary went through the slow and sometimes painful process of extricating themselves from each other's lives. They worked to untangle the mess of yarn that was their failed marriage. The only string that held them together was Lolly. They were polite to each other. They were responsible when it came to Lolly and decided that they would share custody equally and work to make sure that she was still very well provided for and loved. John took steps to distance himself further and further from Mary, but he also kept a healthy distance between himself and Sherlock. He was overwhelmed with thoughts of his best friend and the idea that he was going to have a chance to fix his mistakes and say what should have been said long ago even if it meant being rejected. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to call Sherlock and talk to him. He lay awake each night replaying scenes from their time together and analyzing each moment, each time their eyes met, each time the door to their potential happiness had been open and yet he had refused to step through.

When the divorce had been finalized John moved out. Mary would be keeping the flat that they had shared. His bags were packed and he was ready to go. He held back tears as he kissed Lolly goodbye. He said that he would see her in a few days and reminded her to be a very good girl for her mommy. She giggled as his stubble tickled her face and promised to be a good girl. He rose, nodded at Mary, and walked out the door. He stepped into the waiting cab and asked the driver to take him to 221B Baker Street. The cab pulled away from the curb and headed towards his old flat, towards home.

The closer the cab got to 221B the more anxious John became. His palms grew sweaty and his chest was tight. He had picked up the phone to call Sherlock so many times. Each time he set it down without even dialing. He didn't know how to start the conversation. He hadn't even told him he was coming to stay. He was afraid of what Sherlock would say; afraid he would shut him out. What he was feeling was madness anyways, how could he expect his friend to feel the same, Sherlock was practically a machine. Honestly, what else did John deserve; He had his chance on the runway that day. He had the chance to tell Sherlock how he felt before he was gone forever, and he had let the moment pass. That day was forever replaying in vivid detail in his mind. They had looked at each other on the verge of saying it but Sherlock had made a silly joke and as John laughed it off as he died a little inside. If only he could go back and do it over. He would tell him, tell him how he felt, and save himself the years of misery and longing.

Before John was ready the cab pulled up to 221B. John paid the driver, retrieved his luggage and walked slowly up to the door of his old flat. With each step toward the stoop his anxiety grew. He hesitated, second guessing himself. Should I knock? I should have called and asked to stay. What if he has a client? He reached for the crooked knocker, stopped, turned away, turned back, and finally muttered "sod it" deciding to go to a hotel. He was just stepping back out to hail another cab when the door opened to reveal Sherlock, tall, slim, and perfect in his purple shirt and dark slacks. "John" he said clearly surprised "I thought you were a client. Oscillations on the pavement usually mean a love interest you know."

"I ummmm I was just leaving, sorry to bother you"

"Nonsense, you have arrived on your old doorstep with at least a week's worth of luggage you clearly need a place to stay and this door is always open to you my dear doctor"

"No, I'm going to a hotel. I didn't even phone ahead"

"Please stay, I've been lost without my blogger" Sherlock threw him a roguish wink, turned, and walked up the stairs. John swallowed hard and followed after him.

John set his luggage down in his room and headed to his old armchair. He flopped down in it and looked around the familiar sitting room, The memories whirled around in these rooms as thick as the dust mites, the cases, the experiments, and all of the missed opportunities.

Sherlock's voice broke into his reverie "Tea?" he asked offering John a steaming mug.

"With or without eyeballs?" John quipped grinning up at the curly haired detective.

"Without, I'm afraid. I'm fresh out at the moment. However, I can send Mrs. Hudson out if you really have a burning desire." Sherlock replied.

"Ta" John said taking the mug, chuckling. Sherlock sat in the chair opposite, put his fingers together under his chin and looked John over in that way that always made John feel like he was being mentally undressed.

"Stop" John said firmly. "No deductions, Sherlock, just talk to me."

He fluttered his fingers then spoke "It is over then?"

John cleared his throat "yes, over, completely. We are sharing custody and that is it." John looked down at his cup of tea grateful that he had something to look at besides Sherlock's face.

"Good" Sherlock said almost to himself.

"Good?" John looked up to see Sherlock looking uncomfortable.

"I just mean" This time it was Sherlock who averted his eyes suddenly looking very distressed. "You weren't happy with her and she cheated on you. Lolly is your only real tie."

John looked down again. "I'm ashamed to admit that I feel relieved. Our whole relationship was based on a lie and now I'm free of all of that."

"Excellent" Sherlock exclaimed. He hopped up from his chair with an enthusiasm that was usually reserved for unsolved murders. He shrugged on his suit jacket, looked at John and said "get dressed"

"Sherlock, what?"

"Out, John, we are going out, no arguments."

"But, I" John began.

Sherlock silenced him with a quick look. John trudged up the stairs to get ready. His stomach fluttered as he rifled through his clothes looking for something to wear. What was this? Sherlock didn't like to "go out" he hated it in fact. Alcohol was bad for brain work and all that rot. John felt the butterflies in his stomach start to flutter a little harder. He took some deep breaths. He put on a dark pair of jeans and a trusty striped sweater before starting back down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom step he paused to watch Sherlock flip up the collar of his long coat. John felt a rush of heat flood his body as he looked his roommate. Jesus, John pull it together you are not in high school, you know, and this isn't a date. Sherlock returned John's glance and looked over his outfit appreciatively. Maybe looking at him a little longer than was strictly necessary which made John feel warm all over again. Sherlock absently touched his long fingers to his lips and turned quickly away, his long coat flapping behind him.

The walked down the street to a quiet little pub on the corner. John sat in a booth by the window while Sherlock got drinks. His mind was racing. Sherlock didn't like pubs, what was all this about, I must be reading too much into this, he can't possibly feel the same as I do. Sherlock set a pint in front of John. They sat in silence as they drank. Neither man was capable of addressing the elephant in the room. John escaped the silence by leaving the table to get the next round, sneakily taking two shots of whiskey at the bar while Sherlock was staring out the window. John's hand brushed Sherlock's as he handed him the full pint glass. Sherlock's body tensed at the touch. He quickly relaxed, said thank you, and then fell silent again managing to look everywhere but at John.

With each subsequent drink John's anxiety began to turn to irritation. Why did he bring me here if he's just going to sit there and not say a damn word? We haven't spoken in weeks! He felt the alcohol warming him from the inside, relaxing his tension, and silencing the doubts in his mind.

"Sherlock I-"He began, slurring a little but leaning on that special kind of bravery that comes when you've been drinking. "I think about the day on the runway all the, all the time". John hiccupped and continued " I should have said it, I…"

Sherlock's heart jumped into his throat. This was his chance to make it right. He could fix the mistake he made that day. His concluded that John felt the same.

"Stop" Sherlock said with his eyes locked on John's "Don't say it."

John shriveled. He took Sherlock's words as a resounding rejection. His body folded in on itself. The drinks and the shame in his gut mixed quickly around until he was sure he was going to vomit. How could he have read the situation so wrong? Why did he have to say it? He had just ruined the best thing he had ever had because he had fallen in love with this ridiculous man.

"Its fine really" he continued to shout drunkenly "I'm not even gay if anyone cares!" John stood up and reeled towards the door. He ignored the looks from the other patrons in the pub. The room was spinning and the contents of his stomach still threatened to make a rapid reappearance. Sherlock looked at John completely bewildered. Why is he flying off the handle? He grabbed his arm and held it tight. John pulled free and burst out into the street yelling and waving for a cab.

A cab stopped and John fell into it followed by Sherlock, who gave an address that John couldn't hear through the buzzing in his ears caused by an abundance of alcohol and absolute mortification. John watched the buildings rush past and cursed his stupidity a little more before passing out.

He was awoken by a gentle touch on his arm and a warm dry whisper in his ear. "John we are here, wake up."

"Baker Street?" John asked feeling a little more in control of his mental faculties. "I'm going to a hotel, I can't stay with you after what just- after what I just tried to say-"

"No" Sherlock said reaching for John's hand. John took it and let him help him out of the cab. John loved the feel of their hands together and was disappointed when he let go to pay the cab driver. After Sherlock paid the driver John looked around. They were back on the runway where they had said their "goodbyes" three years ago before Sherlock's aborted banishing. As the cab drove away Sherlock turned and looked at the good doctor.

"Sherlock, what is going on?" John asked. Then he saw, through the retreating alcohol induced fog that Sherlock was shaking. His normal stoic demeanor obliterated, his usually passive features disappeared, replaced by shifting eyes, clenching hands, and lips being bitten in nervous agitation.

"John" Sherlock began. Hearing his name spoken with such reverence sent chills up and down John's body and sent shockwaves through his overworked brain. "I know what you were going to say in the pub. I wanted to say it that day too. I just couldn't ruin what you had with Mary. I couldn't put myself ahead of you and I honestly was never able to deduce whether or not you felt the same. My abilities always failed me when it came to you. I have pined for you every day and nothing has filled the hole that was created when you left Baker Street, nothing, not cases, not research, not drugs. I've tried in vain to move on and yet three years later I still find myself lost without you.

Now it was John's turned to stare at his friend in utter amazement. Sherlock was breathing heavily and softly crying. John yearned to kiss the tears off his cheeks and end his suffering by telling him that he felt the same, but he was frozen, unable to speak, move, or even breathe. The seconds stretched on and on until he forced himself to take a deep breath. Then he stepped forward, closing the gap between himself and Sherlock. He grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulled him close, closed his eyes, and kissed him. The kiss was rough with urgency and wet with tears, and it was the best thing that either man had ever had. John and Sherlock melted together in the heat of that kiss. When they finally pulled apart neither man was sure if minutes or millennia had passed, and it really didn't matter. They were both were both where they wanted to be after so long. The past mistakes rubbed out and a new story written.

"I love you, Sherlock" John said over and over. Finally, after so many years and so many missed chances the words rushed from his mouth in a torrent. Sherlock swallowed them with more kisses and returned them in warm whispers into John's ears and neck "I love you too, John."

Then, Sherlock's phone buzzed pulling the boys from the deep abyss of bliss that they had fallen into. Sherlock reached into his pocket but John grabbed it before he could read it."Lestrade, probably a case, might be important". John said looking down at the screen, slightly disappointed that their moment was interrupted. Sherlock snatched the phone and without even glancing at the screen and chucked it across the dark runway.

He looked into John's eyes again "Far too busy, very important research on at present. I can't possibly tear myself away. In fact," Sherlock smirked while looking John up and down hungrily. "I could use your assistance back at 221B, new experiments, could be dangerous. Interested?"

John groaned "Oh god, yes."