Welcome Holmes

by LizzeXX

Sherlock/OC – Sherlock has returned to London after 2 years and everything is different. John has left 221B and moved on. But Leena, his oldest friend and fiance, is still there keeping an eye on things. With strained relationships all around, what will Sherlock and Leena do when the threat of Magnussen arises? Will they get their own wedding? Third in the Jackie Holmes Chronicles.

2. The Empty Hearse - Cold Reception

The Empty Hearse: Cold Reception

"Sherlock!" John shouted as Sherlock looked down at him from the roof of St. Bart's.

"It's a trick," he told the man over the phone, though his gaze was fixed on the blonde woman standing beside John, "Just a magic trick."

"No," he could see John shaking his head, "Alright, stop it now," before he turned to Leena, "I'm going to get him, you watch him."

"John!" he called, but John had already made his way to the road, making his way carefully through the cars towards the hospital, "Leena…" he began.

"Why are you lying Sherlock?" she asked, using his full name in light of the situation, the terrible, horrible situation taking place right in front of her, "It won't work. Not on me. On anyone else, but NOT on me. I KNOW you."

"I know," he let out a tearful laugh, smiling down at her though she couldn't see from so far away.

"Don't do this Sherlock," she pleaded, he could hear the tears in her voice.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, before he lowered his arm, dropping the phone and spread his arms, falling forward off the building.

"SHERLOCK!" Leena screamed, running across the road, ignoring the cars that screeched to a halt to avoid hitting her.

John, who had just reached the doors of the hospital, spun around at her shout, running back towards her, only to look around the corner of the entrance to see Sherlock on the ground.

"Oh God…" John breathed, running for him as a crowd gathered around him…

Only for a man to get in his way, grabbing him.

"No, let go!" John struggled, seeing another man grabbing Leena as well as she ran for Sherlock's body, pulling her off, past it and towards the hospital, whispering to her.

"John," the man, Derren Brown tried to calm him, "John, look at me. Look at me. And…" he pressed his hand to John's forehead, "Sleep," knocking the man out, John blearily falling to the ground, Derren supporting him as he vaguely saw Leena enter the hospital before the world went dark, "Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way, sound asleep. That's real. That's good, with my voice just there in the center of your head and floating all the way around you. Don't worry about the girl, she's fine," he reached out and changed John's watch back a few minutes, glancing over at what was happening and waiting for his cue…

Sherlock was bouncing up into the air, attached to a bungee cord, before he turned and broke into the window of the hospital, unhooking his cord. He waved the glass off his coat, brushed the bits of it out of his hair, before striding past Molly as she waited in the room incase he needed medical attention for breaking the glass or needed help getting the hook off him. He shot her a wink, making it to the halls just as the doors at the end of it opened.

Sherlock grinned as he saw Leena running to him, grabbing her up into his arms as she locked her legs around him, kissing him deeply as he held her. He stumbled into the wall, both of them gasping as her back hit it, before continuing their kiss, only for a beep to go off on his wrist. He pulled away, looking down at it, the alarm on his watch signifying he had to go, NOW, and offered her one more kiss before grabbing her hand and pulling her off, forcing himself to let her go as they reached the doors to the hospital.

"Go," he called to her, letting her hand free to run back outside as he turned and made his escape…

Derren nodded as he saw Leena running out of the hospital, nodding to him to wake John up as she rushed to 'Sherlock's' side, "And you will awaken in three, two, one...zero."

John opened his eyes as the man ran off, looking up from the ground to see Leena had reached Sherlock and pushed himself up, running for her, "Let me come through please! He's my friend!"

"Bollocks!" Lestrade scoffed as he stood before a small cart, getting a coffee before work, Anderson, the poor man seeming nearly deranged as he stood beside him, rambling off yet another ridiculous theory on how Sherlock survived.

"No, no, no, no, it's obvious," Anderson smiled, "That's how he did it. It's obvious!"

"Derren Brown?!" Lestrade gave him a look, "Jackie IN the hospital?" he sighed and shook his head, "Let it go, Sherlock's dead!"

"But is he?" Anderson continued to grin, his straggly beard making him look even more crazed, he'd truly let himself go since Sherlock's death two years ago, his entire life had been consumed with conspiracy theories on how the man had to have survived, fueled by the belief that he couldn't be dead, Sherlock Holmes just…he couldn't be dead.

"There was a body," Lestrade rolled his eyes, "It was him. It was definitely him, Molly Hooper laid him out. Jackie spoke at his fune…"

"No," Anderson cut in, though Lestrade caught the faint wince at the mention of Leena, well, everyone called her Jackie now, no one slipped up and called her Leena anymore, it was their way of honoring Sherlock, the man who had 'claimed perpetual dibs' on calling her Leena since they'd been children, "She's lying. It was Jim Moriarty's body with a mask on!"

Lestrade gave him an exasperated look now, "A mask? A bungee rope, a mask, Derren Brown?" he sighed, "Two years and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more have you got for me today?"

"Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area? Even the exact ones that he landed on, you know they were all..."

"Guilt!" Lestrade cut in, "That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan," he gave Anderson a close look, intently eyeing him, seeing bags under the man's red eyes, seeing how thin he'd gotten, "How many times have you watched that video?" he asked him quietly.

Anderson looked down, not even needing to know what video Lestrade was speaking of. It had gone viral, everyone saw it till someone had managed to hack into the website that first put it up and delete it. It was of Leena, her breakdown at the scene of Sherlock's suicide. Apparently the world couldn't get enough of watching a young woman witness the death of her fiancé, it was disgusting. Yet HE kept watching it, over and over, every time he felt like giving up, every time he felt like others were right and Sherlock was dead…he'd see that video again, he'd see how devastated Leena was, he'd remember the brutal laying out of the truth she'd given him, Anderson, and Kitty Riley just after it happened. He had to do this, for her, he HAD to prove Sherlock was alive, because…she was right, her husband was dead because of what HE had done. Well, not her husband, they hadn't actually gotten married, but he was as good as.

And THAT was what truly killed him. Sherlock had had a life, he'd had a proper life. He'd had a future, with Leena, and HE and his petty jealousy and anger, had taken that away from him, from both of them. He honestly hadn't realized how much of a life Sherlock had actually had, how…human…he was till he'd seen Leena's reaction to it, till he'd realized that Sherlock was actually going to marry that girl. John had told them, at the funeral that Lestrade had made them attend, having wanted him and Donovan to see their handiwork, that Sherlock and Leena had just set a date, had gone wedding cake tasting and…Leena was about to pick out her wedding dress…when it had happened. They'd truly been about to wed, Sherlock had been serious, he'd actually loved Leena and…and now none of that could happen. Not only had he ruined the reputation of a good man, a man who had helped them solve countless murders and mysteries and put away hundreds of criminals, but he'd driven that man to take his own life, he'd ruined the life and future and broken the heart of another person as well. He hadn't just destroyed Sherlock's life…he'd destroyed Leena's as well.

And seeing that video of her, breaking down, seeing the truth she had given them, a truth she would have been able to broadcast to everyone if they'd just given Sherlock a chance to explain, and…hearing her speech at the funeral…it broke him. It broke him in ways he hadn't known a human could be broken. He had to do it for her, he had to find some way to bring Sherlock back for her…because she wasn't happy. She'd been transferred back to America, Lestrade's orders, something about London holding too many memories, but she'd been sent back. She'd been doing poorly there, not just in concentration or in her work, but…she'd been away from her entire support system. Her team at the BAU was incredible, and so supportive yes, but…she'd needed people who had known Sherlock around her. So she'd been sent back, she'd moved into 221B Baker Street permanently, John having moved out and her unable to bear the thought of Mrs. Hudson renting the flat out to anyone else. Which was good, in a way, both women had been the most fond of Sherlock.

But she quit her job at Scotland Yard within a year of it happening. She just...couldn't focus on the cases without thinking about Sherlock being there. He'd heard that at least, he couldn't say for sure, he and Donovan had been fired. But he had his sources in the Yard, they'd said that she'd managed to deduce the killer of a crime, and one of the others on the case had accidently called her Mrs. Holmes…she'd quit the next day. He didn't know what she did now, she just…stayed in 221B most of the time. She did go out, here and there, when John Watson would request dinner or lunch with his new girl, Mary…something. But where John had moved out completely, unable to bear being around reminders of Sherlock, Leena couldn't seem to part from them. He knew that Lestrade was worried, 2 years and she hadn't exactly moved on…though she was doing so in a far healthier way than he was apparently. She didn't go ranting about theories on how he was alive, in fact, she rebuffed him and refused him each time he came up with a new theory. He always ran it by her, as terrible and painful as he thought it might be for her, he just…wanted to give her hope.

"You both did this," Lestrade cut into his thoughts, "And it killed him and he's staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's going to change what really happened? You think if you wish hard enough, he'll come back? That Jackie will forgive you?" he scoffed at that, taking a sip of his coffee as he started to walk off for the Yard.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes!" Anderson called after him, he had to, he HAD to believe Sherlock survived…or he'd go stark raving mad...if he hadn't already that is.

"Yeah," Lestrade paused to look back at him, "Well, that won't bring him back."

"And, that after extensive police investigations, new evidence has been presented that Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty…"

Lestrade and Anderson looked over to see a news team was set up before the Yard, a reporter giving the latest broadcast.

"Amidst unprecedented scenes," a second team was also there, "There was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion."

"Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective and his fiancé, a Miss Jacqueline Jerrard," and a third as well, though this one was a woman, "The detective himself became something of a celebrity two years ago. Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far. Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with the..."

Lestrade swallowed at that, there HAD been a note, to John and Leena, but both refused to speak of it, and they couldn't bring the department to question them further, especially not after Leena revealed to all of them their hand in it, their hand in NOT discovering the truth and investigating and going after the real criminal.

"Well then, seems Jackie's sent out the evidence then," Lestrade sighed.

It had…been a suggestion of his, for the last two years, whenever he'd visit her, to check on her. He'd suggest she send out that evidence she'd had sitting in a lonely corner of the flat, gathering dust. She'd shown them all of it, the evidence that cleared Sherlock's name, but she'd refused to send it out back then, claiming no one would believe it, Kitty Riley's article too fresh in their minds. But he'd tried, vainly, throughout the year to get her to reconsider, even though he knew it would mean a storm of questioning about his department if she let it out but he just…he hadn't wanted her to turn into Anderson and get stuck, he'd wanted her to move on with her life. It seemed…she finally had. He'd thought it would help her cope, to have Sherlock's name cleared, to not be known as the 'Fiancé of a Fraud' or some other horrible title, to finally be able to let go with his reputation unmarred…he could only hope it would work.

He glanced at Anderson, holding up his cup of coffee, "Absent friends. Sherlock."

"Sherlock," Anderson held up a cup of his own.

"And may God rest his soul," Lestrade added as they took a sip in memory and honor.

~8~

Leena stood at the window of 221B Baker Street, staring out at London with a small smile on her face, fiddling with the engagement ring on her finger. She looked down at the small desk beside her, leaning over to pull one of the drawers open, letting out a small breath when she saw Irene's phone still lying there.

'The Woman, but not THE woman…'

She reached out and picked it up, just weighing it in her hand a moment, recalling that adventure and all that had been revealed during it…

'You never try to change me, you know? And I…I love you for that. I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me, but it never is around you. You've been such an important part of my life Leena, without you...I wouldn't be where I am today.'

She sighed and placed it back into the drawer, shutting it. She looked down at her ring a moment, tugging it off to look at it, wondering what Sherlock would deduce if he looked at it. She could guess, long engagement, given the age of it. Loyal fiancé, because the inner side of it was just as old as the outside. Proud of the relationship, given the faint hint of polish on it, not much, it wasn't cleaned often, not compulsively cleaned, but enough where it was obvious that the woman wearing it cared a great deal for the ring. The woman wearing it was modest, simple, not focused on wealth because the ring itself was modest and simple with just a single small diamond in it. It was a ring of true commitment and not showing off.

'I am who I am because of you. I...cannot be me without you. If I ever lost your trust...if I ever lost YOU...I don't know what I'd do. Will you marry me Jacqueline?'

She shook her head, this happened more often than she'd like, her hearing him talking to her, as though he were actually there when she knew he wasn't, when she knew it was impossible for him to be. She glanced over at the map of the world she'd pinned up on the wall, all news clippings and strings and markers on it. He was in Serbia now. She'd sent Mycroft after him, it was taking him exactly 1 week longer there than it should have, 1 week that she should have found a news clipping of some sort about him in another place. So she'd stormed down to Mycroft's office, tossed a file on his desk, and ordered him to Serbia.

He'd looked a bit shocked and tried to cover it up, clearly he hadn't anticipated her to know the truth about Sherlock. There had only been a set number of people to know, and she, for some reason unknown to her, SHE didn't factor into that list. Well, that wasn't exactly true, she DID know why she wasn't on it. Mycroft could be hidden away in his office, and he naturally had a very uncaring look to him, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were off travelling so much they were hardly ever seen in public anyway, no one knew who they were, and Molly, well…no one thought about her. She and John though, they WOULD be in the public eye, they would be watched and scrutinized and all the enemies Sherlock had, anyone who knew about Moriarty's fixation on him…if she or John showed one single instant of not thinking Sherlock was dead, of not reacting in a way of someone in mourning…Sherlock would be in danger. It was hers and John's reaction everyone would be watching for.

She took enormous pride in knowing that she'd fooled even Mycroft into thinking she had truly believed Sherlock was dead. Fooling Anderson was more a pleasure to do. There was some truth in her reactions though. For a brief moment, right at the start, she HAD thought he was dead, until she'd remembered their code, until she'd worked it out and pushed past the grief to realize…he'd promised her he wouldn't ever leave her. And he had never broken a promise to her before. He wouldn't start now. And then she'd worked it out.

She knew his methods, she knew what he'd do to fool everyone. She'd worked it out, and just had Molly confirm it without really giving away too much. No one had told her the truth, no one had included her, and she'd managed to keep everyone thinking she truly thought Sherlock was dead.

Except Sherlock himself.

Honestly, standing there in the cemetery? Did he really think SHE wouldn't see him there when she'd glanced back at the grave before leaving with John and Mrs. Hudson? She'd spent more than 2 decades with the man, she saw all sorts of things that she hadn't before knowing him, he was standing right there! The naughty boy. She knew he'd taken her recording she'd left him, she knew that he knew that she knew that he was alive…

She closed her eyes and shook her head, oh that was confusing.

She blinked and looked out the window, smiling a bit when she saw John was outside, heading for the doors, two little boys walking past asking for a penny for Guy Fawkes. Oh yes, that was coming up soon, wasn't it? Only a few days away really. She sighed, explosions reminded her of Sherlock. Well, everything reminded her of Sherlock to be honest. Chemicals, hospitals, mystery novels, mystery movies, news reports, even tea reminded her of him. She glanced at the bookshelf, she could hardly stand to even touch her treasured Robin Hood books, because he was and always would be her Sherwood and her Locksley.

'As you are my Maid Marian.'

And there went his voice in her head again. She'd only touched one of the books, and that was to replace the one that Sherlock had carved pages out of to place a syringe of morphine in once. And that was the last time. She knew it should be expected, living in the flat, that everything would remind her of Sherlock, it was HIS flat after all, his and John's. She knew Greg was getting worried for her, that she kept living there, surrounded by Sherlock but…it was all she had left to hold onto till he returned. She couldn't risk contacting him, she couldn't risk talking about him with Mycroft in public. Half the time she couldn't even risk being seen going to Mycroft without raising suspicion. She had to be very, very careful. And she had to be very, very patient.

But for Sherlock, she'd wait forever.

She'd waited more than 20 years for him to realize she loved him.

She'd waited nearly 5 years in America to get back to him.

She could wait 2 years for him to return to her.

She looked towards the door to the flat when she heard the main doors downstairs open, hearing another set of Mrs. Hudson's door open as well, and knew that John had stepped in. She turned, slipping her ring back on, before heading down stairs to greet the man, being sure to pull a small blanet, like a decorative cloth down over her map of the world so no one would see. Those who visited the flat she saw coming, Mrs. Hudson rarely ever came up any more, waiting for her to come down instead, so she didn't often have to cover the map. But she knew that if anyone saw it, they'd think she'd finally lost it and turned into Anderson, so she had to take care to hide it till she could pin the cloth to the side once more.

~8~

Sherlock winced as he laid in Mycroft's office, on a reclining chair, getting his face shaved by one of Mycroft's men. His brother was brilliant, really just…brilliant, he'd just escaped Serbia with Mycroft's help after being beaten to a pulp, with cuts, scrapes, and stitching all over his back…and the man's first order was to lie back and let the barber get to work.

Truly, that was just brilliant, sore back and lie back.

So he could barely contain his winces and flinches and groans of discomfort as he was trapped in Mycroft's office. He'd been in Serbia, having just dismantled the last of Moriarty's network…when he'd gotten a bit caught. It was his own fault he supposed he'd been…distracted. It was the very LAST piece of the puzzle, the last link in the chain that needed to be broken to make everything safe, to make it secure enough for him to return to London, to Leena. He'd likely been a bit too eager for that really, to return, and so he'd not noticed the signs that they were on to him till it was too late and he'd been caught.

He'd been eager, rushing, almost…desperate if he believed in being such a thing. But…it had been absolutely hell for him, the 4 years that Leena was in America, and for that he'd at least been able to email her and talk to her and text her and just...have some sort of contact with her. This time…2 years and he'd been completely cut off from her. None of his small contacts, the few he could manage having, would tell him anything about her, Mycroft's orders, naturally. He'd wanted Sherlock to be focused and not distracted by news of his fiancé, but it had had the reverse effect. All he'd thought about the last two years was her, her and John, and getting back to London. He had made a promise to her, to himself, that he would see her married to him if it was the last thing he did.

And for one brief moment when he'd been caught, he honestly had thought it was going to be the end of him, that he'd have finally broken a promise to her. And then the man had left, some lie about the man's wife cheating on him, and he'd discovered that the man who had been watching him be beaten all that time was really Mycroft come to extract him. He had no idea how the man had known to come, he hadn't been able to reach his contacts to call for help, not that he'd ever call for help, and it wasn't unusual for any of his contacts to have not heard from him in ages.

Still, he didn't bother to ask, he just assumed it was one of Mycroft's informants that had let slip somehow. He was just grateful to be back in London, to be out of that and to finally be able to return. It truly had been torture, to be out there, with no word about Leena or John, more Leena than anything. He knew she'd promised to wait for him, but…2 years and he knew Mycroft wouldn't have told her he was alive…2 years and not knowing for sure he was still there…he could only imagine what had happened in that time.

There had been one brief time when he'd been in Germany, he'd had a bit of food poisoning, really quite awful, so bad he'd actually begun to hallucinate a short while. He'd had terrible visions of John being there for Leena, but being there for her in more than just a friendly way and his heart broke to think that perhaps John had been 'comforting' his fiancé that entire time! But he knew John, and when he recovered, he realized how ridiculous that was. Because Leena had, according to various sources, claimed that HE was it for her, just him, only him, and John would never do that to him, and the man would likely have found another girl, a nurse or something similar to bond with and attempt courting, and they all knew how that would turn out.

He sometimes wondered why so many people blamed HIM for John's flub of relationships, HE managed to hold onto a girl 20 plus years and John could barely manage 20 days. So really, whose fault was it?

Certainly not his.

"You have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft asked, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Quite the busy little bee. Hmm."

"Moriarty's network," he grunted, feeling his back tense at the effort to talk, he'd been mostly silent for ages, or speaking other languages, his voice was a bit more hoarse and raspy and deep than he remembered, "Took me two years to dismantle it."

"And you're confident you have?"

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle."

"Yes," Mycroft nodded, "You got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."

Inwardly he was silently cursing himself though, that he hadn't noticed how deep his brother had gotten in with them. He…was getting rusty it appeared, that he hadn't realized. It had taken Leena storming into his office with a file of all Sherlock's happenings throughout the globe and documented accounts of how long he took in each place to point out that he was taking too long there and demand he go help his brother. He was quite…shocked to find that Leena was aware that Sherlock was alive and that he was in Serbia, but…if anyone could predict his brother's moves, it was her.

And she'd been right.

So he'd commenced 'Operation Robin Hood' to bring his brother back. Because now that he knew that Leena knew…it was only going to be a matter of time before everything came about, when Leena was worried…that was when she was unpredictable. And the only one she ever truly worried about was Sherlock. So he'd agreed to leave, with the subtle suggestion that, perhaps, she spread out that evidence she'd gathered, t omake for a happy return.

He'd never seen the girl smile so widely…or HUG him…in his entire life, as when he'd implied he would being Sherlock back for good.

But he wasn't about to tell his brother that, no, he would rather like to see Sherlock's own reaction to Leena.

"Colossal," Sherlock agreed.

"Anyway. You're safe now."

"Mmm," he hummed, grunting again as his back strained.

"A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."

"What for?" Sherlock opened his eyes to scoff at his brother.

"For wading in. In case you've forgotten, field work is not my natural milieu."

"'Wading in?'" he rolled his eyes, sitting up, wincing at the move, "You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp!"

"I got you out."

"No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the small smirk on Mycroft's face, "You were enjoying it."

"Nonsense."

"Definitely enjoying it," Sherlock smirked himself, making Mycroft eye him suspiciously for it, "What would Leena think if she found out?" he grinned as Mycroft's own smirk fell, "I can't say she'd warmly welcome you to the wedding, if you'd even still be invited."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed at that, at that threat, before adding a barb of his own, "You think there'll still be one?" he let out a laugh, "It's been 2 years Shirley."

He knew it was terrible, to imply that Leena had moved on. He knew that the only reason his brother had even agreed to this plan of his was because of Leena, because he'd made it quite clear that all of Moriarty's branches knew about her relation to him, how they were to be married, how she'd be the biggest target if anyone of Moriarty's men wanted to attack. Sherlock had left for 2 years, kept out of contact, and spent all his time dismantling Moriarty's base so he could return to Leena, to see her safe.

To imply she'd moved on, that she hadn't been waiting as patiently as Penelope had for Odysseus, was cruel. But so was threatening not to let him come to the wedding. He'd been waiting more than 20 years for this to happen!

"Listen," he cut in, seeing Sherlock glaring back at him, "Do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover? Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the people!"

"I didn't know you spoke Serbian," Sherlock remarked as he laid back down with a soft grunt, allowing the barber to continue with his work.

"I didn't. But the language has a Slavic root. Frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours."

"Hmm, you're slipping."

"Middle-age, brother mine. Comes to us all."

Sherlock couldn't help but manage a small smile at that, middle-age, living to middle age did sound wonderful, if it meant that Leena would be with him as well.

~8~

Leena winced and rubbed her head, closing her eyes as Mrs. Hudson half-threw her china onto the kitchen table of 221 Baker Street, the tea in its little pot, the plates with cookies on it, setting them down harshly, uncaring as to whether they'd break as she angrily 'welcomed' John back. In the last two years, John had visited them both a handful of times just after he'd moved out. Literally, they could count it on one hand alone. Mrs. Hudson had tried to be understanding of it, but…when John hardly ever called her even just to chat and she had to find out how his life was going through Leena, through her meeting him for lunch here and there or meeting Mary, or even when he'd call HER mobile and not ring up Mrs. Hudson…well, the woman was understandably irritated by that.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Hudson sighed as she half-slammed the tray down before John, "You don't take it, do you?"

"No," John said softly.

Mrs. Hudson nodded, silently taking a seat beside Leena, opposite John, "You forget a little thing like that."

"Yes."

Leena smiled, not always, you didn't always forget. She could remember exactly how Sherlock arranged his sock drawer and she'd not seen or looked at his socks in ages. She'd moved into his room, permanently, put her clothes in half his closet, her other items in half the other drawers, ones she'd found had been left empty just for her. She'd refused to let them go through and see about donating the clothes. Sherlock and his family were wealthy enough, yes, so was her family, her father and his had been business partners, made a fortune, so she knew it would be no small cry for him to buy a new wardrobe when he returned, but…she couldn't bring herself to let them throw out those clothes, it was like they were all she had left to remember that Sherlock WAS real and not just a figment of her imagination.

She'd always been a bit of a lonely child, even in France, growing up with her eidetic memory, being able to remember whatever she saw or read…she knew it was what had inspired Sherlock to build his Mind Palace, but for her…it had been a burden. None of the other children had felt it fun to be around her, not till she met Sherlock, he'd been the first, he'd been the first one to be impressed with how she could rattle off information. It became easier when she was older, when she'd gotten a job at the BAU as well, she'd had to deal with things that she saw, remembering every single moment of it, every body, every scene, but…equally she'd been able to help, remembering different types of weapons to identify, remembering different ways to different knives cut, remembering different key codes and letters and bits of evidence.

Sherlock…to get rid of all of that…it would be too much like trying to erase him, make it so he didn't exist, and she didn't want that. So she'd asked to keep his clothes. Every so often, when she'd have a nightmare, when she'd see him fall and hit the ground and truly believe that he had really died, that he wasn't coming back, she'd curl up with one of his shirts or put on his old blue dressing gown and just take in his lingering scent. It was fading after 2 years, but she had hope that he'd soon be there to renew all that.

"You forget lots of little things, it seems," Mrs. Hudson remarked, reaching out to take Leena's hand in her own.

It was quite the opposite with Leena than it had been for John, Leena was still there. Still. After 2 years she hadn't left the flat. She found herself almost wishing that Leena would move out, as John had, because she knew Leena would keep in touch, she'd still call her and visit and everything. But…she…it wasn't healthy for Leena to stay there, to keep being reminded of Sherlock everywhere. If Leena hadn't moved back in when she had, she would have been able to clean out 221B and get rid of most of Sherlock's things, help with the process, but Leena wasn't grieving properly. It was like the girl knew Sherlock was dead but she wasn't letting go of him.

"Uh huh," John swallowed, seeing the action.

Truth be told, he was worrying for Leena as well. He had introduced her to Mary, the two got on marvelously, but…whenever they tried to double date with her, sometimes even needing to trick her into coming to get to that point, she'd sit there politely, but tense, not engaging and then coldly shake the other man's hand and walk off…and then not speak to him for two weeks. It was terrible, he'd found such happiness in Mary, he'd found a woman who understood the sort of friendship he and Sherlock and Leena had come to have, she wasn't threatened by Leena, she was so supportive of him and…she helped him move on, and he just wanted that for Leena too.

"Not sure about that," Mrs. Hudson remarked, nodding at John's face.

"Hmm?" John looked up, confused.

"Your um…furry little friend there," Leena offered him a smile at his nose, where John was sporting a rather…odd moustache. Well the moustache itself wasn't odd, it was just…seeing it on JOHN was the odd part, it didn't suit him.

'I can't believe he's keeping that.'

John rolled his eyes at that, Leena made comments like that all the time about his moustache, little jokes, nothing to insulting, she wasn't Sherlock, but still, it was clear she wasn't a fan of it much. She liked to call it his furry friend, remark that it looked like a rather thick caterpillar.

Apparently she hadn't told Mrs. Hudson about it though.

'He looks like an old man.'

"Ages you," Mrs. Hudson agreed, making Leena smile at how she'd agreed with the voice of Sherlock in her head.

"Just trying it out," he shrugged.

"Try shaving it John," Leena told him.

"It ages you," Mrs. Hudson repeated, before sighing as they fell into silence, "Look...I'm not your mother, I've no right to expect it..."

"No..." John began, realizing what the woman was about to start on.

Leena had told him a few times that Mrs. Hudson was saddened that she hardly ever heard from him. It was why he'd come to see her, well, part of it, he'd needed to see Leena too, there was something…something he wanted to ask Mary but he didn't feel right doing so until he spoke to them, let them know. It was the final step he needed to truly move on and, he supposed, a part of him felt guilty for moving on while Leena wasn't. He just…wanted to get permission from her, well, not permission, he'd do it with or without Leena's blessing, but he really did want her support for what he wanted to do.

"But just one phone call, John! Just one phone call from YOU would have done," Mrs. Hudson continued.

"I know," John sighed, guilty.

"After all we went through, and you left Leena and I here alone, nearly two years and not a word from you unless it was through her and…"

"Yes. I am sorry."

"Look," Mrs. Hudson looked at the two of them, seeing Leena bowing her head a bit at the turn in conversation, "I understand how difficult it was for you both after...after..."

'Not dead.'

"Please don't," Leena whispered, closing her eyes, despite what she knew of Sherlock and what he'd done…she hated talking about it. She'd had nightmares for weeks, months after it had happened, of Sherlock jumping, of him falling, it was just…she didn't want to ever talk about it. She'd only just come to terms with the fact that it had happened and been necessary and she didn't want to start back on it again.

"I just let it slide, Mrs. Hudson," John tried to explain, "I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone, somehow. Do you know what I mean?"

Leena reached out and took his hand that was resting on the table, resting hers on top of his, "I know John," she offered him a smile, "There is always so much that one single phone call can do," she murmured, looking down, thinking about how much she would have liked ONE call from one specific person as well, "It's no fault of yours, you couldn't…you just couldn't do it. I get it, and I think Mrs. Hudson does too, don't you?"

"Thank you," he smiled back at her as Mrs. Hudson nodded.

~8~

Mycroft stood at his desk as he watched Sherlock putting on a white shirt, it was a loaner, with Leena still in 221B there wasn't any way for them to get him some of his own clothes, he'd been on the run in Serbia without any supplies of his own so it was basically whatever pants and shirt Anthea had been able to go out and secure while Sherlock's dreadfully long hair and ridiculous beard were being cut, "I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock, is that quite clear?"

"What do you think of this shirt?" Sherlock frowned as he looked at it, it was white, Leena always favored him in his purple shirt for some reason, but all Mycroft had to offer him was just…white. It was so boring.

'I DO love your purple shirt,' he heard Leena's voice whisper in his mind, making him close his eyes a moment, it was not the first time that had happened, nor would it be the last. He doubted it would stop until he'd seen Leena again.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and rolled at how nearly Mycroft seemed about ready to stomp his foot, "I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart…"

"Are you talking about London or Leena?"

"Mycroft!"

"Oh, alright, Jackie," Mycroft rolled his eyes this time, "But don't be surprised if others are calling her Leena as well without you there hounding them about it. Quite childish really."

"Says the man who just called me Shirley?" Sherlock muttered back, though he felt his heart squeeze at the thought that someone else might be calling her Leena as well, that was HIS name for her, and he didn't like sharing.

"One of our men died getting this information," Anthea stated from the side, bringing both men back to the topic at hand, "All the chatter, all the traffic concurs, there's going to be a terrorist strike on London, a big one."

"And what about John Watson?" Sherlock glanced over.

Mycroft frowned, he'd half expected Sherlock to ask about Leena, "John?"

"Mhmm. Have you seen him as well?"

"Oh, yes," Mycroft scoffed, "We meet up every Friday for fish and chips."

"Much like you meet Leena the first Wednesday of every other month for tea?" Sherlock smirked, seeing his brother's lips purse at his deduction.

"I've kept a weather eye on him, on Lee…Jackie," he corrected at the glare Sherlock sent him, "Too, of course," Mycroft nearly sneered, not answering the question but having Anthea hand him a file, "We haven't been in touch at all?"

"To what?" Sherlock wondered.

"Prepare him, prepare either of them?"

Sherlock smirked at how Mycroft was still under the impression Leena had no idea he was alive, he'd kept that little tidbit to himself.

'I do so love it when we make Mycroft THINK he's in charge Locksley. Well done.'

"No," he grimaced, shaking his head from Leena's voice to see a photo of John, with his moustache and all, "Well, we'll have to get rid of that."

"'We?'"

"Leena and I."

'I don't like his furry little friend either. Ages him a bit doesn't it?'

"He looks ancient," he nodded, "We can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man. Hatman, Catwoman, and Robin," he murmured under his breath, smiling when, with a turn of the page, he was on a section for Leena. He smiled as he saw her, the first recent sighting of her in 2 years, his finger reaching out to gently trace along her cheek in the picture. He frowned though as he noticed more about her, she looked…thinner, paler, tired…

Well, he'd have to see about that.

He couldn't have his 'blushing bride' collapsing before their wedding from illness, could he?

~8~

Leena led John and Mrs. Hudson up to her flat, ooh…that was weird to think, HER flat, well she supposed it was by now, what with her having been the only one to live there for nearly 2 years. John had stayed for a few weeks, when her nightmares had been the worst, but when he thought she was getting better…he'd gone. But they hadn't been better, she'd just gotten better at hiding them.

"So why now?" Mrs. Hudson asked as they both watched Leena head to the window and look out it, reminding them both so much of when Sherlock would do that, when there was some sort of case on the horizon, when he suspected that the police would need his help, he'd stand there and wait for Lestrade to show up. But they both knew she was likely waiting for a man who would never come, "What changed your mind?"

Leena smiled, looking over at him, seeing John shifting, "Go on John," she nodded at him.

He looked at her before rolling his eyes, realizing she'd just deduced him, she was becoming more and more like Sherlock every day except without the feel of a pompous arse about her. She, of course, would work out what he was nervous about. Not only because of that but, she'd met Mary, she liked the woman, had told him so herself, how happy she was for him.

But he'd seen tears in her eyes and he knew it had to be hard for her to see him with someone he loved, knowing he was about to announce his intent to marry her, and know that she'd never be able to marry the man she loved.

"Well, I've got some news…" John began, taking a breath.

"Oh, God," Mrs. Hudson nearly fell back onto the sofa, staring at him in alarm, "Is it serious?"

"What?" John's eyes widened.

"He's not ill Mrs. Hudson," Leena gave a small laugh, "He's just got something rather…big to tell us, don't you John?"

He swallowed and nodded, "I've, well, I'm...moving on."

"You're emigrating?" Mrs. Hudson guessed.

'Has she been taking lessons from Anderson?'

"No," Leena chuckled a bit at that.

John had to smile at that though, at seeing her smiling and laughing, small though it was. And that was the difference between her and Sherlock, when Sherlock had been miserable, he expected everyone else to be miserable too, when Leena was sad she didn't want others to be too, she wanted them to be happy and she was happy for them, "I've er...I have met someone."

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson smiled, "Ah, lovely."

"We've met," Leena added, starting to smirk as she picked her words carefully so as not to give way anything and see Mrs. Hudson's reaction, "They're so sweet together Mrs. Hudson, so in love."

"Yeah," John smiled at that as well, "We're getting married. Well, I'm going to ask, anyway."

"So soon after Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson gave a small glance at Leena.

But Leena just walked over to John with a wide grin, "Congratulations John," she hugged him tightly.

John let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, he hadn't known why he ever expected Leena to not be happy for him or supportive of him, that just wasn't her. Unless it was Irene Adler he was sure she'd wish the best for anyone, "Thanks Jacks," he murmured in her ear, squeezing her tighter. It was…a tiny nickname of his own for her. Sherlock would be turning in his grave to hear anyone call her Leena, and most had stopped, everyone called her Jackie or Jacqueline, but he…he wanted his own special name for her, and the closest he could work out was 'Jacks' as no one, as far as he knew, called her that.

"What's his name?" Mrs. Hudson called, making Leena laugh as she pulled away.

John shook his head at the knowing look in Leena's eyes and realized she'd known Mrs. Hudson would jump to that conclusion, despite Sherlock being with Leena, for some reason Mrs. Hudson still maintained the belief that he was gay.

"That's 'what's HER name,' Mrs. Hudson," Leena gave in.

"A woman?!" Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened.

"Yes, of course it's a woman," John sighed.

"You really have moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson, how many times? I did not carry a secret torch for Sherlock Holmes!"

"Live and let live, that's my motto."

"Listen to me…I am not gay!"

"Oh but you rather are with Mary though," Leena joked, "Happy, lighthearted, carefree?" she nudged him, "I'm very happy for you John," she told him, earnest, putting a hand on his shoulder to squeeze it, "You deserve to be happy."

John looked at her sadly as she headed back for the window, "So do you Jacks," he whispered under his breath.

~8~

"I think…" Sherlock began, "I'll surprise John."

"John?" Mycroft eyed his brother, of all people he expected Leena to be the first one he went to see so it was odd to hear him mention John instead.

"He'll be delighted," Sherlock nodded, not seeming to notice the question in Mycroft's word. Well, SEEMING to, he did know what his brother was asking him, but he had a plan, he had a reason for seeing John first.

"You think so?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, "Pop into Baker Street, who knows," he opened his arms and shrugged, "Jump out of a cake."

"Baker Street?" Mycroft scoffed, "He isn't there anymore. Why would he be?"

Sherlock stiffened at that, "And…Leena?"

"Jackie is still there yes," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "But it's been two years. John's got on with his life."

The implication on Mycroft's words were not lost on him. JOHN had gotten on with his life. LEENA was still there, in Baker Street. And that…bothered him. He wasn't quite sure which bothered him more though, the thought that John wasn't with Leena, as he'd assumed the entire time he'd been away, protecting her and keeping an eye on her, helping her and just being there for her…or that Mycroft seemed to think Leena hadn't moved on.

Yes, he was thrilled to find that she still lived in Baker Street, it had to be a sign, given the psychological nature of humans, from what he understood of it, that she still loved him, despite what he'd done. Her message to him had implied she'd wait, to find out she actually had…well, it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. HE had waited 4 years for her to return, though he knew that it was a set thing. He knew she'd only be in America for 5 years, that she WOULD come back, Leena…she didn't have the same assurance, she had not time period to wait in, it could have been forever for all she knew. Not that he would ever be able to stand being away from her for so long.

But there was something else bothering him about that. For Mycroft to be worried (as he had heard a hint of it in the man's voice) it had to be something bigger. Mycroft had feared she hadn't let go of him, that she was clinging to his memory and not moving on, like John had, not living her life. But…that wasn't the Leena he knew, she was stronger than that. HE knew, of course, that she 'wasn't moving on' because she DID know he was alive and that he would be coming back.

"What life?" he countered instead, "I've been away. Where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?" Mycroft sighed.

"You always know, you're worse than Leena," he remarked, with her little hacking phone and other methods of keeping an eye on things, she did tend to know where people were and what was going on with the people she cared about. She had kept track of the politics and other happenings in England when she'd been in America, going so far as to even keep track of the weather just to text him, jokingly, to remember an umbrella or sunblock or something.

Mycroft was worse though.

And he proved it in his next words, "He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001."

"I think maybe I'll just drop by him first," Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft frowned at that, again with the 'first' it was starting to unsettle him how he wasn't considering Leena, had…had his brother moved on himself in the time he'd been away? No, surely he hadn't, he had been FAR too defensive and curious about Leena's whereabouts and condition. But then…why didn't he want to go see her first?

"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome," he warned his brother.

Sherlock scoffed, "No, it isn't. Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"You know what," Sherlock gave his brother a look...

Only for Anthea to walk in with his usual and familiar black coat, helping him into it with a, "Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock smirked at that, looking over at Mycroft, "Thank you. Blud."

~8~

Sherlock stepped into a rather fancy restaurant, already knowing that whatever reason John was there for, it involved a woman and possibly a proposition of marriage. John was not the sort to come to a place like that, and that was NOT something that would have changed in the 2 years he'd been away. So it had to be something John deemed important or something that was meant to live up to the expectations of others, namely society. If John really was proposing, his partner would be someone he felt comfortable around, someone he mixed well with, and that would NOT be a woman who expected fancy things like this.

"Sir, can I help you?" a waiter walked up to him as he stood there.

Sherlock glanced over when a buzz went off in the man's pocket, a phone, eyeing the man critically to see he was an expectant father, "Your wife just texted you, possibly her contractions have started."

"Excuse me, sir," the man's eyes widened, turning and rushing away to take the phone out.

Sherlock smirked, seeing he'd been right, the man wouldn't have even bothered to check if his wife wasn't at that point in her pregnancy. He stood there a moment longer, spotting John in the distance, waiting alone at a table, and then tried to work out a…surprise. He hated surprises, well, it wasn't like many people could actually do that to him, give him a surprise, Leena did though, she always did. She'd surprised him when she'd come back early.

But…it had been 2 years and this would probably be rather funny, John's reaction to the news of him being alive, surprises tended to make things more funny, didn't they?

He looked at the waiters and waitresses, seeing that he was dressed similarly to them in his black tux, but that they all had black bowties with them.

He grinned, seeing an older man wearing one, and walked over. He 'accidently' spilled water on him, "Oh, sir, I am so, so sorry," he tried to dab at the man's front with one hand while sneakily pulling his bowtie off with the other, "Er, please, let me just go to the kitchen and dry that off for you," he walked over to another man he spotted who had just placed his glasses down on the menu, "Finished with that, sir?" he deftly took the menu up, glasses and all, and slid them on, "Allow me to take it for you," he looked around, putting the bowtie on, and grinned, seeing a woman set down a pen beside her, "Madam," he made his way over, switching out her menu with another while picking up the pen from the other side of her, "Can I suggest you look at this menu, it's completely identical."

And now…now he was ready for John.

He quickly drew two thick lines just above his lip, giving him a laughable moustache of his own, as he could see John STILL had his furry bush growing there, and headed over, "Can I help you with anyzing, sir?" he asked, adapting the accent he had heard from Leena so often in his youth.

He was actually quite good, though that might have been from teasing her about her accent when it had been ridiculously thick as a child. It had been for her own benefit though. He knew she was trying to learn English, to learn to speak without her accent getting in the way, so he'd tease her (as playfully as he could manage) so she'd work harder at dropping it.

'You're still terrible at it Locksley.'

"Hi, yeah," John nodded, not looking up, "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne. A good one."

"Hmm, well, zese are all excellent vintages, sir."

"Oh, it's not really my area, what do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but eef you'd like my perzonal recommendation..." he trailed off, hoping John would look up at that.

But the man didn't, "Hmm?"

"Zis last one on ze list ees a favorite of mine," he began, wanting to see if John would realize it was him from that clue, John knew what his favorite wine was when Leena had gifted him with a bottle of it for his birthday. But John seemed none the wiser so he tried another clue, "It ees, you might in fact say, like a face from ze past."

"Great," John nodded, "I'll have that one please."

"It ees familiar, but with ze quality of surprise!" he added.

"Well, surprise me," he glanced at Sherlock but didn't seem to really notice him, which made Sherlock sigh.

'Psychologically, John already has it in mind that you're dead Locksley,' he heard Leena profiling away, 'Therefore, the man before him is just a waiter and can't be you. If he's not looking for you, he won't see you.'

"Yes, thank you Leena," he mumbled under his breath, before speaking louder to John, "I'm certainly endeavoring to, sir," and heading off, though he was sure to keep John's table in sight…

He stiffened and straightened when he saw a young blonde woman in a light purple dress join him, her hair short, her dress modest. His eyes narrowed, he was aware of who she was, Mary Morstan, according to Mycroft's files, the woman who had been seeing John for quite some time, there were even pictures or two of Leena with them, or even with just Mary, the two of them at a small café, Leena had appeared sad, her head bowed, with Mary reaching across with her hand on Leena's, her body language indicating she was comforting the woman.

He knew Leena, she was an excellent judge of character, she had to be in her profession. If she felt that this Mary woman was in anyway a threat or a danger to John, someone actively trying to harm him, she would have found a way to persuade him away from her. The fact that John was there, bumbling over a proposition given how he could see him stuttering and floundering and how Mary was trying to calm him down, meant that Leena approved.

And if Leena approved, then Mary must have been a good woman for John.

And it DID relieve the still lingering fears he'd had that John and Leena might have...but no…here was John, committed to Mary…or trying to commit to her. He was actually starting to feel pained watching John try and make his proposal. It was actually physically painful to watch.

Oh, that was enough of that, time to come to the rescue before John mucked it up even further. He honestly didn't know what was so hard about a thing like that, he'd proposed to Leena flawlessly, not counting a hesitation or two here or there as he gathered his thoughts. But his, when he'd done it, how he'd done it, hadn't exactly been planned out like John's had. Didn't men rehearse things like that?

"Sir," Sherlock stepped up to him with a bottle of wine, "You'll find zis vintage exceptionally to your liking. Eet has all ze qualities of ze old, with ze color of ze new."

"No, sorry, not now, please," John tried to shake him away.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers," he continued though, slowly dropping his accent, "Suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend," he pulled off his glasses.

"No, look, seriously, could you just…" and then John looked up, and truly LOOKED at the man standing before him.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo," Sherlock mumbled after a moment, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters."

Mary frowned as John stood, a hard look on his face and she knew something was wrong, "John? John, what is it? What?"

"Well, the short version..." Sherlock put the wine down, moving to clasp his hands behind his back, "Not dead. Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Leena wouldn't approve, could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny," he laughed a bit, before he noticed the glare in John's eyes, "Ok, it's not a great defense…"

'It's a rubbish one Sherwood. You should really apologize.'

Mary's eyes widened as she finally got a good look at the man whose back had been mostly to her, and recognized him from a photo or two that Leena had shown her, "Oh, no, you're..."

"Oh, yes."

"Oh, my God!"

"Not quite."

"You died, you jumped off a roof!"

"No."

"You're dead!"

"No, I'm quite sure, I checked. Excuse me," he turned and dipped a napkin into Mary's water, looking at John as he wiped off his penned on moustache, ignoring the growing look of anger in John's eyes, "Does...does yours rub off too?"

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Do you have any idea what you've done?! To John!? To Jackie!?"

"Ok, John…" Sherlock ignored her, realizing that John's silence was likely a rather bad sign, "I'm suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology..."

Before he could continue, John slammed his fist on the table, hunching over a bit as he tried to breathe but ended up nearly gasping in the process.

"Alright, just…" Mary tried to calm him, "John, just keep..."

"Two years," John panted, glaring at Sherlock, struggling to speak, "Two years! Hmm? I thought..." he swallowed hard, shaking his head, trying to get the words out, "I thought...you were dead. Hmm? Now, you let me grieve. Hmm. How could you do that? How?!"

"Wait," Sherlock held up his hands, "Before you do anything that you might regret, um, one question, just let me ask one question…" he smiled a bit and gestured at his top lip, "Are you really going to keep that?"

And then John grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him back onto the ground, trying his level best to strangle the consulting detective…

~8~

Needless to say, they'd been kicked out of that eating establishment for John's attempted murder, which was why they had now found themselves in a diner instead, Sherlock on one side of a table, John and Mary on the other, the two with their arms crossed, looking at Sherlock with hard expressions as the man sat with his hands under his chin, speaking.

"I calculated that there were 13 possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof," Sherlock explained, "I wanted to avoid dying, if at all possible. Leena would have been very cross and killed me herself if…" he trailed off, seeing John's glare intensify at the mention of her, so he cleared his throat, "The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible, the angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling..."

"You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick," John cut in.

"What?"

"I don't care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why."

"Why?" he scoffed, "Because Moriarty had to be stopped! He..."

'Not the 'why' he was speaking of Sherwood.'

"Oh. Why, as in..." he nodded, realizing what John was asking, "I see. Yes. Why? That's a little more difficult to explain."

"I've got all night."

"Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft's idea."

"Oh, so it was your brother's plan?" his jaw clenched at that, finding out that Mycroft, his 'archenemy' of all people, had known.

"Oh, but he would have needed a confidante," Mary defended, before seeing the look John was giving her, "Sorry," she moved back to crossing her arms and glaring at Sherlock for John, not noticing Sherlock's eyes narrow slightly at how she'd known that.

"But he was the only one?" John swallowed, Leena's reaction, he knew…couldn't have been anything short of her NOT knowing, "The only one who knew?"

"A couple of others," Sherlock admitted, "It was a very elaborate plan, it had to be. The next of the 13 possibilities was..."

"Who else? Who else knew? Who?!" and then he froze, HAD her reaction been fake?! "WAS it Jackie? Did SHE know?! Did you tell HER!?"

"No," Sherlock answered, "I told her nothing."

John glared again, "Have you been to see her?"

"No."

"What the bloody hell Sherlock!?" John roared, "You came to see ME first!? She's your bloody fiancé and you're sitting here with ME!? How could you not go right to her and tell her you're alive!?"

"Isn't there an expression, 'saving the best for last?'"

John just gaped at him, completely thunderstruck by the man's reaction. But of course, Sherlock Bloody Holmes was a sociopath, he probably had no idea that he SHOULD go see Leena first.

"If it wasn't Jackie," Mary cut in, "Then who?"

"Molly," Sherlock answered.

"Molly?!" John gaped.

"John..." Mary turned to him.

"Molly Hooper and some of my homeless network and that's all," Sherlock interrupted this time, "Ok?"

"Ok," John scoffed, "So just your brother, Molly Hooper, and 100 tramps."

"Ha, no!" Sherlock laughed, "25 at most."

And then John reached across the table to grab Sherlock by one hand, pulling his other back to swing at him…

~8~

And so the trio now found themselves standing in a deli instead, Sherlock holding a napkin to his busted lip, a result of John's assault.

"Seriously," he had to ask as he looked at John, "It's not a joke? You're really keeping this?" he gestured to his upper lip.

"Er, yeah," John shifted, seeming just a bit less angry now that he'd tried to kill Sherlock twice.

"Sure?"

"Mary likes it."

"Hmm, no, she doesn't."

"She does."

"She doesn't," he mumbled under his breath, as John turned to look at Mary who gave him a sort of 'no that's not true' look that really only came across as she was saying it for his benefit.

"Oh, don't…" she began when she realized she'd been caught.

"Oh, brilliant!" John grumbled.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you..."

"Right, no, no, this is charming. I've really missed this," he gestured at Sherlock before rounding on the man, "One word, Sherlock, that is all I would have needed! One word to let me know that you were alive! Just one phone cal…" he stopped dead, letting out a breath as he closed his eyes, Leena's words coming to him.

He'd done the same to Mrs. Hudson, hadn't he?

"I've nearly been in contact so many times," Sherlock admitted, much like John had to Mrs. Hudson as well, "But...I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."

"What?" John's head snapped up to glare at him.

"You know, let the cat out of the bag."

"So this is my fault?!"

"Oh, God!" Mary sighed, shaking her head at how John was reacting.

"Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong?! The only one reacting like a human being?!"

"Over-reacting," Sherlock commented.

"Over-reacting!?"

"John!" Mary tried to calm him.

"Over-reacting!" John just continued on his tirade, "So you fake your own death and you waltz in here, large as bloody life! Shh. But I'm not meant to have a problem with it, 'cos Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly ok thing to do!"

"Shut up!" Sherlock hissed, glancing around at the few stragglers in the deli, "I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?!"

"Yes, it's still a secret! Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Swear to God!"

"London is in danger, John," Sherlock told him, serious now, "There's an imminent terrorist attack and I need you and Leena to help."

"You need my help?" he scoffed.

But Sherlock smirked, "You have missed this, admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world!"

And then John lunged at him again, grabbing him by the lapels, but instead of trying to strangle him, no, this time…a head butt was sufficient.

~8~

...which then led the three of them kicked out of their third location and forced to stand outside the deli for a cab.

"I don't understand," Sherlock mumbled as he stood there beside Mary, a wad of paper napkins to his nose as they both bled from the force of John's attack, "I said I'm sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Mary eyed him, "Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?"

"Hmm, nature?" he paused to think, "No. Human? No."

Mary smiled softly though, "Unless it's Jackie?" Sherlock gave her a look and she glanced over at John, who was trying to hail a cab a few feet away, "I'll talk him round."

Sherlock blinked at that, "You will?"

"Oh, yeah," she smiled, "Can't have you and John at odds when I get Jackie to talk YOU round to a double date one day," she joked.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her mentioning Leena again, and eyed her critically, deducing her. There were…quite a few things about this Mary Morstan that weren't in Mycroft's files. Cat lover, short-sighted, he knew she was a nurse, appendix scar, secret tattoo, guardian, and…liar.

Well, THAT was something he'd have to look into.

But before he could try to get more off her, John managed to grab a cab, "Mary!" he called.

Mary gave Sherlock a playful roll of her eyes before jogging off to John, the two of them slipping into the cab before it headed off, him watching it go.

~8~

Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, sighing as she listened to the radio and washed the dishes. Leena had made dinner for them both and the girl had offered to do the dishes as well, but it was a system they'd developed, whoever made the dinner, the other would clean the dishes.

"…very common belief, with an anti-terrorism bill..." the radio played…when she heard a thud from the hall, "The Government feels duty-bound to push through the legislation with all due exped..."

Mrs. Hudson looked at the frying pan in her hands before she went to investigate, clutching it tightly in her rubber gloves as though it were a weapon, and crept to the doors. She opened it, the one that led to the main hall, and peered out…gasping when she saw a familiar silhouette in the glass top of the door before her.

Slowly, it opened…and Sherlock stepped in…making her scream…

~8~

Sherlock paused as he reached the top of the stairs that would lead to 221B, the door was shut and...he hesitated with his hand on the knob. He knew Leena was there, right behind that door she'd be there. Mrs. Hudson had told him that she was in, not that the woman really had to tell him anything. He could smell her, her unique scent of apples and roses, it was stronger here, it meant she was there. He hadn't smelled that combination in...years...and he'd actually found himself once or twice, when he was able to do so, munching on an apple as he sat in a quaint cafe that had flowers on the tables, roses specifically. Just...once or twice in two years, on her birthday really.

It had been the first time since he'd met her that he hadn't been able to call her or text her to wish her a happy birthday.

He leaned forward, resting his head to the wood of the door, why was he hesitating? Leena was just on the other side of the door, his Leena, and here he was...NOT opening it? It had to be a result of the thrashing John had given him, yes, that had to be it. He certainly wasn't nervous, no, he didn't get nervous, he didn't feel, well...that wasn't entirely true. He did feel, but he was rather good at reminding himself of the chemical properties of feeling and how different chemicals within the body stimulated certain feelings and...it just wasn't nerves. No.

And it wasn't him dreading what her reaction would be to him either, whether she'd be happy or crying or...angry with him. He hated when she was angry, when she was disappointed in him. But it wasn't that either, certainly not.

He shook his head, taking a breath...and pushed the door open.

The room was the same, it was exactly the same, right down to the bullet holes in the wall and the faded yellow happy face that he'd marked up on it. The chairs were in the same spots, only really the books and other various odds and ends on the tables moved around, but...it still held the same feel of the 221B that he'd left. Though he hardly gave more than a second's notice to that as his gaze was pulled to the blonde woman sitting on the sofa with a book in her lap.

And there was silence.

Neither of them said anything, not even Sherlock, who stood there, staring at her as she hardly looked up from the book she was intently reading. And he could tell she was actually READING it by how her eyes skimmed the page back and forth. She was actually reading...while he was standing there...not dead. But then again she had worked out that he hadn't really died.

"You're late," she commented just as he moved to open his mouth, still not looking up.

"Am I?" he inquired, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

She gave a small nod, turning the page, "I was expecting you two weeks ago," she reached out onto the coffee table and grabbed a small object that had his eyes narrowing...a small medallion with Chinese symbols on it, like a...necklace...like the ones he'd seen in the Lucky Cat all those years ago. It HAD been her! He KNEW he'd caught her scent there. But his thoughts were pulled back to the present when she placed the necklace into the book like a bookmark and placed it on the arm of the sofa, turning to look at him, "Got a bit caught up in Serbia did you?"

"You knew?" he blinked.

She smirked, "I'm hardly going to tell you till I get one."

He blinked again before a smile made it's way onto his face and he tugged off his scarf and jacket, Leena rising from the sofa, their eyes locked on one another through the whole process. He made his way over to her as she opened her arms expectantly and he reached out to hug her to him tightly, the entire scene playing out so much like when SHE had returned to HIM from America during the Pips fiasco.

"I missed you," he murmured in her ear, swallowing hard when his voice broke for a moment, having gone deep with emotion.

This last time had been the hardest experience of his life, to be completely cut off from her. To have no way to see her or contact her or call her or text or anything...two years with nothing and now...now he had her back. He was just...relieved that she was reacting this way instead of how John had reacted. He would have accepted it though, if she had slapped him or ranted against him or anything, he'd have fully deserved it. Yes, he deserved it from John as well, he'd let the man who was a friend think him dead, but Leena...she was the woman he was going to marry. He expected far worse a reaction from her despite knowing he was alive.

So he was inordinately pleased and grateful that he was getting THIS reaction instead because...

"Two years is FAR too long to go without a Holmes Hug," she whispered back, echoing the thoughts he'd been about to have, though thinking more of her hugs, of being in her arms in general, "I missed you too Locksley," she pulled away and smiled up at him, "And as much as I'd love to stay like this..." and then pulled away completely though she kept a hold of his hand, "You need to take off your shirt."

He blinked, that was...NOT what he was expecting from her at all, "I'm sorry?"

She smiled sadly at him, "I've gotten sharper without you here," she told him, "The Yard needed someone to notice things," she shrugged, but he saw it in her expression how badly that hurt her that SHE had had to take his place because he'd been 'dead' to the world, "You didn't honestly think I wouldn't feel you tense?" she gave him a look, one that was more her own observations than his skills peeking through, "I know all the different ways you tense, and I know what they all mean and that..." she nodded at his shoulder though he knew she meant his back, "Was your 'I'm hurt' tense."

He stared at her a moment, "You remember all of them?"

"I remember everything about you, now take off your shirt. John may be the doctor but I did fill in as nurse once or twice with him. I CAN tend to wounds."

"How do you know that I'm wounded and not sore?" he had to ask, though he was already starting to unbutton his shirt.

She was quiet a moment, before speaking so softly he almost missed it, "Because only you being held against your will and beaten to within an inch of your life would keep you from coming back to me two weeks ago," she told him, nodding to the wall beside her.

He frowned and turned his head, he honestly hadn't noticed what he saw there despite it having been right behind her when he'd entered the room. But he just...stared, openly stared at the collection of information she'd gathered. It was...everything, every single place he'd been the last two years, every news article that he had made absolutely sure NOTHING about him had been mentioned in, it was photos and red markers and pins and...everything, with a cloth of some sort hanging above it like a curtain but pinned to the side to reveal the map and information. He turned his gaze back to her, utterly impressed with what she'd managed to gather.

She shrugged, "I was bored," she offered as an excuse, one they both knew was utter rubbish, she was the one who read books when she was bored or worked on memorizing Shakespeare like he experimented with ash and body parts, "And I thought Mrs. Hudson would appreciate that more than me shooting the wall."

He smiled at her, he should have known she'd do that. She was a profiler and what she was doing had vague ties to the geographic profiling one of her associates had taught her. It was meant to use location to help explain a person, but she had used it in reverse, she'd used what she knew of the person to find his locations.

"Sherlock," she called and he looked at her, actually startled to hear her call him but his full name instead of her nicknames for him, "Your shirt."

He nodded to himself, hearing a crack in her voice and could tell she was starting to get upset that he wasn't letting her help him. He knew this was...overwhelming. No matter if she had expected him two weeks ago or two months from now, she never would have been prepared for the actual day with no warning. And as well as she was holding up to seeing him alive and before her once more...she was starting to crack. As much as he didn't want to take his shirt off as he knew it would mean she'd seen the still rather fresh bruises and cuts and wounds because he knew what they would do to her, increase the guilt he already knew she was feeling, guilt that she hadn't been there to help keep him from getting hurt...he didn't want to cause her to be more upset to refuse.

And so, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slowly pulled it off.

"Turn around," she ordered lightly and he did so, turning so his back was to her.

He winced, hearing her soft inhale of breath, not a gasp, no, she'd seen him hurt far worse before, but...more one of guilt. He nearly shivered when he heard her approach and gently touch his bare back. It didn't hurt much, just...when he moved...or breathed. The wounds had been tended to before, but...he hadn't really wanted the doctor Mycroft had called to touch him. He'd just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and get back to London.

"Oh Locksley," he heard her breathe, before her gentle touch was gone, "Sit on the coffee table and I'll get the first aid kit," she told, him, heading into the bathroom for it.

He did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the table and waiting, he knew what Leena was like when she saw him hurt, she wanted to fix him up herself, make sure that she knew he was all taken care of and that she had personally seen to it that he got better. It hadn't always ended the best for her, he still loathed himself for when he'd hit her so long ago while suffering withdrawal, but she never ever gave up. And...he could admit that a small part of him loved it when she did that, when she took care of him, that it reaffirmed in his mind that she truly did love him if she cared about him that much.

He'd hardly even noticed her patching him up, applying creams and ointments and bandages and gauze to his back, he had expected it to sting a bit but...he supposed his body was just too tingling already to feel the pain of anything. Leena had once told him, what felt like ages ago, that love was the best drug there was, that it dulled any sort of pain. That had been when the old woman died because of Moriarty, he'd nearly gone back to his old ways and taken morphine...when she'd stopped him, and kissed him and...he'd hadn't felt the pain again. She was like the wall that kept the pain away.

He blinked and looked back over his shoulder a moment later when he realized she hadn't touched him in a minute to see her packing up the kit again, having finished. He stood and reached for his shirt, relieved to feel he could move a bit better without feeling the painful tugs. She'd wrapped his ribs for him, having seen a bruise on his side, and he could reach now and move better than before. Which was rather good as putting on the shirt that Mycroft had secured for him and nearly driven him to his knees in pain the first time.

He turned and watched as Leena merely left the first aid kit on the table, the two of them just...looking at each other a long while, before he spoke, "What now?"

He didn't know. He honestly didn't. And that...was an alarming concept. He had known Leena nearly his entire life. He had never felt unsure around her, not THIS unsure. He'd been a bit unsure when Irene had been around, but that was more confusion and alarm, but this? THIS was uncertainty...and that had never happened to him before. He wasn't sure where they were going to go. Would she still want to marry him, even though she said she'd wait for him? Were they even still 'together' as others called it?

"Where do we go from here?" he braced himself for the worst, knowing he'd deserve it for what he'd done to her.

She seemed thoughtful for a moment before she moved up to him, her eyes locked on his, and reached out to take his hand. She tugged him gently, leading him over to the sofa and sitting him down on the end, "Right here," she told him as he sat, "Sit right there," she added, moving to sit beside him.

He turned his head to watch as she settled down and leaned closer to him, closing his eyes as he felt her wrap her arms around him gently, her head on his shoulder as she just...sat close to him, cuddled he believed was the word most commonly used. He disliked words like that but...this was Leena, everything was different when it came to her.

"Just..." she whispered and he could hear a crack in her voice, "Just...stay like this a minute or two."

He felt her lightly squeeze him and opened his eyes to see her own were squeezed closed, that she was inhaling deeply, as though trying to catch his scent. He leaned his head closer to hers, gently breathing in her own scent before he placed the smallest of kisses onto her hair, "Or forever," he remarked softly.

He watched as she opened her eyes, full of tears, and looked at him with the most heartbreakingly happy smile he'd ever seen, "I like the sound of that," she told him, looking into his eyes, trying her best not to cry but failing at it. She let her eyes drift closed when he reached up a hand to brush one tear away, "I missed you Sherlock."

"Never more than I did you," he replied, his voice deep.

And that was all it took for Leena to breakdown in his arms, crying quietly, a soulful cry of someone both devastated by events but happy for the resolution she was given. He wound his arms around her tighter, his heart somehow breaking for seeing her like that and pounding at having her back in his arms, where he was determined to keep her for as long as he could.

Forever, he swore.

A/N: I actually teared up a little writing this end scene :) I think I rewrote it about 4 times trying to get it right. I feel like being confronted with each other after no contact at all it would be overwhelming for them, and Leena would go right to a distraction of helping Sherlock with his back than to turn it into sometehing overly sappy :) I think that's so them though, the small, quiet moments :)

I'm really glad you guys are so excited for the story to be up again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) And for any DW fans, I hope you enjoyed the little shoutout to DW I threw into the last chapter ;)

Some notes on reviews...

It takes a little longer to write Sherlock out for chapters because this time I had to write my own transcripts first to get everything ready for today :) But I love writing so much it's definitely more like a reward than a commitment :)

Yup, that was a little DW line I wanted to add and a little nod to Moffat ;)

I've only seen a couple episodes of Psych, but I've heard good things. From what I've seen, I agree, Shawn reminds me of Sherlock on sweets :)