Hello there!

Before anything, I must apologize for the horrible pause between last chapter and this one. I lost the thread of the story, and I would really like to thank Guest for their review spurring me onward and upward.

SPOILERS: Doctor Who, The Wedding of River Song and beyond. Possible spoilers for all of Sherlock, but in this chapter I really just made everything up.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own either of these brilliant shows.

Here is the concluding chapter of No Fear, Darling. Please enjoy!

~Lillibella


"A friend is one who knows you and loves you the same."

Irene stayed in London. Mycroft no doubt knew she was alive by now, and given the fact he hadn't come to have her arrested, he was going to leave her be. So what was the point of leaving?

She was at the graveyard. She was there a lot. Her hair was long again. It took her three years, but it was finally long again. She stood, as per usual, by the shiny black headstone, silent. She never spoke much. She watched John, when he came. Now, he would talk. He would talk, and talk, and talk. About mundane things, mostly. His day at the surgery, Mrs. Hudson, an occasional insult directed at a man called 'Anderson.' Of course, he knew that no one would reply. But he just kept talking, inside desperately hoping that someone would.

So Irene just stood. Or sat. Or knelt. But she didn't talk. She didn't want to get her hopes up.

The first year was hard. She got so sick of her every day routine that she had quit her job and almost- almost- went back to her old profession. But she couldn't. Because every time she saw a man, or a woman, for that matter, she thought of him. And it killed her. So she went back to the mall, apologized, told them that she had recently lost a loved one, and that she was having a hard time. They took her back, no problem. Told her everything was going to be okay.

The second year was a bit easier. That second year, she went to see John. Well, more like reveal herself to John. He hadn't known she was alive. He had opened the door, stared at her, and shut the door again. She heard a faint slamming noise on the other side. The door opened again, and John had said Come In and Would She Like A Cup Of Tea? Because he was John. And that was how he dealt with strange things.

After she pointed out that there were only two of them coming, John shut down for a moment. He stopped, closed his eyes, and poured the third cup of tea down the drain.

"Two years. It's been two bloody years, and I still do that. Every single time."

John told Irene that his limp had come back. Irene told John that everything was going to be okay.

The third year, now that was easier than the last. John had Irene. Irene had moved in. John continued at the surgery. They still made three cups of tea. One day, Irene announced that she was going back to university.

"I'm going to apply for the business program," she told John, who was beaming his warm, contagious smile. He got up from his chair and hugged her and kissed her cheek. They told each other that everything would be okay. And for the first time, they actually believed it.

So there she stood, on the fourth anniversary of his death, after three long and tired years, silent. John had been gone all day, an early shift at the surgery. She was alone.

And then, she wasn't. She heard quick, limping footfalls coming up behind her. That would be John. And...something else...more footsteps. These ones were lights, she wouldn't have heard them if she hadn't been listening.

"Irene..." said John, both sets of footsteps coming to halt behind her. But he didn't sound like he was coming to visit his best friend's grave. His voice trembled. Not with sadness, but... excitement.

"Irene," John called again, unsure if she had heard him. She smiled and turned around to face him-

And immediately wiped the smile off her face. Her heart stopped. Then it started again at twice the speed. John was grinning madly. The smile lines around his eyes were showing. Funny how she noticed that now, that He was beside him.

Him. He stood there, in all his former glory, porcelain skin, wild black hair. Even his coat. The same coat.

She stood like that for a long time, just staring. Staring at the man who was supposed to be under her feet. At the man who had risen from the dead. John just waited, still smiling. He just shifted back and forth a bit.

"You know, I really wish you would say something."

That voice. Oh, that beautiful voice. That beautiful face.

She didn't say anything. She did the only thing she could do.


River stepped out of the TARDIS just in time to see Irene Adler land a harsh, hard slap on the left cheek of Sherlock Holmes.

The yelling that followed was rather muffled at their distance, but yelling all the same. River watched and laughed, a deep, throaty thing, and placed her hand on the arm of her companion. The Doctor simply beamed back, and they began their stroll towards her old friend.

"See, I told you everything would be fine. Everything seems so complicated around this man, but really, it's all so simple." And as she said it, River didn't know which of the men around her she was actually talking about. Nearing the three standing by the black headstone, she could just start to hear the words being said.

"-just had to wait until TODAY to show your face, after three years. THREE BLOODY YEARS! Sherlock Holmes, so help me God, I am going to throttle you and enjoy it!" At this point, Irene moved to attack Holmes with renewed vigor, but seemed to lose heart halfway through and simply broke down. She took a tottering step forward, but her knees shortly met the ground and her threats were replaced with audible sobs. River had seen her friend this vulnerable before, and so had John in the last few years, but evidently, Sherlock had not. He just stood there, rather awkwardly, and leaned over with a muttered question to John-

"Why do people keep falling over?"

And then John laughed, a deep, loose laugh, and bent to collect and embrace the weeping woman on the ground. River grinned and looked over to the Doctor. He, too, was grinning, but in the sort of way that one might grin while watching a particularly funny Charlie Chaplin film.

"You know, my dear, I can see why you like them," he said, and winked. River laughed. The resemblance he had to a six year old was sometimes uncanny. Her laugh then alerted the others to their presence. Sherlock immediately tensed, and John frowned at first, but relaxed when Irene looked over and gave a watery smile. River parted from the Doctor and moved quickly to embrace the dark haired woman.

"What did I tell you?" River grabbed her friend's hand, who immediately squeezed it back.

"I can't even believe you. Again. You did it again. You knew the whole damn time." The words should have been angry, and they would have been if Irene could have stopped smiling, or if she wasn't surrounded by her favorite people on the earth. No, she wasn't angry. Hell, she was laughing. It was the best joke, the most elaborate hoax ever performed. River just looked at her.

"You know me. I hate spoilers. I did try to tell you, though."

"No fear."

"Yes, darling. No fear indeed."

"And you? I'm assuming everything turned out alright."

"Yes. Everything's fine. Some days I'm not even sure how it happened, but everything is absolutely fine."

"Okay, sorry to interrupt, but I'm a little bit confused. What's going on?" That was John. Poor John, over to the side, looking a little lost and subconsciously inching closer to Sherlock, who was glancing between River and the Doctor with a look of concentration. Irene squeezed River's hand once more and let go as they both rose.

"Oh, I have waited such a long time for this. John, Sherlock, this is River Song. And I'm guessing this lovely man with her is the Doctor, am I correct?" The Doctor gave a bow of his head and gripped Irene's hand.

"It's quite wonderful to meet you, Ms. Irene Adler. Really quite wonderful. I've heard many stories, all excellent ones, mind, so please believe me when I say I am absolutely thrilled."

"Why thank you. Doctor, River, my friends Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

With those words, the Doctor was lost. Pumping Sherlock's hand, and then John's, taking in bewildered looks and spitting out praises. "Of course! Oh yes, I know all about you, you're very famous. I mean, more famous than you could possibly imagine. Oh, but do try to imagine it, it's quite marvelous. You know, I've always wondered what it'd be like meeting you, but River here never figured that it was the right time, but..."

And Sherlock was no different. "Doctor Who? Who are you, exactly? Where do you come from? You know Irene? But you're not a customer, you're something different. You're not making sense, you have the disposition of a child, the clothes of a history professor, but your eyes are too old..."

And John, being John, came and shook River's hand with a "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. You're Irene's good friend?"

They laughed and they cried. They told stories, so many stories. When Irene threw her arms around Sherlock, he didn't so much as flinch. When she quietly begged him never to do such a thing again, and if he did to tell her first, he didn't argue. And when she kissed him, he flailed about for a moment, but that was to be expected. John laughed and laughed and laughed, as though he hadn't laughed in three years. River never let go of the Doctor's hand. She hadn't in a very long while. Somewhere in her mind, she believed that if she did not anchor him in some way, he would disappear again, he would be dead and she had killed him. But sitting here with her love and her best friend, she shoved that belief into a quiet corner and cherished this moment. And though they didn't say it, they were all thinking what they had been telling themselves for three long, hard years.

Everything was going to be okay.