Author's note: Here's the last chapter.

I don't own anything, please review.

He wasn't surprised to hear from Sherlock again, which really was surprising in itself, since any normal would have supposed that, after his brother had found him, Sherlock Holmes had more important things and people to deal with than Henry Knight.

And yet, Sherlock continuing to text him seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe because he'd got used to it, maybe because he couldn't imagine the consulting detective not texting him, maybe because he needed to know that Sherlock was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances to convince himself that he'd done the right thing when he'd told his brother that he was alive.

Be that as it may, the texts continued.

The Police here are actually more idiotic than Scotland Yard.

Drug cartels really aren't as scary as people believe.

I would give everything for a challenging case.

Of course Henry knew – or thought he knew, at least, you could never be sure with the Holmes' – what Sherlock meant. "Challenging case" was obviously a code for "case in London, with John".

He usually answered something like "Really?" or "Didn't know that" or "I can imagine that".

And then, one day, a text came that made him blush – and wonder whether Sherlock's brother had really lost all interest in him after receiving the information he'd needed, as he'd believed.

I'm informed that you are still single. Don't tell me you are truly that oblivious.

Confused, he answered, "What do you mean, "oblivious"?" before he remembered that Sherlock never replied to his texts, so he'd probably never know. But the consulting detective surprised him again when his phone chimed not two minutes later.

When you had run out carrying a gun, she didn't call John because she was scared for her or other people's safety. She was scared that you'd get hurt. Obvious.

He didn't answer, mainly because he didn't know what to text.

Sherlock really had impeccable timing, seeing as Louise would come down the next day... Or, Henry suddenly thought, maybe it wasn't a coincidence. He believed Mycroft fully capable of controlling Sherlock's friends (or former clients or whatever) just because he felt like it. And, based on what Mycroft had told him, he was rather sure that John and Greg were under surveillance as well. But Henry definitely thought that he'd like to stay on Mycroft Holmes' good side.

The thought that, maybe, just maybe, Sherlock could be right, because, no, he definitely could be right, after all, he was the world's most perceptive man, came unbidden to his mind, and he refused to think about it more than necessary.

Tried to think about it more than necessary. At least.

He didn't really succeed.

But at least he tried, and that was something.

Louise came down the next day, as planned, and he knew she'd see immediately how nervous he was.

However, he didn't understand why she seemed nervous too.

They ate, mostly in silence, and he began to wonder (no, not wonder, he definitely knew that it was true) whether Sherlock Holmes had for once made a mistake, when she suddenly asked, "Henry – are you alright?"

He looked up from his plate, realizing he was blushing and looking all but comfortable. Which, no matter whether they were eating just as friends (naturally) or not, was not an appropriate expression. But Sherlock definitely wouldn't appreciate him telling his friends that he was still alive, so he went for a half-truth.

"Yes – just – I got a message from a friend, who has a few problems, right now".

He considered that one could call "tracking down Moriarty's men and possibly being chased by them as well" a problem.

She nodded, and suddenly looked unsure. "Which friend?"

"A... new one" he finally replied, thinking that, before Sherlock had shown up at his doorstep, he'd just been a former client of the consulting detective's, and had only started to think of his as a friend recently, so all in all, it wasn't a lie.

"Is she... nice?" she asked, looking at the table, and, just like that, he realized that Sherlock had been right all along: He was oblivious. And an idiot.

Apart from the fact that he wasn't good enough for her, but if she'd have him, he didn't care in the least.

"It's not a she. And I wouldn't be interested even if it were. There is someone else".

"Oh" she said, blushing, and he being more bold than he'd ever been in his life, took her hand.

When she squeezed back and beamed at him, he decided that he'd have to thank Sherlock as soon as the consulting detective texted him again.

Needless to say, the guest bedroom wasn't used after all.

Two months later, while he was happily making breakfast for them, his phone chimed and he suddenly realized that he hadn't got a text from Sherlock in a while, feeling guilty that he hadn't thought about it sooner.

The text, however, made him even happier than he already was, if that was possible.

I'm done. I will return soon.
And congratulations.

He answered "Thank you" and continued making breakfast, happily whistling.

Naturally, he hadn't known what "soon" meant – knowing Sherlock, probably anything between a week and a year – but, barely three weeks later, John called him.

John rarely called him, really, except to ask him when he was coming down, and since he and Louise had been in London only the previous week (both John and Greg had told them "About time", so he definitely hadn't been able to hide his feelings as well as he'd hoped, and maybe he had mentioned a few times to often), he knew immediately what had happened.

He answered, hoping that he sounded normal.

Not that John would have realized if he'd sounded different, in the state he was in.

It was difficult to tell whether the doctor was happy or angry or both; whether he was crying or laughing; whether he himself would even have been able to tell. However, it seemed like he had decided to call every single person he knew to tell them what had occurred – after he and Sherlock had caught this Moran, apparently, at least, Henry thought he heard something like this amidst all the rambling – trying to realize it was true.

However, John was still a doctor, and a good one, so eventually, he realized that Henry wasn't reacting the way he should.

"Henry? Are you still there?"

"Yes".

"Do you have nothing to say?"
And, for the first time in his life, Henry decided to give someone else advice.

"I think you should talk to Sherlock."

There was a moment's silence on the other end, then John said, "I suppose you are right" and hung up without saying goodbye. Henry didn't care; as long as John and Sherlock could be the team they once were again, he was happy that he'd helped, no matter in what small capacity.

He told Louise, as soon as she returned from work (she'd taken a job at a clinic in Dartmoor, to be able to come home to him every night, and he was starting to wonder if it was too soon to buy an engagement ring), that Sherlock had returned, as well as –

As well as everything else.

She took the fact that he'd known that Sherlock was alive all along rather well.

"So that's why you were nervous" she laughed and kissed him, and he laughed too. "That obvious, hm?"

"You aren't exactly the best actor, Henry" she replied with a smile, and kissed him again.

Later that night, he asked her if she thought John and Sherlock would be okay. She assured him they would, because she couldn't imagine one without the other, especially since she'd seen how John had been handling, or not been handling, their separation.

He smiled in the darkness.

A few days later, he got two texts, almost at once.

Sherlock told me everything. I'm moving back into 221B. When you come to London the next time, we'll invite you to Angelo's.
Thank you for taking care of him.
J

The other was, of course, from Sherlock.

John told me you asked him to talk to me, instead of shouting into his phone.
Thank you.
Again.

He grinned and decided that, just to celebrate and not because he was actually contemplating it, naturally, he would go look at a few rings.

She was wearing it two weeks later when they were eating with Sherlock and John and Greg at Angelo's.

During which he decided, looking around, that if life was stranger than he'd supposed, at least it was also much, much better.

Author's note: Really short last chapter, because I don't have much time. Sorry. But everything is fine and fluffy and...

Sigh. I'm incurably Sherlocked. Oh well. That's how it goes. And at least I'm not alone.

I hope you liked it, please review.