Howdy all!

I'm sorry for the delay however work is hell and my manager doesn't understand how important this is so I can't even sneak in a few cheeky lines between assignments haha

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The period of time where my sister was absent from Baker Street effected Holmes badly.

Clients came and went with the most interesting cases that London could offer without the silent aid of Moriarty though he refused to spend more than a few moments on them. He would kindly listen to them, offer the words 'perhaps the police would be able to provide more help than I am capable of this moment' before calling for Mrs Hudson to escort them out of the flat.

It was safe to say that I had witnessed a similar transformation before though he deteriorated far more rapidly than my sister had.

After a week, he had turned down a grand total of fifteen cases, had yet to force down a single bite of the meals provided for him and had refused to leave the comfort of his arm chair; the only thing which kept him going was the fine Persian tobacco he had brought back with him.

It was once three weeks had passed that I had confronted him about his behaviour.

"How do you expect her to come back if you are slowly killing yourself?" I snapped in annoyance one morning after walking in on him about to fill a syringe of his 'miracle' solution. Usually, I would not have caused such a fuss over his abuse but it was getting too much. It was dangerous when combined with the state that he had let his body fall in to and, in a moment of insanity, I ripped the tourniquet from his arm, throwing it into the fireplace.

"I fear she will never return to me Watson. I have truly destroyed that in which I held most dear."

"And your mind Holmes?! You are dehydrated, starving yourself and smoking more than I have ever witnessed. You will end up killing your mind."

"What use is it!?" He cried, throwing the syringe across the room causing it to smash against the wall. "Why should I keep a thing which has brought me nothing but sorrow? If I had not been rational, I would have spoken to her and told her my plans! I would have convinced her to come with me opposed to leaving her in this very room! Her sadness, Watson, is infecting me… I can feel it seeping into my skin and travelling through my blood! Allow me release from this depression John… I want to live again!"

"Drugs will not bring life Holmes. You need to make amends with my sister."

"Then that is what I shall do. Come!" he yelled, jumping to his feet with a burst of tangible energy though it faded quickly as he swayed precariously, gripping onto the back of his chair for support. "Though first, I think a good meal will benefit me greatly."

"A wash and a shave would also not harm your cause old chap." I added, secretly happy that he had seen sense.

That evening found a cleanly shaven Sherlock and I standing outside of a house that I had not visited in over thirty years, mostly due to the rather volatile nature of my father. Where I was a little reluctant to find myself face to face with a monster of my past, my friend had no such trouble.

Within a second, he was knocking on the chipped front door, his shoulders tense in anticipation.

We waited there for several minutes.

No one answered the door.

He knocked again; we were still ignored.

Suddenly, we heard a muffled smash from the inside of the small house shortly followed by a loud shriek.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sherlock kicked the door open to reveal my sister on the cold wooden floor with my father towering over her, his hand raised to strike and a whiskey bottle clutching tightly in the other.

However, the noise caused the pair of us to become the recipients of his attentions.

Now, allow me to tell you this dear reader, despite the fact that my father was approaching seventy-five, his violent temperament had not faded with age. Standing there, a mere foot away from me, was the man I always remembered.

"Ah, John…" he slurred, a smirk creeping onto his withered face as he approached me, his arms open as he seemingly forgot about my sister who pulled herself to her feet. I could see the bruise beginning to develop on her cheek, as well as the many cuts and bruises which littered her bare arms.

"Do not even begin with that father!" I snapped, meeting his drunken gaze with a glare of my own as I moved to stand between him and my sister. It was as if Sherlock was frozen until that moment however when he had thawed, he scurried over to embrace my sister tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder, clutching him just as tightly as he held her.

"C'mon John… Come and hug your ol' dad.." At this, I shoved him away, causing him to stumble which did not help his already building fury. Growling, he launched forward to hold me by the throat. Despite my age and experience in the war, I could not muster the strength to force him away from me though luckily, I did not have to.

The moment my back connected to the wall, I watched my sister push herself away from the detective who was quick to realise the situation I found myself.

"Sir, I insist you release Watson this very second or I will not be held accountable as to the hand which fate deals you."

"You 'nd what army boy?"

"Me father.." My sister started, causing my father to laugh but loosen his hold on me, allowing me to greedily lap up oxygen.

"You? You couldn't d'fend 'urself if 'ur life depend'd on it girl…"

"The beauty, Mr Watson, is that she does not need to. Your daughter has me." Sherlock stated confidently, standing toe to toe with my father who released me, allowing me to move over to my sister who watched just as closely as I did.

"'nd who 're you? One o' the 'hore's clients?"

"Come on Luna, we are leaving." Holmes said firmly, opening the door so I could escort my sister out on to the street though the door closed before the detective could exit.

"No! Sherlock!," Luna shouted, trying to get back to the house as I dragged her away, towards the carriage we had procured for the evening. "John, we cannot leave him there… Please."

"He can take care of himself love," I cooed, stroking her hair as we sat, waiting for him to return.

"I am scared John," she shared after we sat there for a few minutes in silence.

"Of what?"

"I am scared he cannot forgive me for leaving him; for succumbing to my sadness and leaving his company in favour of our father's."

"Oh Luna, he has been irrational in your absence, suicidal almost but I very much doubt he will hold such a thing against you. He understands the mood which possessed you, now more than before."

"I love him," she whispered, just as silence was about to consume us again though when I glanced in her direction, her eyes were glued to the small window of our childhood home. Through the glass pane, two silhouettes could be seen and it was not difficult to make our which shadow belonged to her detective. Despite the distance and the walls which separated us from them, we could still make out their faint yells at each other. "I know I have uttered those words countless times before today John but now, sitting here with you while he faces the monster from my nightmares, I realise that I truly mean them from the bottom of my heart. It is a notion which both terrifies and elates me."

"You did not mean it before?" I inquired, shocked at her admission.

"Of course I did though now I realise just how much… I know it is just as difficult to understand as it is to articulate but I truly love him and swear I will not leave his side again." Admittedly, that was a thought that scared me; I know she meant it at the moment in time and with the constant dangers lurking in the shadows of Holmes' life, I believe death could be the thing to separate them.

However, before I could voice my fears, Sherlock walked through the door with a smile on his face and my sister's suitcase clutched in his left hand. The closer he got, I noticed that his right hand was no longer in his sleeve but instead was cradled across his chest.

"I do believe he will not be bothering us anymore." He stated confidently, slipping in beside my sister, wincing as he did so which caused my sister to react instantly.

"Oh Sherlock," she breathed, embracing him tightly around his waist, tears rolling down her bruised cheeks. "I am so sorry for leaving. I should have never left you. Please, forgive me."

"It is me who should be pleading your forgiveness love. I am sorry for leaving you. It is only until you left that I realised the damage that I caused…"

"Let's not speak of it again, shall we Sherlock?"

"No Luna," he stated firmly, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. "We shall. I was stupid and stubborn for leaving, even if it was in your better interest. I realised, the day I watched you walk away from the falls, just how much I yearn for your presence and how much of a comfort you are. Your smile is enough to chase away my narcotic induced cravings. The idea of leaving you alone forces my mind to reconsider every dangerous situation my occupation forced me into and I wish, with all my heart, that you will re-accept the ring which tells the world you are mine."

"S-Sherlock, what are you saying?"

"I am asking you to be my wife again."

Sooooo, whatcha think?

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Love you all xxx