"Sherlock, please, I beg of you. You can take over at the interval."
"Oh, I'm sorry brother, dear, but you made a promise. Nothing I can do to help."
"But you don't understand the pain of it, the horror."
Sherlock hung up his phone with an amused smile plastered on his face, buttoning up his jacket just as John came in to fetch him. It had taken them nearly all night to find and stop the attack on the government, but they'd done it, just like the old days. John stopped at the doorway, his face bright and happy as he spoke.
"Come on, you'll have to go down, they want the story."
"In a minute." Sherlock passed by him into the living room where most of the people he held closest to him were scattered about the room. Well, all but one. Mary and Mrs. Hudson were sat discussing John and Mary's upcoming wedding while Lestrade sat listening, a glass of champagne in his hand. Looking around, Sherlock wished that she was here with them, celebrating all they had to celebrate: his return, the wedding, solving the case. He suddenly felt like he needed a drink and strode into the kitchen to grab the bottle and a glass, listening to the conversation between the ladies.
"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"Well we thought May."
"Ah, a spring wedding."
"Well once we've actually got engaged. We were interrupted last time." Mary eyed Sherlock as he took a seat next to her, fidgeting with his glass. He gave her a smug smile and took a large swig of the champagne just before Lestrade gave a small toast.
"Well, I can't wait." He held up his glass and took a sip.
"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary said.
"Weddings, not really my thing." He stood to grab his coat and scarf. He needed to get his mind off things and since the drink wasn't helping it seemed his only escape would be to go tell his story to the reporters outside. He slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat and hoisted the jacket over his shoulders as the door opened to allow more people into the room, namely Molly and her fiancée, Tom. Molly introduced him to everyone and they all welcomed him with warm hellos. John even shook his hand.
"Ready?" Sherlock asked John, walking to join him without paying much attention to the newcomers; at least, not until he came face to face with Tom and his eyes went wide. The man looked almost exactly like him: tall, lanky, brown curly hair and sharp cheekbones. He even went so far as to have the same long coat that Sherlock always wore, scarf and all. Sherlock shook his hand and he and John slipped out the door without a word.
"Did you, uh…" John said, his voice hushed as they spoke of the eerie similarities between Sherlock and Tom.
"I'm not saying a word." Sherlock replied, adjusting his scarf.
"No, best not." John cleared his throat, "But I'm still waiting."
Sherlock gave him a look, obviously confused.
"Why did they try and kill Lottie? Try to take me? If they knew you were onto them, why come after us? Put Lottie in the bonfire?"
Sherlock hesitated, "I don't know. And I don't like not knowing."
He started down the stairs and John followed as Sherlock explained what he did know, "Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat. I don't know who was behind all this but I will find out, I promise you."
They reached the bottom of the stairs and John stopped with a smirk, "Don't pretend you're not enjoying this. Being back. Being a hero again."
"Oh, don't be stupid."
"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it."
"Love what?"
"Being Sherlock Holmes."
"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean." He started for the door, but John's next question stopped him.
"Yes, you do." He hesitated, careful with the words rolling off of his tongue, "But there's one thing missing, isn't there?"
Sherlock was silent.
"I can see it in your eyes, she's there, in your mind-palace. You miss her."
Silence.
John sucked in a breath, "Sherlock, are you gonna tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?"
"You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible."
"No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave. Lottie and I both."
"I should hope so."
"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you."
"I know." He looked back at him, "I was there."
"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."
"I heard you. I heard both of you." Sherlock blinked back his emotions, Lottie's words running through his mind, 'You said you would stay with me, always. Please don't do this.' He sighed, sucking in a deep breath, "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."
He started for the door again but just before he stepped outside into the sea of reporters, he reached around and pulled his old deerstalker hat from the shelf next to the door and pulled it over onto his head; standing tall, he opened the door and stepped out on to the front step, John just behind him, closing the door once they were out. There were cameras and people surrounding them, and as much as he'd hoped this would help, it didn't. Every word he spoke was simply his brain on autopilot, until a flash of red caught his attention. He took a double take and without realizing it, he'd stopped speaking, his eyes fixed on none other than Lottie standing on the other side of the street with her long red hair, just as he remembered it, blowing around her face. She was watching them and a small smile graced her lips. Sherlock looked over at John to make sure she was real, eyebrows furrowed in his usual way when he was perplexed, and when he too was staring after their favorite redhead, and he knew that it was really her. He pushed his way through the crowd without so much as an apology, crossing the street to get to her. She waited patiently for him to reach her and when he did, they both simply looked at each other in silence. Sherlock deduced her state of being, noticing a small bandage just above her temple from the bonfire incident and he recognized her jumper to be one of John's. He searched her eyes and scanned her frame and to his utter demise, he found nothing. She was so blank, so empty, and no light in her eyes. And he knew that this is what Bekah was talking about and he sighed.
"Lottie, I," he started, but she stopped him, stepping closer to him. He looked just as broken as her at the sight of her and she took a deep breath, holding it there for a few moments before she spoke.
"I love you, too."
There was a spark, there, in her eyes that matched the one in his stomach and Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He closed the space between them and kissed her lips for the second time, but only the first since his confession. She kissed him back, whole-heartedly, with tears of happiness streaming down her face. They both knew that the reporters on the other side of the street were having a field day but they didn't care. They were back together, and that was all that mattered.
