Chapter VII – 221B Baker Street
'Saved by Donovan?' Sherlock stared at him with unspeakable terror in his eyes. 'I beat James Moriarty only to be saved by the woman who did everything to destroy my reputation with such enthusiasm that one could think she was one of Moriarty's loyal Conduit Street Comanche?'
'Scotland Yard didn't allow Lestrade to work on this delicate mission completely alone. After all, they would face a high ranking criminal – either you or a mysterious sniper trying to kill you. I thought that was rather…well, obvious.'
'Of course it was obvious.' Sherlock confirmed with dignity. 'Lestrade didn't want to make us feel uncomfortable since we both mistrusted his colleagues.'
'Nonetheless, we were lucky.' John leaned against the cupboard in their old living room. Sherlock was back at 221B, as if nothing had happened. Within two days, he had already managed to turn Mrs. Hudson's tidiness into utter chaos. 'I couldn't do anything to save you. The only possibility I had was to talk. To lengthen time. And to hope that something would happen. When the window at 221B cracked and Lestrade did not give a sign that everything went according to plan, Donovan decided to go upstairs as soundless as she could. Moran watched my every movement, he completely concentrated on me, but he didn't recognise her.'
'I hope you don't expect me to thank her.'
'Not really, no.'
'Good. Well…I guess I have to thank you. You are hopefully aware of the fact that you saved my life once more.'
They stared at each other for a moment that was longer than they would ever have admitted, then John cleared his throat. 'I couldn't watch you die another time, you know?'
'John…'
'No. You've been in the hospital for two days. We will talk, Sherlock. But now is not the time. Now we should just be a little grateful.'
'Grateful?'
'Not sure if you know that word, but…'
Sherlock showed a smile one could almost describe as shy. 'Of course I know it. It has nothing to do with the solar system, you see?'
They laughed, not as wholeheartedly as in their former days, but it felt good. Then someone knocked at the door and as John opened it, Mrs. Hudson stood in front of them, carrying a tray with three wine glasses.
'I thought I should prepare a little surprise for you since we're all back home again.'
'Not really all of us, Mrs. Hudson', John reminded her. 'I will soon marry and…'
'Oh yes, it will be a lovely feast. Have you already met Mary, Sherlock? Such a nice woman. I'm already looking forward to Christmas. Of course all of you are invited to celebrate here at Baker Street. Mr. and Mrs. Watson, Molly, the Detective Inspector – I hope his leg will be better soon – and if you want, Sherlock, also this young Higgins fellow. Although his appearance is quite…well…he seems to be a loyal and honest boy.'
'Incredibly loyal. He almost beat the leaders of the Comanche to death', Sherlock whispered.
'And if he wants to come, your brother Mycroft is of course always welcome. He has every reason to celebrate since your reputation is restored now.'
'While James Moriarty is once more remembered as the greatest criminal mind London has ever seen. I hope his sniper is happy about it. After all, he went to prison for his revenge.'
John shrugged. 'I don't really think we will miss the two of them.'
'Well then.' Mrs. Hudson raised her glass. 'Everything turned out well. I have my boys back and the world's only Consulting Detective is once again free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifully presents.'
