So yes, I'm cheating, I have no idea how they can pull it off either, but because I wanted them to get their well-deserved happy ending, here they are now, miraculously together and the way they are supposed to be, really.

Don't tell me it's not realistic, that's the beauty of fanfiction, being able to make things the way you'd like to see them.

Thank you: an obsession too far, mildetryth, glasswalker, tanya13, Curreeus and tsukihyde

for sticking with me throughout the ups and downs of this story. Not least it were your comments and opinions that kept me going and encouraged me to continue the story.

And thank you Lolryne for reading and reviewing.

And thanks to all the other readers, for taking the time and giving their attention, so my words didn't get washed out into the vastness of the fanfiction realm unnoticed.

9. Epilogue

A country estate near Chichester. Inside the generous hall, decorated with old and fading tapestries, we find two men: one, small and dark, lounging about on the sofa and the other one, taller and fairer, leaning back in an armchair, both looking immensely bored.

Sherlock Holmes lets his gaze, that has been scanning the surrounding woodland through the huge window on his right, drift back to catch his friend's attention. "I hate the country." he declares dryly. Watson can help but chuckle a little. "Me too." he agrees, stretching his legs.

"I mean, look at those woods outside. Nothing but squirrels and fir cones for the next 50 miles." the detective complains and goes on to take a look around the room, a disdainful frown contorting his features. "And did you notice what an absolutely awful taste my brother has in wall decoration? These tapestries have been preying on my mind ever since I first entered the room and I swear they are starting to make me physically sick."

The other man grins at this display of distaste. "You don't get along too well with your brother, do you?" he asks. Holmes turns to his friend again: "We don't have a lot in common." The doctor snorts. "No, you certainly don't."

"But still," he goes on "it is a good thing to be away from London, the stress and all the gossip. I for my part do feel like a little peace and quiet after the chaos of the last weeks." "Hm," the smaller man seems not quite of the same mind. "I can't for the life of me say why people are making such a fuss over a simple procedure like a divorce." "Well, I hate to break it to you Sherlock, but your opinion is by far not representative of what could be called the general consensus in our society." Watson explains, shaking his head a little. "The church happens to have a considerable influence over what is judged as propriety or scandalousness in these times."

"Pah." the detective replies. "You know, if there was any supreme being, that was whimsical enough to take any interest in the love life of its creatures, I'd suspect it to be the kind of character who squeals delightedly at people 'struggling and tempting fate to be with their one true love'."

Watson snorts again, pulling an amused face at these last words but then continues a little wearily. "Well, I don't think it is about love. The principal duty seems to consist in providing offspring." "Hum." Holmes strikes his chin thoughtfully. "We did save quite a few lives in our time already. I guess in the large picture that counts for something."

Watson sighs again. "Well, I don't see a lot of people agreeing with you on that. If you will remember, Mary's brother came at me with a scythe." The detective pulls an angry face at the recollection of that event. "The brute. I'm certainly glad we got you of this family circle."

Hearing these words, a sad shadow falls onto the doctor's face. "We did achieve that by all counts. Mary won't ever talk to me again I'm sure." Sighing he puts his chin in his hands. "But she has perfect right to refrain from it of course. You can't dump people and then expect them to keep offering you their friendship and sympathy, that would be horribly selfish. Narcissistic even I think. Still, it does make me a little sad. I shall miss her."

The doctor has put up a very serious face, with just a hint a self-proclaimed martyr, as he continues: "But that is something I will just have to live with. I made my choice." "Oh would you stop being so melodramatic." Holmes interrupts him irritatedly. Watson is indignant: "It was melodramatic. Highly so, I think."

The other man pulls a face and grabs a book from a nearby table. "Well, I can't deny that I am partial to a bit of melodrama myself sometimes. Revealing the dazzling mysteries behind a complex puzzle to a stunned audience – I do have a taste for that sometimes, depends on my mood of course. But this is more the kind of melodrama you find in the dime novels and that doesn't become me at all." "Well, like it or not, you have been right in the middle of it, just a few weeks ago." Watson retorts.

Holmes, now seemingly absorbed by his reading, shows little reaction and just mutters: "Well, I hope you're not putting any of it in those scribbles of yours." The doctor gives him a very deadpan look: "Yes. After all the rather considerable efforts we put into concealing the nature of our relationship I am going to put it in a novel. Which shall be published in the daily newspaper. Should hit the streets like hot cakes on a stick."

The detective still doesn't look up. "Well, just make sure that you're describing my gorgeous body and how its distinct male sexuality gets you permanently exited in all detail." he demands. "You're awful." Watson comments. "Hm." the dark man shrugs and keeps on reading, stretching out more comfortable on the couch.

Watching him the doctor gets the definite feeling that there are much more interesting things he could be doing with those talented fingertips of his than turning clammy pages. "You do look gorgeous you know." he offers, trying to get his intentions across. "I know." the detective answers in those same absorbed tones, but then suddenly glances up sharply and right at his friend.

"I know." he repeats more intensely. "I know, I know, I know. I … I still can believe you did not realize this any earlier." And he shakes his black locks in mock bewilderment. Watson shoots him a look and chews his lip a little. "You know," he contemplates, "if you are going to be as insufferable as that for the rest of our stay here, I will have to think of a way to shut you up." Holmes grins at him, feigning worry. "Oh dear."

"Or I might just hit you." Watson announces provocatively. "You don't like hitting me." the detective states unmoved. "Ah, that depends totally on the circumstances. You should not simply generalize this." the other man retorts. His friend sighs deeply as if making a great sacrifice: "Oh if you must then. But I really have to say, it does not turn me on."

Upon this, the doctor shakes his head, a hint of frustration audible in his voice: "You're such a nuisance." Holmes isn't bothered at all. Grinning over the rim of his novel, he gives his friend a smug look: "But you adore me." Instead of answering, Watson puts his face in his hands and then shakes his head again, this time by the sound of it doubting his own mental health when he resumes: "I must be out of my mind."

The other man's features are hidden behind the hardcover again. "Yes. That's what you always say." "How comforting." the doctor spats, sulking a little at the lack of attention.

Growing aware of the change in the atmosphere – wasn't there a foreshadow of sex in the air just a moment ago? – Holmes waves his hand and tosses his book to the floor carelessly. "Enough of that. I'm bored. Come over here, I want to make out with you." The other man raises an indignant eyebrow at him and doesn't move from the armchair. "Because you're bored? How flattering."

The detective sighs. "You know, you don't have to be difficult, just because you happen to take the female part in this relationship." "The female part?" Watson replies, now seriously annoyed. "I think I'd quite like to be difficult right now, thank you very much." Holmes rolls his eyes. "Suit yourself, princess."

The doctor growls at that comment for a moment and stares angrily at Holmes, who has fully stretched out on the couch and looks at ceiling, seemingly disinterested. The taller man gets up with a defeated sigh, walks over to the couch and slumps down there on the floor, leaning his back against the soft fabric. "I hate you." he declares, talking to the empty air in front of him.

"I hate you too." a casual voice answers from behind him and he feels Holmes shifting on the couch again to allow his hands to draw tiny circles on his friend's neck. "Actually, I hate you so much, I'm planning on making you chronically miserable by imposing my company on you for the rest of your life." he adds, busily entwining his fingers in the doctor's hair. The latter smiles and, playing along, answers: "Oh, we shall see who is going to be more miserable. Because I'm determined not to leave your company again."

The fingers stop in mid-caress for a moment before Holmes' answer comes quiet and more serious. "I hope so." Watson turns round at the change of tone and looks at his friend sympathetically. "Now, don't go sentimental on me, Sherlock. You know I will just get sentimental as well and then you'll scold me for it." "I certainly will." the dark man returns, playing down his emotional agitation. Watson leans back against the couch again, enjoying the gentle touch on his skin and breaths deeply, eyes glazing over. "But that would be wonderful. You and me, growing old together."

"Oh dear, there you go already." Holmes exclaims throwing his hands up in the air. "Don't picture it. Or you will be running off into those positively revolting woods ere I could even yell "bark beetle infestation", never to come back out of them again." Taken aback, the doctor turns to face him again. "Now why would I do that?"

The other man shakes his head at him. "Can't you see it? The both of us bald, wrinkly asses and pudgy skin strewn with age spots, bickering all day long." "And warts?" Watson throws in, grinning mischievously. "Possibly." his friends replies, without letting show he got the allusion and keeps on: "You with your bladder-troubles, me half-deaf on both ears, complaining continuously that you never tell me anything and you barking at me that you do, but that I'm to dumb and demented to register it. Me borrowing your dentures because I permanently forget where I put my own and you getting furious when you fish them out of the teapot. Do I have to go on?" the detective asks looking down at Watson who smiles up at him fondly.

"That sounds great." the doctor announces sincerely and happily. Holmes opens his mouth to give a snippy retort but then falters under the lovefilled gaze: "Actually it does."

The End.

And now I feel comfortable leaving them to their own resources.

They seem to manage fine by now. ;-)