Epilogue
"Don't forget to call."
"I won't…John don't forget to call Sherri."
Sherrinford smiled slightly at his baby brother's words, sharing a commiserating look with the genius' husband. In the month since John's 'miraculous' return, he'd been able to finally get to know Sherlock, not the grief ridden shell he'd been caring for.
He'd met the nurturing side of the genius, the cold analytical side and even the acerbic consultant that reminded him strongly of teenaged Sherlock. Their relationship had grown in strength and for the first time since Sherlock was a small child, he was proud of his brother.
Sherlock had grown up, and he'd done very well for himself, even promising to continue his music with Eileen's label despite living in London.
He'd even gotten to know John. The soldier was the calm to his brother's mania but he was also the fuel for it. Sherlock bounced ideas off the man who parroted them back but with his own suggestions…he made Sherlock smile.
He'd miss them when they were gone.
His gaze slid toward Mrs. Hudson who was cooing quietly at Willow.
He wasn't sure about Sherlock's decision to forgive the woman, but he understood her reasoning. She was protecting her boys the best way she could. What were feelings when lives were on the line?
It was only this that kept him from protesting when Sherlock revealed that they were going to be living in the building she owned in London.
Lean arms wrapped around his waist starting him and he glanced down to find his wife staring up at him with a soft smile.
"They'll be fine, Sherri."
"I know." He responded watching the family enter the plane. Sherlock glanced back at him and gave a small smile full of gratitude before the stairway closed and it began to take off.
A small smirk crossed his lips and he turned to leave.
Somehow he doubted that London was prepared for the return of the youngest Holmes.
Lestrade sighed heavily as he read through another case file, trying to keep his mind from wandering to its favorite subject nowadays.
Sherlock.
They young consulting detective had disappeared shortly after John had…died and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since. Had it not been for the disappearance of his land lady, he would've thought the kid was dead or worse. Even now he could hear the haunting cry that had left the younger man's lips, could see his best friend fall.
"JOHN!"
Never had he heard Sherlock, a self-proclaimed sociopath, sound so broken, so pleading.
He would rather face the man's more acerbic side.
Anything but the broken shell that had left the hospital that night, pale eyes lifeless.
A door slammed somewhere outside of his office and he jolted from his thoughts, raising an eyebrow when he heard a soft murmur spreading through the office.
"You can't go in there." Sally protested but it sounded weak even to his ears.
"I need a case. I've been in London for almost 36 hours and I'm bored."
Lestrade's heart leapt into his throat.
Sherlock.
"Freak-"
"Ms. Donovan, will we need to talk about that word again?"
John?!
His heart stopped.
What the hell was going on?
He heard Sally let out a frustrated noise and the door to his office flew open. Sherlock stormed in first, looking healthier than Lestrade had ever seen him. His curls were long and full, pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck until they fell mid-shoulder, his skin a healthy ivory color, and his eyes…his eyes were sharp, blazing with the fire he was so well known for.
He looked nothing like the broken man that had vanished.
After him came John. The former soldier looked a lot less dead, his skin a healthy tanned color. His hair was darker and longer, the messy blond locks falling to the tops of his ears.
All in all, the couple looked better than they had when he'd seen them last and while he was relieved, he was also confused.
He decided to address the most important question first.
"John, you're alive?"
His best friend scratched his head sheepishly, glancing at his husband.
"Yes. Molly and Mrs. Hudson helped me fake my death after we realized that Moriarty would come after me to get to Sherlock."
Lestrade blinked and scowled at his friend. "I would punch you if I wasn't sure Sherlock would hurt me."
"I'm still on groveling duty." The blonde offered and Sherlock smirked.
"So is Molly."
"And Mrs. Hudson."
The DI shook his head and looked at Sherlock. Looking at him he couldn't see the teen that drugged himself because his thoughts were too fast, he didn't see a freak, or a broken doll, he saw a young man who had survived despite the odds. A man who was comfortable in his own skin and it made him proud.
He glanced down at the case file in front of him and knew that now everything would get back to normal, or as normal as things got for them.
Still…
"When do I get to meet Hamish?"
John grinned proudly.
"Soon."
"After all you are his godfather, George."
"And Willow's."
Lestrade blinked. "Greg." He injected before the couple's words caught up to him.
"Really? Who's Willow?"
The matching smiles on the couple's lips tole him everything and he cursed.
Damnit.
You can't just name someone a godfather and not tell them…then again it was Sherlock…
(1 year later)
Sherlock hummed softly as he rocked one-year-old Willow to sleep, his own mind racing.
He still worked as a consulting detective for the yard but Lestrade kept an eye on him if John wasn't there. John had gotten a new job working as a trauma surgeon at Barts and he loved it if the satisfied expression he wore when he came in from work meant anything. He'd even kept in contact with his eldest brother and his wife, the latter of whom managed his music career through video calls and once a month visits. His life seemed to finally be in order, or as well ordered as it could be and he couldn't help but thank Moriarty.
The consulting criminal had sought to tear him apart but instead he'd made him stronger, more complete…even if his nightmare still consisted of watching John fall.
His laptop dinged, drawing him from his thoughts and he smiled when another chime sounded shortly afterwards.
A case.
He glanced up at the clock about the fireplace and his smile widened.
John was due home in half an hour and by then the children would be asleep.
The Game was on.
Fin?