**A final arc to the saga of the unexpected fight.**

"Look, I realize what I said…it all just came out of nowhere."

"I overstepped my bounds."

"No…I mean, yes, but no. You didn't deserve all that."

The eyes claim no victory. Light from the fire dances in the dark pools.

"I mean, I get it. I know how you operate. You don't talk about problems, you solve them. You act. It's how you've always shown love." A smile emerges, settling more in the eyes than the mouth.

A curt nod, belied by the faint blush. The gaze abstracts, circles to the ceiling.

"It's hard for me…not to feel like a failure."

Abrupt focus. "In what version of reality are you a failure?"

"Mine."

"Absurd."

"Not really."

"Explain."

A sigh, floundering. "I don't know, I just…I've always had it, this nagging feeling…as if I'm falling short, no matter what was going on around me, no matter what people have needed, I couldn't provide it. And now I can't even pay my bills?" A thumb crooks to point at its owner. "Pathetic."

"Wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that based upon the data, your deduction is flawed."

"Oh, is it?" The mouth pulls up on one side.

"Indeed. You've failed to account for the relevant facts of the case; thus, your conclusion is inevitably incorrect."

"And I suppose you have all the facts?"

"I do."

Arms cross over the chest. "Fine. Enlighten me."

A swoop to the edge of the chair cushion. "You've been confronted by unreliable adults in your youth, a sibling whose vices overcame her, and a platoon of men in a war zone. What do all of these situations have in common? Answer: They are impossible situations, circumstances that defy solution, puzzles that cannot be solved. How are they managed? They require a hero. They require a person who is willing to fight, who helps people survive, who allows others to endure no matter the cost to himself." The head tilts, the voice looses its razor. "You step up when others cower. That act alone defines success; ergo, failure is not possible."

Eyebrows knit together, mouth slightly agape. "I…I don't know…that's…I mean, I'm not—"

The hand waves dismissively. "Oh, please. The pattern is clear, and you continue it to this very moment."

The furrow deepens. "What? What are you talking about?"

The pale face turns fully to him, expression bland for allocution. "You're here. You've taken up with a person whom most consider a grumpy, rude, obnoxious asshole, and you've managed to redeem him, to find something worthwhile in him to love." Quieter now, but still unflinching. "And you've become indispensable and completely necessary to him in every conceivable way, a person who once considered himself aloof to all and desirous of none. That is a feat that ranks fairly high on the grand scale of impossible undertakings, does it not?"

A stare, and at length, a head shakes absently, "No, Sherlock, that's not…I can't let you…what I mean is, I owe you so much…I owe you."

"For what?"

"Before this, before us, I was lost. I was…invisible in my own life."

"I do not accept that. I know what invisible is. I grew up as the rubbish little brother of Mycroft Holmes, a man who sees our entire species as "goldfish" in comparison to himself and never has ceased, not once, to remind me that I am the least golden among them. I have been invisible."

Eyebrows raise. A soft smile, a wince. "I guess we have that in common, then."

Curls toss thoughtfully. "Nope." A finger jabs at him. "You, doctor, could not be invisible, ever."

Doubt, a wry tilting of the head. "Yeah? What's your proof for that? Plaid stands out in a crowd?"

Eye roll. "Simple. Obvious." Elbows on knees, shoulders squared to the fire, the neck twists. "Because most of the time, John, you're all I can see."

The gaze holds through the flickers and crackles of the nearby blaze.

**Author note: How's it going so far? PLEASE tell me what you think!**