Sally Donovan's journey of redemption draws to a close whilst several lives take new directions.

The drive back to the Yard was as quiet as the journey out, except this time the mood was lighter. Some of the tension that had existed between the DI and her new bagman had seemed to lift. Only time would tell, but Sally had the first inklings that maybe learning from Noor Panesar would be a very good thing. She would be a fool not to embrace the opportunity before her.

Sally came into work the next morning feeling more energised than she had done in a long time. The previous evening had been spent in soul-searching. She'd contemplated new information and the changes this wrought in her late into the night. Her conclusions had forced a fundamental shift in how she saw herself and how she chose to proceed with her career. That she still wanted to make DI was a given, but the way she pictured herself in the role needed revision. Maybe the hard-nosed ball breaker should not be her default position. Noor had already shown her another way, and Sherlock's obvious respect for the DI only confirmed that she needed to change her attitude. It would take some work with new skills to learn, but she now believed that Noor was the Inspector to mentor her towards her goals.

Despite the late night, she'd slept well. Rising early, feeling surprisingly refreshed, she'd stopped at a favourite patisserie on the way to the Yard. She bought coffees for herself and the DI, with a small selection of pastries and croissants to share with the DI and her immediate team.

She'd also bought a coffee, and bacon sandwich with brown sauce for her old boss, DCI Greg Lestrade. There was something she desperately needed to do but the thought of taking that step was making her nervous. In the end she took a deep breath, mentally berated herself for her dithering and, grabbing the peace offering, marched up to the DCI's door.

A quick rap on the frame and she poked her head into his office. "Sir. Can I have a word?"

Greg looked up at the familiar voice. Spotting the bag and guessing that it was for him he smiled brightly. "Course, come in Sally. Don't stand on ceremony. Is that for me? Lovely. I missed breakfast this morning and if that's what I think it is you're a star."

Sally handed over the paper bag containing the bacon sarnie. Greg opened the bag, sticking his nose in and inhaling the tempting scent with delight. "Buttering up you old boss Sally? Are you after something?" He vaguely gestured at the guest chair in front of his desk, indicating that she sit, before diving into the bag and extracting half of the thick sandwich. He hummed in delight as he opened his jaw wide to get around the hard crust and sink his teeth into the soft bread oozing bacon fat, butter and sauce.

He chewed and swallowed the first mouthful with obvious relish, wiping greasy dribbles from his chin with a serviette before popping the sandwich down onto the bag and grabbing his coffee.

"Now then Sally, how can I help? I hope it's nothing that's going to give me indigestion."

"No Sir. At least, I don't think so." The DCI looked at her expectantly, taking a mouthful of coffee as the Sergeant before him composed herself.

He'd known Sally for almost a decade. He was well aware she was quick to anger and slow to forgive. But, in almost every other respect she was a fine officer. He knew putting her with Noor was a risk, but he couldn't, in good conscience, recommend her for DI until she got her head straight. He'd hoped Noor would have more luck than he had with the headstrong Sergeant, but early indications were that the relationship between DI and DS was volatile. Bets were already being taken on how long it would last. Taking another swig of the strong coffee he waited to see how Sally was going to proceed.

"I wanted to apologise."

To say Greg was shocked was an understatement. In all the time he'd worked with Sally he'd rarely heard her apologise for anything voluntarily. Usually it was grudgingly, under orders, and rarely genuine. To hear her apologise now for he knew not what, and apparently genuinely too, was strangely disturbing. Even more so than the news he'd heard the previous evening from Molly.

"OK. And what would this apology be for?"

"Sherlock."

Greg braced himself.

"I thought, all those years, that he was an unfeeling psychopath. He embodied everything I hated. Arrogant, condescending, entitled, and then to threaten all of that with drugs. You remember in the early days when he'd swank onto our crime scene off his head on cocaine and still see more than we ever could. I'd worked so hard and fought for everything to get where I was, and he could just waltz in and do my job better than me."

Anticipating the usual rant, Greg tried to forestall the direction he thought Sally was going. "He's never been able to do your job better than you Sally. Point taken on spotting clues and pulling the whole crime together. He's always been good at the clever bits, but the other stuff is something he could never do. When you don't let him get under your skin, no-one works the team better than you. You keep on top of the lads, keep all the paperwork ship shape, ensure everything is done to procedure, and make sure that all the follow-up and closure is dealt with properly. But you already know this. I've told you in every evaluation we've had. You'll make a great DI, and hopefully you'll get there one day, but …"

"Yeah, I know. I need to rein in my temper and not let my own prejudices blinker me to other avenues of enquiry. It has recently been explained to me extremely clearly. Thanks for putting me with DI Panesar by the way. It's what I needed." Greg looked startled, nearly choking on his latest mouthful of sandwich. "I thought you were punishing me at first, but I think you were right. I know I've only been with her a week and I've got a long way to go. I've got a tonne of stuff to get my head 'round and a lot to learn from her, and you, but I think I'm ready now. She read me the riot act when I first joined her. She'd really seemed to have done her homework on me and I hated her for it. But she was right. I needed to get my head out of my arse. And this case with John and Sherlock has really opened my eyes."

Now Greg was truly shocked. "Umm, Sherlock?"

"Yeah. Why I owe you a huge apology. I've already apologised to him and John. I was wrong about him. OK, maybe not at first. But since he's been clean and he's been living with John he's different. I just couldn't see it. I still saw the junkie I hated instead of what he's become. The DI calls it my virtual Sherlock. And yeah, I delighted in goading him knowing he'd retaliate. But it's my behaviour to John that really makes me so bloody furious with myself. Have you ever noticed how his left hand kind of spasms when he's upset?"

"Yeah. It's left over from when he was invalided out of the Army. Nerve damage from the bullet wound that ended both his military and surgical careers. Intermittent tremor of the left hand is not good for a man with a scalpel, especially in a war zone."

"Oh God! I never knew! Shit, I feel really horrible now. I never really noticed how many times when I was laying in to Sherlock, or bitching at John for his friendship with him, that his left hand started flexing. I always thought he was angry and trying to avoid punching me. Once I noticed I delighted in getting that little rise from him knowing that he isn't the type of man to hit a woman. I never knew that I was actually hurting him."

"Yeah, you were." Greg felt anger at himself that he'd never noticed how much his friend was being tormented by his Sergeant. He knew Sherlock could give as good as he got, but John was a different matter. For all his strength and inner steel, in some respects he was quite fragile. Now he regretted all the times he'd let Donovan and Anderson go too far with their venom. "He kept it hidden from me. He asked me to have a word sometimes, but only with regard to Sherlock, never himself. If I'd known I'd have shut you down sooner."

"Well, I know now and I'm angry with myself for it. I hurt a good man. No, two good men, for no reason. Because I know now that you were right. That you understood the truth of Sherlock when I couldn't. And I wanted to hurt you for it, god help me. Before he jumped, when I was pulling together the case against him, I was so smug. I know the evidence was all there, all laid out nice and neat leading me by the nose. I was too convinced of my own cleverness: that I was the only one who'd seen the truth. I wanted to show you I could pull everything together too. That your pet psychopath was playing you, when really it was me being played. I know now, he isn't a psychopath, or even a sociopath. Noor saw it straight away when they both came in to give their witness statements in the Mendez case. She asked me afterwards why I hadn't noticed how the case had effected John, and how caring and protective Sherlock was of him. She saw right away what I'd never let myself see. It's not that Sherlock is unfeeling, but that he feels too deeply. He protects himself with the sociopath act, by being obnoxious to keep people away so he can maintain focus. But if anything happened to those he truly cares about I think it might destroy him."

Greg set down his now nearly empty cup of coffee and looked in satisfaction at his old colleague. "And now you know why he jumped."

"Yeah. It must have torn him apart being away from those he … loved. But I still don't get why he made John watch. That seemed unnecessarily cruel, even for him."

"Not cruel, necessary. John had to believe. It was the only way Sherlock could see to keep him alive. He was wrong, but in his mind it was the only way he could see it working. John had to believe that Sherlock was dead and demonstrate his grief every day to anyone who was watching, and Sherlock had to know that John was doing that. Sherlock had to know that John was safe to be able to do what he needed to, and John had to think Sherlock was dead to keep them both alive. As it was, Sherlock underestimated John's abilities, as so many do. John worked it out and then kept the secret until Sherlock was ready to return."

"But why not let John know at the time? Surely it was all over when Moriarty died?"

"No. There was a whole international crime syndicate set up to carry on Moriarty's legacy. Sherlock knew he had to take that down to ensure our survival. Don't forget, I was a target too. And Mrs Hudson, their landlady. I only know bits and pieces of what Sherlock had to do. It was not pretty, and you really don't want to know. Suffice to say it was sanctioned at the highest levels. I do know he mistakenly betrayed himself at the final moment putting John back in the crosshairs."

"Was that the kidnapping that you got roped into investigating by the spooks just before Sherlock returned?"

"Yeah. I think I wasn't so much investigating as in protective custody. Turns out John was drugged and kidnapped from UCLH by Moriarty's second in command. He found himself back at that swimming pool where we found his prints that time, and wrapped in semtex again. Knowing how much it shook him the first time I'm surprised he was as calm as he was when we found them."

"I knew it. I knew John was the final pip." Sally nearly leapt from her chair in exultation, but settled for rubbing her hands together and smiling broadly.

Greg looked up in shock. "How the hell did you work that out? Nobody in the Yard knew the details except me, and even I didn't know that much. Sherlock thought it was best I had some idea of what happened so John had someone to lean on in case he needed to talk, Sherlock not being the best with emotional support."

"I'd never have thought Sherlock would've been concerned about John's wellbeing, but I understand now. I worked it out earlier, about John and the pool. DI Panesar mentioned there were some things that had gone on regarding Sherlock and Moriarty that were off the books. I wondered why you'd never told me, but I understand now why you couldn't. I'm sorry my own stupidity meant I couldn't support you as I should have. Instead I used the half-truths and misinformation to convince myself Sherlock was some sort of master criminal when in fact he was trying to bring one down." She couldn't quite bring herself to say the words 'my own stupidity meant you couldn't trust me.'

"Yeah well, twenty-twenty hindsight is a wonderful thing. But, back to you. Can I gather from this that things with Noor are working out? Should I expect an improved working relationship with out Consultants?"

Sally grinned. "Yeah. I should say so. Thank you Sir. Now finish that sandwich before it congeals."

"Very well Sergeant." As Sally turned to leave, the DCI called her back. "Oh Sally, the wife asked me to hand out the invitations to our anniversary party. Here's yours, and can I ask you to discretely pass these round to the others. It's not an open house, but there are several old lags I want to invite without putting noses out of joint. I'll buy a round down the pub next time we're all out for those who don't come. Names are on the envelopes. I'll sort out the other DI's, but can you give this one to Noor. I know she's new, but I think she's done us both a good turn in the short time she's been here, don't you."

Sally grinned, taking the proffered stack of envelopes, and heading out the door. "I quite agree, Sir."

-0-0-0-

It was the Friday a week prior to Greg and Molly's anniversary party. Mary couldn't believe that the year had flown by so quickly. Of course, Sherlock hadn't been at the wedding. It would be another three months before his return, and the events that had nearly cost her John. Of course John and Mary had known that Sherlock was alive and that Molly had helped with his disappearance. Unfortunately it was too risky to let her know that they knew, so all they could do was offer what love and support they could despite knowing the meaning behind the sad looks she gave John when she thought he couldn't see.

She'd almost turned down Greg's proposal because of her guilt over the whole situation, believing he would hate her if he ever knew how she'd consistently failed to confide in him about her involvement. It had taken Mary sitting her down to explain that everyone has secrets, even from those they love the most, to persuade her Greg would understand.

-0-0-0-

Greg had proposed one evening at Molly's flat. The first they knew was when John got a frantic phone call from a drunk and distraught Greg. John had immediately headed to the pub Greg had taken refuge in, just down the street from Molly's, while Mary had gone to offer support to the woman who had so quickly become a close friend.

"I couldn't Mary. He asked and I just couldn't. I can't tell him. It's such a huge secret, but it's not mine to tell. And I don't know what will happen when he finds out. It feels like I've betrayed him, twice, but I just can't marry him with this hanging over us. And I really love him, but now it's all … all over."

Mary grabbed the box of tissues she'd brought out of her handbag and handed one to the weeping pathologist.

"It's not a bad secret is it Molly? You didn't do anything wrong?"

"No, no. I helped someone. But it hurt some people they were close to. It hurt Greg."

"Is it something that will hopefully make things better in the end?"

"I, I hope so, if everything goes alright. But I don't know, I just don't know. Oh Mary, this has hurt so many people." Molly's distress had been heart-breaking, but Mary could only lead her in the right direction, hopefully without betraying their own secret and endangering everyone.

"Molly, you're not a bad person. Someone asked you for help when they were in a bad situation and couldn't see a way out?" Mary knew she was prompting, but Molly was too distraught to do anything but nod.

"And it wasn't you who caused this bad situation, nor the person you helped was it?"

"No. No." A tear rolled gown Molly's cheek. She dabbed it away with her now sodden tissue.

"So it wasn't you that caused Greg to be hurt, or anyone else. It was the person who created the situation in the first place. They're the person who should be held responsible, not you. You just tried to make things better. And I bet you were the one person who could do what needed to be done."

Molly's lips quivered, but she'd drawn herself up a little and the fight was coming back to her eyes. "Yes. I was. I did what needed to be done."

"Well then, how can Greg be angry at you? If it all works out, Greg will be happy and be glad you helped. If it doesn't then everyone will be upset anyway and your part will be nothing compared to the person who caused it all. Don't you think?"

"You're right Mary. I know you're right. But it's such a big lie. I'm so frightened I'll give it away and I'll lose Greg forever. I couldn't bear that. This thing is just hanging over us and I'm so terrified it'll take Greg away from me."

"Molly, Greg loves you. And you love him don't you?" Her answer was a damp nod and a sniffle. "Then call him tomorrow morning, meet him for coffee and tell him yes. Explain you got scared, and you're sorry you hurt him. Can you do that?"

"Yeah. Thank you Mary."

"Now come here for a hug, then I'll make us a camomile tea while you wash your face, and we can plan out how you're going to get engaged."

-0-0-0-

In the pub, Greg was in a bad way. He'd skipped the beer and gone straight for the whiskey. When John arrived, Greg was slumped on a stool, his chin resting on the bar, staring fixedly at a small jeweller's box in front of him.

As John approached, his arrival was acknowledged by the barman. He was obviously used to ministering to people drowning their sorrows, so was quick to meet John's order of a pint of 6X, relieved that he was no longer the target of this stranger's miserable ramblings.

John hitched himself onto the adjacent stool and rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You OK mate?"

Greg just stared miserably ahead of him before reaching for his whiskey tumbler. He ran his fingers along its base causing the glass to spin in lazy circles on the bar.

"She said she couldn't. I asked her and she said she couldn't. I thought we were good. I thought that this time I'd got it right." Greg ran the index finger of his right hand across the box in a gentle caress. "Why didn't she say yes? I mean I'm a nice guy aren't I? I know I'm older than her and I've been married before, but I thought she was OK with that. I mean, she knows my job. Hell, she's part of my job. It must be me. I'm too old for her. God, why do I always humiliate myself?"

John gently squeezed Greg's shoulder in comfort and support. "You know she loves you, mate."

"I thought she did. I thought we were good together."

"You are. Did she give a reason, you know, why she couldn't say yes?"

"Just that she couldn't."

John guessed that this was something to do with Sherlock. He knew about Molly's involvement but he'd never discussed it with her for fear of putting her in danger. Greg had no idea Sherlock was alive or that Molly had helped ensure that. He knew she felt guilty at her involvement and the pain she thought she'd caused him. They met almost weekly at the UCLH café for coffee and a chat, so he was well aware how strong Molly's feelings were for Greg. He resolved to find a way to reconcile her to the part she'd played, hopefully without giving the secret away.

Just then his phoned chimed with a text. It was Mary. 'Coffee tomorrow. All sorted. Get Greg on track.'

Turning back to his friend, John waved at the barman to ask for a coffee. The man looked relieved as he slid the mug of steaming liquid in front of Greg. John gestured to the half empty tumbler. With a nod of understanding, the barman discretely removed the tumbler and wiped the bar dry removing all trace of its existence.

"Here you go Greg. Get this down you. You'll feel better." He pushed the coffee towards Greg's hands. Taking the jewellery box he unzipped Greg's jacket pocket, slipping the ring safely inside before zipping the pocket securely closed. "Mary's with Molly now. She says she just got a case of the jitters and that she'll call you tomorrow morning to arrange a coffee."

Greg grunted in acknowledgement, his coffee still untouched.

"Come on mate. She loves you. You know that, and Mary's just texted to confirm it. I've put the ring safely in your jacket and I know, if you ask her tomorrow she'll say yes."

"Will she?"

"Yeah, you know she will. You two are great together. Come on, get that coffee down you. Make you feel better. Doctor's orders."

Greg reached for the coffee and, with the long practice of a hardened coffee drinker, downed the steaming cup in one go.

"I'm not waiting. If she's going to say yes I want to hear it now. I'm not sleeping on this. I need an answer now."

Greg stood, somewhat gracelessly, the alcohol taking its toll on his balance.

"You sure mate? You want to do this now?"

"I'm not waiting. I've wasted too much of my life. I need to know now. If she's taking me on she needs to know the worst of me, so no, I'm not waiting. It's now or never." And he began a determined meander towards the exit.

John sent a quick text to Mary. 'Incoming. 5 minutes. Get Molly ready.'

He caught up with Greg outside the pub. The DI was propped up against the wall, panting slightly as he adjusted to the fresh air's effect on his intoxicated system.

"You sure about this mate?"

"No, but I can't wait any longer. If it's over I need to know now."

"OK, OK. Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later a very drunk but happy Gregory Lestrade was stripped to his underwear and tucked into bed, whilst an ecstatic but sniffly Molly Hooper showed John and Mary out. Forgiveness had been begged, proposals made, a ring offered and acceptance given followed by laughter, hugs and kisses all round. Finally, mission accomplished, Greg had succumbed to the whiskey. John had manhandled him to Molly's bed and stripped him of his clothes whilst Mary secured water, paracetamol, and a bucket for emergencies.

With assurances from Molly that she was fine and would call Mary in the morning, John and Mary headed back to Baker Street, tired but happy.

From then on things progressed quickly.

Mycroft released the recordings of the conversation on the roof of Bart's a scant few weeks after the engagement. At John's behest, Greg had persuaded Molly to keep the news of their engagement quiet. Neither had fully understood at the time, but accepted that John had his reasons. Once the recordings were made public they'd thanked John for his forethought. They hadn't known that Greg was a target. Sherlock had no reason to tell Molly at the time, and Greg had not been informed. The news had come as a shock to them both. Neither had realised quite how important they were to the Detective.

The intimate wedding took place two months later in front of a few close friends, Greg's brother as his best man and Molly's maternal aunt, the only close family either had remaining. Molly had chosen to keep her maiden name for professional reasons, and also for their continued safety. There was no announcement of Banns or nuptials and attendees were asked to maintain the secret until further notice. It was a small subterfuge that temporarily kept the changed relationship from becoming a matter of public record. Combined with Mycroft's increased security it should throw off any cursory enquiries made about the couple.

John's slip of the tongue that tipped Greg off to Sherlock's survival had happened only a few weeks before the event, and John was certain Greg had kept the knowledge to himself. Mycroft had taken Greg and Molly aside to warn them that they may still be in danger and that he was taking responsibility for their security. To that end, he had supplied the catering and entertainment for the wedding, and vetted the honeymoon destination. Any annoyance at their curtailed freedoms was tempered by the knowledge of just how dangerously devious anything involving Moriarty could be.

A mere three months after the wedding, John was getting reacquainted with semtex jackets and the Consulting Detective was emerging back into their lives.

-0-0-0-

Molly and Mary were having a girl's day in the West End. Both wanted new outfits for the anniversary party the following weekend, so they'd decided to hit the shops for shoes, frocks, handbags and make-overs. As a treat, Mary had booked them into Selfridges on Oxford Street for a full day of primping, styling and shopping. Backs were massaged; hair was styled; facials, manicures and pedicures enjoyed; makeup applied, and finally a personal shopper helped them sample the delights of lingerie, shoes and elegant dresses.

Mid-way through the day they had stopped for lunch at Aubaine where they could catch their breath and share more intimate news away from the ears of attentive staff.

"This is fun. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh Mary, this is brilliant. I've so rarely had the time or inclination to do something like this. Spending your day with dead bodies doesn't make for a glamorous wardrobe. Goggles and masks don't work well with makeup or extravagant hairdos."

They giggled as the waitress bringing their appetizers looked shocked at the conversation she'd walked in on.

"I know what you mean. All those years out in the field in relief camps and aid stations certainly curtailed my interest in Jimmy Choos and Louboutins. We should do this more often. It's too much fun to not repeat several times a year. As a treat of course."

"Of course. Although I may have to wait a little while before we go the whole hog again." Mary looked curiously at her friend. "I wanted to tell you first so it isn't a surprise. Greg and I are expecting. It's early days, only about 8 weeks, but I wanted you to know before the party. We're not going to say anything until after I've had the scan. Unfortunately at my age it's a high risk pregnancy so we're waiting until we've had the all clear." Registering Mary's somewhat frozen expression, Molly wondered if she'd made the right decision, telling her friend now rather than waiting until it was obvious.

The touch of Molly's hand on her forearm awoke Mary from her trance, a smile illuminating her face and her eyes shining. "Oh Molly, that's wonderful. I couldn't be happier. Can I be Aunty? And so you know, if you need an honorary Granny I'm sure Mrs Hudson would love to oblige. She absolutely adores babies. In fact, between her and me you'll never be short of knitwear for the little tyke."

Molly happily squeezed the hand Mary had reached across their table in congratulations. Molly felt joy and relief she'd made the right choice in telling Mary so early. She'd never want to make her friend uncomfortable, knowing how much grief the poor woman got from her own family over her lack of children.

"Can I tell John and Sherlock? Or will you? Or perhaps Greg?"

"Let's do it together when we get back to the flat. Greg can barely keep himself contained. He's bursting to confide in someone. And I bet Sherlock already knows anyway and is just waiting to spoil the surprise or sit back with that smug know-it-all smile."

"Oh, I know. Sometimes I just want to clip his ear when he gets all self-satisfied like that. Reminds me of Mycroft actually, but don't you ever tell that to another soul, not even Greg. Sherlock'd give me the cold shoulder for weeks if he knew." Mary gave a little giggle before drawing her friend into a happy hug.

With references to events in the previous story in the series, "Watersheds" (s/9616904/1/Watersheds)

Also, a nod to Amanda Abbington and her part in 'Mr Selfridge'.

6X is a brand of bitter.

Reviews and likes are always greatly appreciated.