Hello and welcome back for the FINAL time, guys! It's been an interesting journey and it would be nothing if it weren't for you…thank you for reading and I hope you have enjoyed it. Now, for the last time, here's the chapter…

John sat alone in the dark office, clenching and unclenching his fists, thinking to himself. How had the police known in the first place where the 'murder' had taken place? Someone must have told them. John could only think of one person who knew basically every goings on in London. This is why he was sitting in this large room, a scowl set on his face, waiting for Mycroft Holmes to return from wherever he had been…

Lestrade knew his shift had finished but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. He was sitting at his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand and the remote for the TV in the other. He was reviewing the CCTV tape but found nothing new. Taking a large gulp of drink, he slammed the remote down and rubbed his head. Placing his glass on his desk, Lestrade sighed as he left his office and was surprised to see Sally Donovan shoving something quickly into her bag before turning around and shooting the Inspector a large smile.

"Oh, hi, Sir, I didn't see you there. Um…I was just going. Don't worry about what happened today, we'll catch Holmes."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes and placed his hands in his pockets.

"What makes you so sure Sherlock did it? All we have is a fuzzy image of him running in the direction of the murder scene. It could have been after the murder-"

"No, he did it. You haven't found anything to suggest otherwise."

Lestrade's eyes widened at her choice of word: you.

"Are we not a team anymore, Sally? What was that you put in your bag?"

"Nothing!"

She had shielded her bag from his view and her voice had become considerably higher. Lestrade wasn't so incompetent to know whether someone was lying or not.

"Oh, Sally, what have you done?"

Donovan looked down as Lestrade slowly took the bag from her. He opened it to find several other tapes inside. He gave her a shocked look.

"I was looking through them and I found nothing…just a woman walking past and a couple of drunk idiots. When I saw Holmes run past…I thought the others wouldn't matter."

Lestrade swallowed at the mention of the 'woman that walked past'. Lestrade knew this was Molly, Sidney's actual killer, and had a duty to put her away. However, considering Sidney deserved his fate, Lestrade had aided her and Sherlock's escape. He turned to Donovan.

"This is a murder investigation! Of course they matter. Do you know how serious this is? Stealing evidence is a crime, Sally."

"I know, sir, look I'll show you…they're unimportant."

She placed the first one in and frowned as they watched the woman walk past. She moved closer and gasped. Lestrade's heart sank when he realised why.

"Pause it! Look, sir, isn't that the handbag that was recovered at the scene?"

Lestrade swallowed as he rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the desk.

"Um…I don't think so…it's a bit unclear…"

Sally shook her head, tilting it slightly, folding her arms and frowning at the slightly blurry image. Lestrade closed his eyes, praying and hoping she couldn't see it properly.

"No, look, sir, the shape and size are the same. It was her…whoever she is."

Lestrade bit his lip and watched as Sally seemed to be standing at different angles trying to get a better look. Eventually, she shook her head and stepped back.

"Well, sir?"

Lestrade looked up at her and sighed.

"It is for precisely this reason you shouldn't have done what you did. Now, we have…a new lead and we could have missed that because you didn't look properly. We'll discuss this in the morning."

Sally furrowed her brow, slightly, before nodding and collecting her bag.

"Goodnight, sir. I'm sorry. I didn't think…"

Lestrade pursed his lips and nodded as she turned and left the building. Lestrade breathed out deeply before walking around the desk and collapsing into the nearest chair. Shit! Now what am I going to do?

Mycroft yawned as he switched the light of his office on. He walked over to his cabinet and poured himself a glass of wine. He nearly jumped when he saw the still figure of John Watson sitting behind his desk. It didn't take a genius to figure out how he got in. His security wasn't up to much these days.

"There are easier ways to get my attention, Doctor."

"Yeah, but I didn't feel like being gagged today, Mycroft. There's something I wanted to ask you, actually. I'm sure you knew about Sidney?"

Mycroft sat in his favourite chair, frowning slightly.

"Yes, his father is…something of a friend of mine. I am aware that his son and my brother…locked horns recently. Over the attentions of that pathologist, am I correct?"

John nodded, clenching his fists again. Mycroft smiled, tapping his fingers against the chair.

"Yes, Sherlock has never been one for sharing."

John sighed and stood up walking over to the window, causing Mycroft to frown again.

"Did you know Sherlock's wanted in suspicion of murder?"

John whipped around to face a shocked looking Mycroft, and his anger increased when Mycroft swallowed and looked down. He traced his finger around the edge of his glass.

"Of course you do, you told the police where to go, didn't you?"

Mycroft looked up into John's furious eyes and sighed again.

"I was…concerned my brother was getting himself into some trouble. I contacted the police when I noticed him running towards the warehouse, yes. I never intended-"

"Since when have you been concerned for Sherlock! HE'S HAD TO LEAVE LONDON! It's all your fault…they could have got out of this…he and Molly would have been fine. Because of you, they couldn't stay. You, Mycroft, you led them right to him."

Mycroft looked down into his lap once more. There was nothing he could say, or do, to show he really had been worried for his brother's safety and thinking the police would reach him in time…he had never thought his plan would have the opposite effect.

"I'm…sorry. Tell him, would you?"

John shook his head, laughing slightly. He was probably thinking John still had contact. John had absolutely no idea where Sherlock was.

"Oh, please."

John turned around and slammed the door behind him, stomping down the stairs and out of the door.

Stan sobbed in front of his son's gravestone, heartbroken and alone. The past three years had been nothing but pain. Revenge was the only reason he remained on this damned planet only to be told there was nothing anyone could do. Moran had disappeared, taking his money and vanishing without doing a damn thing to help him in his quest. He had waited three long years, the police had given up, and there was no hope left. Fat lot of good he fucking was. I should have known he was a fake. If no one is going to help me find out who killed my son, there's nothing left for it. Looking around to see if he was alone, tears leaking from his eyes, he placed a gun into his mouth, pulling the trigger without a second thought.

It had been days since Sherlock and Molly left, and John hadn't heard from them at all. Not one word. They were lying low, it was obvious. But for how long? How long did they need? There were moments when he was sure he had seen them, but, of course, his mind betrayed him. Mary insisted he see his psychiatrist but John refused, insisting he was fine. It was ridiculous; they weren't dead, why should he need his therapist? Stan's body had been found at his son's grave, a victim of suicide. This news came as a surprise to John who thought the man seemed to be handling it well. He had offered him support only to be politely rejected. 221B had started to feel very empty and John found he had a very important question to ask Mary.

The days soon rolled into weeks and the hype still showed no sign of dying down. The post-mortem results revealed the time of death was before Sherlock arrived at the scene and the case was thrown into new light, eliminating Sherlock as the perpetrator but not as a witness or accessory. Anderson had been unable to find fingerprint evidence at the scene. The police were baffled, once more, meaning Lestrade was forced to reveal the evidence he and Donovan had stumbled upon. He had narrowly avoided suspension for 'misplacing' evidence and he had managed to keep Donovan from losing her job as well. He had lied to his superiors straight up and completely denied Donovan's involvement, shocking John and Sally. One day, John had gone to see Lestrade only to accidentally wander in on the moment Donovan was 'thanking' the Inspector for his discretion. It was then, John questioned his tendency to walk in at precisely the wrong moments.

The weeks turned into months. Mary had moved into 221B without hesitation and the two of them had settled down comfortably. Mary provided John with the perfect distraction from his worry. He was so pleased to have her help him through this. He really and truly loved her. The reporters had dispatched themselves outside the flat, now, as it was leaked that Sherlock was caught on CCTV. It wasn't long after that the anonymous, elusive woman on the CCTV was revealed to the press, who dubbed her 'the Handbag Killer', placing the city on high alert for the consulting detective and the Handbag Killer. Kitty Riley became the official reporter for the murder inquiry and, because of this, John found he couldn't read the paper without reading some ridiculous story. This Kitty Riley person had a tendency to 'stretch the truth' to get a scoop. John still hadn't received anything from the pair, either.

The months slowly crept into years…three years. John couldn't believe it had been three years, already, without a single word. Granted, his wedding and the birth of his child had taken his mind off of the consulting detective and his pathologist, but they were always at the back of his mind. He remembered his wedding day, how he had looked at Lestrade, his best man, and sighed deeply. Mary had done the same with her maid of honour. 221B received some well-deserved refurbishments. The old experiments disappeared, the flat became clean and tidy and baby stuff littered the floor. He and Mary had recently become the proud parents of a baby girl they named Caitlyn. There was one thing, however, John couldn't bring himself to throw out. The skull, the one that had absorbed so many of Sherlock's ramblings, remained, much to Caitlyn's amusement, in the same place as always. The press had now vanished and the police were close to closing the Handbag Killer case completely. This wasn't exactly good news; it was still fresh in everyone's minds.

John hadn't spoken to Lestrade in nearly a year, but it was to his understanding he and his wife had separated, for some reason. Also, Anderson had discovered drugs and spiralled into a deep depression after his incompetence during the case came to light. It had been three years since John had cut off contact from Mycroft. Besides, his time was now occupied by his beautiful wife and daughter Caitlyn. Three years…it didn't seem real, anymore.

John woke up for another day, as normal and went to collect the post, absent-mindedly smoothing his finger over his wedding ring as he did so. His girls were still asleep and he didn't want to wake them yet, so he made sure he was quiet. He reached the door and found, unsurprisingly, more interview requests, nursery applications for Caitlyn…same old, same old. There was something new, though, among the official papers. A letter addressed to him directly, printed from a computer and placed in a brown envelope. Something told him this was the long awaited message from Sherlock. He opened it with shaky hands, holding his breath. A letter fluttered to the ground, also printed from a computer. John swallowed as he bent down to pick it up, unfolding it carefully and moving to his chair.

John, Mary and baby girl Watson,

Mycroft informed me of your situation and I believe congratulations are in order. Of course, there is no way you can get a message back to me so Mycroft will inform me of her name when he can be bothered. I am pleased for the both of you and your new addition.

I would like you to know, Molly and I are safe and well. There is no way this letter can be intercepted as Mycroft's men dealt with it personally. I cannot guarantee, therefore, that he didn't have a read through first.

The situation is unchanged there, so it would be difficult for us to return. However, in the near future, I will disclose to your our location.

Your friends,

Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Mrs. Molly Holmes

P.S I am sorry we could not attend your nuptials and you ours. We shall meet once more in the future, but for now, let me say, congratulations my dear friend.

John blinked at the letter. He gulped a little, the water in his eyes unmistakeable. Who would've thought it, eh? He frowned as he noticed there was something inside the envelope. He felt inside and pulled out a single photo and his heart jumped a little. The photo showed Sherlock standing next to Molly, a tender embrace, and the pair were holding in their arms a young boy, smiling widely. He was around two years old, slightly older than Caitlyn. The boy had Sherlock's curly, black hair and cheekbones and Molly's eyes and nose. And her smile…definitely Molly's smile. John smiled to himself as he turned the photo over and saw the neatly scrawled text.

It seems you are not the only ones with news, my friend. You are also a good man. We cannot wait for Hamish to meet his godfather…

A single tear fell from John's eyes as he tucked the picture into his pocket and went into Sherlock's bedroom, which he and Mary had left alone. In three years, neither of them had touched it. They couldn't bring themselves to enter. He sat on Sherlock's bed and thought about all the times he had wished he was living somewhere else or, the very least, deaf. He glanced around and looked to Sherlock's dresser, thick with dust. He smiled and shook his head as he noticed the camera from the France trip. Curiosity got the better of him as he saw a note stood in front of it, yellowing and dusty. He approached carefully and read the note.

It is advisable that you do not touch, under pain of embarrassment.

Rolling his eyes, John smiled and took the picture out of his pocket, smiling fondly at it. The last thing John had said to his best friend was you deserve to be happy and if this picture was anything to go on, he certainly looked just that. A screeching wail brought John from his thoughts and he placed the picture next to the camera on the dresser. Turning to glance around once more, his eyes swept the room and he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, walking into his bedroom. He found Mary cradling Caitlyn, softly shushing her and rocking her. John smiled once more as he went to sit next to Mary. I'm glad you've found your family, Sherlock, because I've certainly got mine.

There we have it, guys. I really hope you enjoyed this story and thank you all so, so much for reading it! I have enjoyed writing this so much and please review and tell me what you thought! xx Thank you again to everyone, lots of love for all of you. It's goodbye now, but I'm currently working on several new stories so, fingers crossed, they'll be done soon. ;D Bye for now, my preciouses xx