If either man had realised how little they would miss the thrill of the chase, they would have moved years earlier.
And if the sly comments about the 'two ageing queens who lived in the woods' ever reached their ears well, they knew the truth of their friendship and that was all that mattered.
John, his body finally giving in to the various injuries it had sustained over the years, spent much of his time writing his memoirs, his stories of life with Sherlock Holmes.
And Sherlock spent time experimenting with his bees and feeding John's sweet tooth.
"Try this." He offered a slice of bread and honey to his friend.
"Dare I ask what you've done to it?" John smiled and took it, taking a small bite and chewing thoughtfully. "Mmmm. Yeah, that's good."
"You'll remember those herbs I planted in the clearing? I set a new hive there about six months …"
He stopped suddenly, looking strangely at his friend.
"John, do you have any regrets?"
"Eh? Regrets about what?"
"Spending your time with me."
"Only one."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.
"I regret never seeing London from a dragon's perspective."
With a small nod Sherlock went to his room and changed, then handed John his jacket and led him out into the rapidly fading light.
"Climb on my back….."