Sorry it's been so long :( I hope you like it.

~0~0~0~

Faye pulled her legs up onto the bed, lightly cuddling her knees as she looked around the familiar room at Mycroft's home. John knew she was safe, she knew Bella was safe but she needed time to calm down before seeing her daughter again. Even though all she wanted was to hold her little girlin her arms, she also knew that if she saw her while feeling overwhelmed she'd freak out and wouldn't be able to cope with her. Apparently Bella was coping without her, one more night wouldn't hurt either of them.

Mycroft's house had always been a source of great comfort to her, and that night was no exception. It was her safe haven, be it from herself or from the big bads in the world, she knew she'd always be okay if she was in that room.

Molly had been dropped off at her own flat, according to Mycroft. She hoped so, that was something else that was on her list of things to do. Make sure to make up for her neglect of Molly. She'd gotten over her anger at the pathologist after a talk with Sherlock about how she knew, and how she was constantly trying to get him to reveal himself. Molly may have started hanging out with her because she was feeling guilty, but it was also because she seemed to actually care about her well-being as well. It would be nice to have a proper girl friend, she'd have to invite this 'Tom' over as well.

When she got home, anyway. Not yet, she needed the safe haven of her bedroom at Mycroft's. Nothing could hurt her here, the outside world could wait for her to be ready to face it again. It was just her and her bed, a good book and all the time in the world.

She reached over to her bedside table and picked up her book, opening it purposefully. A bit of Agatha Christie would calm her down. She never told Sherlock how much she loved the murder mystery writer because he thought all crime novels were complete trash, but she loved the way Agatha could pull her into a situation and gave her the ability to lose herself in a different reality. Normally, anyway, this time she had too deep of a train of thought to keep herself occupied for more than a few lines.

Sherlock had said he hadn't shot Moran, but she had heard the gun drop as soon as Sherlock had ran to untie her. And he'd sworn he was going to kill Moran if he didn't let her go. Sherlock didn't do guns, such violence was considered beneath him, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use one. But he'd told her he hadn't, and she trusted him completely, right?

She had done, but now she wasn't so sure. How could she when he'd had her believe he was dead. The only person who hadn't lied to her had been John, and she'd repayed him by lying to him instead.

She chucked the book to her side and laid back on her pillow, eyes closed as she groaned in frustration. She knew she should be more bothered about the fact Sherlock might have actually killed a guy, but all she could focus on was if he'd lied to her or not. She felt a strange disconnection from the act, all of her focused on the Consulting Detective.

The bed dipped next to her as someone settled onto it next to her. She opened one eye to see Sherlock sat there, his legs stretched out in front of him and his ankles crossed.

"Mycroft had informed me you're hiding from our daughter." He drawled.

"No I'm not." She snapped, "I just needed a night to myself." She said the word purposefully, but as always he didn't get the hint.

"You think I killed Moran, don't you?" He asked in reply.

"Did you?" She shot back, "Did you shoot him?"

"You're afraid that I'm a murderer." He stated, looking at her with that studious look he gained whenever he was trying to deduce someone's emotional state.

"No, I'm wondering if you've lied to me again." She snapped, "Because we've still not got over your last big lie."

"Oh, that again." He moaned, "What does it matter, I'm alive, isn't that the point?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" She exclaimed angrily, "Your lie didn't work! There are still people out there looking for you! What was the point of not telling me and John if it failed?"

"It didn't fail." He countered and her arm shot out, pointing at the window.

"It obviously did." She snapped, "Moran knew, who else does?"

"Lots of people. Or no people, I can't really say." He retorted, looking over her, "I know you're worried..."

"Worried?" She shrieked, "I'm fucking terrified, Sherlock! What if it happens again? What if..." She stopped, shaking her head, "I'm not doing this. I've just had a gun held at my head and spent four days in a room on my own. Let me sleep, Sherlock." She couldn't focus on him right now, because she'd break down. What if it happened again, but this time it wasn't a faked suicide? What if it wasn't a suicide at all? She couldn't bury him again.

"Moriarty had a snipers all around the city." Sherlock replied quietly, bewildering her, "One aimed at Mrs Hudson, on on Lestrade, one on John and one on you. The only way you were going to survive was if they saw me die. There were 13 possibilities..."

"I don't care about the possibilities, Sherlock." She snapped, "Get to the point."

"The point is that if I hadn't died, then you would have been shot and we would have both died." He snapped in reply, frustrated by her lack of logic and reasoning. The people around him always seemed to make everything so complicated, when it really was simple.

"Okay, I can get that." She conceded, "I know that you were just trying to save us, but why keep silent? Why not just tell us?"

"Because there was no way of knowing if Moriarty had other plans in place." He explained, "I had to demolish his crime network to ensure your continued safety. If it appeared for one moment I was alive there may have been another attempt at your life." He sighed, leaning back against the wall, "Something I should have kept up. I've been careless. Coming back to your life too early as put you in the firing range once again." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as he thought about his next move as Faye regarded him thoughtfully. He had such a pale neck, apparently all the time he'd been in Europe, it hadn't been in the hotter regions. That was if he could tan at all, she and John had varying opinions on that.

And he looked so guilty, but he didn't need to. This wasn't his fault, he still couldn't take into consideration other people's feelings and emotions. How was he to know that someone would want revenge on him because they had been in love with Moriarty? And he'd saved her, so she hadn't been shot...

"Both of us?" She asked him, frowning as she thought over everything he'd explained. One of his eyes opened and he looked at her like she'd coughed something up on his shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary there, then.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"You said that both of us would have died if I'd been shot." She explained, "Was he going to shoot you as well?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Mary." He retorted but instead of getting insulted, she just stared at him expectantly until he sighed, shifting and looking incredibly uncomfortable, "Part of your anger towards me is because you're terrified of having to bury me twice, correct?" She nodded.

"Yes."

"Well, the feeling is completely mutual." He replied, "I may not have been there for your first 'death', but I don't think I could survive if you were to actually die. If that meant you had to believe I was dead, I was ready for that." He placed his arms behind his head, resting on them as a makeshift pillow, "Unfortunately, I am apparently too weak to hold myself to that. Even without Bella, I don't think I could have stayed away any longer than I did." She could tell by the matter of fact way he was saying it that he hadn't intended to be romantic, most of the time he was he never knew it anyway. But her chest contracted, her heart physically feeling the effects of his words and after a moment of stunned silence she slowly pushed herself up, crawling across the small amount of space between them. He watched her, intrigued as she placed one leg over his, straddling his lap as she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

~0~0~0~

"How did Mycroft find me?" Faye asked, lying on her side as she stared at him, utterly serene. Sherlock had been too hot, so the covers were only there to protect his sense of decency, but she was snuggled underneath them like they were cocooning her, "I guess he didn't have anything tracking me, otherwise I wouldn't have been there for so long."

"That was me, actually." He explained smugly, his fingers lazily running his hand through her hair. She looked up, surprised and he looked back, bored, "The Homeless Network." He elaborated, "They may have been aware of the actual outcome, but they haven't been active since I left. One word had them up and running and they found you in less than 24 hours."

"Really?" She asked, impressed, "I should meet some of these helpers of yours. They seem to be doing your job for you."

"They just fetch the information, I'm the one that uses that information to..." He trailed off, looking distinctly unimpressed by the way she seemed to be trying to not laugh at him, "And you're teasing me." He declared and she nodded.

"I know how smart you are, Sherlock." She replied, "You don't need to prove yourself to me."

"How grossly sentimental." He said and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, hush it." She snapped, "One of us has to be."

"Why?" He asked.

"So our daughter can have a chance of being a normal member of society." She explained.

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath, and you tried to cut your own face off." He countered, "I think it's safe to say that the ship has sailed on that notion."

"You know, about that sociopath thing." She replied, "I looked it up, and I don't think you are. I mean, you have some..." He quickly rolled on top of her, pushing his lips against hers to shut her up. She smirked, she knew he just loved being able to say that!

"I have a request." He muttered against her lips as he trailed kisses down her jaw, tracing the lines of the scar there. Well, that statement was enough to start the feeling of an ever-growing pit in her stomach. His lips continued downwards, heading towards her collarbone as she squirmed, knowing he was trying to distract her.

"What is it?" She asked, but he didn't stop, "Sherlock!" She scolded and he let out an angry exhale of breath, annoyed at her.

"I would like you to marry me." He told her in exasperation and she blinked, stunned.

"What?" She squeaked.

"I have quite a bit of money." He explained in the voice he used to show his utter irritation with the human race. The 'why can't you read my mind so I don't have to explain this to you?' voice he used to use with his clients, "If we are married, you and Bella would be first in line for it should something happen to me." She stared at him before her fingers clenched.

"No!" She exclaimed, outraged, "I'm not marrying you just for some legal crap! You want me to have your money, put me in your pissing Will or something!" Two hands on his chest had him on the other side of the bed and off the top of her.

"You already are." He retorted, which just confused her more than anything. He wouldn't meet her eye.

"Do you actually want to marry me?" She asked him.

"I have always thought marriage was an outdated practice." He replied, "It's primary use for ensuring women were enslaved to their husbands." She felt her anger building up again, "However, it's modern use of showing true affection for another might not be the worse thing in the world." His tone, which suggested the idea was absolutely abhorrent, was there just to hide his embarrassment, "I would also be..." He paused for a moment, "I would also be comforted by the idea of you waiting for me to come home again." He watched her calculatingly, her features softening.

"You don't have to marry me to know that, Sherlock." She promised, reaching across and taking his hand, "I thought you were never coming home, and I still waited." She had never considered the option to marry him, to be perfectly honest. Even as a child, while other little girls were playing at weddings, he'd been open about his displeasure at the custom. That had only grown as he'd aged and by the time they'd found each other, she'd lost the desire for it anyway.

"Still," He replied, "the idea of being your husband wouldn't be so bad." He locked eyes with her for the first time since he'd asked, "I thought I'd lost you again. I'd do anything to make sure that never happens." She shook her head, laughing at not only his way with words, but at his impeccable timing.

~0~0~0~

And so they stood in front of Mycroft in his home office, the picture of the Queen behind him and no one else in the room. Faye glanced behind her, even though it was one of the smallest rooms in his giant home, it seemed huge with just the three of them there.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked quietly and she turned back to him, nodding despite the fact she looked troubled.

"I just always thought John would be here." She admitted.

"We don't have to." He reassured her gently. She looked him over, stood there in his trademark suit and shirt. She was only in a dress she'd found in the wardrobe, nothing fancy but all she had in the time. He looked worried, but also so happy. Thoughts of him jumping off the roof at St Barts ran through her mind, thoughts of Mycroft telling her Sherlock was dead, and for real this time had her shaking her head. It didn't matter that only the three of them would know, and she couldn't tell another soul, this is what she wanted.

"No, I'm okay." She promised, taking his hands in hers and smiling that smile he seemed to love so much. And despite the reservations she had, and the repercussions that they were going to face, Mycroft cleared his voice and begun.

"This place in which we are now met has been duly sanctioned according to law for the celebration..."