A/N: Alleluia, the Lord is risen! I'm so happy we get to say alleluias again at church. I missed 'em during Lent. Happy Easter to all, and guess what? This is the last chapter *triumphant fanfare*. I've made it all the way to the end of this novel-sized fanfic and I want to extend my awed and wondered thanks to everyone who made it there with me. Without you guys to keep me motivated I probably would still be working on, like, chapter three or something. But instead, I've gotten over 110 reviews and nearly 50 favorites. I really can't thank you all enough for that. That said, I'd always like to try and aim for 120 *winkwinknudgenudge*. And, as I said, there is a happy ending to this story. And Sherlock punches his father in the face. I had fun writing that scene... :) I'm tentatively thinking about writing a sequel, but I'm going to go with whatever you guys think I should do and play it by ear. Yet another reason to leave me some feedback. ;) So anyways, before I shut the heck up and let you read the chapter, I just want to say thank you one last time. Well, that and enjoy the ending. ^-^
Sherlock gave his elder sibling a completely neutral look from blue eyes were disturbingly blank as he tried his best to repress everything storming through his head and Mycroft couldn't help but think that his little brother looked more robot than human. It hurt to watch. He remembered when Sherlock was little and smiled at everything, remembered teaching him what he knew about deduction and people-reading, remembered the way he would laugh when Mycroft came to visit and ranted about all the idiots he encountered on a daily basis. Now his little brother stared back at him as though he would like nothing more than to never feel anything again.
How had this happened? How had he let this happen? He felt guilt wash over him as he realized that he'd been letting his brother down every day for nine years. He'd gone through unimaginable pain with no recourse. And Mycroft, the older brother, the only person who could top Sherlock for intelligence, the one who was supposed to be taking care of him- had done nothing. The elder Holmes sighed silently.
"You didn't listen." His brother's sharp voice cut him off at the pass. "I tried to tell you, and you didn't listen to me."
"No, I didn't." Mycroft didn't try to deny what his brother had said. It would have been pointless. "Even though I should have. And I apologize for that." Sherlock slumped back in the hospital bed, weariness overtaking him. There were a thousand thoughts running through his head and he didn't have the words for any of them, not right now. He only cared about two things.
"Where's Beck? How is she?"
"In a different room," Mycroft answered quietly. "She has two fractured ribs and a broken right collarbone but she's going to make a full recovery." Well, that was one of the two things down. Now for the other.
"Have they arrested him?" His older brother nodded. "Good," Sherlock said coldly, blue eyes like steel. Then that look faded and a flicker of fear worked its way through before that was quickly suppressed. "Where am I going to go?" Mycroft sighed again.
"There's a boarding school in north London that you can stay at during the school year. On break you can stay with me." Now it was anger's turn in the parade of emotions to spark through Sherlock's eyes.
"I don't want to go to some bloody boarding school!" he yelled. "It'll be full of idiots and they'll just make fun of me for being a freak!" Mycroft would have been lying to say that he hadn't expected that reaction, but he forced down his emotions. There was no other option, if there were Mycroft would happily have taken it. But there wasn't. Sherlock's yelling had attracted the doctor, who administered a mild sedative to calm him down and then commanded Mycroft to leave the boy to sleep. The last thing Mycroft saw before his brother's blue eyes closed was betrayal that felt like a stab in the gut.
It was another week before either child was permitted to leave their hospital bed, but once permission was granted they were both out the door. They were practically joined at the hip until they were both discharged under strict orders to be taken well care of and not do anything stupid.
"Now why would we do a silly thing like that?" Beck remarked to her friend.
"Do you mean a silly thing like something stupid or a silly thing like listen to them?" Sherlock responded with a hint of a suppressed smile. They decided, however, that it was wisest to leave that particular question unanswered. Because of their injuries and Robert's upcoming trial, the Air Force delayed Richard's transfer until after everything had been resolved; the kids would get a few more months to see each other.
"I wish I could come with you," Sherlock told her quietly one day. "I don't want to stay in England any more." Since their discharge, Sherlock had gone back to Beck's house and continued to stay with her and her family, trying to delay boarding school as long as possible. Beck smiled slightly.
"I dunno, Texas might be a little warm for your taste." Sherlock's lips twitched.
"I think I could get used to it. I don't want to never see you again. But you can't stay." Beck sighed.
"I wish you could come with us too, dude. I wish you weren't getting shipped off to some boarding school somewhere. But there's one thing I know for damned sure- we'll see each other again someday. It's just a question of when. But for now we can see each other all day, so what do you say we have some fun?" She gave him her best smile. He couldn't help but grin.
"You want to do something stupid?"
"Well I wanna do something fun, it's really just a question of how much the two happen to overlap." They kept that attitude, acting as though nothing had ever gone wrong and their lives weren't about to change so drastically they couldn't even comprehend it. The trial came up quickly- the evidence was ample, to say the least, and between the testimonies of Sherlock, Beck, and Richard, Robert Holmes was found guilty after less than a day of deliberation. Twelve years in prison, to be served consecutively and with no possibility of getting out early.
"Good riddance," Richard muttered under his breath before turning to his daughter and the boy he considered his son and giving them both a hug. But Richard was still in the Air Force, and was still getting transferred. It came a couple of weeks after the close of the trial. Their stuff had been sent ahead of them and now it was time for Beck and her family to return to the U.S. Sherlock waited for them at the airport, Mycroft lingering behind, and gave his best friend one last hug.
"I'll miss you. I still wish I could go along." Beck smiled, doing her best not to cry.
"Hey, paleontologists travel a lot, you know. I'll be back one day. Remember what I said? We will see each other again someday. I swear that on my life. I'd swear it on my family's honor but hey, we all know that ain't worth much." She winked at him and then grew serious again. "But I promise, we will. One day." Sherlock gave her a sad smile.
"I don't know, I'd say your family's honor is worth quite a bit. And I promise we will too, no matter how long it takes." Beck blinked rapidly, but then said,
"Hey, let's be happy, okay? I don't want to remember us being sad. You be happy, because life ain't worth much if you haven't got anything to live it for." And with that, and her best smile, Beck was called onto the plane and the two best friends vanished from each other's sight for twelve long years.
Sherlock stopped walking once he reached the riverbank. It was still gray and rainy, and there was next to no one out besides him and his thoughts, so strong they seemed to be an entity themselves. He thought over that request in his head and wondered to himself if he'd succeeded or not. He wondered if Beck even remembered that request, and wondered if she'd lived it herself. His sigh was simultaneously expansive and silent as he stared at the rushing river, gazing down towards the spot where Thomas Howard's body had been thrown and where his whole past had begun to merge with his present. And found himself thinking that, hard as hell though all of it had been, in the end he wouldn't trade it for the world. Because now he had his friend back.
He pulled out his phone and texted Beck, telling her to meet him at Baker Street, then pulled something out of the pocket of his coat, flipping it over lightly in his hand. It was a small chunk of the cast they'd put on his after the last fight that broke off when they were removing it. On impulse, he'd grabbed it and stuck it in his pocket, carrying it around with him ever since like some kind of totem. He looked at it thoughtfully for a couple of seconds. Twelve years he'd carried it around every day. Those years had been hard, some of them worse than others. Now he smiled broadly, pulled back his arm, and threw it into the River Thames.
And damn, did it feel good.
Beck was waiting for him when he got back to Baker Street, she and John drinking coffee and arguing over some aspect of anatomy. Sherlock bounded up the stairs and announced his opinion (made up on the fly, but of course they didn't have to know that- though of course they probably did) before turning to Beck.
"Do you remember when you were about to leave and you asked me to be happy?" She nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I sure do."
"Well it took me a while. But I just thought you'd like to know I am. What was it you said? That life isn't worth much-"
"- if you haven't got anything to live for," Beck finished with a smile.
"Well I've found something to live for. I just wanted to make sure you knew that. Whatever happened in the past doesn't affect us anymore. So take your own advice, and be happy." Beck laughed.
"Oh, trust me brother, I sure am happy right now. And I'm glad you are too. And you know, I was right about something else- I told you we'd see each other again someday." Sherlock's lips twitched as they always did when he was trying his best not to smile.
"I don't know why I ever doubted you."
"I don't either," John cut in, winking in Beck's direction. "Not that it's any of my business, but what is it that you've found?" The suppressed smile got just that much wider as Sherlock looked John straight in the eye.
"A family." And not just a family- he'd found peace too, something that he hadn't had for a long, long time. It had been twenty-eight years of trial after trial, but for the first time since he was seven years old, Sherlock Holmes could finally say that he was happy. There was just one little matter left to deal with... He looked to his two best friends.
"I think it's time to pick a fight, don't you?"
"Are you sure you want to do this now?" John asked.
"Yes," Sherlock replied forcefully. His mind was set and there was nothing that was going to change it. "I decided a long time ago that I was going to stop being afraid of him. It's time to start keeping that up. I just have one or two more people to call first."
The message was simple: Baker Street, twelve o' clock, and this is your only chance. But Sherlock knew his father would take the bait. Arrogance was something of a family trait. And take the bait he did, only to discover that this time his son wasn't alone. Sherlock stood in the middle of the sitting room, John on one side and Beck on the other, while Mycroft stood in the kitchen doorway and Lestrade stepped up to block the exit after Robert had gone through, leaning casually against the door frame. Sherlock's father looked around at the gathering before glaring at his younger son.
"Couldn't face me on your own, eh?" Sherlock shrugged, unaffected by his father's insult.
"I don't need to this time, you see. You got me alone when I was a child. I'm not alone anymore." The sneer vanished from Robert's face, replaced by anger.
"You owe me, boy."
"Put it on his bill," John cut in sharply. "And don't tell me to stay out of this because I won't."
"He ain't lying," Beck added lightly. "He's stubborn like that."
"But, down to business," Sherlock continued. "I don't owe you a single damn thing and I never want to see you again. I don't consider you my father and as such I feel no need to either respect or fear you and I know you'll probably ignore all of this so let me just make this last part very, very clear- if you ever come near me again, if you ever threaten somebody I care about, if you even think of laying a hand on me or anyone around me ever again, there is no place in the world you can go where I will not find you and send you back to prison where you belong." His father's eyes narrowed.
"And how exactly do you expect to back up that threat of yours, boy?" It was John's turn.
"Well, let's see, there are five of us and one of you for starters, so the numbers aren't exactly on your side. And for seconds, two of these five are a Detective Inspector and the man who runs most of Britain." From his post in the kitchen doorway, Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
"'Most' of Britain, John? Don't offend me. Still," he conceded, "the fact remains."
"You see, buddy," Lestrade continued from behind him, "you're just plain hosed no matter which way you cut it." He narrowed his eyes as Robert took a step towards him. "Oh, please, give me something to arrest you for. I just caught a murderer this morning and I'm itching to keep up my streak."
"So," Sherlock picked up where Lestrade left off. His father wheeled to face him, now visibly angry. "Now that all that's been said, feel free to leave any time you like."
"Or, alternatively, we could show you out ourselves," Beck finished with her biggest smile. Robert yelled wordlessly and lunged at her, only to be blocked by Sherlock, who shoved him away and then pulled his fist back, connecting it so solidly with the older man's face that he went spinning onto the floor. Sherlock looked down at him for a second, breathing heavily, and then laughed.
"Well, that felt good. But I think I might have broken a finger."
It was another month before Seth Russell was due to come to trial for child abuse, assault, and the murder of Thomas Howard. Sherlock, as was his custom, stayed as far away from the courtroom as possible but John found himself a seat among the spectators. Lestrade and Beck were both due to testify and there was a litany of forensic evidence present, but what really clinched the deal was Seth's infuriated confession to Lestrade that he'd killed Howard and thrown his body in the Thames to make it look like a drowning.
"Bloody bastard was going to ruin my life," he kept insisting. John snorted softly and texted Beck, who was down below. It's never their fault, is it? She glanced his direction and rolled her eyes. The jury was done with their deliberation before lunch had gotten cold on the second day. Guilty on all counts, and sentenced to fifteen years in prison. He, Beck, and Lestrade went back to Baker Street to celebrate their victory.
"So Beck, any idea when your dig is going to be done?" Lestrade asked. Beck smiled widely.
"Well, several more summers, at the very least."
"Oh, so you're going to stick around then?" John commented. He'd pulled out his laptop and was hard at work on his newest blog post. Sherlock was sitting upside down on the couch, head where his feet should be, playing with a ball made out of nothing but rubber bands. He looked to his friend curiously.
"There's something you're not telling us," he accused. Her smile, if it was possible, got even broader.
"Indeed there is. This site's got damn near everything I study in it somewhere so I've decided it's the perfect thing for my project."
"What project?" Lestrade asked.
"Well, I've been a lazy paleontologist and haven't gotten my PhD yet so I figured I'd use this site to work on my dissertation. I'm working on it with the University of London. Which means that I'm gonna be staying for a while yet." She laughed. "So I'm gonna be underfoot for at least the next two years." She arched an eyebrow. "I hope none of y'all mind?"
"Not a bit, I should think," John replied, smiling back. Lestrade just grinned, and Sherlock- to show his pleasure- tossed his rubber band ball at her. There was a dull thwacking sound.
"OW! Shit, man, that was my head!" Sherlock finally let his smile out.
"Well I can't have done too much damage then."
"Oh, so you want to get this started, eh? You're on." She seized the offending item and lobbed it towards Sherlock, who performed a remarkably acrobatic flip off the couch to avoid taking it to a very personal region. Soon both had staked out a side of the sitting room and an free-for-all war began, shields, trash talk, and all. Lestrade was laughing so hard he was pounding on the table, Sherlock and Beck were diving behind the furniture and throwing the ball at one another, John was typing on his laptop and ducking the occasional projectile, and despite her most recent protestation, Mrs. Hudson was downstairs making tea. All in all, things were mighty relaxed at Baker Street.
