Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, he owns me.

Warning: Heavy on the feels.

No worries, the story isn't over! Part Two will begin on the next chapter. Just wait until you see the new villain. I love writing the baddies.

Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty Six

Epilogue of Part One

Sherlock was fidgeting. He knew it, John knew it, and Sherlock's niece knew it. He was being fairly annoying, but not a single part of his body cared. He was going home, after nearly two weeks in the hospital.

Baker Street was repaired. John had supervised between spending his days at the clinic, and his nights in the hospital with Sherlock and Violet. The weekends had seen Sherlock's dear doctor covered in dust as he cleaned up the flat, organizing repair crews and wielding a hammer as often as the hired men. Moving Sherlock back in was easy, as the man didn't care about the state of the flat, but Sherlock knew John had tried so hard because of Violet.

John could do nothing about the ruined building across the street from their flat. The city was cleaning itself up fairly quickly in the wake of Jaime Moriarty's rampage of grief. There was little left in the streets of the damage caused, just vacant lots where buildings had once stood. The historical places, like the Tower and the Old Bailey, had withstood the explosions far better than the more modern buildings. The Tower had just shrugged off the fires, and was quickly on its way to being fully restored.

The total number of lives lost to the bombings was not as high as it could have been. Had Violet and Sherlock not warned MI6 of the imminent explosions, and sent out the list of potential targets, thousands of people could have died. For all that there was only a ten minute warning, those ten minutes meant the difference between all lives lost, and the couple hundred that fell instead. The casualties were still staggering, and London would not heal anytime soon. The wrath of the Moriarty clan had scarred London deeply, and it was a blessing in some ways that Jaime Moriarty and her brother were now past all reach. She especially would have found no mercy behind bars. No mercy in the legal system of the country she had nearly burned to the ground.

MI6 was still hunting Mary, but Sherlock and Violet were monitoring their lack of progress in finding her. Mycroft would occasionally send people to tail John, under the correct assumption that if anyone knew, it would be her former lover; but his doctor was careful, and had yet to betray Mary's location by making mistakes. Sherlock could not tell if Anthea had revealed to Mycroft that Mary was pregnant. John was determined to keep Mary safe, for her sake, as well as their unborn child's. John and Mary were attempting to get to a point where they weren't shouting at each other at every meeting, and Sherlock had no worries that they might reconcile. The expression on John's face when he came back to his detective gave Sherlock all the evidence he needed to feel secure in his doctor's love.

Sherlock settled in his seat in the back of the cab, and cast a glance at his niece. She was absorbed in her mobile, her thumb scrolling through something so fast that the average soul might think she wasn't reading any of it. Sherlock knew better. He did the same thing. She saw every word.

His niece had agreed to live with them, and Sherlock knew John was hoping she meant longer than the few weeks it would take for the pressure to be off of her. John wanted Sherlock to have family around that wasn't divisive, that didn't use him as unpaid labor in solving crimes Mycroft was too lazy to deal with himself. Sherlock had heard John tell Violet (while they thought him sleeping) that it was a pleasant surprise to meet a Holmes that didn't automatically make Sherlock go on the defensive. Sherlock felt an odd sensation in his chest when he heard Violet reply to John that Sherlock already had that, in the doctor. John was his family already. He had always been.

Mycroft refused to talk to her, and every time Violet saw him in the halls of St Bart's, he would act as if she didn't exist. Sherlock saw the annoyance his brother's behavior generated in their niece, but she had yet to voice a complaint. Discovering they were family hadn't improved their attitudes towards each other. While Violet may have been fond of Mycroft before, the MI6 man was doing his best to erode that regard away. She ignored him right back, and made her preference for Sherlock clear. Sherlock had told his parents about her, but Sherrinford had left deep wounds on his parent's hearts, and had yet to reach out to their only grandchild. Sherlock knew better than to push it. If they wanted to know her, they knew where she was. Sherlock had claimed her as his niece in front of the world, and he was content to be whatever level of family she needed. If he was to be it, then he would be the best uncle he could.

She needled her eldest uncle by becoming friends with Lestrade, refusing to leave the DI's room if Mycroft happened by at the same time. She had charmed the DI easily, and it was most likely due to the fact that she was Sherlock's niece. Everyone treated her with a combination of reference, disbelief, and skepticism when John started telling people who she was. She just smiled, and didn't elaborate on where she came from. People liked it better when they could make up her back story for themselves. If it wasn't for the fact that they were so obviously close in age, Sherlock didn't doubt that many would speculate that Violet was his daughter. If she were ten years younger, she would look like it.

Anderson in particular had become entranced by her, the one time he had spied her in the halls of St Bart's. He had been in to visit Lestrade, and caught her leaving the DI's room. The rumors had already spread, so even that humble soul was able to deduce who she was. Sherlock sighed, knowing that he would have to contend with Anderson following Violet around just as often as he followed Sherlock.

Violet had stayed at the hospital with him the entire time, leaving only with John. She would go on supply runs for Mary, or shopping for herself and Sherlock when they got low on clothing. John had borne up under it well, and Sherlock saw the very deep affection growing in John's heart for the newly revealed Holmes scion. She teased him mercilessly, and Sherlock enjoyed the faint blush that would grace John's cheeks when she did something particularly scandalous. The private suite at the hospital had taken on the air of a dorm room, and Sherlock grinned as he remembered the relief on the nurses' faces as they had left earlier that day.

The press had gotten word that he was being released, and it had taken Sergeant Donovan and a small group of police officers to clear a way out of the hospital to the cab. There had been no shortage of helping hands in carrying Violet's bags either. Sherlock smirked, as her appeal to the male sex was hilarious to him. He saw her beauty, but to him, she was just Violet.

The police were following behind, keeping the most persistent of reporters at bay. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the lines of reporters following them to Baker Street. Donovan had sent patrol cars ahead to their flat, making sure no one got too close.

"So what's up with the betting books in this country? And did you guys know your odds are skyrocketing for having a spring wedding?" Violet didn't even look up from her mobile as John coughed in surprise. "You better tell me when you're tying the knot so I can make a killing on this."

"Ugh…." John groaned, and fell back against his seat, leaning on Sherlock's shoulder. "We've been together for a month! Less than a month. Wow."

"Don't worry, Violet. I'll tell you. Make sure you split the winnings with me." Sherlock winked at his niece as John's jaw dropped. His doctor was staring at him so hard Sherlock started laughing, looking at John out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't you think there should be some talking about this?" John stuttered, his face alternating between gloriously happy, highly skeptical, and utterly confused.

"Hmmm. While I consider marriage to be rather ridiculous, I am well aware of the limitations of our current arrangement. Unless we sign dozens of papers, and jump through numerous legal hoops, we can never have the same level of control over the other partner's fate in the case of an emergency like we would if we just signed a marriage certificate. Considering the number of times I had to scold the doctors at St Bart's to make them tell you what you wanted to know about my recovery, marriage is rather prudent." Sherlock droned on, watching as John's face turned into a lovely mix of exasperation, confusion, and annoyance. He would fix all of that. "Especially considering our partnership. Solving crimes, chasing murderers, all that."

"But seeing as I love you, and I have no issue telling the universe that by marrying you, I will most assuredly say 'Yes', if you ever feel the desire to propose. But if you choose not to, I shall be content to spend my life at your side anyway." Sherlock leaned in to John as he said that last part, dropping a quick kiss on his doctor's lips. "I believe that's what is called a 'pressure free' proposal."

"I…. Sherlock!" John kissed him back, and Violet broke down into giggles. "I love you."

The cab slowed to a stop in front of Baker Street, and Sherlock saw the diminutive form of Mrs. Hudson waiting anxiously on the front step. Sherlock flew out of the cab as it stopped, leaving John to pay the fare. The police escort had closed the street, so Sherlock was able to ignore the flashes of cameras from the corners. Mrs. Hudson hugged him tightly, and Sherlock was glad she wasn't that strong. His ribs were better, but he was reminded on a daily basis that he wasn't going to be healing fast this time.

"My boys! Home at last!" She pulled back, and she squinted at his face, no doubt thinking of all the biscuits she would have to feed him to get him to put some weight back on. Hospital food was atrocious, and Violet hadn't let him have a single gelatin. "And where is my lovely girl?"

Violet stood back next to the cab, supervising the cops who had volunteered to help her with her luggage. Sherlock rolled his eyes. She had every one of Lestrade's people thoroughly infatuated.

Violet heard Mrs. Hudson, and she came over, letting the older woman fuss over her. Sherlock was bemused by the level of enjoyment that Mrs. Hudson displayed at seeing Violet. When John had told her that Violet existed, she had promptly demanded to be introduced. Their landlady had taken to Sherlock's niece as if she were the older woman's own granddaughter. Violet just soaked up the attention. Sherlock felt the faint stirrings of guilt, knowing that if he had spoken up years earlier, Violet wouldn't have been alone. He wouldn't have been alone.

They eventually all detangled themselves from the curb, and Sherlock grumbled as John held the back of his coat to keep him from leaping up the stairs to his flat. Their flat. He was never happier to be home. With the exception of that first day with John, when his doctor told him he loved him, and gave him his first kiss.

"Finally!" Sherlock tossed his coat, not seeing where it landed. He fell into his armchair, and groaned as the familiar seat pulled him in.

John picked up his coat from the floor, hanging their coats up behind the door. Violet threw herself on the couch, her laptop appearing from nowhere, already engrossed in whatever dubious activity she was up to. She was searching for something within the government's systems, something she was calling 'impossible'. And for Violet Hunter to call something impossible, then it must truly be amazing. Sherlock was waiting to see if she would need him. She had her talents, and she hadn't reached the point where she was needing help. So he watched, and waited.

She hadn't spoken of her father to him at all. She had only said that she had met him once, when she was very small, just under two years of age. She barely remembered him, and her mother had raised her alone, as far from him as she could get them. That had meant taking Violet to the United States, and raising her child under her maiden name. Violet had said her mother was married to her father, but she had no proof other than her mother's word. The only name Violet had for her father had been Ford. Sherlock had done his best not to react. Ford, short for Sherrinford.

Violet's mother had died when she was thirteen, and Violet escaped from the custody of child services. She had already been a highly skilled hacker and programmer by this point, and she erased herself from all public records, disappearing into the cities of America. One more child runaway invisible on the streets. She hadn't gone to England, and met Sherlock, until she was fifteen. She hadn't told him anything of her life in those two years. But from the shadows in her eyes, and the way she held herself, Sherlock knew, he knew, that it hadn't been pleasant.

John sat in his red chair, and Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen, making tea. John had his mobile out, and he was scrolling through Sherlock's email, his face clearly showing when he found something interesting. Sherlock was anxious for a case. And he had tasked John with finding the least boring one out of the hundreds in his mailbox.

Sherlock looked around his flat, watching the people in his life exist as they had always done. But this time he was seeing them differently. As if they were there for the first time, bright and shiny and new. In a way, they were. Sherlock had opened his heart to love, let John strengthen and re-forge his heart. The focus, control, clarity that John gave him was ever expanding. And the love John showed him was empowering. So he saw everything new through John. Because of him.

Sherlock Holmes was a man reborn. Pulled from the ashes of grief and loneliness, he had everything he needed and wanted in this life. Everything to protect, cherish. A lifetime ahead of him to deduce the miracles of his doctor's heart, and his own.

And the second John found him a new case, he would dare to say his life was perfect.

End of Book One

The fires of revenge might be out, but that doesn't mean they're safe now…..

Book Two begins in the next chapter.

Autumn is over, and blood will fall on Christmas snow.