The terror is over. He has been caught. I look at the miscreant, while he is being led away. His eyes bore into mine. I stand before him and smile. "It's good to be recognized, isn't it?"

He looks back at me and his shoulders sag. I can tell he is grateful. "Yes, Mister Holmes, it is," he whispers.

Mycroft claps a hand on my shoulder. "Well, brother mine, it seems as if you've saved us all once again."

I nod, then look past him at the two-way glass that blankets a portion of the room. I can still see the dragon in its depths. "Yes, I've saved everyone, well almost everyone." Before he has a chance to question me, I leave, anxious to be above ground once more. I've been buried long enough.

I blink my eyes, then shield them from the sunlight. Molly comes to my side. "Sherlock, are you alright? Let me take your pulse."

I look down at her. She is quite lovely. The skin on my chest feels tight. I want to itch the stitches that hold my torn flesh together. In the distance, I see the tactical officer that sewed me up. He is almost as tall as I, dark hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin—beautiful. I motion him over to us. He makes his way through the rubble and I study him. He's around 36 years old and has a golden retriever judging from the golden hairs on his pant legs. He is strong, yet has a soft spot. I remember the way he winced when he stitched me up without anything to deaden my pain. He is good and kind. I smile. "I wanted to thank you for stitching me up."

I hold out my hand. He grasps it, then I ask for his name. "It's Dan"

"Dan, I want you to meet a friend of mine." I gesture towards Molly. "This is Molly, she's a …. Well, it doesn't really matter what she does. She's quite attractive, isn't she?"

"Sherlock, stop," Molly says, giving me a horrified look.

Dan smiles. "That's alright. You really are quite attractive. Now may not be the time, but in my business a person learns not to waste time. Molly, would you like to go out for a cup of tea sometime?"

Molly blushes. "Yes, I think I'd like that."

I sigh, my work is done. They both make small talk, which seems ironic, considering that we are standing in the middle of a crime scene—bombed out Scotland Yard. In the distance, I see Lestrade making his way towards us. "Lestrade, I'm glad you made it through."

He walks towards me, then gives me a hug. My chest impacts against his and the world sways. I am falling. "Someone get an EMT over here now." I close my eyes and the dragon rests.

I open my eyes and look up. You, dearest John, are standing above me. I smile. You smile back. A nurse and doctor breeze into the room, but you and I are oblivious to their presence. You tear your attention away from me to listen to them. Anderson steps forward beyond the fray of white coats and takes my hand. "God, Sherlock, we've missed you. You gave us quite a fright."

I entwine my fingers through his. "Get used to it, Anderson."

He laughs and his features brighten. My Anderson—our Anderson.

You come over and rub Anderson's back, then kiss me on the forehead. "The doctor says you are recovering nicely and should be able to go home in the next couple of days."

I smile. Home to Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson fusses over me like a mother hen. "Here, I got your favorite biscuits. Have a few more, you're so thin, Sherlock."

You come in carrying baby Alice, with Anderson on your heels. You both look as sexy as fuck. "John, I am feeling much better. Do you think the nanny could give you a day off? I love Alice but I, we need some alone time."

Alice whines and I hold out my arms to take her. When she is in my grasp, I hold her close. "You know I love you baby, Alice, but your daddies need some alone time, so that we can play grown-up games." She gurgles, then smiles. I stroke her soft cheek, marveling at how perfect she is. I play with her until her body grows heavy and her eyes close. Her solid warmth makes me relax and before I know it my eyes flutter shut as well.

The last thing I hear is your laughter. "Baby Alice, always puts him to sleep. We'll have to remember that when he gets his bouts of insomnia. God knows, riding him around in a cab doesn't work."

Mrs. Hudson laughs. "Neither does warm milk."

Anderson chimes in as well. "A good shagging does through."

"Phillip, not in front of the b-a-b-y." Mrs. Hudson chides. They laugh together and I take comfort in the sounds of their muted conversation. Their words hover around me, until REM takes me to its dark underworld.

The Suite from Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet blares through the flat. I lay on my back, my legs spread open, while you both feast on my naked body. I am your sacrifice, burnt on the pyre of your warm lips and spearing tongues. My aural senses are gorged with the smacking sounds of flesh against flesh—licking and swallowing me whole. I raise my hips up to meet my oral benefactors, showering them with my release.

You dearest John, plunge your swollen cock into me, while Anderson moans, watching while my body adjusts to your girth. He says, "You two are so fucking hot."

I want to tell Anderson that he is stating the obvious, but am too far gone to mumble anything but gibberish.

After we are spent, we lay in each other's arms, not like participants from a debauched orgy, but as lovers, worshiping each other's uniqueness. Like snowflakes we are all three different. We enhance each other. I look over at the corner of the room. The dragon is there—waiting. I smile, it won't win, not with You and Anderson by my side. Someday it will devour me with fangs that drip with the marrow of my soul, mad with power fueled by boredom and despair, but not today. Today the syringe has relinquished its control.