A/N:
My final author's note! Forgive me for the plethora of mistakes I'm about to make for I'm drowsy from medication, overcome with emotion but dizzy with excitement. I never thought this day would ever come. The day when, after years of writing fan fiction, I finish my first ever multi-chapter fic. It is not perfect, it has got a millions flaws and unreliable bits here and there but it's a story that I'm very proud of. I never finish the things I set out to do. This is the first example of something that I have and I am genuinely emotional about it. To everyone who's stuck by this story, who's stuck by me, especially in the face of my writing doldrums or when I've almost wanted to throw this story out and throw in the towel, I dedicate this to you. I am sorry I have nothing more to offer you, but believe me when I say I am so grateful for each of you. You are the precious few who've been faithful readers and cheerleaders to a little ol' nobody like me. I can only hope these final chapters are worth all of your efforts in encouraging and supporting me all these years. Yes, it literally has been years. Every time I feel this world has gotten too dark or a little too scary, I am reminded of you, Sherlollians, who've been the bright spark in a very dreary existence. Thank you for restoring a bit of joy to my life, and for allowing me the privilege of sharing my stories of our favourite pathologist and the blockhead of a detective with all of you. Thank you, and I love you all. xx
Chapter 37 (The Final Chapter)
It was just two days before the 18th of May, the day of John and Mary's wedding and by some miracle, Mary had managed to get Molly's dress done in time. At first, Molly had been hesitant to be part of Mary's bridal party but Mary had insisted, saying Sherlock's expression would be worth all of this. The thought of what Sherlock would think or say sent both excitement and terror through Molly. Buying a ticket home and wrapping everything up in Japan (with plenty of Ayumi and Mycroft's help of course) had been the single most impulsive thing she had done.
Still, she could not deny the current of anticipation that ran through her every time she thought of seeing Sherlock again. She imagined his face and wondered if it would be filled with the same anticipation and delight. Molly was positive he would be delighted to be reunited with Scott, but she was never sure what his response to her would be. Perhaps she had read it all wrong and he had indeed adjusted back to his Baker Street life as a solitary unit bound only to his work. Yet, her instincts told her something else, which was what ultimately pushed her to take the risk and come back home to London.
"Oh, Molly, I know you were afraid lilac wasn't really your colour but just look how lovely it works on you…" said Mary, delighted.
"I suppose it does work," Molly remarked, smiling as she studied her reflection. "Thank you for rushing to get this done. I told Mycroft going incognito as a guest was more than enough…"
"You? A simple guest?" Mary said with a chuckle, "Nonsense. You're more important than you realise, Molly Hooper. And, like I said, Sherlock's face when he sees you walking down that aisle is going to be worth everything."
When the ladies were done with the fitting, Mary pulled Molly in for a hug and whispered, "You know, he will be so happy to see you, Molly…"
"Will he?" Molly asked, "Sometimes I'm not sure what I've just done…"
"Well, has it made you happy?"
"Yes. So far it has."
"Then that's all there is to it."
Mary gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek and another reassuring squeeze before letting her go. The two of them parted ways, both with smiles on their faces. A very important day was coming up, not just for the Watsons, but for Molly Hooper too.
"I know you don't think I'm very busy, Mycroft…I mean, I don't run errands for the Queen or protect the whole of England but I can't just be summoned out from my own clinic at your beck and call, you know…" remarked a rather exasperated John who was being ushered into Mycroft's office again.
"I would never leave your practice in the lurch, John. My stand-in doctors are running your clinic as though you'd never left it."
"Well, that's reassuring," John replied, sinking with resignation into an armchair.
"We need to discuss the wedding," said Mycroft, cutting straight to the point."
John sighed. On one hand, he was overjoyed that the woman who was clearly important to his best friend was finally back home and was possibly going to make their wedding even more special than they could have ever imagined. On the other hand, however, it meant even more incessant interruption from Mycroft and more meddling from the British government than John could have ever anticipated.
"Are you going to bomb-sweep the venue again or something?" asked John, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"Oh, no, no," Mycroft said with a dismissive laugh, "Bomb-sweeps are things of the past. We have new methods now that I cannot tell you about."
"Pity. I was all ears…"
"I need to know that you've managed to keep Molly Hooper's arrival secret from Sherlock. I imagine he's spending lots of time with you and Mary as the wedding draws near. He's rather involved in all its operations, is he not?"
"A little too involved, in fact," John said, "Which worries me sometimes but Mary finds it amusing."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry. It keeps him occupied, which is always a good thing."
"Well, with such reassurance from you and Mary, I guess I shan't."
"But he doesn't know about Molly, does he?"
"Nope. Not even a genius like him has deduced a whiff of it."
"Good."
"Mary's been the one calling the shots anyway. She's awfully good at this. Makes me wonder if she was a spy in a past life or something…" said John with a chuckle.
"Perhaps…" Mycroft answered wryly, "Who knows these days…"
Suddenly, a knock came on the office door as one of Mycroft's assistants appeared in the open doorway.
"Sir, it's done and ready for your inspection," said the assistant quietly.
"Already?" he asked the assistant, "I had been regretfully told to expect it until after the wedding…"
"They were afraid to…upset your schedule, sir," came the assistant's reply.
"This is splendid news," said Mycroft, genuinely breaking into a smile.
"What is?" asked John, marvelling at the sight of Mycroft's actual teeth.
Mycroft signalled to his assistant to ready his car as he picked up a few dossiers off his desk to read whilst on the way.
"Come on, John," said Mycroft, "I hadn't expected such serendipitous timing but since you're here I think you should join me."
"Where are we going and what am I joining you for?"
"We're off to Baker Street," Mycroft replied, smiling, before turning to walk out of his office.
When the two gentlemen arrived at Baker Street, John was surprised to see people moving in and out of the building, with Mrs Hudson standing by the door, beaming away in excitement.
"Judging by that look on your face, Mrs Hudson, I trust it's gone all to plan," he said, greeting the landlady.
"I couldn't resist and had to take a peek," she whispered excitedly. "Oh! Wasn't expecting to see you here, John!"
The landlady moved to give John a hug and a kiss on the cheek. When she saw John's furrowed brows and the obvious confusion he was feeling, she could not help but laugh.
"He doesn't know, does he?" asked Mrs Hudson, turning to Mycroft.
"Not in the least," Mycroft replied. "Well, shall we?"
With Mrs Hudson leading the way, the two gentlemen made their way up the stairs to Sherlock's flat. When they emerged in Sherlock's sitting room, they saw a few men dusting and vacuuming the area and obviously doing a massive clean-up. A few others were seen moving what looked like folded cardboard boxes and huge rubbish bags out from John's room.
"What on earth is going on here?" John exclaimed.
"Why don't you step into your old room and find out?" said Mycroft, very generously offering John the first view of what had been Mycroft's secret project.
"All right then," said John with a nod.
With a tentative step forward, John placed his hand on a familiar doorknob and twisted it open. When the door opened, the first thing that struck him was the smell of freshly sanded wood. In fact, there was the scent of overwhelming newness in the air. True enough, when John opened the door fully and stepped inside, the entire room was nothing like he had remembered.
"Was this your idea, Mycroft?" John asked, smirking, turning to face Mycroft.
"Well…" Mycroft seemed hesitant to answer.
"Yes, it was," Mrs Hudson answered on his behalf. "It was entirely his."
What John saw was an incredible transformation. The room had been newly wallpapered with a fresh, springtime-inspired design. Shades of lemon yellows and mint greens and blues peppered the design of the room, from the cushions on the new arm chairs, to the bedding of what was clearly the central feature of the room: a large, sturdy wooden cot.
"This…is all for Scott," John exclaimed in amusement, picking up a baby's pillow and blanket that had Scott's initials embroidered on them.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Mrs Hudson said, almost bursting with excitement.
Indeed, what had been John's old room was now converted into a most wonderful nursery. There was the sturdy, hand-finished wooden cot that Mycroft had designed by the best in the country, the luxurious armchair and side table, and the desk tucked in the corner, equipped with everything Molly needed in case she needed to work there. The nursery was beautifully lit with custom designed lighting and had everything from the drapes to the carpet finished to perfection.
"That changing table looks like it costs more than my whole house, Mycroft…" John joked, walking over to a most impressive looking changing table with all sorts of customised features and secret drawers and compartments everywhere. "This is beautiful. I didn't think it was possible, Mycroft, but you've really outdone yourself."
"Wait till you find out about all the security features in this room," Mrs Hudson whispered to John."
The pair of them laughed as Mycroft stood, scanning the room, oblivious to their chatter. He was quietly examining that everything had been done according to his very meticulous demands. A small smile finally appeared when Mycroft had ascertained that everything was indeed in order.
"I have a question, Mycroft," John asked, snapping Mycroft out from his inspection.
"Hmm?"
"How did Sherlock not notice any of this?"
"Simple, really…" Mycroft answered, walking over to check a hidden compartment in the window sill.
"Surely he would have been irritated by all the people coming in and out…" continued John. "Locking this room wouldn't have kept him out either…"
There came a small laugh from Mycroft as he tapped a small section in the window sill only for a small little device to pop out from it. He bent to take a closer look at it and smiled in satisfaction that it had been properly installed before popping it back in.
"All I had to do was to turn this into a blindspot," Mycroft began, "and our mother is Sherlock's greatest one."
"Oh god… Yes, I remember now…" John said, "I even asked if she was moving in."
"You did? Well I'm glad you did. Any additional mention of mother always helps. All it took for me was to mention our mother had something to do with the room and it sent him running. I could commit whole murders in here and he wouldn't have had the slightest clue simply because he would have blocked everything out."
Mrs Hudson and John stood where they were, amazed at how Mycroft had allowed the largest clue to Molly's arrival in London go unnoticed by Sherlock when it stood here, right in the heart of his own flat.
"Right, I think we'd better go," said Mycroft, turning to exit the nursery. "My brother is returning soon and we wouldn't want to spoil everything, would we? Not after we've come this far."
It was only the morning of the wedding day and John was already exhausted. He had spent the whole morning finding ways to stop Sherlock from going to inspect the bridal party in his compulsive bid to check that everything was in order.
"It's fine, Sherlock," John said, "Mary's got everything under control, her maid-of-honour's there…the wedding planner's there…"
"Janine's duties are confined to watching over Mary. As for that wedding planner you hired, well, let's just say I could give him a run for his money…"
"Look, Sherlock, we all know you've got this wedding planned to a T, so let's just relax. How about you focus on getting us lads ready and to the church on time eh?"
"I suppose I can't be in two places at the same time…"
"Sorry to remind you, Sherlock, but you're not omnipresent."
"Well, we all have our shortcomings…"
"Enough. Let's just sort my tie out and get to the church…"
The two men eventually stepped out of John's suite and began walking to the church. Sherlock was still trying to hop over to the bridal suite because he was not confident the ladies knew what to do with their corsages or if they were going to hold their bouquets correctly. Eventually, with great patience and great persuasion, John managed to keep Sherlock quite literally out of the ladies' hair and to the church to prepare for the ceremony.
Before they knew it, the hustle and bustle of the morning began to settle as the wedding ceremony soon approached. John and Sherlock were stood by the altar at the end of the aisle, watching the church hall fill steadily with guests.
"You nervous?" John asked Sherlock.
"No. Are you?"
"Of course, I am. I'm getting married."
"So why are you asking about me?" asked Sherlock.
"You don't like crowds, nor social events, nor anything sentimental or romantic. This is an unfortunate amalgamation of those things. I thought I'd just check."
"I'm fine," said Sherlock, inhaling sharply. "This is your day. I won't ruin it. I had promised."
"Well, just…take it easy, all right?" John said, amused, "The girls know what they're doing. You have to let it go."
"But those bouquets have to be held precisely at the angle at which…"
"Sherlock…"
"Sorry. I'll just…stand right here."
Sherlock had lied, of course. There was an impossible knot in the pit of his stomach. Him wanting to fuss over bouquets and corsages was his own way of distracting himself from the terrible anxiety he was feeling. As best man, his place beside John meant all those eyes that were looking at John also looked right at him. It did not help that much later on, he would have to give a best man's speech in front of those very same people. Swallowing hard, Sherlock tried forgetting his anxiety by checking the flower arrangements on the pews and was just about to run down to adjust a slightly drooping leaf when John nudged Sherlock in the ribs to signal that things were about to begin.
The pianist had taken her position as the vicar invited the congregation to stand. Sherlock felt a moment's relief as all those gazes averted from where he was standing and moved to stare at the church entrance. When the doors swung upon, the day's sunlight poured in and Sherlock could see the figure of the page boy walking in. As he relaxed, he found himself being able to smile a little. Sherlock took a quick glance at his best friend and saw that his eyes were already glistening with emotion. Nothing could have distracted John's gaze from those open church doors as he stood in anticipation of his bride's entrance.
A few piano chords in, Sherlock could see Janine, the maid-of-honour, following behind the page boy. The first thing he did was to inspect the way she was holding the bouquet and was pleased she had remembered his instructions from the wedding rehearsals. Two more bouquets, he thought to himself as Janine continued walking down the aisle. There was the second bridesmaid, and then a few piano chords later, the third one, both holding their bouquets correctly, as per his rehearsal instructions. In a few more chords, Mary, in all her resplendent beauty would step through those doors and begin her walk down the aisle.
No matter how nervous he was feeling, Sherlock could not help but be filled with excitement as he waited to see Mary, someone he now considered near and dear to him, come down the aisle. So when an unidentified fourth bridesmaid appeared in the church's doorway and began her walk down the aisle, Sherlock felt his excitement turn into slight panic at this unexpected change of plan. However, as his eyes slowly focused on this fourth bridesmaid and as her identity slowly became apparent, it was no longer panic that he felt, but sheer disbelief. The wedding march music seemed to drown out as his ears filled with the sound of his heart pounding in his chest.
When Mary eventually walked in, John caught her eye through her veil and they both smiled. Gesturing with a quick tilt of her head, Mary signalled to John to take a quick peek at his best friend. John turned around and had a swift glance at his friend who seemed transfixed by the fourth bridesmaid whom he knew by now was Molly Hooper. Trying his best not to laugh out loud, John turned back to focus his attention on Mary, whom, in a few moments, he would finally marry.
The piano music reached its climax just as Mary reached to take the arm of John Watson. The maid-of-honour, the two bridesmaids and Molly all took their positions in a neat row beside the bride. Sherlock had not once stopped staring at Molly. The last time he had doubted what his eyes had seen was when he had been drugged by a powerful hallucinogen. Sherlock was sure nothing of that sort was in his bloodstream and yet, could not believe what he was seeing.
As the guests took their seats and the church hall quietened down, Molly finally looked up from her bouquet to glance over to the groom's side. There, her eyes met with Sherlock's that had been locked in on her the entire duration. A gentle smile appeared on her lips and Sherlock, too shocked to respond, merely blinked in rapid succession, with his mouth slightly agape. Trying hard not to laugh, Molly bit down on the insides of her cheeks and returned her eyes to couple at the altar. This was their special day and she intended to give all of her attention to it. She would deal with the short-circuiting detective at a more appropriate time.
The wedding had gone perfectly according to plan and when the church bells rang, John and Mary raced down the aisle, hand in hand and laughing as the newlyweds, Mr and Mrs Watson. Molly and the other three bridesmaids ran after them, laughing and cheering as the guests clapped and threw flowers outside the church. Nothing but happiness filled the air and John and Mary's faces shone brighter than the late morning sunshine.
As the photographer snapped away and people continued cheering and clapping, the bridesmaids stood around the couple, smiling along with them and posing with their bouquets.
"Just the couple now, please, if you don't mind!" said the photographer, asking everyone in the bridal party to step out of frame.
Everybody obliged and stepped aside whilst the photographer continued to take pictures, occasionally calling out instructions to the couple. Molly stood at the side, beaming away as she watched the happy couple clearly having one of the best moments of their lives. Being able to witness their happiness made Molly especially glad that she had come back, back home to her friends, to her family.
"Do you have a moment?" came a quiet but not unfamiliar voice just behind her.
Molly turned around and saw the very face she had come back for smiling gently at her. She nodded, smiling in return. Sherlock extended his arm and she took it. Together, they slipped back into the church, away from the revellers.
With her arm looped comfortably in his, the pair of them walked quietly into the church, unaware of the amusing fact that they were in fact strolling slowly down the aisle. Sherlock led them to the very first row of pews and sat down. Molly joined him and the two of them took a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet of the empty hall and the way the light streamed in, taking with it bits of colour from the stained glass windows.
For a long time, neither of them said anything but neither were they uncomfortable with the silence between them. It took a while but eventually, for the first time since the morning, since all the wedding madness and the shock of seeing Molly, Sherlock could feel his chest start to ease a little as he relaxed.
"Are you okay?" Molly asked gently, after she saw him take an actual, normal breath in.
"Yes," he said, exhaling slowly after. "Yes, I am."
He turned to Molly and studied her carefully, trying to ascertain that his eyes truly had not deceived him.
"Are you back?" he asked, unknowingly furrowing his brows.
Molly chuckled at his question and reached to take his hand. Her heart quite nearly melted when she felt his fingers weave themselves just as eagerly between her own.
"This feels lovely," she remarked quietly, looking down at their hands.
Perhaps it was the strain from the morning's anxiety, or the overwhelming emotions that flooded the detective's now-functioning heart, but Sherlock simply had no capacity to contain himself anymore. In one swift movement, his free arm reached for Molly, pulling her towards him whilst his other hand remained firmly held in hers. As a dam of relief burst inside Molly, she let him hold her and rested her forehead against his chest. The sound of his heart was deafening, but with hers pounding equally hard, Molly could not be sure whose heart it was she was hearing.
"Are you back?" Sherlock asked again, his voice even softer now.
"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Molly replied, smiling against the fabric of his jacket.
"For how long?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
"Well, I've been given a position at Bart's…I don't have a ticket back to Tokyo…" she began.
Sherlock blinked at her words and pulled himself away so as to face her. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the corners of her lips lift to smile almost playfully at him. Molly's eyes shone like he had never seen before and for a brief moment, they stole away the impact of her words.
"You're back…for good?" he remarked warily as her words slowly sunk in.
"For good." she said, nodding at him.
"But why?" he asked, staring at her curiously.
"Why?" Molly asked back with a laugh.
"Everything was going well for you there…you and Scott were fine, your work was making excellent progress, Ayumi was there…"
"But it's better here," Molly interrupted gently, reaching to take both his hands in hers. "It's just…better here, Sherlock."
He stared at her as though she had spoken in some unknown language. There was no reason for her to remove herself from all that she had so wonderfully established in Tokyo. It did not make sense that anything could be better, and certainly not here.
"Was it my brother?" he said, eyeing her again. "Did he actually succeed this time?"
"No, it wasn't Mycroft," chuckled Molly, "He'd be pleased you thought so highly of him though."
"Did something happen? Did you get hurt?" he asked, his eyes widening a little in fear.
"No, Sherlock…" Molly replied, trying to calm him down.
"Then what is it?" he asked, trying to focus on enjoying the feeling of his hands in hers instead of panicking.
Molly dropped her head to look down at their intertwined hands, a sight she had thought she would never see again. She smiled, then returned to look up at Sherlock, biting down the amusement from seeing the perplexed look on his face.
"I love you, Sherlock, we've established that, haven't we?" she said, matter-of-factly.
"We have." It was Sherlock's turn to bite down a smile.
"And that's why it's better here," said Molly, looking right at him.
"Is it?" he remarked quietly.
"Yes, Sherlock, yes it is," Molly replied.
"But it is better without me. That was established for us, was it not?" he said, fighting his rising emotion with the trustworthiness of logic.
"No, I've decided it isn't," Molly said firmly. "Sherlock…"
"Yes?"
"It is better here, because you're here," she said, reaching to touch his cheekbone, "We've established that too, I believe."
They took a moment to stare at each other; Sherlock, processing all that she had said, and Molly, waiting for him to respond. Suddenly, he leaned towards her, took her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips. Molly smiled against his lips, grateful for this familiar sensation that she had missed which now washed over her.
"You sure about this?" he whispered, his forehead touching hers.
"I did leave you my earring," Molly joked, "One simply cannot go around with merely one ruby earring…"
Sherlock laughed. A proper, relaxed laugh. He felt all remaining tension in his ribcage finally ebb away as all the fog in his head began to clear. Molly was here, and it seemed, no matter how illogical it appeared to him, she was here to be with him.
"If it's the earring you're looking for," he said, giving her one more kiss, "You'll have to come to Baker Street."
"Mind if we stayed for a few days?" Molly asked, shifting to lean against Sherlock as he draped an arm around her.
"I thought you'd never ask," Sherlock replied, turning to kiss her once more.
Suddenly, Sherlock stood up with a start, startling Molly who also rose from her seat and looked around them.
"What's the matter?" Molly remarked, scanning their surroundings.
"Where's Scott?" Sherlock asked, worried.
There came a chuckle as Molly moved to hug the bewildered detective. Sherlock could not help but smile as his arms naturally wrapped themselves around her, feeling instantly calm from her embrace.
"You don't have to worry," said Molly, "Scott's in the safest place I know."
The room was peaceful and quiet, save for the faint sounds of stealthy footsteps that circled the room they were in. Mycroft sat at his makeshift desk and looked out of the window. From there, he could make out the church in the near distance, and just below, he could see the adjacent building, the large reception hall where the Watson's wedding luncheon was to be held.
"I hope it's going well, don't you?" said Mycroft.
There came no response, other than a sweet smile and the slight clatter of a toddler's building blocks. Scott Hooper, having grown accustomed to the soothing voice of Mycroft Holmes, looked up at the man who sat beside his play mat and offered him a red block that looked like it was meant to be part of the construction of a fire engine.
"Well, thank you very much, Scott Hooper," Mycroft remarked, gently taking the object from the bright-eyed one-year old who was currently in his charge. The baby giggled softly, happy to hear Mycroft's voice. Unable to resist, Mycroft reached down to pick the little one up and went to stand by the tall window that he had been spying from.
"Your mother's somewhere in there," explained Mycroft to the baby in his arms.
"And hopefully, if all goes well," he paused to smile at Scott whose attention was caught by some birds settling by the window, "you, Scott Hooper, are going to become my nephew."
The day had taken a dizzying turn. His best friend was no longer a bachelor, now married to a remarkable woman, and Sherlock had successfully managed to deliver his speech without insult or causing lasting damage to anything or anyone. There had been tears in the eyes of his audience halfway through, causing Sherlock's alarm bells to go off slightly before he realised those tears were in fact, normal and acceptable. John's hug in the middle of his speech had been awkward, but oddly comforting as well. The day was turning out all right.
The Watsons had managed to change the seating plan at the last minute without Sherlock finding out and had given Molly a place beside Sherlock at the wedding couple's table. When his speech was done and he had given the final toast, it was Molly's reassuring smile and firm squeeze of his hand that convinced him that yes, the day was indeed turning out to be all right.
"That was wonderfully done, Sherlock," she whispered to him.
"I'm just glad it's over," he said with a long exhale, "And doubly glad you're here."
"As am I," Molly replied, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
The Watsons caught Molly's kiss to Sherlock and both raised their glasses to her, igniting a laugh from Molly and a blush on Sherlock's face. People being happy for him was something he definitely needed to get used to. Ignoring the continued and embarrassing stares from John and Mary, Sherlock turned to face Molly. His face was so suddenly serious that it shocked her.
"Molly…" be began.
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"We have a few hours to rest before the banquet tonight…" he said.
"Yes, we do. Thank God for that, I'm quite exhausted actually," said Molly with a chuckle.
"Could you take me to see Scott? Please?" he asked.
Sherlock's eyes were so earnest that Molly could not help but lean in to kiss him gently on the lips.
"You don't have to ask to see your own little boy, Sherlock," said Molly, taking his hand in hers.
Those earnest eyes from before now lit up in delight at her words. With their hands held, the pair stood up and quietly snuck away to where Molly knew was currently the safest place in the world.
There was the faint hum of dance music coming from the banquet hall where the 'night do' continued to rage on. Earlier in the evening, Sherlock had finished his violin performance dedicated to the couple and made one final best man's speech. Scott, who was now together with his mother at the banquet hall, watched Sherlock's performance after which he had inadvertently robbed his mother of her first dance with Sherlock, much to her amusement. Once the music had come on, Sherlock leapt off stage and swept Scott up in his arms, spinning around the room with the chuckling baby held close to his chest. Scott had stared, mesmerised at the swirling dance lights on the ceiling whilst Sherlock stared, mesmerised at the beautiful boy he was holding.
At the second song, Molly had joined in and their reunited family unit of three managed to successfully dance to the full duration of a rather upbeat disco song. By the time they were finished, Molly and Sherlock were breathless but beaming as Scott continued to chuckle and coo, amazed at all the coloured lights spinning around them. When the beats of the third song began, they said their early farewells and goodnights to the couple and retired to Molly's suite.
Now, that same faint hum of music barely had any effect on the two sleeping figures of Sherlock Holmes and Scott Hooper. The boys had turned out far more exhausted than Molly was. It was close to midnight and Molly, having finally managed to have her bath, was now comfortably in her pyjamas, trying to towel her hair dry so she too could get to bed. Once her hair was decently dry enough for her to get some sleep, Molly took one more peek in her son's cot to check that he was all right before finally heading to her side of the bed. Sherlock barely stirred for he had fallen into a well-deserved deep slumber. He had had a long day, and Molly was glad he could rest.
Suddenly, there came a buzz from her bedside table as her phone vibrated with an incoming message.
Sorry for contacting you so late.
I just wanted to know how things went,
And if everyone's all right. — MH
Molly smiled as she began typing her reply to the man who not only knew all of England's secrets, but who also knew both Sherlock and her better than they knew themselves.
We're headed to Baker Street first thing tomorrow. — M
Splendid. I hope you like the nursery. — MH
Nursery? — M
Yes. I had one built in the very likely event you and Scott were moving in. — MH
Ayumi was right about you! — M
I cannot attest to that, but I do know that I was right about you.
And about my brother. — MH
Indeed you were, Mycroft. — M
No more of this separating business, I hope?
You've both realised by now how terribly essential you are to each other. — MH
No more, Mycroft.
I told you, and I've told Sherlock…
It's better here. — M
I'm glad of that.
I hope the nursery is to your taste. — MH
I'm sure it's perfect.
Thank you, Mycroft.
For everything. — M
It was a late Saturday morning and Mycroft was sat in the back of his car on a quiet drive to Baker Street. He seemed calm as he always was, although he had a few worries running through his mind. There had been some updates previously that had worried him and, in his bid to contain things, he had asked for extra security among all of London's prisons and sanatoriums. Even in his special high-security holding areas, Mycroft had warned his people to keep extra vigilant. The premonitions he had had then about trouble brewing had seemed to come back to haunt him of late. The most recent updates sent by his team had done nothing to allay his fears either.
Still, Mycroft was taking advantage of this peaceful morning to forget about these troubles for a little while. It was not often he put work aside. There was nothing worth putting work aside for. This visit, however, was an exception. As Baker Street soon came into view, Mycroft could not help but smile a little to himself. He had been looking forward to today for a very long time. He looked over to his right and glanced at a wrapped present that sat on the passenger seat beside him. Closing his dossiers, Mycroft put them down and picked the present up, ready for his visit.
As he made his way up the stairs, it pleased him to hear the sound of light, scampering footsteps. He recognised those footsteps and unknowingly hastened his own. The door to his brother's flat was open, as usual, so he walked right in.
"Mycroft," came Molly's voice. She was seated on the sofa with a mug of tea in her hand, watching Scott potter about their sitting room playing with his toys.
"Molly," he said, greeting her with a nod.
Suddenly, a small ball of force hurled itself towards Mycroft and he could feel tiny but strong arms wrap themselves around his knees as his precious nephew, three year old Scott Holmes, rushed over to hug him.
"Hello Scott," said Mycroft gently, kneeling down so the boy could hug him properly.
The little arms found their way around Mycroft's neck as they hugged the most powerful man in England. Mycroft lay his present and umbrella down and returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around the little boy. Molly smiled at the sight and secretly stole a photo of them using her mobile phone. However, it did not escape Mycroft, who promptly looked up sternly at her only to break into a half smile. He was so different when it came to Scott. It was as though all the old rules did not apply anymore and Molly could get away with anything.
"I've brought you a present, Scott," Mycroft whispered to his nephew who still clung on to him.
It was as though a magic word had been uttered and the boy finally released his grip on his treasured uncle, but not without keeping one hand on his shoulder. While still kneeling on the ground, Mycroft retrieved the present he had put down and handed it to the boy.
"What must you say, Scott?" Molly remarked from the sofa, making sure her son remembered his manners.
"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft," the little boy said, staring at the colourfully wrapped gift in his hand.
"Why don't you open it?" Mycroft said, smiling at his nephew.
"But is it Christmas, Uncle Mycroft?"
"Christmas?" Mycroft asked, perplexed.
"This is a present for Christmas, right?" asked the boy.
"No, it's not a Christmas present," Mycroft said with a gentle laugh, "It's because you're a big brother now, and you need a present to celebrate that."
Scott smiled, as did Molly on the sofa from where she watched them. Trust Mycroft, an older brother himself, to know how Scott would feel now that a new Holmes baby had entered their universe. With his uncle's permission, Scott hurried off to his little play area and opened his present. Mycroft picked his umbrella up and got up to walk over to where Molly was seated. Just then, Sherlock emerged from the corridor, having just come from the nursery.
"Oh. You're here." Sherlock said to his brother.
"Yes. Molly said I could come."
"Yes, she told me. Very good timing, in fact." Sherlock said matter-of-factly, "So, are you ready?"
"I'll give it a go," answered Mycroft, setting his umbrella aside.
In Sherlock's arms was the newest addition to their family, only a few months old and freshly bathed and dressed. Striding carefully over to his brother, Sherlock gently lowered the infant down as Mycroft positioned his arms to receive her. She had not gone to sleep yet and very calmly looked up at into her uncle's eyes, frowning only slightly as she tried to register this new face.
"Hello," Mycroft said to the baby. "Very pleased to meet you."
Molly smiled as she sipped her tea, observing her brother-in-law and baby daughter meet for the first time. This time, it was Sherlock who took his mobile phone out to take a photo, except it was probably more for blackmailing purposes than Molly's more sentimental reasons for doing so. Again, Mycroft looked up at the offending mobile camera phone pointed at him and rolled his eyes at his smirking younger brother. Still, he did not waste time squabbling and instead, returned his attention to the small life in his hands.
"You still haven't told me her name," said Mycroft, turning to Molly, "I was hoping to get a similar pillow for her with her initials embroidered on them…"
"We wanted to keep it a surprise," Molly answered, smiling at him.
"Why would it be?" asked Mycroft.
"Well, we named her after you, sort of…" said Molly, reaching to gently touch her baby's forehead.
"But she's…"
"She wouldn't be here without you," Molly interrupted, looking earnestly up at him. "Just as Scott might not have made it safely into this world without Sherlock, I don't think Michaela would have ever existed if not for everything you'd done for us, Mycroft."
Michaela. Mycroft said the word in his head and slowly pieced the information together in the database that was his mind. The feminine derivative of Michael…Mikey, mother always calls me Mikey. Michael, Michaela.
"Michaela Holmes," said Mycroft, unable to resist a smile as he looked back down at the baby. Her eyelids were slowly getting heavy and she let out a small yawn as she slowly fell asleep in her uncle's arms.
"Now that's a picture worth taking," Molly said with a chuckle, looking on in amusement as Mycroft gazed fondly at the sleeping infant in his arms.
"I want a picture with Uncle Mycroft too," said Scott suddenly, running over from his corner to nestle close to his uncle on the sofa.
"Of course you can have one," said Mycroft, once again throwing all personal rules out the window for this little nephew.
Scott leaned against his uncle who held his baby sister, and grinned widely for the camera. Sherlock took his mobile phone out and snapped away, amazed at how genuinely calm and pleased his brother looked. Frankly, Sherlock could not remember the last time he had seen Mycroft in a photograph other than for official purposes. The gentle smile on Mycroft's face was a rare sight indeed and Sherlock was glad to have captured it. Whatever purpose he may have intended to use it for in future, he was glad to see his brother smile like that.
"You should try having some of your own," Sherlock remarked in jest, walking over to take over from his brother. "None of my children are screaming or running away, perhaps you'd be rather good at this."
"You're talking nonsense and you know it," remarked Mycroft, getting up from his sofa.
"Maybe you should make a trip to Tokyo. Like I did." Sherlock continued, smirking at him.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Mycroft said dismissively, "Besides, raising you was enough. I've had enough fatherhood experience to traumatise me for a lifetime…"
Molly laughed quietly to herself as the two brothers began their usual light bickering. However, so much of the tension beneath it seemed to have slowly disappeared. She recalled the first time she had been in this same sitting room with them both and how the air quite nearly choked her from how tense it had become. She was glad to see that after everything they had been through, it was not just Sherlock and herself that had a changed relationship. The brothers too had changed and seemed to have reached a new level of understanding and respect.
"Well, I should go. I do have a country to run," said Mycroft, getting ready to leave.
"It was lovely of you to come," said Molly, getting up as well.
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Mycroft said, smiling earnestly at Molly.
"Come back soon for another visit. Scott would be so happy to see you again."
"I most certainly will." Mycroft replied.
After one more hug from his nephew, Mycroft walked out of the Holmes' family door and down the stairs back to his waiting car. The weights on his mind were scrambling to return to burden him, but Mycroft made them to wait a little longer before letting them in. For the first time in a long time, Mycroft allowed himself to relish the bliss of having the family he had; a brother he could not help but want to love and protect, a remarkable sister-in-law, a precious nephew and now, a niece named after him. Mycroft also recalled his brother's silly remark about Tokyo and was glad he could now smile at the thought in the privacy of his car.
"First, England. Then, we'll see," Mycroft said to himself, picking his dossiers up again as he allowed all those pending work matters that had been waiting to re-enter his thoughts.
What are you doing now? — SH
Why are you asking me such a question? — MH
Clearly you're not busy. — SH
Does it matter? — MH
Yes. If you're not busy, it means you have time.
If you have time, I think you should get on with it. — SH
Get on with what? — MH
God. Were we just as frustrating?
Go do something about her. — SH
Why have you suddenly become an authority as to what I should do? — MH
Because you'll regret it if you don't get a move on.
Take this reminder as me returning the favour. — SH
What favour? — MH
You gave me my last chance with Molly.
I don't want you to miss yours with someone important. — SH
I will tell you if someone or something is important to me. — MH
You already have.
So go.
Don't be an idiot. — SH
Don't be like you, you mean? — MH
If that's what will make you do something, then yes.
Don't be like me. — SH
About two weeks had gone by since Sherlock's exchange with his stubborn older brother. This stubbornness felt like retribution for all the frustration Sherlock had put him through. Having heard nothing from his brother, Sherlock was surprised to come home one evening to see Molly frantically setting up their dining table and putting out wine glasses despite having received a text from her saying that they were all headed to the Watson's for dinner.
"Hello, what's happening here?" he asked, taking the utensils she was holding and began to help her arrange them on the table.
"We're headed out, so I need to get this ready before we go!" said Molly, rather frantically.
"I don't understand," Sherlock said, now taking from her a small vase of fresh flowers and placing it in the centre of the dining table as she had intended. "If we're eating at the Watson's, why…"
His question was interrupted by the sound of their doorbell ringing. Nobody ever rang the doorbell, not anyone they knew anyway. Sherlock was puzzled and turned to look at a rather rushed and frazzled Molly.
"Are you not going to get the door?" she asked, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
"Why are we expecting guests if we're going out?" he asked in return.
"No time to explain…" Molly said, already halfway down the stairs.
Sherlock followed quickly after and, from the top of the stairs, saw Molly open the door to receive a most unexpected guest.
"Ayumi? What are you doing here?" the detective asked, his eyes still wide from shock as the ladies made their way up to the flat.
"I'm here to, well…" she began
"Have dinner with me," came the voice of his brother, whom no one had noticed coming up the stairs shortly after Ayumi had arrived.
There was an awkward pause as Sherlock scanned the room only to realise now that his entire sitting room had been rearranged for this specific occasion. Molly had pulled out all the stops and shifted all their furniture such that all that stood in the middle of the flat was their beautifully decorated dining table with what was clearly only two sets of cutlery. Several bottles of wine had been left on a side table, also decorated with fresh flowers.
"Well, looks like the two of you can take it from here," Molly said, giving Ayumi a quick hug. "Come on, Sherlock… the kids are already with Mary. We'd better head over quickly."
"Right, uh…" Sherlock was still trying to process the thought that his brother was actually going to sit down and eat a proper meal, and with another human being.
"Sherlock, let's go…" said Molly, yanking her husband by his coat sleeve.
When the doors were slammed shut, Ayumi and Mycroft were left standing in the middle of the newly rearranged Baker Street flat. It looked more like a small restaurant than a flat and it amused Ayumi.
"Was this your idea or Molly's?" she asked Mycroft, walking over to take a seat.
"The dinner? Mine. The elaborate set-up? Hers. But the whisky?" said Mycroft as he took his seat opposite and placed a familiar looking case on the table, "Ours."
As Mycroft opened the case of their favourite whisky, the one they drank only with each other, Ayumi could not help but smile. How strange that he was doing this. After all their years working together, being together in their unique way, she never expected to be dining with him so ordinarily like this.
"We don't…do this, Mycroft," she said, leaning across the table, watching him carefully pour them a glass each.
"No, we don't," he answered simply, handing Ayumi her glass.
They each raised their glass, bringing them to the middle as they tapped their glasses with a soft clink.
"This really is the best, you know," Ayumi said, savouring her first sip whisky.
"We have good taste," Mycroft replied, taking a sip from his own.
"We do," Ayumi agreed, with a nod.
The pair of them chatted for a little bit, updating each other casually on the places they had travelled to recently and the cases they had closed or had pending. By the end of their first glasses of whisky, Mycroft automatically reached for the bottle to pour them both another when Ayumi stopped him, resting a hand on his.
"Mycroft," she began.
"Yes?" he answered.
"What's really going on?" she asked.
Mycroft cleared his throat and gently removed his hand from the bottle, which in turn caused Ayumi to release hers. He slightly regretted that but it was too late.
"Please don't tell me you're dying," she said, looking hard at him with genuine worry.
"No, no, nothing of that sort," he replied with a furtive smile.
"Then what?"
"Sherlock," said Mycroft, unable to put his sentences together properly.
"What about Sherlock?" Ayumi continued to ask.
"My brother informs me that I might have some..inclinations towards you." Mycroft paused to take a sharp breath in, "And that it was time I actually did something about them."
Ayumi looked back at Mycroft, startled at a revelation she never saw coming. Was it really Mycroft speaking or a doppelgänger set up as some massive joke? Her mind went blank because she had never prepared for a moment like this. How could she? This was them. They did not do these things.
"Oh." This was all Ayumi could respond with.
The two of them stared back at each other, a little lost at this unusual juncture in their interactions. Ayumi was the first to relax a little. Getting up, she shifted her seat to a spot beside him instead of across the table from him.
"He calls me your admirer," Mycroft said, turning to look at Ayumi, "It's a little inside joke we have."
"Really?" Ayumi said with a wry smile, "You're not doing secret trades in biological weapons though, are you? Because that's not very good."
Mycroft looked at her, surprised that she knew the reference, only to then shake his head, laughing quietly. Why would she not know the reference? She was Ayumi. Like him, she too knew everything.
"Well, you know me, Ayumi," said Mycroft, smiling at her, "I'm capable of far worse."
The both of them laughed, fully aware that the power Mycroft wielded in the British government alone meant he truly could have been capable of a lot worse.
"Thankfully, you're a rather good man," said Ayumi, returning her hand to rest on top of his.
"And thankfully, you happen to think so," he replied.
"I know so, Mycroft," Ayumi remarked, "I've always known."
"Well, then I'm very lucky," he said.
"You don't believe in luck." Ayumi laughed.
"You are an exception."
"That's rather moving," teased Ayumi.
This time, Ayumi was the one who reached for their bottle of whisky. She unscrewed its cap and poured a second glass for them both.
"So, tell me," she said.
"Hmm?"
"Is your brother right, calling you that?"
Mycroft let out a quiet laugh and set his glass down. Turning to face her, his eyes zoomed in on the necklace he knew she always wore but kept concealed as he began untucking it from where it lay partially hidden by her blouse, revealing the pendant at the end of its chain. The pendant happened to be a ring, a ring that bore the exact same design as the one he always wore on his right hand.
"You should know by now, Ayumi," Mycroft said, holding her ring gently between his thumb and forefinger, "My brother is quite the genius. And he is never wrong."
The Holmes family had returned late from their dinner at the Watson's, with both Molly and Sherlock carrying one sleeping child each and, to their surprise, found their flat restored to its original layout.
"They really are meant for each other," Molly whispered, careful not to wake Michaela.
"I bet Ayumi did all the furniture shifting," Sherlock said with a smirk.
"But I bet Mycroft wouldn't have let her. He probably summoned his team or something…" Molly remarked, "I wonder where they'd gone to after dinner."
Sherlock took a quick look round the room, scanning for little clues and signs as to how their dinner possibly went. When he had gathered enough evidence, he looked at Molly with an amused half grin on his face.
"I don't think we should wonder about that," said Sherlock, inciting a soft chuckle from Molly.
Shaking her head at her husband's remark, Molly headed towards the nursery to put Michaela to bed. Sherlock, with his son sleeping soundly as his head rested against his father's shoulders, walked over to sit on the sofa instead.
With the sitting room all to themselves, Sherlock smiled and tilted his head to quietly observe the little boy sleeping in his arms. He studied the full head of Scott's chocolate brown hair, the slope of his nose that was distinctly his mother's and measured the even breaths the boy took while he slept. Unable to resist, he planted a gentle kiss on his son's hair and rested his cheek against the soft wisps, shutting his eyes as he savoured what he had never imagined he would ever experience.
Twenty minutes later, Molly walked out of the nursery to a sight she knew she would never tire of seeing. There, seated on the sofa, was Sherlock, having fallen asleep whilst still tightly clutching onto their son. It confounded her sometimes, how she could never imagine a single moment in Scott's life without Sherlock being a part of it. From the moment he had been born, Sherlock had been there. In Molly's heart, there was nobody else who could have been Scott's father.
Sherlock must have felt her eyes on him for his eyelids fluttered opened suddenly and eventually met her gaze. He smiled warmly at her, before carefully manoeuvring himself as he stood up, taking care not to wake the little boy. Together, he and Molly walked to the nursery and put Scott to bed. Sherlock pulled the covers up to his son's shoulder's and kissed him softly on his cheek. He then walked over to Michaela's crib and bent to kiss her too, amazed that this small little life was also his to call his own.
"Who would have thought, hey?" said Molly quietly, wrapping one arm around her husband's waist as the pair of them stood in the middle of their children's nursery.
"I hate to admit it, but if there was anyone, it would have been Mycroft," Sherlock replied as he too, wrapped his arm around her waist.
The couple laughed quietly, not wanting to disturb their sleeping children. Sherlock turned to kiss Molly's hair as she shut her eyes and leaned in even closer.
"Do you remember that one occasion that you had been poisoned?" asked Sherlock, his voice even quieter and suddenly solemn.
"I try not to," answered Molly, "But yes, I do."
"I don't know what I'd do if that ever happened again," he whispered, "If I ever had to face losing you, or the children."
"We'll do our best not to let it happen," said Molly, looking up at into his anxious eyes.
"I wish I could rule it out completely."
"You know that's not possible, Sherlock."
"I know."
Molly could sense Sherlock's heart sink in his chest as one of the greatest side effects of sentiment and love began to grip him.
"Sherlock," Molly began, turning to face him.
"Hmm?" he said, still lost in his quiet distress.
"Focus on what you have," she said, "And not on what you might lose."
" But I'd almost lost you," he said, "Twice."
Shaking her head in amusement, Molly smiled as she recalled the death that almost claimed her and the man that almost did so too. She smiled because in all those times that Sherlock thought she had been lost to him, he could not have been more wrong.
"Oh, Sherlock," she whispered, smiling as she moved to kiss him, "You've always had me. Always."
Epilogue
It was a luxurious country home she lived in, but she knew that every inch of its grandiosity was a prison. Specifically, her prison. Every step she took was monitored, everywhere she turned she knew the eye of a camera followed. No visitors were allowed, but that was never a problem. No visitors ever came, save for her pathetic old man or worse, the insufferable Mycroft Holmes.
Evelyn Lancaster sat in one of the many ornate sitting rooms and flipped through a book of poetry aimlessly. She hated reading but one of the few activities she was allowed was that. Eventually, she made it a point to pick a new book as often as she could and challenged herself to see how many pages she could read before wanting to throw the book against the wall. Everything was suffocating and just so boring.
"You have a visitor," said one of the guards to her this morning.
"Oh god," she moaned, dropping the book to the carpeted floor, "Two whole months of bliss and now they return to taunt me. Could you kill him for me?"
The guard did not respond for none of the security personnel was allowed to interact with her beyond what their duties stated. She had been informed of her guest and that was all he had been allowed to say.
Having no choice but to receive her unwanted guest, Evelyn straightened her blouse and moved to sit on an armchair to await either the blithering idiot she called her father, or the emotionless and utterly unentertaining Mycroft Holmes. To her surprise, however, a smartly dressed young man appeared and her eyes widened in both disbelief and curiosity.
"Hello, Ms Lancaster," said the gentleman, walking boldly into the room.
"Oh my," she exclaimed, rising from her seat as he took her hand and kissed it. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"Well, I've heard a lot about you, Ms Lancaster."
"And I've heard a lot about you, Mr Moriarty."
The gentleman laughed heartily and unbuttoned his jacket before taking a seat.
"Please, call me Jim." he said, smiling charmingly at her.
"And you can call me Evelyn," she said, her eyes sparkling.
Somehow, Evelyn had taken an instant liking to James Moriarty. It would not have surprised anyone, really, but it was clear from the very beginning that they were going to hit it off. Besides, it impressed her greatly that a wanted man like him, no, a former wanted man, for he was now deceased, found his way into her palatial prison without a single hitch.
"How did you manage to find me? Much less get in here?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"It's only Mycroft Holmes," James replied nonchalantly, "I know where his loopholes are."
"Incredible," Evelyn remarked, delighted that something entertaining had waltzed into her premises at last. "But the last I heard, James…"
"Jim, please," he reminded her with another handsome grin.
"I'm sorry, Jim…" she apologised with a chuckle, "The last I heard, Jim, was that you were dead."
"You mustn't trust everything you hear, my dear," he remarked.
"I suppose not," said Evelyn with a smirk, "Tell me then, what brings you back from the grave?"
A slow grin appeared across James' face as he reached into his jacket for a small white envelope. He placed it neatly on the rather elaborate marble coffee table between them.
"I have a proposition to make, Evelyn," James began.
"Oh?"
"You're a businesswoman, I am a businessman…well, of sorts," he said chuckling darkly.
"I can't help you much in here, you know, Jim…" Evelyn said, raising an eyebrow.
"Simple, I'll just get you out," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned back, relaxing into his seat.
Evelyn eyed him quizzically, amazed at how simply he viewed what seemed an impossible task to her. There was power behind his words, a power she saw only in one other man; Mycroft Holmes, and it fascinated her. Perhaps there was a way out of this prison after all.
"What is your proposition then?" she asked, sitting up in interest.
Without a word, James simply slid the envelope over to Evelyn, gesturing for her to open it and take a look at its contents. Evelyn obliged, picking it up and lifting its flap to reveal a few photographs inside it. Carefully, she slid the four coloured photographs out and her eyes lit up in great intrigue.
"My, my, James Moriarty," she exclaimed, looking up at him, "What have you got planned?"
Evelyn lay the four coloured photographs down, meticulously positioning them like an open fan and took another good look at them. She smirked at the happy faces she saw in them and tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on one particular smiling face.
"I want them destroyed," he stated simply, grinning at her. "Not the photographs, of course. Them. Well, mainly him, but you know, the others are part of the package now."
"Yes, I can see that," Evelyn murmured, picking one of the photographs up to study closely.
The photograph had been taken at Bart's Hospital. Molly had just given birth to Michaela and Scott and Sherlock were with her by her hospital bed, looking down and smiling at the new baby. Evelyn ran her thumb across Sherlock's face, remembering what those cheekbones felt like under her fingertips.
"Why me, Jim?" she asked, her eyes not leaving the photograph, "Why would you go through all the trouble of getting me out just for this?"
"Oh, it's no trouble at all, my dear," James replied casually.
Sitting up in his seat, he startled Evelyn by snatching the photo out of her hand, causing her to look up sharply at him. He took a pen out of from another pocket and began scribbling hard on the photograph, eventually poking a hole in the face of Sherlock Holmes.
"I've been watching you for some time," he remarked, continuing to slowly work his way through the faces of Molly and the children, "And believe me when I say…"
He paused to toss the now defaced photo of Sherlock Holmes and his family at Evelyn and smiled fiendishly at her.
"I am a great fan of your work."
END