A/N: And the final, concluding part of the promised conclusion! Sorry this has stretched so incredibly long...

From Book girl fan: one lace glove

I entered Sherlock's cabin to find him in a peculiar face off against the medical staff. He stood on one side of the bed, two open wounds upon his head dripping blood into his eyes, and one foot raised slightly from the ground, looking as though a light breeze might knock him over. Doctor Henderson and Nurse Perrin stood on the other side of the bed, both with their hands raised in an expression of peace. I noted too that a full syringe was clutched in Henderson's left hand.

"Mr Holmes, please, it is simply a sedative to help-"

"Watson." Sherlock's voice was thin and tremulous. "Where is Doctor Watson?"

"I don't know any Doctor Watson!" Henderson exclaimed in frustration. "First we must see to your health, Mr Holmes, and then-"

"That will do," I cut in, and Sherlock fairly sagged with relief when he saw me stood in the doorway. "Sherlock, get back into bed. Doctor Henderson, no sedatives if you please."

Henderson tutted, but put his syringe away as Sherlock hesitantly sat back on the bed. I noted with approval that his ankle had already been neatly bound.

"Something has happened to Watson, hasn't it?" Sherlock asked me as Henderson set to replacing the soiled bandage on his head. "I remember... I remember a gunshot. Was he-?"

"I don't know." There was no point beating around the bush. "Neither he nor Mr van Es made it onto the lifeboat. Nurse, a bowl! Quickly!"

Perrin shoved a bowl into Sherlock's lap, which he retched into for a painful minute.

"Ugh... my head..." He moaned, but wiped his mouth on his sleeve and doggedly returned his unfocused gaze to mine. "We must find him Mycroft."

I pursed my lips. He knew as well as I that it took only minutes for a man to perish in such icy waters as these. But before I could voice my opinion, Mr Dekker popped his head around the door.

"Excuse me, Mr Holmes? And er-" he nodded to Sherlock, "Mr Holmes. But we've found something strange, and I think you might want to take a look?

Sherlock insisted he be allowed to join us, so Nurse Perrin bundled him up in warm clothes and made sure he had his cane which, I noted with a pang of sadness, was actually Doctor Watson's. Sherlock spotted my look of sympathy but did not rise to it, and we walked in sombre silence to the prow of the ship.

It was early morning by now and the wind had calmed, making it easier to see the long stream of dark material that drifted towards us on the waves. Our Captain came over and handed across a sopping wet, lace glove. "We don't know what to make of it, Sir."

Sherlock fairly snatched the glove from me and, after a brief examination, he waved it in triumph and exclaimed a loud, "Mycroft, Captain, we must follow this lace. I believe it will lead us straight to Watson and Mr van Es!"

The Captain looked doubtful, and I couldn't blame him. My brother looked half-mad, so dishevelled was he from his journey, and with his head bandaged as it was. But, he was still my brother, and so I barked,

"You heard him Captain - follow that lace!"

We travelled onward for about an hour, following the peculiar lace trail, and Sherlock filled in the remaining gaps in the story.

"Hendriks and the others were smuggling kant - that is, lace," he finished, finally. He was leant against the railing, eyes darting to and fro as he scanned the distant ocean. I maintained a critical eye on him, for he did not look at all well, and I would not be surprised should he keel over at any moment.

"So you think this is a sign from the Doctor?"

"I hope so." He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the railing, shifting weight from his injured ankle. "To think I put him through this and so much worse, after Reichenbach..."

"Don't think on that now," I ordered gruffly. "There will be time later, if and when you must-"

"Mycroft, look!" He interrupted, and pointed out to sea. "There, you see that?"

I squinted out and, indeed, my brother's keen eyes had seen what I had not - a distant raft, bobbing at the end of our peculiar trail. I fancied I could make out two figures perched upon it.

"Captain!" I bellowed, so loudly it made Sherlock jump. "We have sighted them!"

"Us too, Mr Holmes!" The Captain called back, already running back to the bridge. "Full speed ahead, chaps!"

"Doctor Watson? Doctor Watson look!"

I jolted from a doze, not quite sure when I had fallen asleep. It was early morning now, and the sea was calm; a welcome relief after the night Mr van Es and I had just had.

He peered concernedly at me. "I shouldn't have let you sleep. You look terribly pale."

"Lace isn't all that effective as a bandage," I joked half-heartedly, shifting upward with a wince as the movement jolted the wound to my arm. "I say, is that a ship?

Van Es beamed and helped sit me up against one of the boxes. "Your plan worked, Doctor!"

I laughed in giddy relief, and when I spotted the familiar figure waving frantically at me from the prow my laughter turned near hysterical.

"It's Holmes," I explained to van Es in a wheeze once I had gotten a handle on myself. "He is alright after all!"

"Well thank God for that," van Es grinned, and we waited together until the ship was close enough to rescue us.

"What happened to your arm?" was Holmes's immediate demand once van Es and I had been winched on board.

"What happened to your head?" was my pawky rejoinder, although now the tension of the night had finally eased I felt weaker than before, and probably slurred my words a little. "When I left you it needed only one dressing, and now you have two!"

"Why don't we get you both down to a cabin?" Mycroft suggested, before Holmes could reply. His face, I saw, was lined with strain and he cast several worried glances to his brother and in fact to me. "It is a pleasure to see you again Doctor Watson, but I do believe your arm needs examining?"

I nodded blearily in agreement. Mycroft offered his support which I accepted gratefully, for my legs were a trifle unsteady after so long huddled on that raft, and we went below deck to be seen by the Doctor.

"It was Hendriks," Watson explained once Doctor Henderson had seen to his arm and wrangled us both into bed with a promise that we would "rest up". "We thought he went with the others, those who escaped on the first lifeboat, but it seems he was betrayed. He had a terrible injury to the back of his head, which must have affected his aim, thank God."

"Thank God," I agreed fervently, for had it not been so we would have likely never seen my friend again. "So he snuck up and shot you, and then what?"

"I dropped my side of the pulley when the bullet winged my arm. There was a tussle, and Hendriks ended up in the ocean-"

"Good riddens," I muttered before I could stop myself, and Mycroft shushed me impatiently. "Sorry, do go on Watson. Then what happened?"

"Well, we were stuck. It was dark, we didn't know what had happened to the lifeboat, and The Friesland was nearly sunk. My arm was bleeding and van Es used some of the lace in the boxes the smugglers had left to bind it, which gave me an idea. Mr van Es is a resourceful chap, and managed to break apart some of those boxes and use the rope from the pulleys to lash it all together."

"So you got out onto the sea and used the lace to make a trail for us to follow," Mycroft breathed. "Very impressive, Doctor!"

Watson made to wave away the praise, but of course his wounded arm prevented him. "It was mostly down to van Es, really. I just lolled about and gave orders. Truthfully I'm amazed the plan with the lace worked, I didn't think anyone would bother looking for us."

"Watson, really!"

He chuckled at my indignant outburst. "I meant only that I thought you would all assume we had perished as The Friesland went down. Most sane men would have reached that conclusion, after all."

"We must be thankful that my brother is not entirely sane then," Mycroft inputted firmly and called, at a rapping on the door, "Come in!"

It was Mr van Es, looking a great deal warmer and better rested than when we had first hauled him up from the raft. Mycroft stood to offer him his chair, but he shook his head.

"I only wanted to return this." He held out Watson's revolver and my friend accepted his trusty firearm with a warm word of thanks.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Before you leave, Mr van Es, I owe you an apology on behalf of the British government. And Sherlock, John-" Watson looked surprised at the use of his first name, but did not comment on it, "-I owe you an apology on my own behalf. This entire mission has been an unmitigated disaster, and would have been made far worse if not for the quick thinking and resourcefulness of all the men in this room. I shall make efforts to thank Mr Dekker for his own part in things later."

"Please, Mr Holmes, don't apologise," van Es responded earnestly. "Whether shot in the engine room or drowned, I should have died along with the other civilians on the ship if you hadn't placed your brother and his friend on The Friesland. Well worth the stress involved, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmm." Mycroft sounded unconvinced, and I expected that after all this hullabaloo he wouldn't leave his Whitehall rooms for many years. "Well, thank you for that Mr van Es. Can I walk you back to your room? On the way we can send a wire to your government and let them know all that's happened."

They made their goodbyes, leaving Watson and I alone in our cabin.

"Watson," I began haltingly, for expressing emotion had never been a particular strong point of mine. "When I woke up to find you gone it made me realise some of what you must have felt, when I-"

A soft snore cut me short, and I looked over to see Watson sound asleep. I huffed a rueful laugh and reached over to turn the gaslight between our two beds down. Now we were both safe and sound, perhaps I should also get some rest.