"Yes, I said months, Sherlock." Mary's furiously hissed words penetrated the darkness. "It is a miracle he came back at all, and he never fully recovered. The last thing he asked just now was if I could see you, too."

She paused, and silence answered her, of course. My friend had been dead for three years. Something had gone horribly wrong, for her to be scolding him, and I needed to help, needed to keep her here. I could not lose her, too.

I fought to wake completely. I had never collapsed due to a hallucination, but then, my hallucinations had never been so deceivingly solid. My wish that Holmes could be here was probably behind the relapse, but I could deal with that later. What mattered was Mary, and I fully expected to open my eyes to find her in the throes of some dire complication.

Instead, as sensation slowly returned, I gradually realized I leaned against a very familiar form.

"Easy, Watson," he said when I tensed. "You are safe, as are Mary and your son."

I blinked the room into focus. Mary lay on the settee, her fatigue evident though she stared at me, and James somehow still slept quietly in his bassinet. Holmes' sinewy arm held me upright against him on the floor, and his face fell when I quickly pushed myself away to stare at him warily.

"I owe you a thousand apologies, Watson. I had no idea you would be so affected."

"You're dead," I replied. "You are dead. I—" I cut the words off, barely preventing myself from acknowledging that I had killed him.

"I am not dead," he countered, laying a firm hand on my ankle, "but I had to make you believe I was." He hesitated, watching me, but I made no answer. "Moriarty had a lieutenant under orders to target you if I survived," he slowly continued, his ears turning faintly red though the quiet words never faltered. "I could not reveal myself until he was in custody. It was supposed to be for a few weeks, maybe a month, not three years."

I simply stared at him, afraid to believe my eyes. I had never told Mary of all the times I had seen him over the years, whether walking down the street with me or joining us in front of the fire for a few minutes, nor had I mentioned the frequent dreams. I had dreamt everything from old cases to quiet evenings in front of the fire, and as hallucinations could not touch me, I wondered if this could be a dream. Could I have fallen asleep in my office after the trial, dreaming both James' birth and Holmes' presence?

"You are not dreaming, Watson."

That would make sense, actually. We had been counting the days until our child's arrival, and I would give almost anything to have Holmes back.

"Watson?"

Or could I have fallen asleep while watching for complications of James' birth? That was possible, too, I decided, and that might make more sense. I had not been sleeping well recently, and the elation of James' birth could have lowered my guard and allowed both the auditory hallucination and the detailed dream.

"John."

Those scenarios would not account for the way he and Mary both watched me now, however, and I could not remember the last time I had been aware of dreaming as I dreamt.

"John, look at me." I tore my gaze from him, and she continued when I made eye contact. "I can see him too, John, and you are not dreaming." She gave me a tired smile, trying to inject a bit of humor, "though I would very much like to be."

She had to be staying awake by willpower alone. I wanted to tell her to sleep, but my mouth refused to work. I glanced between them.

His hand landed on my right shin, intentionally prodding the precise spot to send a faint twinge of pain up my already sore leg, and I tried to push away the hope that sparked. He could not be here. I had abandoned him when he needed me, and now he was dead. I had to be dreaming.

But as I had told him years ago, I could not feel pain in my sleep.

"I am not dead, Watson."

I also did not remember being tired enough to fall asleep, and very rarely did a dream resume after a break. I hesitated. If anyone could cheat death, it would be him, and I would give almost anything to have him back. Could he be here?

And could I risk this being yet another dream?

Mary waited patiently, but Holmes' worried frown deepened the longer I wavered. If he was here, I was probably revealing far too many of my thoughts for comfort. I would need to strengthen my barriers, but if he was not here, if this was just another dream…

I would be no worse off than I was now, and James would provide enough distraction in the coming days that I might even be able to prevent a recurrence. I tentatively reached a hand for his shoulder.

He leaned forward to intercept me, guiding my touch to the pulse point in his wrist, and his heartbeat thrummed steadily under my pressing fingers. I felt the first true smile split my face in far longer than I could remember. While his pulse might have been a touch fast, it was there, and I did not wake up at the contact. I could do nothing but stare, flicking my gaze between his face and where my hand gripped his wrist.

"Watson?" he finally asked when my stunned silence lasted too long.

I swallowed hard, struggling for words, and humor mixed with the increased but now half-feigned worry in his gaze.

"Are you about to hit me?"

I shook my head, ignoring my faint amusement at his words as I fought to speak. My grip on his wrist was probably growing painful, but I could not bring myself to let go.

It could not have been that painful. He did not try to take his arm back.

"Why now?" I finally managed. Why did you return now? What made today different? I could not say all that, but he seemed to understand.

"Moran was Moriarty's lieutenant," he answered, referring to the man convicted of killing Adair. "I helped the Yard capture him last night, though they did not know it was I that helped. I tried to find you immediately after, but your maid said you had a patient. You left for the courthouse just before I would have knocked this morning."

So he had followed me until he could catch me alone. I vaguely remembered seeing that old bookseller in the court audience, but I had paid very little attention at the time. I had had no reason to. He was just another curious stranger, and even if I had gotten a clear look at his face, I would not have thought to check the color of his eyes.

It had been three years since I had needed to check the people around me for my friend in disguise. My grip on his wrist tightened.

"I am here, Watson," he told me, gripping me in return before I could apologize and force my fingers to loosen.

"Breathe, John."

The breath I had unconsciously held left in a rush, and I tried to smile at the role reversal. I doubt I succeeded, but they did not comment.

"Where—" The question broke, and I swallowed and tried again. "Where have you been?"

His mouth quirked in that familiar grin, and he carefully guided me to lean against the armchair. "Everywhere," he answered, "but for the last month, I have been in a university town in France waiting for news of Moran's movements."

"I look forward to hearing those stories," Mary said with a smile. She nearly said something else, but she glanced at me instead and leaned back into the pillows. Silence fell for a long moment.

I hardly dared to believe he was here, and though I knew I was staring, I could not make myself stop. The warm, familiar, solid hand could not be gripping mine. After three years of thinking him dead because of me, the idea that he was not dead, that he was here, alive, was beyond my imagining. I was half-afraid he would disappear if I blinked, fading into memory. I would have given almost anything to have him back, to have him here.

To not be guilty of murdering my dearest friend.

"Watson?"

I blinked. I had started to stare through him, and I refocused to find him frowning at me. That keen gaze probably saw much more than I wanted, and I tried to strengthen the barriers I had built so many years ago, when I first realized his death had not been merely a fever dream. He did not need to know my thoughts.

He must have seen some of them, however, as his frown deepened, and he sighed. "I am sorry. I never would have—I was trying—" The words refused to come, and he paused for a moment, studying me. "I only wanted to protect you," he murmured, wrapping his other hand around where mine still gripped his wrist. "Both of you."

"We know, Sherlock," Mary replied. She glanced at me. "It will just take some time to adjust."

He nodded, still looking at me, and James' faint squeak jolted me back to the present. I finally relaxed my grip, though I did not let him out of my sight as I stiffly pulled myself off the floor. Waving off Holmes' offer of help, I settled the child on Mary, and Holmes reclaimed the other chair.

"I still cannot believe you are here," I finally admitted after James calmed. I could not seem to raise my voice above a murmur, and my gaze never left him as I nearly fell into my chair.

"You are not alone in that," Mary said. Her hands gently rocked James, but her gaze was on Holmes as she adjusted our son to sleep safely on her chest. "I need to sleep," she announced, the words firm though exhausted, "but I am not done with you, yet. You will give us both the entire story later." A smile twitched his mouth, but he merely nodded. "And Sherlock?" she added, anger lowering her tone even as her eyes drifted closed. "It is good to have you back, but if you ever pull such a thing again, I might just kill you myself."

She was asleep in moments, and Holmes' smile grew slightly as he turned to look at me.

"We would have come with you." With Mary asleep, we were alone, and my low volume did nothing to hide the hurt that leaked into my words. His grin faded.

"I know," he answered, "but it would have been far more difficult to hide three people, and it was not supposed to be for very long. Mycroft and I both thought Moran would be behind bars by midsummer."

I could not reply for a long moment, understanding washing over me. "Mycroft," I repeated numbly, a wealth of knowledge in that single word. He had told Mycroft, the brother he claimed infuriated him, instead of me. I was not as trustworthy as the brother he refused to see more than once or twice a month.

Why would you expect anything different? a voice in the back of my mind asked. Mycroft did not abandon him at the top of a waterfall.

"Watson, stop. It is not like that."

His hand landed on my right shoulder, and I blinked, only just realizing I was staring through the floor. I looked up to find him frowning at me again.

"It was easier for Mycroft to access my money due to the blood relation," he said, "but more importantly, Mycroft is better protected. He always has at least six guards nearby, usually more, and he only goes a small number of places. If Moran had shown himself, Mycroft's guards would have had him in custody within minutes, but you do and did not have that."

So he had let me believe I had killed him. He had decided that it would be better to leave me behind, guilty of murder, than to let us go into hiding with him.

"Not true."

His frown deepened, and I raised an eyebrow in silent question, hoping he had not read my thoughts on my face. I had grown skilled at hiding from Mary, but my old friend was much more observant.

He studied me. "Even if I had gone over the falls, Watson, it would not have been your fault. I paid that boy a shilling to get you back to the inn."

He had read my thoughts, and I tried to raise my barrier higher. "You should not have had to face Moriarty alone."

"I sent you away," he reminded me, still frowning, "and my note clearly said that I knew the request for help was a hoax. If you must assign fault, blame me."

I hesitated. His words hardly alleviated responsibility, but they might confirm something I had wondered since before Switzerland. Perhaps he had sent me away because he no longer trusted me to watch his back?

His frown abruptly became an exasperated scowl. "Were you always this stubborn? What part of 'I sent you away for your own safety' did you not hear?"

"Since when are you safer without me?" My hurt and hesitance finally formed into words that tumbled free of their own accord. "I told you years ago that I would not let you face someone alone. Ever. I should have stayed with you. I had stayed with you. We had been traveling for over a week by that point, solely because you told me you were in danger. I was there to protect you. I should have seen through the boy's note, should have ignored the plea of a terminal stranger to stay with you."

"I told you to leave," he protested.

"I should not have listened!" My voice rose slightly, and I paused, glancing at Mary and James before continuing quieter. "I left you to die, Holmes. For the first time in nearly ten years, I left you alone when you were in danger, and you did not return. What did you think I would believe? That it was chance?" I shook my head. "I was just as at fault as Moriarty. I should have stayed with you." Better to die with him than to cause his death.

Remorse flickered across his face as he realized what I would not voice. "You could not have. I planned that day a week before we left London, Watson. Sending you back to the inn was the only way I could ensure you returned safely to Mary, and I could not reveal myself when you returned. Moran had his air gun aimed at you as soon as you came around the bend in the path. The smallest noise at the falls would have been a death sentence for both of us." He paused, probably reading far more of my thoughts than I wanted him to know. "You did not abandon me, and it would not have been your fault if Moriarty had won."

I made no answer. Holmes was wrong; I had abandoned him, even if he did not see it that way, but there was no use in arguing about it. I finally pulled myself to my feet when I could not decide on a reply.

"What do you need?" he asked immediately. "Let me get it."

I simply scowled at him, using my stick to limp heavily towards the fireplace. The fire had started to die while we spoke, and I would rather see to it myself than call Ivy in here—or ask Holmes to do it for me.

Footsteps sounded, and he gently took the poker from my hand, stirring the coals and shoveling fuel much faster than I would have managed. I rolled my eyes but moved back towards my chair.

"Are…you going to return to your cases?" I asked slowly, changing what I had been about to ask mid-word.

"Of course," he answered with a nod. He set the poker aside and turned away from the flames to study me. "Are you going to join me?"

I hesitated, watching my feet as I slowly crossed the room. I wanted to, but would he want my help?

He let the silence stretch for only a moment. "The Yarders might have a coronary if they see me alone."

I glanced back, wondering if he had meant that the way it sounded. I was out of practice at hearing what he did not say, but that had sounded like—

He met my searching gaze, and a smile faintly turned the corner of his mouth. My own small grin escaped in answer, but I glanced at Mary and James before I could promise to help consistently.

"I will not be able to help as often as I would like for the next few months," I said instead. "Newborns are a lot of work, and I doubt either of us will be getting much sleep, but you are not allowed to leave me behind if you expect danger. Agreed?" Holmes nodded. "Good."

James roused before I could reach my seat, and I detoured to pick him up. He was not hungry yet, and Mary needed the rest.

"Sit," I said shortly, and Holmes raised an eyebrow at me but resumed his place in the other chair. "Put one hand beneath him, and make sure your arm supports his head."

I laid James in Holmes' arms. He looked slightly unsure of this arrangement, but he quickly understood how to hold an infant. I took the other chair as he stared at the small life he held.

"Why did you name him after me?" he asked quietly, finally looking up as I debated how to answer.

"Meet your godson," I said after a moment.

He stared, utter surprise crossing his face, and I slowly grew uncertain when he made no reply. "If you are willing," I added when the silence stretched too long.

He swallowed, looking back down at the sleeping child, and the eventual words came out somewhat strangled. "I am honored."

"Mary will probably teach him to call you uncle."

Surprise flickered again, then pleasure, and I knew he heard what I did not say: Mary would simply follow my lead. I had regretted never fully acknowledging our friendship, and I was grateful for the chance to remedy that. I considered Holmes just as much my brother as Harry.

Footsteps sounded outside before he could answer, and the door quietly opened.

"Doctor?"

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson," I called softly. "Mary is asleep."

Holmes tried to hide in the chair, cautiously supporting James even as he put his back to the door, and I swiftly realized he had not told Mrs. Hudson yet. I pulled myself to my feet again.

"Hello, dearie," she said when I met her near the door. She glanced at where Mary slept behind me, then flicked her gaze at my cane. "You did not have to get up on my account."

I set her bag aside to put in the spare room later. "I have an unexpected guest," I answered with a grin, "and I do not want him surprising you the way he surprised me."

She looked at me curiously, obviously trying to figure out who might have arrived, and I led her toward the remaining armchair. She looked between where Mary slept on the settee and the empty bassinet nearby as we crossed the room, but Holmes rose from his chair as we came within sight. She froze mid-step.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," he said quietly.

Her gaze flicked to James, then back to Holmes' face, and sheer fury crossed her expression a moment later.

"Of all the…" The low words trailed off, her anger growing. "You are lucky you are holding a newborn. What the blazes were you thinking?!"

"Moriarty had a lieutenant," he answered calmly, trying not to shy away from her ire. Mrs. Hudson had always been able to cow him in a way not even Mycroft could manage. "Returning before Moran was in custody would have put a target on Watson's back."

"That was not better—Do you have any idea—" She could not seem to finish a sentence, and she stepped toward him, glanced at James, then stepped back. "That was an idiotic move," she growled, "especially for you."

"I had very little choice at the time—"

She cut him off there. "You had every choice! Yet you chose to make us think, make them think—"

I wondered if that "them" had truly been a "him," but I did not think on it long as the sentence died. I was glad she had not fainted—one of us doing so was quite enough—but I had not anticipated the utter rage in her expression. I claimed James from Holmes' arms and got out of the way. He would have to talk his own way out of this one.

He did not have a chance. Mrs. Hudson's closed fist impacted Holmes' cheek the moment James was clear.

Anyone expect that? Lol, don't forget to review! :)

Thanks to both Guests, MCH1987, YoughaltheJust, Corynutz, Serenity, and Dr. who for your reviews. Dr. who, your review confused me. Serenity, your review made me grin. I hope this was entertaining enough for you. :D