A/N

Well, here it is folks! The final chapter to this story! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. It was a special experience for me to be able to collaborate with Elbafo. Thank you, again, for wanting to participate in this little sci-fi themed experiment!

If you, dear reader, at one time enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review!

This is it. The end of the road for this story. Enjoy!

* S *

Evelina was slumbering peacefully, not likely to wake up until 6.30. St John was sound asleep as well. He just checked. Didn't even stir when he dropped a kiss on the small head that was warm with sleep. Now, Sherlock was leisurely taking in the view of Kyrie drying her hair and getting ready for bed. She looked tired.

Their eyes met in the mirror and Kyrie turned around to look at him directly. "How long have you been standing there?" Her voice carried a hint of accusation.

Long enough to work up an appetite. He didn't say that though. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders. "Not long. I just checked on the children."

He doffed his dressing gown, put it away in the wardrobe and made his way over to the bed, his eyes transfixed on his wife as she was now softly working some cream into the skin of her hands and arms. She was wearing a modest chemise, though he doubted she realised the fabric was perhaps a bit more transparent now with the soft glowing lights shining through and illuminating her… curves.

For him, a chapter had come to a close. His wife was back home, settling nicely in her new routines… the woman who'd crept into his heart and made it completely hers… up to the point he could barely function when she was not there. Once he would have sneered at the very idea, now he simply took it as fact. He now also knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. If he had to cut open his veins to keep her safe, he would. He'd been to hell and back, countless times, to prove it.

Today he'd given Rose the file. That was supposed to be the end of all of it, but the other version of him had been adamant.

He needed more proof than a file containing a selection of carefully constructed lies. The other Sherlock had been more colourful and descriptive in his phrasing though... For a brief moment Sherlock had contemplated to simply return and leave it to Rose to convince her husband of the truth… or not.

Until he recognised the look that the other Sherlock tried to keep hidden, but couldn't. After all, it was a look he'd seen in his very eyes – reflecting back at him in a mirror – more times than he cared to admit. The silent despair and the steely determination all broiled into one heated look that one might easily mistake for utter contempt. And he knew, there was nothing this Sherlock wouldn't do for his Rose either.

Of course, he hadn't quite taken into consideration just how angry Mycroft would get at him for bringing someone over from 'the other side'. It all worked out in the end though. Rose had the file and the other Sherlock had returned to his own reality knowing his wife wasn't going crazy and their secret was safe. Not bad for a day's work.

"How was your day?" he asked.

Kyrie rose to her feet and he could see the confusion on her face.

"Why?"

She approached the bed and Sherlock watched her as she climbed on. "I thought it a most appropriate question. Isn't that something husbands ask their wives at the end of the day?"

Kyrie settled herself against the pillows and turned on her side to watch him. Her hand slid over his chest and she tapped her index-finger against one of the buttons. He knew he could keep his arousal hidden from her for only so long. But, tonight he wanted a slow seduction and saviour every moment. He almost betrayed himself when she looked up at him, her eyes shining with the most lovely violet hue.

"Other husbands yes," she murmured. "But you don't. I'm usually the one to tell you about my day and ask about yours."

He let his hand travel over her arm, slowly moving upwards, just barely touching her skin, then back down where he let is thumb draw circles on the inside of her wrist.

A move of seduction and a way to discern the level of her arousal. He could feel her heart leap through the excited throb of her vein under his thumb. A positive sign. He was now waiting for a rush of blood into her lips to make them fuller and more inviting.

"I thought I'd switch things up. So… how was your day?"

He enjoyed the slow blush that spread on her cheeks as her gaze drifted to his thumb drawing circles on her wrist. When she licked her lips, he could feel a stab of desire and a part of him 'leapt up' at the prospect.

"I had a few surprises…" she said softly. She looked up at him again and sank deeper into the pillows. Excellent! He inched closer and leaned over her. He allowed his fingers to travel upwards again and he noticed the slight shiver that ran through her.

"Like?"

"Like finding that other Sherlock in the Bridge Room. He was very like you. More so than the other. It was… a bit disconcerting at first."

"I changed my mind," he suddenly said. Kyrie gave him such a look of utter confusion, he bit back a smile. He swiftly pulled his pyjama top over his head and discarded the bottoms along with his briefs.

"Remove that please," he then said, gesturing at her chemise. "I thought I wanted to take it slow but I'm too aroused now. We'll do slow another evening."

"But…"

He pulled her up and in one fluid move pulled her chemise over her head. "No buts, Kyrie. And you should consider leaving your knickers out of your night attire, my dear, they tend to land on the floor anyway."

She gasped again when he pulled at the hem of her knickers, shimmied them down and let them drop to the floor.

He was quite impatient when he moved on top of her, but then she stopped him by placing a hand against his chest.

"Sherlock," she whispered… so softly he could hardly hear her. Her eyes were brimming with so many emotions, he could see tears glistening. An overflowing heart she'd called it once. A heart could only contain so much and when it flowed over, the excess came pouring from the eyes. So, tears were good sometimes.

"I love you." Her voice trembled.

The softly spoken solemn statement, quite out of the blue, felt like a sucker punch to his gut and it left him breathless. Emotion was not supposed to dictate over logic, but, Sherlock was now convinced… Love was. The thought left him shaking and he briefly pressed his forehead against hers, not quite sure what to do or say next. Until he realised there really was nothing else to say. "I love you too," he whispered back.

The urgency left his body and he spent the next few hours showing her exactly just how much he meant those words.

It was a long time later when he rolled onto his back, panting heavily, gasping for breath, his body slick with sweat and his muscles shaking.

"What was she like?" Kyrie asked innocently as she scooted closer to him, shivering lightly. She gently pulled the sheet around her shoulders and snuggled into his side.

"Good God woman! Can you give me a moment?" he said, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, his brain benumbed, too astounded to mentally process what had just transpired and yet bewildered at the most mind-blowing orgasm he'd ever experienced.

She chuckled lightly, sounding way too damned pleased with herself. He'd really thought that after roughly five years of marriage… real marriage with kissing and emotions involved and all, he pretty much knew everything there was to know about the 'physical' aspect of that. Tonight his wife had, once again, proven him wrong.

As his laboured breaths started to even out, his eyes shrank back to their usual size and his mind rebooted… he blinked once, twice… "What?"

"Rose… What was she like?"

"Well…" he thought for a moment on how best to describe the woman who was in an intimate relationship with another version of himself. He doubted that Kyrie would appreciate the dry facts like 'Caucasian, five foot five inches, golden blond hair but dyed, natural hair colour somewhere in the range of mahogany to chestnut brown, non-smoker…' so, he tried to describe her in the nonsensical way that seemed to appeal women.

"She's attractive, I think…" Was she attractive? Sherlock compared the image in his mind of Rose to the images of attractive young females the average inferior male seemed to drool over. "Yes… very attractive. Petite… pretty golden hair, not as long as yours. The colour is not real though. She dyes her hair to keep up her fake identity. Soulful eyes. Full, rounded lips…" He stopped when he heard his wife laughing against his shoulder.

He tutted in disapproval at this display of disrespect for his keen observations. "What?"

"I didn't mean a physical description! What was she like! I'm curious about her. After all… she didn't need a fake marriage to catch your attention."

Aha!

"Our lives veered in different directions, Kyrie. I cannot say what drew him to her. Something physical at first, but that was the start only. To answer your question… She's kind. Warm. Intelligent. Not afraid to speak her mind. She's a wonderful mother. And, she… can temper the storm that at times rages within. Like you can."

"He'll need that."

"I know. It's why he chose her. Not many women have that quality. So far… I've only met the two. The taming of Sherlock Holmes…" he mused, "it takes a special kind of skill set."

He was now referring directly to the insecurity he knew his wife once used to feel. She smiled at him and he knew his remark hit home.

"I know," she said, with the self-assurance of a woman who knew how much she was loved.

The surge and swell of emotions reached a point where they became a bit uncomfortable. Sherlock tried to pry her mind off the matter. "You were talking about surprises. Plural. What else surprised you today?"

"The fact that Sherlock is as apt in making deductions as you are. And as clueless."

He furrowed his brow. "Why did that surprise you? No matter what choices we made that are… different… we are still of the same stock. Wait… clueless?" he raised himself on his elbow and narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean, clueless? I'm never clueless! Almost never..."

"He deduced something from my multiple pit stops, my eyes looking tired and… a small heartburn issue."

Fuck! That utter plonker! He briefly closed his eyes in dismay. "Sorry… I really intended for you to find out on your own this time."

She smiled up at him and pulled him closer so she could briefly plant a kiss against his lips.

"I know," she said, her eyes beaming, "and I love you for it!"

"Well," he allowed his voice to drop an entire octave, "Keep hope, there's always the next one. Why stop after three, after all?"

For the life of him, when she suddenly burst out laughing, he couldn't understand why...

* S *

This had better be good, Sherlock thought grimly to himself as he walked up to the small but cheerful looking house. There were no words to describe the agony he'd felt when watching all those possibilities merged in the form of one woman, walk away with another man. He had known from the start that nothing would, that nothing could happen between them. Yet, there had been this stubborn sliver of hope that his other self would never find a way into this universe. It would have left her stranded here with him, quite conveniently an actual version – though slightly different – of her beloved husband.

It was strange. At first it all had seemed such a ridiculous notion. Matter Bridges, alternate realities and timelines… Of course he had not believed one single word of, what he perceived at the time, to be a mentally unstable woman. Until her predictions of certain events started to transpire just so and her story, though implausible, no longer seemed impossible. And than that paternity test they'd done in secret. Well… that had blown the entire thing wide open! Forcing him to look at her differently. After all… he was suddenly, though not entirely or even exactly, a father.

Though he had not wanted to notice… he had anyway… the way her eyes softened when she spoke of him, brimming with love and other emotions. For the first time in his life he'd felt… envy, real envy. Then he started to think, imagine, what it would be like to be the person to inspire such feelings inside of her. Something he'd always sneered at and believed to be inferior to the cold, exact reasoning he was capable of himself. It had come as quite a shock to him to discover that even he had a deep hidden desire to belong after all. And not just to belong, but to belong to someone. To her. But that, that was impossible. If he'd been a smart man, really been a smart man, he'd have seized the opportunity and… and… Sherlock straightened his back and clasped his hands behind his back. He was Sherlock Holmes and he would never allow his heart to rule his head. It would always, always be the other way around!

When he heard the door creak open, Sherlock almost reluctantly turned around to face his new case. But he did and when he did, his lips formed a quiet 'oh' when he suddenly came face to face with the object of his recently discovered desires. She seemed just as surprised to find him on her doorstep and a lovely blush crept on her cheeks. Little fan crush perhaps? Oh, if only he could be so lucky!

It took him a moment before he realised he was staring at her, with her cautiously staring back at him. Okay, say something. Now! And so he said the first thing that came to mind...

"Hi, I'm Sherlock."