One month later, I sat in the living room at Baker Street and for once, it was quiet other than the crackling of the fireplace, the light tapping of my knitting needles, and the snores of Gladstone; the little bulldog laid on a carpet with his head resting on his front paws, wrapped up snugly in a blanket that Mary knit for those chilly nights just like this one. I had been keeping watchful eye on him while they were taking advantage of the opportunity to go on their anniversary trip to Brighton, as they had been doing for the past two years, but again, that name just brought forth another wave of painful memories, memories that I wish I could forget altogether, push them as far to the back of my mind as possible. The thing about grief that surprised me the most, was that just when I thought I were starting to feel better again, I would see something, hear something, or read something that reminded me of the person that I'd lost and it would all come flooding in again.

Will I ever be completely over this?

John said that it was normal to feel this way and that everyone was different when it came to dealing with things like this and he would know since he was a doctor and he had seen some traumatic things on the field of battle.

"We all recover at our own rate, and it's common to feel down sometimes," he said to me once when he'd stopped by for tea. Over the years, we had grown closer and closer and I was beginning to consider him like a wiser older brother. "Don't rush this, give it time."

I heeded his advice and allowed myself to cry every now and then, and once I did, I would feel just a little bit better.

Even if I tended to favour the silence over the noise, today was not one of those days, in fact, Mrs Hudson told me this morning, that it was almost too quiet in this house and she did not like it, especially since the doctor and his wife were now gone, too. She told me about some of the things that had happened, including a jungle in the room, or the time he nearly had the whole house down trying to find some way to suppress the sound of a gunshot.

"Honestly, it was as if you had walked into a zoo. It certainly smelled like one," she had said with a light laugh. "There was never a dull moment living here, but now, it feels completely empty."

Just then, there was a knock at the front door and immediately, Gladstone perked up, he rose to his feet and bounded out the door as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him, I didn't bother to tell him that Watson and Mary were not scheduled to return until tomorrow. I stood up, my back and legs were a little stiff from sitting for such a long time, and then went after him; when I opened the door, there was no one there, at least not that I could see, because it had become too foggy for me to see anything within ten feet in front of me and it was too cold to stand in the doorway for very long.

Maybe I just imagined it.

It wouldn't be the first time I've imagined hearing his voice or seeing him in the doorways.

But Gladstone heard it too and aren't dogs supposed to have better hearing than humans?

The cold air attacked my bare arms and bit through my warm, fuzzy slippers. I gave a shudder as I lingered by the door for a few seconds.

"I think it's time we shut the door," said Mrs Hudson as she made a mad dash to shut the door. "It's mighty cold out there, don't want you both to catch a cold."

I came out of my reverie long enough to see that she was now standing in front of me and she nodded. "That's better."

Gladstone also let out a disappointed huff and sat on the carpet by the door; I could tell that he was going through a tough time of his own, but I think he was also relieved to not have to be subjected to such crazy experiments anymore.

"Don't worry, boy, they'll be home soon," I heard the click as the door was locked it from the inside.

"What do you say we find you some supper?" His little ears perked up when I said that and I laughed, knowing that the second best way to cheer up a dog is with a tasty meal or treat. "Alright then, no more sour faces." I tried to make my voice sound cheerful and stepped into the kitchen with my companion trailing close behind me. Finding the dog food in the pantry, I scooped it into his shiny new bowl that I got for him for his birthday last Saturday and placed it in front of him.

While he ate contentedly, there was a loud thumping noise and I stood very still. My first impulse was to go upstairs and see what was the matter, but on second thought, it could have been a burglar, or worse, a murderer. Gladstone stopped eating as another crash was heard; he turned his snout up and sniffed the air, after that, he started barking again and spinning in a circle, knocking his food dish over, and before I could stop him, he bounded up the stairs and as I paused on the stairwell, I heard his nails scratching against the floor, like he was jumping up and down or spinning in circles.

I looked around the room to see what fell, but nothing seemed out of place, and the window was shut, so it couldn't have been a break-in. Hearing a little bark, I turned to see that Gladstone was sitting on the big red and gold chair, wagging his tail and looking rather proud of himself.

"Come on, old boy, you know the rules," I said sternly, but not without a little smile. "You're not allowed on the furniture." I pointed to the ground, but the dog was very persistent. Odd, he was usually so obedient and well-behaved, but maybe he was just acting out because he missed John and Mary.

"I know you miss them, but remember, we're going to Mycroft's for the holidays? You'll see them there." I smiled and he wagged his tail. I sat down near the window seat then faced the window, viewing the world through the paned glass. Even the weather seemed to be more dull than usual; it was almost Christmas, and it still hadn't snowed yet.

When I turned back around, Gladstone was still on John's chair, lying in someone's lap.

My breath caught in my throat and I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating again; more than once I had thought that I had seen him in the streets, or heard his voice outside my door; it was only an illusion; Sure enough, there sat the insufferable Sherlock Holmes, petting the top of Gladstone's head with tears in his eyes and a sweet crooked smile.

Impossible!

Surely this wasn't a trick, or a hallucination. There were a million things I wanted to say, but I couldn't find my voice, instead, I took a few deep breaths, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

"No hello for your long lost love, darling?" Holmes said, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"If…if this is some blockhead's idea of a joke, I can only say, it is in very poor taste!" That's when I lost it. I could have punched him right then and there. My hands trembled as I continued to stare at him.

Holmes was alive! He was alive this whole time. I thought back to the letter that arrived at Mary's baby shower and how John's face paled and he looked like he would collapse at any moment.

I leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling quite dizzy and Gladstone jumped down off the couch and stood up on two feet, pawing at my legs and whimpering.

"H-how is this even possible?" My voice was soft and barely a whisper, so I wasn't sure if he heard me or not.

For months I had forced himself to come to grips with his death, only to find that he was alive! I never knew I could feel so many emotions at once; overwhelming joy, blinding anger, crippling relief, and unmeasurable amounts of frustration and confusion. How could he have done this to me? To John? To the people who loved him? How could he have lead us to believe that he was dead, only to come to me now to tell him that he was in fact alive.

"No, you can't be here, you're dead," I hissed, wanting nothing more than to scream at the man sitting so calmly before him. "You're gone for two years. Two bloody years! You led us to believe you were dead, Sherlock! Dead! Do you have any, any idea how that felt to watch you practically jump off that balcony, well knowing there was no way you would survive the fall? Can you imagine what John went through?" I felt tears burn my eyes. "Tell me why!" I shouted.

"To protect you!" Holmes cried, his mask of calm indifference close to shattering as he stood up and came to stand in front of me. "To protect you, and John, and Mary, and Simza, and everyone I care about from that man! He killed Irene. He tried to kill John and Mary on the train, and I don't know what I would have done if he'd managed to kill you that night. I was tired of putting all of you in danger. That's why I could not come back until now, Charlotte! That is why I jumped!"

I realized my hands were trembling. It was all too much. The grief, the relief... I had cried when he ran to rail of the balcony, only to realize I was too late to help him. I shed many tears as John and I supervised the search party for our friend's body at the base of the waterfall, ensuring they scoured every last inch, only to come up empty handed, and now, the salty tears were running down my cheeks and a sob escaped me.

He crossed the room to stand before me, placing a hand on my shoulder, unsure of what else to really do.

It was only when his own lower lip began to tremble, that he wrapped his arms around my shaking shoulders in a tight embrace. After a moment, I hugged him back, clutching Holmes to me as though he was afraid that if I let go, the man before me would disappear.

"I thought I lost you forever." I said, my voice came out in a whisper. I sighed, inhaling the familiar scent of gunpowder, dirt, and a bit of pine mixed with peppermint that could only belong to Sherlock Holmes.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, love," Sherlock smirked, sniffing back his own tears of joy caused by the long overdue reunion. We held onto each other for a few moments more, before I opened my eyes a little, silently thanking God that he was safe. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, I wanted to laugh, to cry, so many emotions were bubbling up inside me. Then he led me over to the chair by the fire and pulled me down onto his lap. "It's alright, it was just a very bad dream," he whispered into my hair. I laid my head down on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat and breathing and tried to time mine to match. Gladstone was on the ground twirling like mad. "I missed you, too, old boy."

Mrs Hudson came up the stairs and nearly dropped the tea tray in shock. She kept her eyes settled on us as she slowly set it down on the table, along with the newspaper, which would have been for John, but I didn't see why I couldn't read it since he probably already received one. "Sherlock? Are my eyes deceiving me, or is it really you?"

"It's me, Nanny, I'm here." She took his face in her hands, and kissed both of his cheeks, then walked out of the room, unashamed that she was weeping, too. I could hear her hysterical, joyful laughter. Honestly, she reminded me of a mother who's son had just come home from war. If only reunions like that would happen more often.

"Does anyone else know you're alive?" I asked when it was just the two of us and Gladstone was jumping up and down like he was the happiest dog on the face of the Earth.

"Simza was the first to find out; she's the one who found me."

"You saw Simza? How is she?" I asked. Not once had I forgotten about my dearest friend. "Is she safe?"

"Oh, let me tell you, that woman hasn't changed a bit; still got that gypsy spirit. She nursed me back to health and then helped me send word to Watson and Mycroft."

That explains why he was acting so strangely at the end of the baby shower and why he seems so calm and at peace now.

"How is he?" He glanced at me with guilt still outlining his face.

"He's been feeling better," I said, trying to reassure him. "In fact, that letter you sent him seemed to put him in good spirits."

"That was addressed to both of you, by the way. I'm surprised Watson didn't tell you."

"Well, I'm actually sort of glad he didn't. I wouldn't have wanted to get my hopes up only to have them crushed again."

"I never meant to hurt you, or anyone else."

"You did what you had to do. I'm just so very glad you're with us. Now, we can't stay here long, we have a train to catch."

I was glad that I would get to see Simza again. It was Mycroft's idea to invite her. I just hoped that her trip from France would be a safe one this time. At least she wouldn't have to watch her back every five minutes, but we all knew that she was more than capable of defending herself.

The Watsons would be going straight from Brighton to Chichester, so we had the task of bringing Gladstone with us; dogs were not usually allowed on trains, but today would have to be an exception since John would never allow a stranger to look after him. Most of our luggage was already packed and all of the windows upstairs had been locked, just in case anyone got any ideas about breaking in whilst we were on our Christmas holidays; Mrs Hudson was also invited, not just because she was just as much part of the family as anyone else, but because neither of us felt it right to leave her behind; though undoubtedly, she was capable of handling herself.

Gladstone's leash was hanging on the hook above the shoe cupboard; I attached it to the little hook on his collar, making sure it was on securely. He dragged it along behind him as he walked over to the door and began pawing at it eagerly. I laughed. "Just a minute, sweetie, I just need to put on my coat first and I need to find you a warm blanket, I don't want your paws to freeze to the pavement."

I turned and saw Sherlock holding out the jacket, and I smiled. "Such a gentleman." I guided my arms through the sleeves. I blushed once more, thinking about how much of a workout my cheeks were getting from this surreal encounter.

Mrs Hudson was also bundled up and was carrying Gladstone's favourite blanket; as soon as she saw the two of us, a smile crossed her face. "Goodness! I have never seen a more perfect pair. Other than John and Mary, of course."

Pine cones, cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and crackling firewood; the scents mingled in the air, rising and swirling with wisps of chimney smoke and snow flurries, forming their own billowy puff of Christmas spirit; two feet of white snow was fresh on the ground and though it was a beautiful sight, most everyone was inside, avoiding the elements, everyone but us. Everything was blissfully quiet. It was more peaceful than anything else we had ever known. We talked in hushed voices, not because we didn't want anyone hearing what we were saying, but because we seemed to enjoy the snow softly crunching beneath our feet. People were putting up the displays in the shops and hanging wreaths on their doors.

The frozen River Thames danced with children skating in the distance; the shops blazed with gas as they did at night. Normally, I didn't care for the dreariness of London, and I could see why Irene much preferred to travel in the winter, as she mentioned on one occasion, but the fresh blanket of white powder made everything look more magical.

Getting into the hansom, I imagined Watson's reaction, how he would feel? Shocked no doubt, most likely a little bit angry as well, but that was a common response when you find out your best friend, who you thought was dead, came back to life and only sent you a letter as a heads up. Or maybe he would be overjoyed and they would both end up crying.

I also realized that Jane and the rest of my family didn't know what surprise lie in wait for them, and I thought to myself that it would be fun to keep it that way. At least until we arrived at the estate. Though they would be on the same train as us, so that would obviously be harder than I thought.

"Whatever are you thinking about, darling?" Sherlock asked, drawing my attention back to him. "Are you alright?"

Blinking a few times, I offered a reassuring smile. "I'm as right as rain, just thinking about you, and how it's going to be our first Christmas together, that's all."

"So it is," he nodded, kissing the top of my nose. "Watson and Mycroft will be thrilled that I am back to bring them Christmas joy," he said in a joking manner.

"And so will my family. Sure, I don't imagine that my mother and father are completely over the fact that Jane and I almost died in your company, but I'm sure they will welcome you with open arms. I'm positive Jane will as well."

"I don't think Jane should form such strong attachments to a man, especially when she's a married woman. By the way, does she still have those newspaper clippings underneath her bed?"

I shook my head. "No, she gave them to me shortly after she got engaged, seeing as how she had no further use for them."

"I just remembered that I've never met William before. He works for the government now, doesn't he? That should pay him well. You see the amount of money that my brother makes."

"I expect she'll be showered with gifts and lavish country houses." Sherlock was silent for just a moment and I frowned; normally, he was only quiet when he was thinking really deeply about something.

"Charlotte, do you think that you could..." He was struggling to get the words out, and it wasn't easy to speak when people were impatiently pushing past him in order to board; of course this is the holidays, I should have expected that it would be crowded, but I wasn't expecting it to be like an insane asylum. "Do you think that you could ever be -"

He was just about to finish when the whistle blew and the conductor came out, bellowing, "All aboard for Chichester!" at the top of his lungs. I wondered if his throat ached from all the yelling he had to do.

"What are you trying to tell me?" I asked him, searching and scanning for answers.

"It doesn't matter right now; We'll talk about it later." He took my hand and kissed the back of it, then we stepped onto the train, and sauntered down to the First Class compartment; looking out the window for any sign of the rest of my family, who would be arriving before too long. It was nearly a quarter past two, and the train wasn't supposed to leave the station until three o'clock, so we had plenty of time to settle in.

My first impulse was to glance around and see if there were any assassin conductors or soldiers, but all the gentlemen on the train seemed decent enough, one of them was aiding an elderly couple into another compartment. He lifted the lady's suitcase onto the shelf and I kept a close eye on him should he decide to steal something valuable. It sounded paranoid, but you could never be too careful.

A group of young men, possibly friends or colleagues, brushed passed us and I flinched reflexively.

"There's nothing to worry about, my dear," he said softly in my ear. "Besides, you have your trusty weapon in case things get out of hand, but I don't think it will."

Another gentleman looked at Gladstone and regarded him with concern, then turned to address Mrs Hudson. "Apologies, ma'am, but there are no dogs allowed on this train."

"We couldn't find anyone to look after him. His master is in Chichester with his wife and we promised to bring him to them." I used my best pleading eyes, though I knew it was pathetic.

"Very well, just this once since he seems well-trained." He smiled and opened the door to the compartment. Once we were inside, I took a deep breath and sat down, giving Gladstone a gentle scratch behind the ears while Mrs Hudson placed him down on the ground. Sherlock was chuckling beside me.

"Not my best attempt at persuasion, I know," I said, glancing over at the window. "I still have a lot to learn."

"That you do, but for now, let's just relax and hope that this ride doesn't end tragically."

"Oh, please don't say that," Mrs Hudson pleaded, shifting uncomfortably and seeing the error, he reached out and placed his hand on hers.

"Don't worry, Nanny, stick with me and you'll all be safe." He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me as close to him as possible.

We sat together in a second class compartment and Gladstone laid close to Mrs Hudson.

"The last time we were nearly blown to smithereens and that was partially due to that horrid disguise," I said.

Blushing a little, he glanced once at Mrs Hudson who had not heard the story.

"Well, I never thought in a thousand years that I would ever make you blush," I teased. "He makes an impressive woman, Mrs Hudson, and it's not just me who thinks so, John couldn't even wrap his head around it and Mary...well, you know how she reacted."

"Completely offended I would imagine," she stated.

As the tale was told, I yawned once, admittedly, I had not gotten much sleep, despite the medicine that Watson had prescribed to me, there was always this one nightmare that plagued my troubled mind, but now, it felt like just that, a nightmare.

"You should sleep now," he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"No, it's alright. My eyes are just a little heavy, that's all."

"That's what they all say. Your breathing is slower than it was a few moments ago, too and so is your heartrate."

"You just have all the answers, don't you?" I asked, jokingly, yawning again, and adjusting my position so that I was laying down. Then I closed my eyes, feeling the real word slip away, just as I heard him say, "I love you."

BAZINGA! You didn't think I was going to end the story on a sad note, did you?! Of course not, I'm not a monster! And those last few chapters made my heart ache and I could tell that it made you guys sad, too, so I thought it was time for some cute, happy stuff. Anyway, there is some Christmas-y fluff ahead, so stay tuned. :)