Mycroft was concerned, which didn't happen very often but when it did it took over his entire day. He'd gone to see Faye, when Dr Watson wasn't there so she could talk about Sherlock without having to reveal the fact he was alive to her friend. However, she had just smiled warmly like she always did, except this time with a baby in her arms. She hadn't ranted or raved about Sherlock's deceit, or his own for that matter. She hadn't even seemed angry. It was very troubling because she was very emotional most of the time and to see her flat out ignoring something was not a good sign. He had casually asked John about her behaviour when he'd met the man on the way out of Baker Street, but John had just shrugged. She hadn't been angry, or acting out. She had suddenly taken the role of mother to her daughter very seriously, but as he couldn't remember what she had been like when he'd gotten home that night, he wasn't sure why. All he knew was when he had woken up, the cot had been moved back down into her bedroom and she had just gotten on with it. Not that he was complaining, but he had no explanation.

Truth was, John was more concerned than he'd let on. The sudden u-turn in her behaviour was deeply troubling, as was the memory of her crying that night. Then he'd tripped over her bag of rubbish on the way out that morning, and after having a natural nosy had found all her 'Sherlock' stuff. All the pieces of newspaper which she had claimed had Sherlock written all over them. He'd picked her notepad out, flipping through it and finding himself choking up at the sight of Sherlock's handwriting in the front documenting the ways he wanted to try and make Faye happy. The only thing missing was the coat replica. He took the bag to the wheelie bin, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to chuck it away. He'd placed it back into the hallway, then had gone on with his business. After talking to Mycroft he'd taken it upstairs, determined to confront her about it. She was stood at the window, Bella tucked in her arms.

"And tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated?" She sang gently to her daughter, "Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?" She glanced behind her and smiled softly at John, "She's just drifted off now." He smiled back and she turned to her daughter, "She's just so precious, isn't she?" She whispered, just staring for a moment before taking her to their bedroom, lying her down and making sure that the monitor was switched on. She was only in the next room, but she liked to make doubly sure she wasn't missing anything.

"It's nice to see you two bonding." He told her honestly, "She really seems to like you singing." Faye smiled, sitting down in Sherlock's old chair, another mood that worried him. She only sat there when she was deeply upset, but the smile on her face contradicted that.

"Apparently babies like to hear their mother's voices because they're eyesight isn't fully developed. I'm surprised that she even knows who I am." John sighed, sitting in front of her in his own chair, bag in hand.

"So I found this outside the door." He lifted the bag by the handles, "It seems to be all your Sherlock stuff." She shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable at being caught out.

"Don't need it anymore." She offered as an explanation. John stared at her expectantly, but when no further comments came he sighed.

"Why not?" He asked pointedly and she shrugged again.

"I just realised that maybe I didn't fail him as much as I think I did." She replied, staring just to the side of John, not being able to meet his eye because she refused to tell him the truth, but hated lying to him, "I... Maybe he didn't jump because of me, maybe he did it out of his own choice. And so I don't need to find him for my daughter, because she's better off without that in her life. She's too good for it." John continued to frown as she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Did you find something?" He asked, "Like, a suicide note?" She shook her head.

"No, nothing like that." She promised, "I realised that the only way I could move forward was to choose between Sherlock and Bella. And I chose Bella. I can't do both, and that's just it, really." She nodded at the bag, "That isn't healthy, Sherlock isn't healthy. So I'm keeping a few things of his for Bella, so she has something from her father, and I'm getting rid of the rest. It's time we all started to move on." He looked down at the carrier bag, it seeming very final all of a sudden. If Faye was really moving on, maybe he should too. He'd woken up feeling terribly guilty for enjoying himself, and not just because of the faint hangover he had received from all the alcohol he'd drank compared to the last couple of months or so. He'd felt guilty because he'd gone out and had a good time, while Sherlock would never go out again. He'd felt guilty about leaving Faye on her own with Bella, even though she was her own daughter, because he'd promised Sherlock he would look after them when he couldn't and he felt like he'd failed that as well. But Faye didn't see it like that, in fact leaving her on her own had seemed to bring on some sort of epiphany maybe the two of them needed.

"I have a date." He declared and Faye grinned a cheeky smile.

"Oh, that was actually true, was it?" She teased and he narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

"Yes, it was true." He retorted.

"Is her name still Mary?" She continued to tease, "And is she still prettier than me?" He shook his head.

"No, nothing like that." He quickly protested, "But yeah, she's still Mary, and she is very, very good looking."

"With or without the beer goggles Lestrade put on you?" She asked, "You'll have to bring her over, see if I approve. After all, I am the Queen of Marys." He rolled his eyes, standing up.

"Oh, piss off." He snapped and she giggled, watching him head into the kitchen.

"You shouldn't be swearing at royalty." She pointed out, "You should be trying to curry favour with me by fetching my generous servings of PG Tips with cakes of all kinds on the side." He sighed, but switched the kettle on all the same.

"Anything else, Your Majesty?" He retorted sarcastically.

"Yeah, lend me your laptop." She replied, "I want to look up your Mary friend on the internet." She didn't wait, instead headed to the desk and scooped it up, taking it back to Sherlock's old chair and settling down in it, "What's her last name?"

"I'm not telling you." He called over, "I'm not having you spy on her."

"Do you not know it?" Faye replied, "Going out with a girl and you don't even know her full name? You're a regular tart, John Watson."

"Morstan. Mary Morstan, you happy?" She grinned to herself, opening the lid to the computer.

"Muchly."

~0~0~0~

Sherlock looked down at his phone again, seemingly abandoned at his side on the bed. He was sat in a dingy hotel room, still in Minsk because his plans had taken longer than expected to complete. The local police had decided to stick their nose into his business, pushing everything back by roughly a week. He was getting the 11.24am plane back home, under a fake name and with fake ID, obviously, but that wasn't even crossing his mind at that particular moment. There was no missed calls off Mycroft, or any off Mary. It had been a week more than he'd anticipated, she should have called him by now. He was actually starting to worry she wouldn't forgive him.

That thought caused his chest to ache, the idea of her not welcoming him back had never occurred to him. He had thought that once he'd explained his reasons, she'd instantly forgive him. After all, his actions were logical. Maybe he should have told her about the snipers at each of their heads. He hadn't because it really bothered him in a way he didn't quite know what to do with. He understood it when there had actually been the threat of her being shot. Worry over another human being, specifically Mary, was not foreign to him. True, it never ruled his head as much as it seemed to with her, but he did care for a select few and so it wasn't an issue. However, just more than a year after the threat had gone, it still bothered him deeply. He'd dream about finding her dead, in the recent months she was joined with their daughter, the child being either dead or alive, it could go either way.

He picked it up, ready to dial her number, before chucking it on the bed again with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He had to wait for her to make the first move, otherwise he'd just prologue this agony more and more.

And, when she'd said she still loved him, she'd smiled. That special smile, that one just for him. He'd longed for it, and seeing it again after so long, even if it was under such heartbreaking circumstances, had reaffirmed his belief that she would take him back.