It took three days for Sherlock to reappear from wherever he'd been hiding. Faye had felt awful about leaving Bella with John for so long and had called him up to see if he wanted her to send someone to fetch her daughter. John had been torn, wanting time with his girlfriend but not wanting to seem like he wasn't happy to look after Bella. He'd thanked her for the offer when she'd heard Mary protesting loudly in the background. Apparently Mary overheard him trying to politely decline and was having no one take her new best friend away from her. Also, apparently, Mary thought of a six month old as her best friend. So Bella stayed with Uncle John and Faye stayed with Uncle Mycroft.

As far as places to relax go, Mycroft's house rated highly. She spent her days in his library, or walking around the carefully manicured garden. He'd had a small, secluded area installed for her when he'd first moved in. A small opening surrounded by trees with a bench inside it, she spent most of her time in their, reading or listening to music and singing to herself. She really enjoyed being away from the real world, forgetting about being a mother and being kidnapped for a while, living alone in her not-so-secret garden.

Of course, it didn't last very long. She woke up in the middle of her enormous bed, her cover chucked off her sometime during the night, to see Sherlock sat watching her, wearing a dark green shirt and his fingers steepled in thought. She stared at him for a moment before sitting up, running her hand through her hair.

"I can't deal with you, yet." She declared before yawning, "You weren't supposed to come until lunch."

"It is lunch." He retorted, "It's 11.43." She picked up her phone to see it turn to 11.44.

"Okay, I'll give you that." She muttered, "But still, I can't deal with you until I have eaten something." He sighed in annoyance and stood up.

"Very well." And then he was gone, slipping out the door with a flourish. If he had been wearing his coat, it would have blown up around him like a cape. She rolled her eyes at him, always the bloody show-off. She paused with her legs over the edge of the bed. That was the first time that she'd casually thought about him as if he wasn't dead in longer than she could remember. She had refused to allow herself to think about him since he'd turned up alive and well, having been so angry that she'd fallen straight back into life with him dead rather than having to face up with him being alive.

She bit back a sob, because he was alive. He was back, he was here and she could talk to him, and shout at him, and hug him and he'd come back to her. Sherlock was alive.

She pulled her lounge pants on, slipped her slippers onto her feet and glanced at her reflection in the window before heading out. Her cheek was still bruised from her run-in with Moran, and if she had been more awake she'd have made a better effort to hide it. However, she wasn't, and so she shuffled to the dining room, hoping that it wasn't too late for bacon and eggs.

~0~0~0~

Sherlock waited patiently with her as she made her was through what he considered a gigantic plate of pork and egg. She barely looked at him, and didn't say a word as she scoffed down the food in front of her. He shifted slightly, this was wasting time. Time they could spend together, because when he'd first entered her room that morning he'd forgotten she only slept in a shirt. His mind had flown back to his bedroom, where he recalled in vivid detail some of their more... adult exploits. The quicker she started shouting at him, the quicker it would be for them to fall into bed together and he could finally enjoy being with the woman he loved.

"I've still not forgiven you." She stated suddenly, fork just by her lips and he shrugged.

"Naturally." He drawled, because this was inevitable but he also knew it wouldn't last very long. She would forgive him, because she was deeply and irreversibly in love with him too.

She shot him a slightly bewildered look, because she had been expecting more of a protest to that statement, before munching on the last of her bacon.

"And we're not having sex." She continued and he let out a snort of derision, shaking his head.

"If you say so." He retorted and her eyes narrowed as she placed her fork down.

"You think we will?" She challenged and he nodded.

"You can't resist me any more than I can resist the way you lick your lips when you're abut to rant at me for doing something stupid." She paused, her tip of her tongue poised on her bottom lip. She hadn't even realised she did that. He smirked, leaning forward, across the table, "Or the way that your spine curves when you stretch, or the way your eyes burn into mine as you pant my name..."

"Stop it." She snapped, pushing her chair back with a scrape and standing up, "You can't expect me to just fall back into bed with you, Sherlock. You lied to me, you made me grieve over you. We're not having sex. I have not forgiven you." He rolled his eyes.

"Then why am I here?" He challenged.

"Because it was for nothing." She snapped, "People still believe that you're actually alive. If you're serious about staying 'dead', you need to fix it. So when you go off..." She waved her hands, "gallivanting around Europe, you're going to have to be more careful."

"I didn't know you cared." He replied mockingly, realising his mistake as she shot up out of her seat, slamming her hands on the table. She leant over, eyes burning with fury and he was actually slightly startled.

"I'm not burying you again." She hissed venomously, "Do you understand that? I cannot do that again, Sherlock."

"Once is quite enough, isn't it?" He retorted and she jabbed him in the chest painfully.

"I didn't know, Sherlock. That's the difference." She snapped, "You will not die on me again. No again, do you hear me?" He was alarmed to see the angry tears glistening in her eyes as she refused outright to start crying. He sat up straighter, this wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't suppose to be crying again. He didn't know what to do with a crying woman. In the past, before he'd jumped, he used to comfort her by taking her to bed and helping her forget by lavishing attention on her. Even he knew that at the moment that was off the table, so he quickly flashed through his mind, looking for anything and everything that had made her happy.

He stood up, walked around the table and gently, but firmly, took her hands off the table. She fought against him, yanking her wrists out of his grasp but he responded by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.

"Let me go..." She cried. He ignored her, dipping his head so his lips were by her ear. One of his first memories of Faye had immediately sprung to mind, back when he hadn't even thought she might be Mary. He'd followed her to work, and she'd never seemed so happy, so comfortable with herself.

"Your lipstick stains," He muttered quietly, "on the front lobe of my left side brains. I knew I wouldn't forget you. And so I went and let you blow my mind." Faye stilled in his arms, listening to him half-sing the lyrics to one of her favourite songs. A song she didn't even know he knew existed, he'd never been one for popular music.

"How do you even know that?" She whispered.

"It was the first song I heard you sing at work." He explained, "It's your favourite. You work it into every set you possibly can. You used to hum it while making me cups of tea you knew I'd never drink. I gather you have been singing to our daughter, and I would bet that is the song you sing above all else."

"Every night." She breathed out with a hitch. His fingers traced up her side, feather-light touches as they moved to her arm, over her shoulder and up her neck. His finger tucked under her chin and he tilted her face up so he could stare into her beautiful, brown eyes.

"I love you." He stated so sincerely that it happened. Her lips twitched and the first sign of that smile, that special smile just for him was coming back. It wasn't there yet, but he saw it breaking through.

"Oh, Sherlock..." She whispered, and before she could start crying, he bent his head down and placed his lips against hers.