Decided to write that second part after all! This turned out quite a bit longer than I had intended with an appearance from someone I was not expecting to turn up at all. What can I say? I was in A Scandal in Belgravia mood! Enjoy! And I appreciate all the reviews I got for chapter 1!

Molly Hooper was glad to be home.

Not that the last year hadn't been…well, an adventure, but she had felt the tears well in her eyes as her plane had banked over London, the city lit up like it was welcoming her back.

She looked at the man across from her and saw that his gaze was focused out the window as well. His body completely still except for his restlessly tapping fingers and the stress in his eyes.

"Welcome home, Sherlock," she said softly.

He turned his head to meet her eyes and a small smile blossomed at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, Molly."

"Should be getting ready to land in a moment, you two. I'd buckle up. My pilot isn't known for his smooth landings."

A year ago that statement, so laden with sexual innuendo, would've had Molly blushing to the roots of her hair but she had become used to them. She looked up into the astonishingly lovely face of Irene Adler. The woman was leaning casually on Sherlock's seat, grace and power in her every curve.

"Thank you, Irene," came Sherlock's smooth response. Molly watched the pair look at one another, impossible to miss the electric charge of it (though with two such stunningly lovely people, it was hardly a surprise, and after all, Molly knew where Sherlock's heart lived) as Irene rested a hand on the man's shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

"Ready, handsome?"

Sherlock looked back out the window. The storm back in his eyes. "I certainly took long enough."

Molly leaned across the distance to take his hand and for a moment the three were linked. "You've barely slept in the last three years, Sherlock, doing everything you could to make sure it was safe for you to…come back. You've done it. Don't punish yourself."

Sherlock squeezed her hand. "I'm sure he'll want to do that himself."

"Well," chimed Irene, "if the good Doctor knocks you on your adorable rump, I'm more than willing to kiss it better."

Molly choked on a laugh and the women watched another smile bloom on Sherlock's face.

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Molly took a calming breath as she stood in the lab at St. Barts. It was good to be back at work she supposed. Though somehow, in the last year she had grown used to a more…active daily routine. Life with Sherlock and Irene had been anything but boring. And three years of collecting information, near misses with danger had been a kind of rebirth for the shy, sweet, dependable Molly Hooper.

The knock at the door made her go still, her mind rapidly rushing to determine the fastest alternate exit from the room before she remembered she didn't have to do that anymore. She glanced at the clock. Right on time. Must be a military thing.

Taking a break she opened the door, a smile already forming.

The man on the other side of the door looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened. "Molly?"

"John."

She held the door open for him and ushered him in. His cane making a rhythmic click on the floor as he made his way into the room. "Molly, I-I hope you don't take this offensively but I hardly recognize you!"

She laughed softly. "I know. And don't worry, I don't, I hardly recognize myself most days. It's amazing what a year out of the office and out from under the UV lights of the hospital can do."

"That's right. I-I'd heard you'd taken a leave of absence."

He shifted from foot to foot. That was out of character, she noted. John Watson had been nearly notorious for being disturbingly still. The soldier. Conserving energy for the first sign of action.

"Mmm. I did. Got some sun. Saw some of the mainland." She knew what he was seeing when he looked at her. A very different picture from what she'd presented when he'd first known her. Her hair was shorter and waved gently around her face which had, in fact, gotten some sun and was now more golden then it had been (she had spent her whole life in London, after all!). She'd lost a fair amount of weight that had only served to define her shape (those occasional near misses had required her to be fast on her feet) and her wardrobe had gone from matronly to something much more suitable to a young, single, attractive woman.

"I'm glad you got in touch with me when you got settled back in town, Molly. It really is good to see you."

She tuned back into the conversation, noticing that John had become even more restless, packing slightly and looking at corners of the room, walls, eyes shifting from object to object within an instant of looking at them. Time to cut to the chase.

"How have you been, John?"

"Me? Oh. I've been alright, I suppose. Good. Fine."

"Which is it?"

He stopped at the slight bite to her tone and looked at her oddly. This kitten has claws now Doctor Watson. It won't do for you to lie to me.

"I'm fine."

Fine. We'll play it that way if you want. "Would you mind walking a bit, I want to show you something, if it's not too much trouble for your leg."

He tapped his cane on the floor a few times and she heard him exhale. Possibly relieved that they might be leaving the hospital. "It'll hold up for a bit yet."

"Good. This way."

She led him out the door and down the hall. But instead of turning to go down the stairs, she turned to go up, following the sign labeled 'Roof Access'. Behind her, she heard his breath catch and heard his steps falter.

"John?" she said, feigning confusion.

"Um. I can't…really do stairs you see."

"Well, we both know that's not true because the elevators are down today and the lab is up on the third floor. Come along, John."

"Molly."

She turned and took his hand. "Please. Just trust me. You really need to do this."

His eyes, such kind eyes, were filled with panic. "I can't go up there, Molly. You know why."

"I do know why. I also know why you have to. And I think I could make you go up these stairs if I had to. I'd prefer not to do that."

He frowned at her. "You're different."

She smiled. "Thank you."

He continued to frown at her strangely. "I don't know if that was a compliment."

"Well I'm taking it as one. Come along." She took the first few steps up before turning to look at him. He stared at her for a moment before looking up at the door beyond. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before taking a first hesitating step up.

They continued up in silence and with each step she heard his breathing get more labored.

"Molly," came the gasp from behind her. "I don't think I can do this. Please. Let's go back."

Her hand closed over the doorknob as she turned to look at him. Sweat was blooming on his brow and he had gone about three shades paler then he'd been when they'd first started up the stairs. "Someone wants to talk to you, John." And she threw open the door.

The light blinded them both for a moment because it was an uncharacteristically bright day for near winter in London. She watched John blink against them rapidly, before taking a step out onto the roof, eyes focusing on the black-coated figure facing away from him. For a moment she saw his heart leap into his eyes before the figure turned and another shade of color dropped from his face.

"You! How-how!"

"Lovely to see you again, Doctor Watson," Irene said from across the roof. "Beautiful day for a picnic isn't it?"

The blanket spread at her feet had a basket nestled on it and a scattering of pillows around it. Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Irene was very dramatic.

"Take a seat, John," Molly murmured from behind him, watching the play of shock and…something she couldn't quite read on his face.

"Molly. She-do you know who this is?"

"Oh, yes," chimed Irene. "Molly and I are dear friends now. Though not as friendly as I'd like," she cooed.

"Enough, Irene," she said softly, reaching for John's arm. He turned to look at her, eyes wide in confusion. "We'll explain everything, John. Just sit."

She led him over to the blanket and helped him settle on a pillow as Irene poured them all a glass of wine. Irene smiled kindly at him now as she handed him a glass. "It really is lovely to see, Doctor Watson. I apologize for the theatrics."

"Mycroft told me you were dead. Killed by terrorists."

"I escaped, quite literally by inches."

"You escaped terrorists who planned to behead you by yourself?"

"I had help," she said simply.

The two women saw the anger, the frustration and the grief spill into his eyes. "Oh. Of course, you did." He took a big swallow of wine.

It wouldn't be good to let him get drunk, Molly thought. Time to move this along. "John, I need to ask you something."

"How do you two even know each other?" he asked, rather than address her question.

"That's not important, John. Please, just…look at this picture," she said as she pulled a folder from the basket and slid a photo out and into his hand. It was an arrest photo of a very unassuming man with a stoic expression on his face.

John looked for a moment. "Who is he?"

"You tell us. Does he look at all familiar? Think hard, John. Think back."

He gave her a frustrated look before looking back at the photo. "I guess, he looks a bit like a bloke who used to live across the hall from me when I…moved out of my last flat."

The two women looked at one another before Molly looked back at him. "That's because he is. What about this one?" Molly handed him another picture. This one of a many tattooed, well-muscled, bald man. Another arrest photo.

This time recognition came faster. "Mrs. Hudson had him as a tenant. I saw him from time to time when we would meet for lunch. He offered to drive her for groceries and to her sister's and things. I saw him myself for the first time a few days before…" he said, trailing off.

Molly nodded before pulling out a third photo. "This one I doubt you'll recognize. He transferred into Scotland Yard as a Detective shortly before. Under Lestrade's command." The man in that photo was a little younger, handsome, but as equally displeased as the other two men to be in the position of having an arrest photo taken.

"Why are you showing me these, Molly?"

"These three men, after nearly three years of digging and building cases against them, are all now in the custody of Interpol on dozens of counts of murder. They're three of the most well-known hitmen in all of Europe."

His eyes nearly bugged out. "You mean I was living across from a hitman! And Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade?"

"Yes. They were all charged with watching over the three of you."

"By who!"

"Jim Moriarty," Irene answered.

John's face went stiff as stone. "He's dead."

"He is, but his web was still very alive. And these three needed to be sure."

"Sure of what?"

"Sure that there wasn't going to be a need to fulfill their assignments."

"Which were?"

Irene glanced at Molly and Molly took a breath. "To kill you immediately if Sherlock Holmes didn't jump off the roof of St. Barts that day."

John recoiled as if they'd jointly slapped him and scrambled to his feet. Cane forgotten. "What are you saying?" he demanded.

"Moriarty and Sherlock met here that day, John. And Moriarty told him that if Sherlock didn't jump to his death that you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would all be killed on the spot. His only three friends in the world, Moriarty said."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I told her."

John tensed as though he'd been shot. Over the former soldier's shoulder, Molly and Irene could see the dark haired man with the billowing coat and blue scarf.

"John."

An incoherent sound escaped John Watson's throat as he turned and got his first look at the man he'd buried and grieved for for the last three years. "No. No. You died. You jumped. I WATCHED you JUMP off the roof. This roof! I saw you!" His voice was breaking, cracking on every other word and his body trembled.

"You needed to think I was dead, John. It was the only way."

Molly and Irene frowned at one another. Sherlock hadn't moved. Hadn't taken a single step towards the man he loved and had fought to come back to for the last three years. His voice was cool and he held himself rigidly.

"Oh, God, this isn't real," John cried, covering his face. "I'm dreaming again. I can't take this anymore. I can't."

Still Sherlock didn't move but Molly caught the tremble in his clenched fist. She got up and walked over to John, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, turning him from Sherlock and pulling his hands down from his face.

"John. This isn't a dream. It's real. Sherlock's alive. He's been alive. He didn't die that day like you thought. He knew what was coming. He knew Moriarty's plan. He had to prepare for it. I helped him."

John choked on a sob. "You-how?"

"When he jumped we had a truck parked, filled with something soft for him to land on. Don't you remember? The truck was between you when he hit the ground. When he hit the truck, myself and some of Sherlock's homeless network pushed the body I'd dressed to be his double onto the ground and then the truck drove off. That whole crowd was in on it, John. Part of the network."

"But I saw him! I saw his face, touched him!"

She brought a hand to his temple. "The bike. The bike that hit you and you hit your head. It was to disorient you. You saw what you expected to see. And then we got the body out as fast as we could, before you could get a good look."

"Why? Why?"

She turned angrily to Sherlock. She strode over to him and grabbed his arm, dragging him forward several steps closer to John. She had not fought for the last three years, the last year with her life, to let him get away with flubbing this up now. "Tell him, Sherlock. Tell him what it was for!"

Sherlock hesitated and for a moment Molly got a glimpse of the problem. Sherlock Holmes was terrified.

"Sherlock," she said softly. "Tell him."

"I…It…it was for…"

An instant later Sherlock's arm had been ripped from her grasp and John through himself at the younger man's midsection and the pair went down hard on the roof.

"Tell me why, you bastard! Tell me why I had to spend the last three yours alone! Grieving! Tell me!" Sherlock was flat on his back on the ground, John straddling his thin frame and holding onto Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and shaking him. Tears poured from his eyes despite the angry words.

Molly moved to separate them but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to look at Irene.

"I think the boys have it from here, dear. I don't think you want to be around for how this ends, unless you're suddenly now a voyeur."

"Tell me why!" they heard John demand. "John-" they heard Sherlock mumble.

Molly looked unsure. "Are you certain they'll be alright?"

"How could you do this to me! For three years, Sherlock! Three years! Do you have idea what it's been like!" John was crying.

"Oh, yes. Time to make ourselves scarce, darling."

And Molly let Irene pull her back towards to entrance to the roof and out of sight of the two men.

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"Tell me why!" John demanded again.

They were both panting heavily. "John-" Sherlock choked out.

"How could you do this to me? For three years, Sherlock! Three years! Do you have any idea what it's been like!"

John's tears were dripping off his cheeks onto Sherlock's own and he felt his own start to well.

"Tell m-mmph!"

But John's words were cut off as Sherlock's hand flew to the nape of the smaller man's neck and dragged his head down to crash their lips together. For an instant there was total surrender before John reared back. Sherlock still lay flat on the ground, staring up at John who stared back in shock. Sherlock struggled onto one elbow. "John-" he started again. But was cut off as John grabbed the sides of his face and brought them together again. They were wrapped around each other like snakes as three years of mutual loneliness and longing exploded between them.

It took Sherlock a moment to realize John was mumbling against his lips and that his lips were wet and salty. Tears. And the word he kept mumbling. Why. John needed to know. He pressed his hands to John's cheeks to separate them an inch or two and pressed his forehead to John's as they lay on the roof he'd jumped off of three years earlier.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. I had to. I had to keep you safe. You needed to believe I'd done it. He…Moran. He would've killed you the moment he thought I was still alive. I needed to get rid of him first."

"What d'you mean?"

"That's where I've been. Molly helped me get out of the country and I got in touch with Irene. She owed me a favor. We found as much evidence as we could linking all of the hitmen to their crimes then turned it over to Interpol. They got them all. They're going away for everything they've done. You're safe. You, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, you're all safe."

"Sherlock-"

"I know you must hate me but please, I'm so sorry. I needed to keep you safe." Then to their mutual astonishment, the great Sherlock Holmes clutched John hard and sobbed into his shoulder. "I didn't know if I'd ever get back to you. I just didn't know. I'm sorry it took so long. Forgive me. Please."

John's hand went to Sherlock's dark hair, stroking it gently while he made nonsensical shushing noises into the top of his head. He had his best friend in his arms. His best friend who was very uncharacteristically…emoting…all over him. His best friend…who not 5 minutes ago was kissing him as though his life depended on it.

"I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. You're back. That's all that matters. You're back and I'm here."

There was an endearing sniffle from the vicinity of his shoulder then their eyes met again. John ran his thumb across Sherlock's cheek, catching the tears. "I've missed you. So much."

Foreheads pressed together again, eyes drinking each other in. "John. I have to tell you. I have to tell you something important. I don't know how you'll feel about. Molly told me but it wasn't the same as hearing it from you so…if you don't I…it's alright, I'm just asking for a chance really and-" His face was so serious, his eyes so grave that John gave a nervous laugh.

"Is the famous Sherlock Holmes really rambling right now? Someone get me a camera!"

"I love you, John."

John felt the breath back up in his lungs. Sherlock Holmes loved him. He couldn't find words.

The longer John went without responding, a dumbstruck look on his face, the more worried Sherlock became. What if what had happened moments ago, the frantic embrace had just been…shock? Or adrenaline? What if Molly had been wrong? Oh, God, he'd prepared for John's fury, even his hatred, but not for the chance that his feelings weren't returned.

John saw Sherlock was getting more and more tense, fear pumping off him in waves. Why can't I say anything! Say it, you bloody idiot! On a gasp of breath he forced out one word.

"Yes!"

Sherlock let the breath he'd been holding go. "Yes?" he asked nervously.

John nodded frantically. "Yes! I love you!"

A noise escaped Sherlock, one of relief and joy as he wrapped his arms around John. "John, I need…I need…"

"What? What do you need?"

Sherlock's smile was the brightest John had ever seen. "You. Just you."

And then their lips were fused together once more and they were laughing against each other's mouths, tears still spilling onto cheeks though neither knew which belonged to whom. They clung to one another under a brilliant sun and sky, together once more, never to be parted again.

I'm considering a short little epilogue after this, showing John and Sherlock a few years down the line. Either way I hope you've enjoyed reading this! It's been great fun for me and a great way to deal with my endless misery over the end of Reichenbach and the neverending wait we're going to have for Series 3!