A/N: Hello! This is truly the end. It has been one hell of a ride. I started back in February and it is now nearly September. I learned a lot from writing this, mainly that Phryne Fisher is such a force of nature that she demands center stage. So if I do come back this universe, I'll keep the cast down to allow her more time in the spotlight. I've also learned mysteries aren't my forte and despite knowing this, I will keep trying to write a good one.

I hope everyone enjoys the slightly longer chapter (to make up for the shorter prologue and because I couldn't deny people a johnlock kiss and a mystrade kiss.)


Mycroft held a going-away party for Phryne and her friends. When the next boat left for Australia, they would all be on it. Phryne had even secured cargo space for her two-seater aeroplane. Mycroft had invited Mrs Hawkins and her son, Archie, as they had become friends with Dot. Mycroft had asked Greg along as well.

"To think," Phryne said, while they were discussing the case, "that if Mary had chosen David, they would still be doing ill in the world together, and probably worse."

"Ghastly business," Mycroft agreed.

Dot smiled at Sherlock and John, who were sitting very close together on the sofa. John caught her gaze and blushed.

"It's strange," she said. "In choosing Dr Watson over David Lancaster, their reign of terror came to an abrupt end."

"It is the one good thing she did," Sherlock replied, "recognizing that John is superior in every way."

John's blush deepened and whispered something in Sherlock's ear, that caused Sherlock to duck his head to hide the dusting of pink on his own cheeks.

John cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess now is as good a time as any to announce that Sherlock and I are moving to London at the end of the summer."

"Really?" Mac asked. "Where to?"

"221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson just inherited some prime real estate in central London and she's going to be needing some lodgers to help maintain the place while she's getting settled in. There's even a second flat that I plan on turning into a private practice for my medicine."

"Oh how wonderful!" Dot exclaimed. "And with your patients coming to you, you won't have to worry about tiring out your leg."

"That was my thought as well," Sherlock said proudly. "I will also be setting up shop. Consulting Detective, I'll consult with the police and private citizens on all sorts of matters."

Jack smirked, "Baker Street, eh? That is a fine address for a detective." He winked at Phryne and she grinned back in response.

"That is exciting," Phryne agreed.

"Well, they are finally sending me a constable or two," Greg said, "so I won't have to shoulder the whole workload by myself. It'll give me more time to do the things I want."

"They won't be as good as me, I reckon," Hugh said with a laugh.

"No, but maybe if I train them up a bit, they'll be at least half way decent," Greg replied.

Mycroft coughed discreetly, "I, too, have an announcement to make."

Everyone turned to him.

"I am giving up Undershaw to live in the cottage down the way," he said, once he had everyone's attention. "This house has too many bad memories now, and I find them too oppressive."

"You aren't going to be selling this lovely, old place, are you?" Jack asked.

"No, no," Mycroft assured everyone. "It will still be in the hands of the Holmes family. Just not me."

"Well, I'm not staying," Sherlock protested.

Mycroft smiled at his brother fondly. "Of course not. I wouldn't deprive you and Dr Watson the opportunities London affords. No, it will go to Sherrinford's widow and son."

Suddenly it was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop and the attention was most certainly not on Mycroft Holmes, but Janine and Archie.

"Well, I'll be damned," Phryne said, breaking the labored silence. "He is a Holmes after all."

"Yes," Mycroft agreed. "After you mentioned that Archie looked like Sherlock, I went looking for old photos of Sherlock at that age to show you, but what I found instead were old pictures of Sherrinford and Janine as well as their marriage license."

He turned to Janine, "Why didn't you say something, my dear?"

Janine raised her chin, "When my Ford died, your father was still alive and he disapproved of our relationship. And then you brought home a bride and I couldn't bear the thought of taking this place away from you, especially after you gave up so much to take care of Sherlock and your father."

"Mum?" Archie asked, his voice cracking with emotion. "You lied to me?"

"No, darling," Janine explained. "Everything I told you about your father was real. Ford Hawkins was the name he used during the war to avoid getting promoted just because he was a Holmes. I understand members of the royal family do something similar."

Mycroft nodded. "Perhaps in light of what happened with Anthea, it's best that this come out now instead of sooner."

Grim silence fell as they all realized the implication. Had Anthea known about a son of Sherrinford, there was a distinct possibility that she might have gone after Archie as well.

"So I'm going to be rich?" Archie asked.

And suddenly everyone was laughing.


Phryne sat in her parlor on Baker Street in Melbourne, having her morning tea when Mr Butler brought in the early post.

"Thank you, Mr B," she said, taking the letters off the tray. "Three letters from England! How delightful!"

But before she could open them, she heard someone thunder down the stairs. Both she and Mr Butler turned to the sound to see Jack Robinson dressed in a suit and grabbing his hat and coat.

"Where are you off to?" Phryne asked, getting to her feet. "I thought you had the day off," she added petulantly.

Jack came up to her and gave her a long kiss on the lips. "There's been another murder on the docks. That's the third this month."

"And duty calls?" she asked ruefully.

"I'm afraid so," Jack said, reaching out to grab her waist. "I'll make it up to you."

"Just give me the address, and we'll call it even."

He looked at her warily and then rolled his eyes, "Fine. Though it is positively indecent that you rank murder up there alongside a day with me."

"And you like it," she replied, gently tapping his nose with her finger.

"God help me, but I do," he agreed and kissed her more soundly. "I'll have Mr Butler give you the address. Don't keep me waiting too long."

"Never," she said with a smirk.


When she got home that night, she saw that Mr Butler had left three letters on her nightstand.

She looked closer at the names; one from John, Mycroft, and Janine. As curious as she was about why the newly minted Mrs Holmes would be writing her, she was more interested in news from Sherlock and John, so she opened that letter first.

...

"Dear Phryne,

I thought marrying Mary was the only way to secure a living in my continuing illness, but it appears that I have deeply underestimated the sheer force of will Sherlock has in keeping me by his side. By the time that we had moved in, 221C had been completely transformed into my private practice.

I sit at a desk that would cost me at least two months' wages with a flourishing practice. It is everything I could have hoped for..."

John set the pen down and looked at his office. His own office. He had a waiting room, an office, and a room to see his patients. He had twice the space he had in Musgrove and he knew whom to thank. The man who was currently watching him from the doorway, arms crossed and a smile on his face.

"I thought you were done for the night," Sherlock said as he came into the room, closing the door behind him.

John chuckled. "I didn't realize it was that late," he admitted. "I was writing to Phryne about our new lives." He stood up and came around the desk. He took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed the detective soundly. "I still can't believe I get to do that."

"Well, technically, you can't," Sherlock said with a chuckle. "But there is no one here and no windows for anyone to peer in."

John kissed Sherlock again passionately, "Still incredible."

"Very much so."

"Come sit on my lap while I finish my letter," John suggested.

"Sounds wonderful," Sherlock agreed. He locked the door, then followed John around the desk to sit snugly on John's lap.

"...We are being careful, of course. Neither of us want to go to prison. So I have a "room" upstairs. People think Sherlock is an eccentric who doesn't like people in general. Except me, naturally. And I am a grieving widower who is escaping the isolation of the countryside. We are merely two bachelors with no intent in the future to change that status.

Sherlock sends his love and has expressed interest in coming to see Australia. It won't be any time soon, not until I get my practice a little firmer on the ground so that it could take my being gone for so long. But still, keep the kettle on for us.

I have sent you pictures of both 221B and 221C, I think you'll like them.

Sincerely,

John H Watson

and

Sherlock Holmes"

Phryne pulled out the pictures and completely agreed with John's assessment. They were a lovely mix of modern and antique with a flare that was all Sherlock, if the skull on the mantel was any indication. It was almost enough to make her jealous of their Baker Street lodgings.

Almost.

She put away their photos and opened Mycroft's letter next.

Dearest Phryne,

The resulting media explosion in the wake of the inquest into Mary Morstan's murder and Sherlock's attempted murder has finally died down. I have never been a nine days wonder before, and I can say with absolute certainty that the War was kinder than that pack of hyenas calling themselves journalists...

Mycroft looked out the window of his bedroom to the resulting peace that moving from Undershaw to the Diogenes cottage had brought to his frayed nerves. It was dark now, not yet dawn. He need only convince his mind that the peace was real. But out there were rose gardens and ivy-covered trellises, a bit wild and ready to be tamed. Gone were the overly manicured lawns and hedges. He truly loved it here.

He looked from the window to the bed. His side of the bed was rumpled with his tossing and turning, but on the other side was a sleeping Gregory Lestrade.

Now that he had time to himself, the Detective Inspector spent a lot of it with Mycroft. He had yet to formally move in, but most people had come to accept their odd friendship and Greg's concern for Mycroft after the trials. It was a given that any day now Greg would make the move permanent and give up his lodgings in town.

Mycroft awaited that day with giddy anticipation.

Greg's alarm sounded and after he turned it off, he looked at the empty side of the bed before twisting to see Mycroft watching him. A warm, sleepy smile came over Greg's face. He stood up and walked to Mycroft at the desk.

"Another nightmare, love?" Greg asked, kissing his lover good morning.

"Mhmm..." Mycroft sighed, leaning into Greg's solid frame. "I'm writing Phryne."

"Send her and that copper of hers my love," Greg said, caressing Mycroft's back. "Then come down and join me for breakfast."

"Sounds wonderful," Mycroft agreed. He watched Greg pull on his bathrobe and wander out into the hallway. He sighed happily and turned reluctantly back to his letter.

"...Some days I feel badly about leaving Janine and Archie at Undershaw, but she has more than proved herself capable. She has even managed to rally a good portion of the upper crust to her side. Of course there will always be those who hate her because she dared to love my brother.

Gregory sends his love to you and yours. I occasionally miss the loudness of the group we had assembled leading up to the tragic events, but I believe I will get used to serenity.

Having him by my side makes everything worthwhile. So in some ways, I should be grateful to Miss Morstan for putting Gregory into my path.

I can honestly say that I love him. I used to think that I loved Anthea, but what I felt for her pales in comparison to what I feel for Gregory. I don't know what I felt for her, but it wasn't love. I believe I sought in her the ease of marrying a woman. But now I know what true contentment is.

Love,

Mycroft Holmes

PS This is Greg, and yes, Miss Fisher, I love him too."

Phryne set down this letter and she could say that this made her happier than the news about Sherlock and John. She knew of their feelings for each other before leaving England, but this was a revelation and an unexpected one. She was glad that Mycroft found love after everything that had happened to the poor fellow.

She picked up the last letter and sated her curiosity at last.

"Dear Miss Fisher,

You'll pardon my intrusion but I don't know who else to turn to. Mycroft has informed me that you have a ward around Archie's age and I was hoping for some recommendations for schools or tutors for him. I understand that needs of girls and boys must be inherently different but I hope you can provide me with some leads at the very least.

I have pulled Archie from the local school until we can find a better place for him. He was a quiet child to begin with, but now he has become withdrawn. Those he thought were his friends turned on him and those that despised him are now suddenly friendly. I would like have him tutored for at least a year so that the story of our sudden elevation has time to die down.

Some instruction for myself wouldn't go amiss with the way one is supposed to eat or sleep or breathe like one of them. I understand that you went through a similar rise in station, (though at a much younger age) and if you could give me some tips in that regard, I would greatly appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Janine Holmes

Phryne read the letter several times and wanted to beat Mycroft over the head. He believed Janine to be doing fine, but this was a woman who desperately needed help. And by God, Phryne was going to make sure Janine had all the help she could require.

She would ring Mr Butler up in the morning and get lists going. She stopped and gasped. "Oh that's brilliant!"

Deciding that this idea couldn't wait for morning, Phryne called out, "Mr Butler!"

And he came running, gun in hand.

"No murderers today," she explained with an indication of her chin to his gun, "but I have a friend in England who desperately needs our help, and the first thing I would like to do is send a little emissary in the form of our Jane. She's already set to land in England for a day or so. We can telegram everything she'll need and get it there before her boat does."

Mr Butler smiled. This was what he loved most of all about his mistress, her great big heart.

"I'll get on it right away, Miss," he replied.

"It's going to be a long night," she warned him.

"We've had plenty of those, and I'm sure this won't be the last."

She grinned and followed him down the stairs, giddy as a schoolgirl.