Chapter 23: Father Christmas' Ashes~

John carried Sherlock out into the sun.

There stood the police, in a silent vigil, around a body bag. So, Chaya would make it out of her prison too, then? John burst into tears, why he didn't know. Perhaps it was the stress of these last, how many ever days? He had lost count of them...

Later ,he would be suprised to learn that it had only been almost 3. That today was Christmas Eve. And that his family was going to get the very greatest gift for this Christmas, the inital gift OF Christmas, and that was grace itself.

For in that moment John saw his wife wrapped in her father's arms,and they were both shaking with sobs ,at the sight of her mother at last being delivered up from the House of Damnation.

Mycroft was kneeling on the ground, face buried in his hand, crying shamelessly, not with sorrow, but with joy, that Chaya could at last be put to rest,and that Sherlock, as far as he knew, had survived un-hurt.

Mrs. Hudson gave a cry, being the very first one to notice John standing there, and she came running.

And just then, there, at the sight where he had lost his first love, Nigel Holmes looked up, and saw the old woman running, saw her catch Sherlock as John let him slide off his shoulders, saw her covering his face in motherly little kisses.

"Dear God, young man! Always getting into SUCH trouble!"she laughed, throwing her arms about his neck. He suffered her, breaking, not into tears, but the most lovely smile John had ever seen on his face, which made him smile in turn.

Here, Nigel realized, if anyone could be a mother to his children, and a companion in the twilight years of his life...it would be this kind lady, that had ushered him into her flat, and held his hand ,all through the uttermost terrifying night of his life. Yes, Nigel Holmes, hard, old, master assasin-who had lost all hope ,and his soul, in this one place-found love again from the ashes of his first bride, and the almost-ashes of his younger son. Not that Chaya could ever be forgotten, or that Sherlock would ever be reversed to the care-free ,dreaming child he remembered BEFORE the horrible fire...But this last grace, this adoptive mother and Latter Bride. This his family, biological,and annexed... his eyes found John Watson, and remembered the day he pulled him out of enemy fire, and bandaged his wounds, and gave him a chance to LIVE to see this day!...And here most families gathered about Father Christmas' fire for this soon-coming evening, to make their celebrations,and sing their songs... But his family's greatest celebration that ever was,and that ever would be ,was to be gathered around their Great Fires' Ashes,and shed their tears!

He stumbled forward, and his breath caught in his throat. As Violet stepped back,and the young man in her arms stood up to his full height, on shaking legs...

What was he supposed to do, or feel, or think? It hurt in his bones for his heart to beat...Because all he could remember was the day that he had found this child, in this place...

But a child no more. A man. A man that reminded him of himself, but was also wrapped in his mother's shadow by the raven curls, that were plastered to his head with some sort of poison the devil had anointed him with. A man that had clearly lived his own dark story, and survived. Silver and green eyes haunted by shadows and flames. He swallowed, straightened himself, and said quietly aside to the dear lady-to Violet-(Nigel would not be able to forget this name)

"This is the client that showed up at our flat last night, the one that gave John the information to get here?"Sherlock asked.

"Client?! Oh, Sherlock!" Violet laughed, and took one of his hands, beckoning him forward. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist ,to keep him from falling over,and Nigel wanted to move, wanted to run to them, but was turned to stone in the place where he stood. John looked up to meet Mary's eyes. She was smiling, and he knew what she was saying, in her head.

We won.

Nigel felt like his knees would buckle. Sherlock clearly didn't recognize him, and how could he have expected him to?26 years, and a million horrors since he'd last laid eyes on him?

"Yes...The client..the one that I saw go into our flat last night...Not a love interest of yours, or not yet...but judging by the way you are twisting your finger in your sweater,.oh, never mind...Not important."Sherlock cleared his throat, and no one tried to shut him up, because no one could speak.

"Ehem, yes, it is terribly inconvenient you had to meet me here...and I would have had Mrs. Hudson tell you to come calling again, but I have been TERRIBLY inconvenienced by and old...college..." he glanced over Nigel's shoulder,at where Moriarty howled from the back of a police car, "-This evening, and seeing as he will no longer make himself a nuisance to me, I am available to take your case...Name's Sherlock Holmes, if that isn't obvious already..."

He extended a hand, and John let out a hiss. Until now he didn't realize that the super-heat in those chambers had caused the cuffs to grotesquely blister his wrists, one of the reasons for all the screaming. Made a note to bandage them in a little while...

"He's not a client,dear!He's-"Mrs. Hudson began.

"My name is Nigel Holmes." the man answered for himself.

Sherlock drew back his hand. He looked like he had been electricuted,and then his brows curled like he were deeply puzzled.

"Dad?!"

"Yes, Sherlock! Your dad!" John laughed, as the older man threw his arms around him.

John laughed,and cried,and rolled his eyes, and went to Mary muttering something that sounded like,"Ok,darling?" before taking her in his arms, and just standing there, rocking her back and forth.

Mary peered over her shoulder,at where Sherlock peered ,in blinking confusion, over their father's shoulder,and with a muffled giggle,she winked at him.

He smiled , tiredly, glad it was over, and that he didn't have to die for it .Not this time...