So, I've dragged myself away from the warm, sunny climes of Greece back to Bristol. This is the very last chapter of 'An eye for an eye', hopefully you've all enjoyed it :)

I wrote the last part of the epilogue whilst listening to 'In His Eyes' from the musical Jekyll and Hyde. I think the lyrics could relate very well to Sherlock and John, but that's by the by. Give it a listen, it's a pretty decent song nonetheless XD

...

Markin pissed most of the drink away on a graffiti covered wall. The sun was now just a sliver of orange on the city skyline. Terry Markin had just drowned what little self respect he had left in about seven pints of bitter. Why? Sherlock Fucking Holmes, that's why.

Markin found out the soldier hadn't died, shame. Now he'd have the whole fucking police squad on his head now. But it was worth it he guessed, maybe his son George would be acquitted.

Footsteps approached from behind him, Markin turned and started whn he saw who it was.

'What do you want?' he growled. The newcomer said nothing, just glared. Markin felt a little prickle of alarm, there was no reason for them to be here. He was of no use to them now, why didn't they leave him alone?

'Fuck off, I've done my part.' He said, raising his voice slightly and backing away. The newcomer advanced threateningly. Markin was truly panicky now, sensing he was now useless, expendable.

'What about George? What about my son?' He shouted, nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to back away. 'You said he'd be out of jail in a week! I did everything you asked!'

It had been a lie, everything they had said was a lie. Markin didn't have much time to contemplate this new development. Strong, calloused hands grasped his face. There was a deafening snap. Terry Markin crumpled, dead from a broken neck.

The newcomer scratched his chin idly, as though he'd done no more than scuffed his shoe on the concrete. New footsteps echoed dully in the small back alley. A hand rested on his shoulder with the clucking of a tongue.

'Tut tut Sebastian, what a mess you've made.'

...

Amber lamplight seeped through the faded curtain and faintly illuminated the bedroom where, resting on a chest of drawers, a tiny toy soldier stood watch.

John and Sherlock lay on the bed, Sherlock holding John to him like a teddy bear. They hadn't done anything following their 'understanding' on the couch. John wasn't ready, and Sherlock was fine with that, there'd be time for all that later.

John's eye patch lay discarded on the floor, Sherlock had been adamant that John didn't need to hide anything from him. Everything from the bullet scar to the missing eye was accepted. John felt happier than he'd done in a long time, and was content to lie there with Sherlock Holmes until Christmas. Although deep inside he still felt useless and ugly, the marks left by Sculptor would propbably never completely fade away. However, the feeling of Sherlock's skin against his and his breath behind his ear dulled all the pain.

Their hands were entwined, it was a challenge to distinguish their individual fingers. Sherlock had never felt so secure before, during all his crazy years he'd always felt somewhat lost. But now, holding John, he felt more at home than ever.

Outside, a mere few meters away, beyond the curtains, lay a dark world. Lit by the electric streetlamps was a world of Moriartys, Markins and Sculptors...

But for once, Sherlock wasn't thinking.

For once, John wasn't worrying.

And for once, it really didn't matter.

...

FIN.

* sigh of relief* Thank God I didn't completely destroy this. I wholeheartedly thank all of you who read this.

Keep an eye out for the sequel 'Make your move'. For all those who were looking for Sculptor, don't worry, he hasn't totally vanished from view. But you'll have to wait for that ;3 I'm such a tease.

Yours,

Blood Red Queen x