Chapter 46: Mending.

"From the moment I fell down that rabbit hole, I've been told where I must go and who I must be. I've been shrunk, stretched, scratched, and stuffed into a teapot. I've been accused of being Alice and not being Alice, but this is my dream. I'll decide where it goes from here."

-Linda Woolverton, Alice in Wonderland (2010 movie)

John made his way up the familiar stairs of 221B Baker street, skipping easily over the squeaky step. He pulled the key from his jean pocket, and stepped inside a second later. Sherlock was waiting for him in his usual spot, idly plucking the strings of his violin.

"Hello, John," he said. "Come and sit, please."

"Thanks," John returned, and came over to his old chair, which was where it had always been. An extra chair had been added for Jim, but it stayed empty now. There was a cup of tea waiting for him on the arm of the chair, still steaming. John picked it up and took a sip. "Haven't seen you much lately."

"I've been busy."

"Ah, yes, that's right. Did you like the one with the twins? I let Jim work on that one, he gets dangerous when he's bored."

"I recognized his work." There was a short silence, and then John leaned forwards.

"Aren't you getting bored yet?"

"People are dying." That wasn't a straight answer, and both of them knew it.

"I know, I switch it up as much as I can, let you catch some of my men, but isn't it just getting routine?"

"What are you saying?"

"It's been years. Years and years and years. Our Misfits are moved out, and the new kids are sweet, but they aren't the first, are they? And this pretense of a game, I'm sick of keeping it up. Neither of us are playing to win, because I don't want you dead, and you don't want us caught. It's an eternal stalemate, a dance that we're just repeating over and over. And we're getting too old to dance, Sherlock."

"Perhaps you are."

"Rude," John reprimanded, and Sherlock simply plucked his violin's D-string in response.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said eventually.

"Which one?"

"What are you saying? What is your point?" The words were a bit sharper, now, with the irritation of having to repeat himself.

"I'm retiring." He had the satisfaction of seeing Sherlock's eyes widen. He and Jim remained two of the very few people who could surprise the famous consulting detective (less popular with the press after so many years). They had both changed. John, through so much time spent playing M, had found it easier to slip into other personas, a trick which he didn't use often, but enjoyed having. Sherlock had grown in a different way, becoming a rather split personality. With the Misfits, as Sherly, he had learned to be spontaneous and open, but when John came to visit as M, he reverted back to a sulking moodiness that was designed to punish and alienate. John didn't blame him, obviously. It was hard for both of them, to be so close and still unable to trust each other completely.

"Jim and I are moving out of Brewer's," John continued. "He's got a nice safehouse, just under two hours away. Gardens, fields, you know, typical criminal mastermind retiree real estate."

"And your organization?" Sherlock asked, looking somewhat distrusting of his friend, rival, and regular supper host.

"Will survive, but it'll become smaller. The consulting service will still be available worldwide, but it'll be handled by individual councils. We're dividing up the workers now, into teams. It's a whole new hierarchy. Instead of one person organizing everything, we're going to have captains that have specialized teams of councillors, who then control groups of workers. Jim and I will be around for big cases or major screw-ups, but we usually won't be directly involved."

"The Misfits?" Sherlock had spent a lot of time with them, meeting the new generation as the others had ceased to be children, and had scattered over England, either in normal jobs, or more often staying on the criminal side of life. John saw them around Brewer's commonly, and always greeted them with their name and a smile.

"They're going to keep working for the council. Jim and I will come in once a week for a dinner, just to stay in touch. We made sure that the younger ones are less dependent on us, makes it easier to leave."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Jim knew that he couldn't do this forever. He sprung it on me, the night that we found out you were alive." John took another sip of tea, and then set it down. "It always had to end sometime, I guess."

"I just thought…" Sherlock trailed off and made a chord, not meeting John's eyes.

"That it would end with one of us dead? No, that was never the plan."

"I hoped that you would come back to Baker street, before it was over."

"You've seen what I have. Could I leave it?"

"No," the consulting detective answered, still looking down at his hands on the strings. "I knew it was a foolish hope. But still."

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," John said, his voice softening.

"Not very much," Sherlock answered, and then finally looked up, locking eyes with the man who was still his closest friend. "Is this goodbye, then? Is that why you've come?"

"What? No! No, never. We'll still see each other at the dinners, right? Or you could come over for tea? I know it's a long drive, but you could stay overnight, you know that we won't hurt you." There was a pause. "Honest, I was just telling you. Who knows? Maybe you could get a house of your own, out in the country. Take up… bee-keeping, or something."

"Yes," Sherlock said distractedly, his fingers moving over the strings, silently spelling out some song or other. "Yes, perhaps I could."

"Do you really think so?" John asked, surprised. "Wouldn't you be bored, out there?"

"You were right," Sherlock said, after a moment. "We're getting old. I'm getting old. My mind is still superior to an average person's, but it's not what it once was. A small farm on the Sussex Downs would be perfect. Leave my brother to run this city from his desk."

"He managed it with a four-year-old waiting at home," John smiled. "I'm sure that he could manage without you." They had been keeping an eye on the Holmes-Lestrades through the years, and Jim had showed John some of the best moments of Mycroft learning how to parent. (The umbrella incident was still saved on John's phone.)

"It's probably time, then."

"Yeah." John hesitated for several seconds before he spoke next. "You're a good man, Sherlock. I know it's not something you like to hear, but it's true. A better man than I ever was. You were a holy terror as a flatmate, but one of the best friends I ever had. A good rival, too. Great rival. Brilliant, in fact." And Sherlock smiled. And John smiled back. And for a moment, there was nothing aside from the inside joke and a sudden feeling of forgiving.

John pushed himself up, and Sherlock rose as well, setting aside his violin. They met in the middle, and Sherlock's head rested on John's, their arms wrapping around each other. It was fairly uncomfortable for John, being smothered against a hard ribcage, but somehow still pleasant.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, and the two men stayed like that for what seemed like forever and yet not enough time.

A/N: Wow, alright, here we go. I hope that everyone is okay with the random time-skips, because that happens again between here and the next chapter. Just a heads-up.

Welcome back, Sureves96!

Sure, Aliit Vodeson. *holds out arms for a hug*

Okay, here's a question for all of you. Since there IS Johniarty in this story, optional or not, should I tell people that at the beginning? Let them know that it's an option? Or should I leave them in suspense, reading all the Author's Notes to try and figure out whether it's Johniarty or not? Better to tell them, or keep them waiting?

Let me know what you think!