Epilogue

"Did you and your father ever make up?"

Mr. Holmes had just finished talking when Mary asked, wiping at her teary eyes. Mrs. Holmes frowned.

"Not really," she answered. "There was some tension between us for a while, but it mostly went away as Mycroft and Sherlock were born. My parents ended up getting divorced," she added as an afterthought. "Mother just couldn't deal with Father's ghosts, and they were better apart than together in the end."

Mary nodded slowly and sniffled.

"So, from then on, it was pretty normal," Mrs. Holmes continued. "Chris and I went back and forth from the married couple hall to the summer house until we graduated. I ended up double majoring; I also have a degree in Economics," she said proudly, which made Mary and Mr. Holmes smile.

"I got a job working for a publishing company as a technical editor after uni. Dry work, but it was something," Mr. Holmes said

"And I worked in the finance world for a bit," Mrs. Holmes picked up. "But when I was offered a scholarship to Cambridge for their graduate mathematics program, we moved out here and the rest, as they say, is history." She looked at Mr. Holmes, the most tender expression on her face. "You know, when I think back on our story, I realize that I really grew up because of Chris," she said as she squeezed his hand. "He helped me to see that I wasn't just the daughter of a well-respected psychologist, that I wasn't just a genius, and that I wasn't just someone that could be pawned off to the highest bidder...he helped me to see Linda."

"That's what love does, Mary," she said as she looked to Mary. "It exposes who you really are, and when you're with the right person, they will help you grow and change into the person you need to be."

Mary opened her mouth to reply, but the door suddenly opened and there stood John, who looked in on the scene of all three of them on the couch with an awkward stare.

"Am I…interrupting something?"

"Oh, no, no, we were just leaving." Mr. Holmes tugged on his wife's hand and they both got up and left the drawing room, shutting the door behind them.

"Do you think we helped her?" Mrs. Holmes asked as they walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

"I think so," Mr. Holmes said. "She looked as though she needed to hear some hope." They walked into the kitchen to see Sherlock still sitting in the chair, reading from the newspaper.

"So you talked to her, then," he said without looking up.

"Oh, yes." Mr. Holmes sat down in a chair by the table. "It went very well."

"Good." Sherlock put his hands in front of his mouth, a look of very deep thought on his face. "Thank you for doing that."

Both parents stared at each other; they weren't used to Sherlock really thanking them for anything.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Holmes replied simply, going back to wash potatoes in the sink. Sherlock watched his father smile and pick up his weathered notebook to write something down. After almost 50 years of marriage, the love between his parents was still strong and secure; a shelter in the storm of a world knee deep in divorce. Though they could bore him half to death with their common, ordinary life, he couldn't help but marvel at their extraordinary struggle to be together. After all, if it wasn't for them, there would be no Sherlock Holmes.

And the world would be oh, so boring without him.

The End