Chapter 18: Back to Before

Over the course of the next few days, things are almost as they were before Sherlock left. I unpacked my husband's old things (laptop, some science equipment, etc.) and returned them to their proper places. Placing the skull on the mantelpiece did make me tear up a bit; things are getting back to normal around here. The living room has returned to its previous state of semi-organized clutter instead now it is a combination of Hamish's things as well as his father's. The kitchen has yet to be touched but I have a feeling that it be too long until I have to check the fridge for body parts again.

Sherlock has remained sick in his room, but the depression does not seem as bad as before. He'll try and get out of bed as often as he can, but he's strength is not what it used to be. Some days Sherlock's fine: sick but pushing through it. Some days he's not: cold, shut out from the world. The night terrors are the worst. They don't happen every night, but when they do I feel like I'm up with a newborn all over again.

In the middle of the night, Sherlock will start to move around, twitching and mumbling feverish nothings. I'll lean over and attempt to shake him awake, but it never does any good. The mumbles become whines and cries for help and the twitching becomes frantic movements as if he were fighting off some imaginary attacker. I know when it's over when he'll let out one final cry as he shoots his eyes open in shock and sits straight up in bed, panting and sweating like someone who's just run a marathon.

"Elfie? Darling, where are you?" He cries and I'll quickly wrap him up in my arms and begin to calm him down.

"You're okay, love." I coo, gently pulling him against my body as we lay back down, "Don't you fret; I am here. You're safe."

We'll remain like that for as long as necessary. Eventually Sherlock will drift back asleep, arms wrapped around me and cuddling as close to me as possible. In the morning, I'll ask him what he dreamt about that caused him to be so distressed, but Sherlock won't say a word on the topic. I know that he's storing these nightmares in some obscure section of his mind palace, never to be heard of or thought of ever again, but that won't do him any good. He has to face his demons eventually.

It's a gamble every day with Sherlock being like this; will today be a high or a low? During his highs, he's my old Sherlock again, but during the lows I can barely recognize him. John has either called or stopped by everyday to check on him as well as give him the appropriate medication. That helps, but I think this is going to take much more then a few pills to pull him through this. He's a broken version of who he was and there are going to be many pieces to put the consulting detective back together again.

The case files that Lestrade brought over, however, seem to be just the thing to keep Sherlock's mood stable. On his good days, Sherlock will sit up in bed and flip through the evidence, trying his best to piece together Moriarty's messy plot and show some proof that he was set up as a fraud. If he can prove to the world that everything that was said about him three years ago was a lie-which I have no doubt that he will-then Sherlock can get back to his normal life again. I think that's all that he truly wants now. He wants to be home at 221b and get back into the world of solving cases. It's what he was put on this earth to do and he's been absent from that for far to long.

Despite whatever mood Sherlock may be in, Hamish is always popping in to see him. We (during one of the few times Sherlock was feeling well enough to do so) moved Hamish's things up to John's old room and Hamish likes to spend most of his time up there. However, come time for his afternoon nap, Hamish will scurry into our bedroom and climb into bed beside Sherlock. I don't mind it and neither does Sherlock: If it makes our son happy, then why fight it? When his nap is over, I'll peek into the bedroom to check up on Hamish and find him sitting in Sherlock's lap and listening to his father explain what exactly it is he's doing:

"You see, Hamish, this is what I use to do before I left; I was a detective."

"De…de…"

"Yes that may be too difficult of a word for you to understand. Let's see, um, well-When people needed help finding things or other people, they'd call me."

"Oh! Poleece!"

"Sort of. I helped the police quite a lot. That's how Mum and John and I know Lestrade."

"Oh. Mummy says you get bad guys?"

"Yes, I would sometimes get the bad guys."

"Superhero!"

"Not exactly, no. I use my brain, Hamish, not any special powers or things like that. Everything I need is in my mind. Here, let me show you."

I'd be lying if I said that seeing Sherlock teach his almost two-year-old son about being a consulting detective didn't warm my heart. Sherlock is Hamish's hero, he always has been. Every night during Sherlock's absence, I would tell Hamish a bedtime story about his father and the many cases he and John would go on; obviously, I didn't go into immense detail about each one and I left out the more obscure ones. Now, he asks Sherlock about them all of the time, particularly about his favorite one about the hound. They are inseparable, and it makes me feel whole again. Deep down, I have always wanted a family and now I have it. We may not be perfect but that really doesn't matter. We have each other...and I never thought that would happen.

On this particular morning, I blink my eyes open and deeply inhale the scent of my husband's long dark curls. Last night was a good, actually one of the best in quite a long time: not a single interruption. Careful not to wake him, I lift my head from Sherlock's shoulder and take a good look at his sleeping face. I always found him the most handsome when he was asleep, don't know why. Maybe it's because it's the rare time in which that magnificent brain of his isn't working hundred miles a minutes on a case; He's, quite literally, at rest.

I gently set a hand on his bare chest and use my other one to gently stroke his cheek. There is soft fuzz of facial hair growing in, giving Sherlock a much older look. I don't mind it, really; it's just different. I'm sure he'll shave it off when he's feeling up to it.

Pushing the though aside, my fingers gently trace their way up the side of Sherlock's face and into his unruly mop of curls. That scar on the corner of his forehead is clearly visible to me and I find myself staring thoughtfully at it. I wonder what it felt like that day, standing on that ledge, thinking that this could very well mean the end. Was he scared? What was his last thought before it all went black? Did he even remember landing? I know it's morbid to think about but I can't help but be curious about that day. It was, after all, the day that changed our lives forever.

"Enjoying the view?" Sherlock sleepily mumbles, setting his hand atop my own on his chest. I bashfully giggle as he slowly opens his eyes; those beautiful, mesmerizing, sea foam eyes still shining as bright as they did the day I first saw them. A small smile grows across his face as our gazes lock on one another. Ah, today is a good day then. Better make the best of it then.

"Did I wake you?" I ask, hooking my free hand behind his neck. Sherlock shakes his head as he raises it so that our lips can meet in a soft kiss. A sort of urge fills my heart and I slowly open my mouth just a tad to invite Sherlock to deepen the kiss. Fortunately he does. The urge continues to grow thus I gently situate myself so that I am lying on top of my husband, cupping his face in my hands and deepening our passionate lip lock even more. Sherlock rubs his hands up and down my back as he hooks his legs with my own. His breathing is hot and heavy and I can tell that he's thinking the same thing I am.

"I just got up darling," he breathes out when our lips finally part, "It's a bit early for this, don't you think?"

"Don't act like you don't want to." I tease, placing a row of soft kisses along one of his sharp cheekbones. He lets out a deep baritone chuckle then suddenly flips me onto my back. I giggle with delight as my husband looms over me, kissing me and wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace. I hold him in return as well and trace my lips up his neck: "You do realize that we've only made love once since you've come back?" I whisper, nibbling at his earlobe.

"Allow me to fix that then, darling." Sherlock replies.

"Oh, but I thought it was too early?"

"Just shut up and kiss me, Elfie."

Our lips come crashing together and we begin to quickly escalate our romance: tangling our fingers in each other's hair, moving in motion with each other, making a proper mess of the sheets around us. Just as things are about to reach the perfect moment, there is a loud buzzing coming from the bedside table. A phone: a very loud, obnoxious, inconvenient phone. Whether it's Sherlock's cell or mine, I don't really care. All I know is that it has ruined a perfect moment.

"God damn it," I sigh in annoyance.

"Can't be that important, love," Sherlock replies, reaching over to cease the phone from vibrating, "Give me a minute and I'm all yours."

"I thought you always were mine," I tease It's his but I don't know who could be calling; the only people who would even consider calling him are John and Lestrade, everyone else thinks he's still dead. Reluctantly getting off of me, Sherlock lays on his back and puts the phone to his ear:

"Hello...Lestrade, yes…No, no I've just awoken…You can come by in about two hours, possibly more…Because my wife and I haven't gotten out of bed yet, that's why."

I giggle at Sherlock's sass and curl up beside him, resting my head on his bare chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. Wonder what Lestrade needs? It must be important if he felt the need to call this early in the morning.

"The files? Yes, I'm finished with them." Sherlock goes on, hooking an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in closer, "I have all the information you need and you know what do from here…Yes, that's right…Yes, I know exactly what I'm doing…No, I don't wish to hear your opinion on the matter. I've made my decision thus…No, no, I haven't told her yet…I will tell her at the appropriate moment…that's none of your concern, Detective Inspector."

"Who, me?" I ask, raising my head a bit, "What are you going to tell me?"

Sherlock shakes his head a bit to signify that now is not the time so I just roll my eyes and return to my previous position beside him, listening in on one half of the phone call: "Lestrade, this needs to be done…I don't care…Fine. When will you be by? I'll leave them for you on the…No, absolutely not." Sherlock suddenly sits up in bed, his back ramrod straight. His face is stone and his voice is much more stern, which worries me. I set a hand on his shoulder, but he quickly gets out of bed and starts to pace back and forth: "Do not bring her over here…In case you've forgotten, I'm suppose to be dead. Bringing her over here will only cause more issues and I…I don't care if she'll be staying in the car, I don't want her anywhere near here and neither does Elfie…Fine, fine, do whatever you want. I'll have the files for you. Goodbye."

Sherlock presses the end call button, tosses the phone onto the bedside table then rubs his hands up and down his face in annoyance: "Stupid." He breathes out, setting his hands on hips, "Stupid."

"What's stupid, love?" I ask, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Not what, who." He says, "Lestrade will be stopping by later today to pick up the files I've been working on and he thinks he can bring Sgt. Donovan over her as if there isn't a problem in the world. Obviously he didn't think that through properly."
A surge of anger quickly develops in my gut. After pretty much kick starting the 'Sherlock Holmes is a fraud' scheme, Donovan took a sort of pride in herself. She was proud that she had played a part in making the world, in her own words, "realize that he was just a freak." John has said that he'll never forget that grin she had on her face when the officers had put those handcuffs on Sherlock and escorted him out of 221B: So proud, so arrogant. I hold her partially responsible for Sherlock's 'death'. True, this was all Moriarty's plan but the fact that she held no remorse or felt any grief about his suicide just made me sick. It still does!

"Stupid." I grumble, not realizing that I just echoed my husband perfectly. Sherlock gives me a small smile and holds a hand out to me. I gladly take it and rise up out of bed; "Sherlock, what did you mean by 'tell her at the appropriate moment'?" I ask, not wanting to linger on the thought of Sgt. Donovan any longer than need be, "You were talking about me, right?"
"Yes," he replies, pulling me in close and wrapping his arms around my waist, "I…I want to discuss something with you."

"I don't like that tone," I say, giving him a quizzical look, "You never want to discuss things."

"Yes, I do. That's what a husband and wife are suppose to do, isn't it?"

"In theory, yes, but Sherlock let's be honest; you never discuss things. You make your own decisions and then expect everyone to agree with you."

"I…Okay, your right, but that's not important right now." I chuckle and rest my hands on Sherlock's chest. He smiles at me and nuzzles his forehead against my own: "You truly are beautiful, Elfie Marie. How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?"

"As much as I enjoy the complement, my wonderful genius, I get the feeling your avoiding telling me something." I reply with a smile, "What's going on?"

Sherlock sighs heavily and places a soft kiss on my forehead: "I've decided to reenter the world," he says with a hint of regret, "I'm through with hiding and running. I need to face my demons and get my life back in order."

"That's…that's actually great to hear," I reply, pulling back a bit to properly face him, "Are you sure your feeling well enough?"

"Some days I'm fine, some are a little bit harder; this you already know." He says, "My health is…complicated at the moment, but I can't let that hold me back. I need to get my life back, Elfie, and now I have the means to do so."

"How?"

"I've been studying the files Lestrade has given me. With the evidence that is already present as well as the information I have obtained for myself, I can prove that Moriarty was in fact a real person and that Richard Brook was a fiction he created to ensure my downfall. True, I can't just come out and announce this to the world, which is where the Yard will come in to play.

Lestrade will hold a press conference in which he will say that an investigation has been taking place into the matter of my suicide. I don't know what exact details he will entail, but all in all he will make it known that new evidence has shown that I am, or rather was, who I claimed to be. Afterwards, I will make an appearance and thus explain how I was able to survive and where I was and what I was doing these past three years. It's a gamble, yes, and not my best of plans I'll admit, but this is the only option I see."

"Sherlock I…I don't know what to say." I reply, shaking my head in disbelief, "I mean, I'm proud of you for taking such a risk, but…What if it doesn't work out the way you want it too? The press won't just take you back as a hero in he blink of an eye."

"I understand that, Elfie, I really do." He says, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear and cupping the left side of my face, "But it's a risk I'm willing to make. I want my old life back, Fee. I know it want be easy but I just can't live like this anymore."

I nod in agreement then give him a comforting hug; "What do you need me to do?" I ask, nuzzling my head under his chin "Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?"

"Just stay with me," Sherlock contently replies, holding me in return, "Stay by my side like you always have, my darling, darling girl."

"You know I always will," I say, placing a soft kiss on his bare chest, "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"And I love you, Elfie Holmes." Our eyes meet for short moment and we exchange a soft kiss on the lips. A thought pops into my head and I can't help but smile proudly at my confused husband: "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well, it's just that, this is first time you've been fully out of bed in almost three days." I say, brushing back some of his stray curls, "It's a nice change."

Sherlock smiles back and nuzzles his forehead against mine again: "It's because of you, you know," he says, cupping my face in his hands, "Thanks to you and our son, I have a reason to get out of bed and get better. Some days, I feel like there is no end to this nightmare, but other days…like today…I know that I can get better. My only regret is that you have to witness it all. I never wanted to put you through this sort of fairground ride of emotions, my darling. Can you ever forgive me for this?"

"Sherlock Holmes, haven't you figured it out yet that I will always forgive you?" I reply, rubbing his shoulders, "I remained loyal to you and only you even when I believed you to be dead. You'll never drive me away and I'll never leave you. How many times do I have to tell you that until you believe it?"

My husband lets out a small chuckle and we kiss again, returning to the mood that we were in before we were so rudely interrupted.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Later that afternoon, while Sherlock and Hamish are seated on the floor of the living room fiddling with miscellaneous toys and I sitting on the couch with a book, John makes his way upstairs for his daily visit.

"Hello." He says gently knocking on the frame of the archway.

I look up from my book and smile warmly at him; "Hey, John." I say, getting up and giving him a hug. He hugs me back and places a small kiss on my cheek.

"Jawn!" Hamish exclaims, getting up from his father's lap and waddling over to hug his godfather.

"Hello, Hamish," John says, scoping the boy up into his arms, "How are you today?"

"Good. Look!" Hamish giggles and points to Sherlock, "Dad up!"

"Would you look at that?" John chuckles, giving Sherlock a small nod, "You're out of bed and dressed; you must be feeling quite a bit better today."

"Oh, how I've missed your intriguing deductions, John." Sherlock replies sarcastically.

"And how I've missed your always so kind remarks, Sherlock." John quips back with the same amount of sarcasm.

Sherlock gives him an 'I'm impressed' look and slowly rises to his feet: "So, what shall it be today, Doctor Watson?" he says, dusting off his trousers, "More medication, questions about 'how I'm feeling', all the usual drag?"

"Don't be so rude," I say, taking Hamish into my arms, "John could very well walk out of here and leave you to get better all on your own."

"It's alright, Fee." John says, "To be quite honest, it's a relief to see Sherlock is back to being an annoying jerk." He and Sherlock exchange a quick smirk then Sherlock turns toward the window to watch the people down below for a little bit. Hamish quickly wiggles out of my arms and goes to Sherlock's side.

"Dad, way fur me." He babbles, waddling over to the window. I can't help but giggle as I watch my son tug on his father's trouser leg just before Sherlock picks him up and cradles him in his arms.

"Whatcha doin, Dad?" Hamish asks, leaning back against Sherlock's chest.

"Watching people." Sherlock replies, gently rocking Hamish back and forth.

"Why?"
"Because that's how I know what's going on in the world. It's how I learn about people, Hamish. I watch."

"Cause you a Detective!"

"Yes, that's right. Good man."

Seeing that they need this little bit of time alone, I head toward the kitchen, gently tugging on John's jacket so that he can follow me.

"'Detective'," John says in disbelief, "That's a big word for an 18 month old to say."

"Blame it on his father," I jokingly reply, prepping the kettle to make some tea, "Sherlock's been teaching Hamish all sorts of new words: all appropriate, I'm assured. Did you notice he's saying 'Dad' now instead of 'Dah' as well? He's getting close to actually forming sentences too. He's a Holmes, so I'm not immensely surprised by his quick learning skills."

"Pretty soon you're going to have two Sherlock's on your hands," John says, leaning back against the counter, "They're inseparable, aren't they?"

"That's putting it lightly," I say with a nod, "Hamish will barely let Sherlock out of his sight."

"That's good though, for both of them." John says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "How's Hamish been handling Sherlock being sick, though?"

"Doesn't mind it." I reply, "Hamish will crawl into bed beside Sherlock just to spend time with him. I'm telling you, John, they are never far apart."

John chuckles and takes another look at Sherlock and Hamish, who are mumbling to themselves about God only knows what. "And how is Sherlock doing today, really?" he asks me in a low voice, "He looks better, but I don't think even Sherlock can get over withdrawal that quickly."

"Good. Really good, actually," I say, getting out some cups, "He actually got out of bed this morning, which is a big step, and managed to get dressed. He didn't eat much for breakfast, just some toast, but other than that he's been fine."

"How did he sleep? Are those nightmares still happening?"

"Yes, but not last night. He slept rather peacefully. He was in a good mood this morning…a really good mood actually." My cheeks turn a bright pink and I bite my lower lip nervously as I recall our morning activities: "He, um, we even…you know."

John furrows his brow in confusion then realizes what I'm really saying: "Ah, I see," he says, "By 'good mood' you mean that he was in the mood to shag."

"John," I playfully scold, "Hamish is in the next room. Keep your voice down." John just laughs and takes the cup I am offering him. "Any way, Sherlock was almost like his old self this morning," I go on, prepping my own cup of tea, "that was until Lestrade called. I think that kind of put him off."

"What did Lestrade want?" John asks, furrowing his brow.

"Sherlock is apparently ready to reenter the world," I reply, "Lestrade is helping him, I think. I don't know though, Sherlock only just told me about it this morning and it wasn't really clear to me what the actual plan is."

John nods then looks back toward Sherlock with a worried gaze: "Do you think he's really ready? I mean, he may be feeling better but that's just on the outside. What if it's all too much for him?"

"How do you mean?" I ask, "This is Sherlock were talking about here. His work is his life and it's been beating him up inside to not go back to it. All he really wants is to go back to before."

"Before he wasn't addicted to morphine and cocaine, Fee." John replies, sounding more like a concerned doctor then a concerned friend, "Both are highly addictive drugs and thus he could easily become tempted to use again. That's the sad truth of it. I'm not saying he isn't going to be as amazing as he always was nor am I saying he will relapse, but…we have to think of the reality here, Elfie."

Pausing for a moment, I try to collect my thoughts. I understand John's concern and I would be lying if I didn't say I was thinking the same thing, but part of me knows that Sherlock can't stay cooped up at 221b forever: "What are you suggesting, John? That I tell him to stay at home and not clear his name?" I ask, "I can assure you, that will not go over well with my husband."

"I'm not saying that," John replies, turning to me again, "I'm just saying…"

"That I should really think about my decision." John and I both turn to look at Sherlock who is now leaning in the kitchen archway with a smiling Hamish resting on his hip: "Hamish, can you give us a minute?" Sherlock says, gently setting his son on the ground, "Mum and John and I need to talk for a bit."

"I talk too," Hamish replies with a grin.

"Yes, I know you can talk and you do it very well." Sherlock says with a chuckle, "but this is for us adults, alright?"

"You can go play in our bedroom if you'd like Hamish," I say, trying to help.

"Dull." Hamish replies and I think that John is going to spit out his tea he's so taken back.

"Blimmey," he says, clearing his throat, "he really his a mini-Sherlock."

"Oh, haven't I told you?" I say, "'Dull' is his new favorite word."

"Hamish," Sherlock says, kneeling down so that he is eye to eye with the toddler, "please go and play in the bedroom. Mum and I will come and get you when we're done, alright?"

"Story?"

"You can have a story when we're done, yes."

"Deal." Hamish giggles, sticking his thumb in his mouth and waddling away down the hall. I walk to the archway to watch and make sure he makes it there all right.

"I'll never get over the sight of you as a father," John says.

Sherlock chuckles slightly then rises to his feet, groaning a little at the pain of his joints. He hasn't had this much physical movement in days so it's only natural that he hurts a bit. I help him stand upright, then gently wrap my arms around his middle to both steady him and give him some comfort.

"Shall we continue on the topic you were discussing?" Sherlock asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"I was just saying that maybe you should really think about going back to work so soon." John says.

"Soon?" Sherlock says with a smirk, "John, it's been three years. I haven't been able to work and quite frankly I'm fed up with it. Look, you both know more than anyone else that I never do anything without thinking it through all the way and I promise you now, my choice to resurface at this point in time has not been made lightly."

"I believe you, Sherlock, honestly." John says, "I'm just worried about your health. No one wants you to relapse."

"Nor do I, John." Sherlock says, rubbing my arm, "However I must ask for your support in this, as well as yours Elfie."

"Of course," I say, "but listen to what John has to say, honey. He has a valid point."

Sherlock rolls his eyes then turns his gaze to John: "What do you want me to say? Do want to know the plan?" he asks, but John just shakes his head.

"No, I…I trust your judgment." He replies

"You seem tentative about that statement." Sherlock points out.

"Well, the last time I trusted you, you wound up on a rooftop." John quips back, "I understand that that was a different situation, but…well, I guess my point is…"

"Do spit it out, John," Sherlock says with a roll of his eyes, "there's no point in you stuttering like a-Ow!" I smack my husband's elbow before he can finish and give him a 'be nice' glare. Honestly, he could show at least an ounce of gratitude.

"I don't want to bury you again." John finally admits. The air tightens a bit in the room as we slip into an awkward silence. I never thought of Sherlock going back to solving cases like that before. Before, I always accepted the danger and chaos that came along with Sherlock's line of work, but now…things are different. We have a son who can't stand to be without Sherlock for more than 10 minutes. What would happen if a case went wrong and Sherlock wasn't going to come home? I don't know if my heart could handle all of that again. No, I know for I fact that I would be able to handle it.

"Whether it be to the drugs or some other danger a case may bring on, you are putting yourself back in the line of fire." John goes on, "You do realize that, yes?"

"My life has always consisted of danger," Sherlock replies, "that's nothing new."

"Yes, but what John is saying is that you are a new man, Sherlock." I quip in, trying my best hide my on coming tears, "You've been through so much these past few years; we all have. John and I are just concerned for your welfare and…he's right. I can't go through loosing you again. I won't."

Hearing the sadness in my voice, Sherlock looks me in eyes and cups my face in his hands. "Do you not want me to go back to work?" he asks, looking at me with worried eyes.

"I think you should just take things a bit slower than you use to," I reply, "I love you and I have always understood that your line of work is dangerous. But just like John said, you are not the man you use to be. Putting your health aside, you're a father, Sherlock, as well as my husband. Hamish and I need you. I'm not telling you not to go back to being the genius detective that I know you are destined to be. I'm only asking you to be careful."

Sherlock sighs heavily and kisses my forehead: "I promise you that I will be." He whispers into my hair. I nuzzle my head under his chin and we hold each other close; "The last thing I want is to be parted from you again," Sherlock goes on, resting his head atop my own, "I won't let that happen."

"Sherlock," John says, "how do you plan on even accomplishing this?"
"I told you, John, I have a plan." Sherlock replies, "And, John?"

"Yes?"

Sherlock clears his throat a bit and straightens his back: "I…I know that you have moved on with your life, what with your engagement and everything." He goes on, sounding almost child like, "And I also understand that I have no right to ask this of you."

"Ask what?" John says, becoming intrigued. I lift my head from Sherlock's chest and watch his face as he tries to think of how to properly form his thoughts into words. What has got him so frazzled all of a sudden? Slowly, Sherlock releases his hold on me then turns to face John fully. After taking a deep breathe, Sherlock looks at John in the way he always use to when they were working together:

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"When I return to work will-will you…will you continue to assist me? I don't mean to sound so sentimental; John, it won't feel right solving cases without you. I never expressed it enough before, but your assistance is invaluable to me."

"Sherlock, I…"

"Have your own life now, I know and in all honesty I am happy for you. But, John, I can't complete my work without you. I never told you, but I always considered us a team. What I said to you that day, when I was on the roof, I…I hated the fact I had to lie to you. Believe me when I say, I will never forgive myself for it. But this can be a chance to restore our partnership, John. Don't you remember it all? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world: I've missed it, don't you? Of course, if you feel like that life is behind you, I completely understand. But in my mind, well…I can't be who I was without my blogger, now can I?"

Placing a hand over my mouth to hide my joy, I watch as John just stares at Sherlock, completely taken back by the amount of emotion in Sherlock's voice. He's speechless. Here is this man he use to know to be famously unemotional, practically begging for him to come back to work with him. Even before the fall, Sherlock never talked to John like that; so caring and kind. They always knew that they were best friends but I think these three years apart have given them the assurance of how badly they need each other. Sherlock's right; they're a team. Holmes and Watson, together till the bitter end.

All of us, John included, have wished for life to go back to the way it was: before Moriarty's trial, before that kidnapping, before Sherlock's fall. It's a goal that we thought was never going to be reachable, but now there seems to be a glimmer of hope. If Sherlock can convince the world that he is and always has been who he says he is, then life can get back to the way it was. Maybe then Sherlock can recover more quickly as well. Maybe his work is the final push he needs to get better.

"…Sherlock," John finally breathes out, looking down at the floor, "I…I…Bloody hell, I don't know what to say."

"It's a yes or no question, John?" Sherlock replies with an arrogant smirk, "Will you or won't you work with me again?"

"I'll…I'll have to talk with Mary." John says, running a hand through his hair, "I can't just run off into the blue you know?"

"If you haven't noticed, John, nor can I." Sherlock says, nudging his head in my direction.

I let out a small chuckle and dry my eyes on my red sweater sleeve: "Shall I leave and let you guys talk?" I ask.

"No, Fee, you don't have to go." John replies, "We have nothing to discuss." Sherlock and I give John a discouraged look, but then relax when we see the former army doctor's half mouth smile: "You're right, I have missed it." He goes on, looking at Sherlock, "That was my life for so long and I was actually happy with chasing after criminals and all of that. I never told you that you saved my life, Sherlock. That's what I meant when I said that I owed you so much. We were partners, yeah, and I would be more than happy to start that again. But you've got to promise me something, Sherlock; something real important."

"Yes?" Sherlock asks sounding prepared to agree to anything just to get John back.

"That woman over there," John explains, nudging his head toward me, "you're wife; she suffered more than me, more than anyone else, during your absence. I kept my promise and I watched out for her and your little boy. Now that you're back, well, let's just say having you back in her life has made her smile like I haven't seen in years. You break her heart again, Sherlock, and I will make sure you won't come back. You got that? She needs you and so does your son. You can't leave them."

Sherlock nods and looks back at me: "I know." He says, holding a hand out to me, "and I don't intend to." I dry my eyes again and go to Sherlock's side, taking his outstretched hand into my own. He pulls me in for another embrace and kisses the top of my head. "I promise you Elfie Marie and you John that I'm not leaving. Not until I am old and can no longer perform what is necessary for my line of work. Three years apart was enough; I'm ready to come back for good."

Hello lovelies!

Goodness, its felt like ages since I last posted and I am sorry for that (school, work, all that jazz). How are you all? Good? Happy? Over the moon by that six seconds BBC released of Season 3? I wasn't going to add that line Sherlock said, because I figured everyone would be putting that into his or her stores now, but I couldn't resist. Hope it wasn't too cheesy for you all.

So things will be coming to a close soon and much like with "Woman at His Side" I will be hinting to the next story in an epilogue. I have a chapter or two left before that though. Hopefully, I will get those up soon. I have a scene with Donovan that I'm especially proud of :)

Thanks as always for the support. It really keeps me going. Xoxo

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks