Chapter 19: I Knew Him

"They're here."

"Hmm?"

"Lestrade and Sgt. Donovan just parked across the street."

"Mhm, good."

"Where are those files? Maybe if we can just hand them over to Lestrade then Donovan…Sherlock, love, can you hear me?"

"Mmm."

"Sherlock?"

"…'M cold."

Grabbing the blanket off the back of Sherlock's armchair, I quickly go from my spot at the window to Sherlock's side. After John left and we put Hamish down for his afternoon nap, Sherlock began to complain about feeling dizzy and weak. I guided him to the couch to just lay down for a bit and that's when the nausea started. His face went pale and he let out a deep groan. I was there with the bin and a glass of water just in time. Unfortunately, this is all part of his recovery routine so I immediately snapped into caring mode; giving him plenty of water, making him comfortable, things like that. Even on his good days, Sherlock will slip into these flu-like slumps and that I can handle. On his bad days, however, the flu comes along with the depression and that is when my job as doting wife becomes difficult.

"Sherlock," I whisper, draping the blanket over his slightly shaking body, "Love, are you awake?" Sherlock groans slightly and pulls the blanket up to his cheeks. Very slowly, he blinks his eyes open and locks his gaze with mine. I give him a small smile and kiss his forehead: "Hey, handsome."

"Don't lie to me," Sherlock grumbles, "I look terrible." There is a moment of panic in my mind (maybe this good day will turn into a bad day) but it is quickly extinguished by that half mouth smirk that my husband gives me. That smile always seems to warm my heart, as cliché as that sounds.

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself." I tease, running a hand through his messy curls, "You don't look that bad."

Sherlock chuckles slightly and takes my hand into his: "What would I do without you?" he mumbles, massaging my knuckles.

"I don't know, but you seemed to have survived the past three years." I reply.

"Obviously I didn't do that well." He points out, "Or else we would be in this predicament right now." I frown slightly and Sherlock gently strokes my cheek: "I'm sorry, darling. That was a bit…not good."

"It's alright," I reply, nuzzling my head onto his hand, "I know what you meant." I gently kiss the heel of his palm and smile.

He smiles back then lazily removes his hand from my cheek to point at the desk: "The files are on my desk." He groans, before letting his arm fall down to his side with a thud, "Hand them to Lestrade when he gets up here."

"Alright, anything else?" I ask,

"Just…stay beside me." He replies, dozing off again, "Will you do that for me?" I merely smile and take a seat beside Sherlock, allowing him to use my lap as a pillow. Very gently, I begin to massage his temples; something that he used to enjoy before he left. "How is it you always know how to make me feel better?" my husband contently says with a sigh.

"I don't know. Instinct?" I reply, "I guess it comes with being so in love with you. Is this helping?"

"Immensely," he says, "But I do wish this stupid stomach churning would go away."

"Yeah, John said that would be normal." I say, "I can move you to the bedroom, make you more comfortable."

"No, Hamish is still sleeping in there." He mumbles in reply, "It would be stupid to move him. Besides, Lestrade will be up in a few minutes; I want to make sure he receives these files."

"What you need to do is get back to bed." I instruct, "I'll make sure Greg gets these. Now, just go back to sleep. You're exhausted which is expected; you had quite the morning."

"Hmm, yes I did, my darling." He coos, turning on his side and placing a soft kiss on my knee, "but I don't regret it." My cheeks turn a bright pink as my husband wraps his arms around my legs; "Maybe we can even do it again sometime."

"I was talking about your manifesto with John, you silly bastard." I say playfully hitting his shoulder, "Not sex."

Sherlock merely shrugs and looks up at me with half-opened eyes: "Come here," He whispers, gently pulling me down so that I can lie underneath him. We gently cuddle up close to one another and share a soft kiss on the lips.

"I love you," he whispers, nuzzling his head under my chin.

"I love you too." I reply, holding him in return.

Just then, we hear the sound of footsteps trudging up the stairs. It sounds like it's only one pair; maybe Lestrade left Donovan in the car like he said he would. Sure enough, the Detective Inspector appears in the archway of our living room. I expect Sherlock to move but he doesn't; must be too tired to care if anyone sees us like this.

"Hello," Lestrade says, giving us a polite nod, "Mrs. Holmes, how are you?"

"Fine, thank you." I reply, bashfully blushing a bright pink, "and where is Sgt. Donovan? I was under the impression she was coming with you."

"She's in the car, just like I told your husband she would be," he says, "And how are you feeling Sherlock? Last time I was here, you couldn't get out of bed."

"Look at me and make a deduction," Sherlock practically hisses as he moves to lie next to me rather then on top of me, "Your files are on my desk. Grab them and go on your way; I'm not in the mood for chatting."

"Well, glad to see you've got your sense of manners back," Lestrade sarcastically replies, walking over to the desk and taking the appropriate folders, "Can't stay long anyway. We're on our way to a crime scene: double homicide, elderly husband and wife, both shot through the chest, found at 11'o clock this morning by the housekeeper."

"Goodness," I breathe out, "Greg, that's awful."

"Housekeeper did it." Sherlock states rather nonchalantly.

"I haven't given you any of the details." Lestrade says sounding rather interested.

"You gave me enough," Sherlock says, steepling his hands under his chin, "Elderly couple implies that they couldn't have gone out much so they couldn't have developed too many enemies. Only person who could have known they would both be home at the specific time of death would be the housekeeper. You go ahead and investigate, but I bet you 20 quid it was the housekeeper."

"I thought you said you weren't ready to go back on cases just yet." Lestrade says with a chuckle, "Not until your all healthy and what not."

"As you can see, I'm not healthy thus I am not on the case. Now, go away please. I have a headache." Sherlock grumbles as he closes his eyes. Greg and I exchange a quick look and just smile. Sherlock's getting back to himself: his same old deducing, rude and blunt self.

"Well, before I go and let you two go back to…whatever it was you were doing," Lestrade says with a smirk, "Sherlock, do you want to discuss how this press conference thing is going to work?"

"I told you, I'm not in the mood for talking," Sherlock groans, "All of the information you need is in those files. Now, Good Afternoon."

"Alright, fine." Lestrade replies, heading for the door, "I'll read these over then give you a call. You still want to do this Friday?"

"So soon?" I quip in, "I'm mean, it's only Tuesday, but-Don't you guys think that there should be a bit more time to plan this out?"

"No. Friday will do." Sherlock breathes out, pulling the blanket over his head, "I've had three years to plan this out. Now, goodbye Inspector."

"Okay, fine." Lestrade says, "See you at the press conference, Elfie."

I watch the detective inspector go with a furrowed brow. What does he mean see you at the press conference? I'm not going…am I? Don't get me wrong, of course I'm proud of Sherlock for making this huge public announcement but I really don't see the point in me being there. Yes I'm his wife, but before he left the papers never knew that. To them, I was 'the girl Mr. Holmes is commonly seen with'. To them, I'm nobody important.

"Sherlock," I say, but my husband is already gently snoring. Given his current health, I should be happy that he's resting but I want some answers first: "Sherlock," I try again, nudging his arm, "wake up."

"I thought you wanted me to sleep." He groans from under the blanket.

"Why did Lestrade say that he was going to see me at the press conference?"

"Because you'll be there." He says, finally lowering the blanket so that we can speak eye to eye, "I thought that was implied when I told you of my plan. My wife would have to be there at my public resurrection."

"But…but I don't…want too." I bite my lower lip and look away from him. It childish of me to say that I don't want to go to this press conference, but it is the truth. I have Hamish to take care of and I have a feeling the press will be in a huge uproar over Sherlock. If they find out that he has a son, God only knows what will happen next.

With a heavy sigh, Sherlock lurches his body up in a sitting position and I do the same: "Look, Elfie," he begins, "I understand that this may be a bit difficult for you. I put you through Hell; leaving you alone when you were 2 months pregnant and then having you raise Hamish all by yourself. I can imagine that you would not wish to relive the details of that time and…nor do I." Sherlock pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, then goes on: "The truth is, I need you there. My confidence has been shaken these past few years, I'm sure that's no mystery to you. You have seen me at my lowest and…and yet your still here: at my side, caring for me, loving me."

"Of course," I reply, taking his hands into my own, "how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not leaving you?"

Sherlock chuckles slightly and looks into my eyes: "I want you there because you are my strength." He says in a soft tone, "It is selfish of me to ask, I know, but I love you, Elfie Marie Holmes. If I'm going to take this leap, then…then I want the one person I trust with everything I hold dear to be with me."

I bite my lower lip and take in a deep breath: "But…but what about Hamish?" I ask, "If the press finds out that I'm your wife then they're going to find out about him and…"

"They won't." Sherlock states, sounding very stern now, "I will make sure that no one, not one single reporter, comes near our son. This is my own personal affair and I will see to it that neither you nor our son will be affected by it. The two of you are my life and I will not have either of you put in harms way."

A small smile grows across my face as I lean in to give my husband a soft kiss on the lips: "Funny," I whisper, "there was a time when I thought you only considered your work to be your world."

"That was before I had you." He whispers in reply. We kiss and return to our previous position of cuddling. Yes, I still have my doubts about going to this press conference but I'm more at ease hearing that Sherlock will protect Hamish and I. Of course he will; he's Sherlock. I don't doubt him for a second, nor could I ever. He is my world and I will forever be his.

"I should go get Hamish," I whisper, slowly getting up, "He'll be waking up now."

"Bring him out here, would you?" Sherlock asks, drifting back into sleep, "He'll…he'll be upset if he can't be with me."

"Okay," I reply with a chuckle. I lean over my husband and tuck the blanket around him: "I love you, my brilliant genius."

"I love you too, my darling, darling girl."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Friday came sooner than I had hoped. John and Mary came by the flat around noon to wait with Sherlock and I for Lestrade to pick us up. The plan was simple: Mary would stay here with Hamish while John, Sherlock and I would go down to Scotland Yard. There, Lestrade will escort John and I to the pressroom while Sherlock is to hide else where until the correct moment in which he will reveal himself.

"Nervous?" I ask Sherlock as I adjust his blue scarf around his neck.

"Surprisingly, no." he replies, "Are you?" I look into his eyes and he immediately understands my concern. I'm scared for him and for how this whole thing is going to play out. What if the press turns on him again? What if his plan doesn't work?
"Don't worry about me, alright," he says, cupping my face in his hands, "Promise?"

"Promise." I reply, but then a small smile grows across my face: "Did you know you said those exact words to me three years ago? Back when that god awful trail was going on?"

Sherlock chuckles slightly and presses his lips against the top of my forehead: "I love you." He whispers into my hair.

"I love you too." I reply.
"He's here," John says from his spot at the windows, "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Sherlock replies, giving his best friend an assertive nod. Memories flood my mind of the day Sherlock was called to testify against Moriarty. It's eerie that this, right now, echoes that day almost perfectly.

"Good luck," Mary says, giving John a quick kiss on the cheek, "We'll be here when you get back."

"Thanks, love." He replies, kissing her back.

"Dad! Mum!" Hamish whines, pulling on the ends of Sherlock's coat, "I go too!"

"Not this time, little one." I say, scoping the boy up into my arms, "You're going to spend the afternoon with Mary, okay?"

"No. Dull." Hamish pouts, crossing his arms across his chest, "I go too."

"Hamish, listen to your mother." Sherlock says, facing the upset toddler, "I have to fix things and I'm going to need Mum and John's help. We'll be home before you know it, young man."

"…Oh-tay," Hamish reluctantly replies.

"Good man." Sherlock says. He then places a soft kiss on Hamish's forehead: "I love you."

"Love you, Dad." Hamish replies, "Love you, Mum."

"I love you too, sweetheart." I say, kissing his cheek. I then turn my attention to Mary: "Thank you for watching him."

"My pleasure," she says, gently taking the boy from me, "I'll do my best to keep him occupied while your out." Sherlock gives her a small nod then turns to exit out of the flat. John gives his fiancé one final peck on the cheek then turns to me. I give him a small nod then we both follow Sherlock down the stairs. We exit the building one at a time and quickly get into the back of Lestrade's car just in case someone might see us. Once we are all settled, we are on our way.

I feel like there is a 20lbs. weight sitting on my chest.

What is going to happen?

God, why am I so nervous?

Before I know it we reach our destination. John and I exit out of the car with Lestrade, but Sherlock stays behind. "Go on ahead," he instructs, "I'll meet you inside."
"Where will you go?" I ask

"Didn't I tell you not to worry about me?" He replies with a smirk and a click of his tongue, "I'll see you in a bit, love." Realizing that there is no way I'm going to get another word out of him, I nod and turn to walk with John and Lestrade.

"Come on, Fee," John says, putting a comforting arm around my shoulders, "Let's just get this over with."

"John, what if this doesn't go the way he wants it too?" I ask, "What if…what if the press will just turn on him again?"

"To be quite honest with you, Elfie," Lestrade says, "I think they are going to be in too much a state of shock to either turn on or accept him. You have to realize he's still dead to the rest of the world. This is going to shake things up, that's for certain."

"Yes, I know." I reply, looking down at my feet.

We arrive at the door of the press conference room and I can feel my heart beat quicken. Through one of the windows, we can see that the room is packed with reporters with cameras, voice recorders, notepads or all three. The weight on my chest seems to have added an additional 5 pounds as I gulp down my nerves. What is going to happen? Hell, I don't even know what Lestrade is going to say; this needs to just be over and done with.

"Alright, here's the plan," Lestrade instructs, facing John and I, "You two will be up at the front with myself and Donovan, but off to the side. I don't expect either of you to say anything, but be ready for some reporters to ask you some questions."

"What sort of questions?" John asks, folding his arms across his chest.

"Just the ones you'd expect: 'Did you know about any of this?' 'Did Mr. Holmes' include you in his plans?' That sort of thing." Lestrade replies, then turns to me "I'll make sure they don't ask anything too personal, Elfie. Sherlock made it very clear to me that he wants to keep your family private."

"Thank you," I reply with a nod.

Just as Lestrade is about to guide John and I inside, Sergeant Sally Donovan pops her head out of the door: "Sir, they're ready for you when-Oh, hello." She says with a sly smirk to John and I.

John gives her a polite nod, but I don't reply. I simply look away and focus on fiddling with my wedding ring. God, I hate her.

"Alright, thanks Donovan." Lestrade says, "We'll be right in."

"Wait…they're join the conference?" she asks, sounding rather annoyed, "Why?"

"Seeing that the topic of this press conference is the validity of who Sherlock Holmes was, a man whom they both were extremely close to, John and Elfie have every right to be here." Lestrade says in his Detective Inspector tone.

"If you say so, sir." Donovan replies, with a roll of her eyes, which gives me some joy, seeing her annoyed that is.

"Problem?" Greg snaps, "If you have something to say, Donovan, get it out now."

Donovan looks at John and I then back at Lestrade. She takes in a deep breath and goes on: "Sir it's just…none of this makes sense to me," she says, stepping out of the doorway so that the reporters might not over hear her, "I mean, you haven't exactly been clear: Where did this new evidence come from? Why are we even saying that the papers were wrong? That was three years ago."

"Sometimes things from the past need to be set right." Lestrade states. "We know now that Moriarty…"

"That's the thing though, sir," Donovan quickly quips in, "Moriarty's long gone, we haven't heard anything from him since Sherlock's suicide. You can't be serious when you say that he was the one behind the kidnapping as well as destroying Sherlock's reputation? It's a possibility yes, but quite an outlandish one."

"Sergeant," Lestrade warns.

"No one has heard of Moriarty for 3 years," she goes on, "and besides, he never even existed."

"Alright, Donovan, that's enough." Lestrade commands.

"You investigated the man." I snap, taken back by Donovan's statement, "How can you possibly say the man wasn't real?"

"Elfie, lets not do this right now." John whispers in my ear but I ignore him. I've had these feelings pent up for far to long; I'm going to give her a piece of my mind.

"Funny you should be asking me that." She replies in a challenging tone,

"Excuse me?" I ask,

"Donovan." Lestrade tries again, but she ignores him.

"You're little sociopath of a boyfriend never denied any of it: the kidnapping, the fraud, Richard Brook, none of it." She goes on, "Sherlock Holmes just ignored it all."

"He committed suicide over it, you idiot!" I finally snap, "Do you think he jumped because he wanted to avoid confrontation? Do you really thing he was that shallow?"

"Ladies, please, can we not do this right now?" John says, stepping between us, but it doesn't do any good. This is a confrontation that has been in the works for three years.

"I had known him longer than you did," Donovan hisses, now speaking to me like I'm a suspect in a case, " and didn't I tell you and Dr. Watson here he could get out of control? He set us all up to believe that he was some kind of hero and nearly got people killed for it. Making up a criminal mastermind sounds like something he would do just to make things more interesting. It took awhile, but he got everyone to play along, even you. Freak made quite the spectacle out of it, didn't he?"

"So, you think it was all a show?" I ask, in shock, as the anger builds up inside of me, "That Moriarty was just some actor Sherlock had hired, is that it?"

"Yes," She replies, challenging me once again, "a bit theatrical in my opinion, but yes."

"Then you've just proven Sherlock right, Sgt. Donovan, because you're the prime example of what he always use to say," I hiss, getting close to Donovan's face, "You see but you do not observe."

"What are you-?" Donovan begins to say, but I quickly cut her off.

"You just believed what your eyes saw and accepted what you wanted to accept." I go on, "You ignored how odd the whole situation was because you wanted to sweep the matter under the rug and see 'the freak' fall. True, you knew Sherlock before me but I knew him. He was a genius and never ceased to amaze the world with his gift." My voice begins to shake, but I continue to hold firm and glare at Donovan:

"Sherlock was right; Moriarty made up Richard Brook and planted the idea into people's heads. Sherlock gave up his life to protect his reputation, not to back out. He wasn't that kind of a man; he was a hero, my hero. That's…that's why I married him. I love Sherlock with all of my heart and if you go into that press conference and counter point any of this new evidence that proves Sherlock's innocence, then I swear to God I will end you right then and there, do you understand?"

The room is quiet but the air is tense. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes and my body trembling like an emotional volcano, ready to erupt. I've been holding these feelings inside for so long that I can't seem to control them any more. How could Donovan think that he had just given up? She's an idiot, they all are, those people who never understood Sherlock and what he was doing. They didn't understand him thus I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when he reveals himself.

Unable to hide my watery eyes, I turn my back to Donovan and hide my face in John's jumper. My best friend happily holds me close and comforts me. Donovan is about to speak, but thankfully Lestrade steps in: "I think you've done enough," he says to her, "Why don't you head to your desk and finish up the paperwork for that double homicide?"

"Sir, I…" she's about to argue, but Greg puts up a strong hand to silence her.

"That's an order, Sergeant." He commands. I lift my head just enough to watch her walk away, grumbling to herself probably about how this is somehow unfair to her. She really doesn't get it does she? I guess some people really as heartless as they appear to be.

"Elfie, I'm…I'm so sorry." Lestrade says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, "Had I known she was going to go off like that, I would have never had asked her to speak up."
"No, no, it's fine." I reply, drying my eyes, "I…I needed to get that off my chest. I just didn't know I had all that pent up emotion."

"Maybe you shouldn't go in," john says, gently rubbing my shoulders, "if this is going to bring back too difficult memories for you, Fee, then…"

"No, John, I can do this." I say, "Sherlock wants me here for him and that's what I'm going to do." He gives me a concerned gaze but I put on a small smile: "You of all people know how strong I am, John, I can handle this." He nods and we exchange a quick embrace. When wee part, with a nod and a heavy sigh, Lestrade opens the door.

The reporters immediately turn around in their chairs and they start to mumble to each other. A few cameras flash as the three of us make our to the front of the room; reminds of the old days when Sherlock was just beginning to be famous. All those camera flashes and voices calling out his name:

"Mr. Holmes! A quote for the paper!"

"Sherlock Holmes, care to answer a few questions?"

"Put the hat on, Holmes! Front page material!"

It was madness so it is safe to say I haven't missed it.

Finally reaching the front, Lestrade takes his appropriate seat at a large table that's been set up with various microphones on it. John and I move to stand off to the side so that we don't draw focus even though I overheard a few reporters whisper our names when we walked in. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket and I quickly pull it out to check the text I have just received as well as put my phone on silent:
'I love you-SH'

A smile grows across my face:

'I love you too-EH'

I put my phone away and finally Lestrade begins to speak:

"Three years ago this coming May, a case was brought to Scotland Yard's attention. It was the kidnapping of Ambassador to the US, Max Bruhl's two young children. At the time, the Yard-more specifically my team- was seeking the aide of a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes had gained recognition in the press due to his mass success as what he called a 'consulting detective'. His massive intellect and acute attention to details help my team piece together some of the more challenging cases we came across and, fortunately, he was never wrong.

However, during this kidnapping case, it became clear to certain members of the team that Mr. Holmes' was not the man who he claimed to be. With news that criminal mastermind James Moriarty was actually an actor hired by Mr. Holmes named Richard Brook as well as the evidence discovered during the kidnapping, Scotland Yard arrested Mr. Holmes on suspicion of kidnapping as well as for the other crimes he may have been involved in. Mr. Holmes escaped and fled to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where the next morning he stepped off of the roof and took his own life."

I close my eyes and bite my lip; it's still unnerving to hear those words. True, Sherlock is alive, but I don't think I will ever get over hearing that he 'took his own life'. Seeing my distress, John sets a comforting hand on my shoulder. We exchange a quick look of distress and then continue to listen to Lestrade:

"Due to the suspicious and unexpected actions of Mr. Holmes, a private investigation was commissioned into the matters of his suicide as well as the validity of Mr. Brook's accusations. It has taken us three years, but now we have conclusive evidence to show that these accusations were false and in the case of Ambassador Bruhl's children, Mr. Holmes was innocent. This whole matter was in fact a set-up performed by James Moriarty, whom made his distaste in Mr. Holmes' very public during his trail for robbery.

Scotland Yard recognizes the mistakes they made during the previous investigation of Mr. Holmes and it my responsibility to extend our deepest condolences and apologizes to Mr. Holmes' family. Standing to my left are former collogues of Mr. Holmes, Dr. John Watson and Ms. Elfie Stegerson, who were with Mr. Holmes during this difficult time. They are here today to answer any questions you all may have as well as to support Mr. Holmes' memory."

Lestrade then turns to John and I and motions for us to take a seat at the table. John, being the brave solider that he is, takes a seat. Gulping down my fears, I do so as well. There is a mumbling and a few sharp intakes of air from the reporters. Some jot down a few notes on their notepads while others are shaking their heads in disbelief and disapproval. My eyes are glued to the door, hoping that Sherlock will walk through at any minute. A hand quickly shoots up in the front row:

"Dr. Watson, you assisted Mr. Holmes on many of his notorious ventures, including the kidnapping," this reporter says, "couldn't you have spoken up about Mr. Holmes' innocence then?"

"Uh, well, my-my word wouldn't have been valid." John replies, adjusting his tie a bit, "Sherlock is…was my best mate so of course I was going to say he was innocent."

"Is it true you were present at Mr. Holmes' death?" another reporter asks. .

"I, yes, I was." He stammers, clearing his throat, "And that's all I'm going to say on that matter." I turn my head to see the color slightly fade from John's cheeks; it's still hard for him to think about too.

"Ms. Stegerson, at the time it was rumored that you had romantic entanglements with Mr. Holmes," another reporter asks, "Do you blame the Yard for the death of your boyfriend?"

A bit taken back by this reporter's blunt question, I clear my throat and answer: "At the time…I didn't know what to think. It was all very odd to me and I couldn't…I still can't wrap my head around it."

"Is that a yes?"
"I don't blame anyone," I clarify, "it…it's hard to explain." I look over a John and he gives me an affirmative nod.

"Detective Inspector, where did this new evidence come from and why wait until now to release it?" the first reporter asks

"Well, we had to make sure this evidence was conclusive," Lestrade replies rather professionally, "A reliable source has been assisting us in that matter."

"An informant?" another reporter asks

"Not exactly no," Lestrade goes on, and as if on cue the door opens rather slowly. Relieved that this doesn't have to go a minute longer, I lean back in my chair and smile as that wonderful, booming, baritone voice fills the room:

"Ladies and gentlemen if I could have your attention please."

The reporters and camera workers turn their attention to the door and almost instantly, cameras began to flash and the quiet mumbling of the reporters become a loud, busy mixture of gasps and a few curse words. Sherlock merely strode up to the front of the room and took Lestrade's place in the center. He looks amazing, standing so tall and proud, decked out in his signature black suit, coat and blue scarf. My heart flutters slightly and I can't help but stare at him in awe. Sherlock sees me out of the corner of his eyes and gives me a small wink. He then calmly turns back to the press:

"My name is Sherlock Holmes…and based on all of your current reactions, I can only assume that you have some questions for me."

Hello lovelies,

I had hoped to put this up earlier but I unfortunately experienced a very sad family matter this week. That is partially way this chapter may seem a bit choppy. Still, I hope you all enjoyed it.

For those who may ask, in the original books, the Reichenbach fall takes place on May 4 but I know that in the BBC series that is not really the case. I put in that line just to add flair from the books. Is that the right term? 'Add flair'? Hm, oh well.

Thanks as always for reading, reviewing, and adding to favorites and all that good stuff. It truly brightens my day when I see your lovely responses. Xoxo

Things will be wrapping up, but I'm not done with Elfie and Sherlock :) I enjoy writing (hopefully posting the first chapter of my Star Trek story tomorrow) and I'm glad to see that there are people out there who enjoy reading it. So as always, thank you!

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

Much love and many thanks.