Chapter 21: I Believe in Sherlock Holmes

"No."

"Oh, come on it'll be great."

"For whom?"

"Think of it as part of putting your public image back together."

"I don't want a public image, I never have. The answer is no."

"Look, it'll only be for a few minutes. It'll be over before you know it."

"John, how many ways do I have to say it? No means no; honestly, it's like talking to my two year old."

Mary and I are seated on the couch with Hamish between us watching and giggling as our men bicker with each other like an old married couple. About a week ago, Sherlock received a text from Lestrade to come to a crime scene: Homicide, 'boringly plain' according to my husband. Never the less, he went along with John who happened to be over at the time. Someone had snapped a picture of them looking over the body and the presses were once again in an uproar:

'Sherlock Holmes and loyal companion are back in the game!'

'Back in Business: famous sleuth seen at crime scene.'

'Scotland Yard confirms receiving help from the famed detective on recent murder of business mogul.'

As a result of the obvious excitement, Lestrade asked Sherlock if he would make an official statement to the press just so they would get the headline they needed and leave the Yard alone to do their job. Of course, Sherlock refused and voiced his thoughts on how stupid the idea was. I, on the other hand, disagreed.

"I think you should do it." I told him, "This could be your chance to ask the press to back off and let you do your work as you've always done."

"And then what, Elfie? Allow them to pester me for 10 minutes?" Sherlock had said, "That's where it will lead: I say 'leave me alone' and then they say 'why'. It's a never-ending vicious cycle. They're going to ask about my personal life, I know it and I...I can't put up with that right now."
"Then don't answer those questions." I replied, "You always were a pro at keeping your private life private and I know you won't let anything happen to Hamish or I. I don't understand where this fear is coming from, love."

"...Let me think about it." He finally settled with as a reply, "Please? I need to mull it over for a bit."

A few days later, Sherlock agreed to make a public statement, but it was to be on his terms. A small group of reporters were to gather around our front door, Sherlock would address them with John at his side and then answer any questions they may have for exactly 5 minutes. I don't know what he plans on saying to them, but I am glad that John will be with him. If anyone can get him through this, it's John. I offered to be at his side as well, but Sherlock wouldn't here of it:

"I'm not going to let the press hound you," he said, "You are my wife and I love you; I told you that I'd protect you and that's what I'm going to do."

So that has brought us to now. The two of them have been at it for at least an hour now; Sherlock acting like a child while John is being the responsible parent. For Mary this is a new side of John. She's never had to experience the John Watson who is best friends with Sherlock Holmes. Unlike me, she's never seen the subconscious conversations, the arguments when all is forgiven with a nod and a smirk, or the indescribable emotional bond that these two share. I think she enjoys it. After all, she's a part of this now: the fourth member of this odd little team of ours.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," she says to me as the boys start up another round of arguing, "Why won't he put it on?"
"Because he hates it." I reply with a smile, "He always hated being the clever detective in the funny hat."

"Well I can see that, but what's so bad about it?" she asks, "It's just a hat."

"It's not 'just a hat'," Sherlock hisses, turning his attention to us, "It's all of it: the stupid public image, the headlines, the bloody circle of interviewers at my door."

"They're here already?" I ask, hurriedly going to the window, "But I thought they wouldn't be here until 3?"

"Apparently they're keen," Sherlock says, nudging his head toward the window, I take a look and sure enough there is a small gathering around our stoop. Jesus, they are keen. "You see? This is an inconvenience to me." My husband goes on, rubbing his hands through his curls, "They won't leave until I come out and put on that stupid hat. Why is that thing even still around? Surely, you haven't kept all these years for sentimental reasons, John."

"John hasn't kept it, love, I have." I quip, folding my arms across my chest and raising an eyebrow to him, "It reminded me of you since you weren't here. Sentiment, you know that whole thing."

Sherlock opens his mouth to rebuttal, but then a look of realization comes over his face. He's insulted me-indirectly, yes, but still: "For-forgive me then, darling." He stammers, setting his hands on his boney hips and looking down at his feet, "I…I didn't mean that to sound so-well, what I mean is…"

"Yeah, Sherlock, I know." I say, taking a step forward so that we are toe to toe, "But, love, have you ever thought about using that big brain of yours to think before you speak?" He looks back up at me and sheepishly smiles. I give him a playful smirk and kiss his cheek; I always could make the human side of Sherlock show and that I'm quite proud of.

"But in all honesty, there's no need for all this fuss." Sherlock goes on, completely dropping the hat subject, "Lestrade only asked me to look over a simple homicide. Why would the papers even care if I'm involved?"

"Need I remind you that you've been dead of three years," John points out, tossing the dusty, old deerstalker cap back and forth in his hands, "This is your first public case since your 'suicide'. People want to know about it."

"Dull," Sherlock mumbles with a roll of his eyes, "I've assisted Lestrade on multiple cases since revealing myself to the world, by the way. I haven't just been cooped up in here doing nothing."

"But you've only been consulting in small ways. This is your first big, hands-on, case." John goes on, "A well to do business man found dead in an alley way where he had no proper reason to be; it's a good mystery and The papers want to be in on it. Your involvement in catching the killer simply sweetens their interest whether you like it or not. Now come on, just put the bloody hat on."

Sherlock looks at the hat and sneers at it as if it's the most disturbing thing he's ever laid eyes on. "Go away. I need a minute." he grumbles as he heads toward the bedroom while shaking his head in disgust, "Hamish, can you come here a moment?"

"Here I come!" Hamish declares, stuffing his toy dragon that he's been so seriously playing with under his arm. He manages to get off the couch by himself then waddles his way to Sherlock's side. His father scoops him up into his arms and they walk down the hall together, chatting with one another in hushed voices. I can't help but smile; nothing brings me more joy then seeing those two together.

John watches them then looks at me as if for some help in this argument, but I just smirk and shake my head. When Sherlock has made a decision, there is no budging him. He's stubborn and that's an understatement.

"What do you want me to do?" I say,

"Talk to him, maybe," John says, "He's throwing a fit over nothing."

"But you know how much he hates it," I go on,

"Come on, Fee, just…talk him into it?" John suggests

"Fine, but I don't know what good it will do," I reply. John chuckles and hands me the deerstalker. I look the hat over for myself; it is rather ridiculous, that's for sure.

"John and I will leave you to it then," Mary says with a smile, "We can look over some of these wedding magazines you gave me while you and Sherlock work things out."

"There's nothing to work out," Sherlock shouts out from the other room, "I'm not putting on some form of costume just to please a few cameras."

"Oh for goodness sake," John mutters under his breath, pinching the edge of his nose in annoyance, "you are a child, Sherlock."

"Come on, love," Mary coos, taking his hands into hers, "Lets head downstairs for a bit." John looks to his fiancé and gives her a genuine smile of love. He's so happy with her; He deserves to be that happy, truly.

"We'll meet you guys downstairs," I say, playfully pushing them to the door, "Have some alone time. Give us…15 minutes?"

"If you can make him budge in that amount of time." John says with a smirk.

"Hey, come on. This is me were talking about here." I tease, "I can make Sherlock do anything."

"I heard that!" my husband calls out from down the hall and then we hear the bedroom door slam. John and I exchange a look of understanding and just nod to one another. As much as we both love him, neither of us would deny the fact that Sherlock Holmes can be a child at times.

John and Mary retreat down the stairs and I head to the bedroom. Once I reach the door, I pop my head inside to see Sherlock lying on the bed with one arm around Hamish, who has curled up close to his side, and the other dangling off the edge of the mattress. His eyes are shut and I can see his chest rise and fall with heavy, rhythmic breaths. He's deep in concentration, possibly slipping into that mind palace of his.

"Dad," Hamish says, making his way to lie on Sherlock's chest, "what doing? Why we go in here?"

"I'm thinking." Sherlock answers rather bluntly, "Sometimes I like to come in here to lay down and just think."

Hamish nods in understanding and nuzzles his little head under Sherlock's chin: "Dad," Hamish whispers, "mad?"

"No, I'm not mad, son." Sherlock replies, stoking the toddler's back, "Why would you think that?"

"Shout at John."

"Ah, well, I guess it may have sounded like I was mad. No, Hamish, I'm not mad at John or at anyone for that matter."

"Then why shout?"

"I was…just upset. Let's just lie here quietly for a bit, alright?"

"Oh-tay."

A small smile grows across my lips as I tiptoe inside the room. Slowly, I take a seat beside Sherlock's outstretched legs. He doesn't stir even as I set a hand atop his knee. "Headache?" I ask even though I already know the answer.

"Mhm," he groans, " Just a small one; I'll be fine, love."

"Do you want something for it?" I ask, "I think there's some Aspirin in the bathroom."

A wide smile grows across my husband's face: "Aspirin," he says with a deep chuckle, "Funny you would offer that to me."

"Is it?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

Sherlock slowly opens his eyes about halfway and gives me that signature half mouth smirk of his: "Don't you recall my last run in with that drug, darling," he says, "or have you blocked that nearly fatal incident from your memory?"

I take a moment to think and then the light bulb goes off in my brain.

Ah, yes, now I remember: The set-up/murder of Jonathan Monroe and the eventual arrest of my former flat mate and friend Hattie Weston.

I haven't thought about it in years, but that doesn't mean I've completely forgotten it. That awful case was when I had to step up not only as Sherlock's girlfriend, but as a sort of detective as well. Sherlock had fallen ill-Aspirin poisoning, curtsey of my former best friend-and I almost lost him for good. It was horrible, absolutely and utterly horrible. Yes, I grew as a human being during that time, but even that is not worth almost loosing the man I love.

That was the same case when I fist came in contact with Moriarty. Chills run up my spine as I recall that horrible man's voice echoing in my ear: the hiss of his insults, the sting of his challenge. God, he was a horrible man. Sherlock told me what happened to him on the rooftop of St. Barts and, to be quite honest, I have mixed feelings about it all. Yes I'm relived that he is no longer apart of our lives, but part of me can still feels like there's more to this puzzle. Why would he kill himself? To me, it just doesn't make sense.

"Elfie?" Sherlock asks, setting a hand on my thigh and breaking my train of thought.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry." I say, running a hand through my hair, "I, uh, got lost in my thoughts for a second there."

"Ah, I see. Locked in a mind palace of your own, then." He says with a smirk. I smile back at him and place my hand atop his. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Hamish quietly sucking his thumb and holding his plush toy close to his chest as he begins to fall asleep but keeping his sea foam eyes completely fixed on his father as if he could disappear at any moment.

"He looks more and more like you everyday." I say, motioning my head toward our son.

Sherlock smiles and looks down at Hamish: "He does a bit," he says, kissing the top of the boy's head, "The eyes and the hair are definitely from my side of the family, but I think he has your nose." My husband then turns his gaze back to me, "But you didn't come in here to talk about our son's genetics," he goes on, "You want to discuss this press issue."

"Sherlock, love," I say, running my fingers over his knuckles, "why…why don't you just want to get this over with? Don't say it's because you don't want to wear the hat because I can tell that there's something more than that. This whole thing will be over before you know it, so why not just go do it?"

"Yes, but then what about the next case I do, and then the next one and then the next one and so on?" He asks, "The press are never going to leave us alone, Elfie. Things won't be like they were before: They will be around more than ever and they'll start picking up on things."

"What things?" I ask.

"Our marriage, for starters," he goes on, "the papers love to write up a good public romance and that' exactly what they'll do with us. The detective who faked his death and the woman who waited for him: it's headline gold."

"Oh and then there's the issue of my health. It's still not at its best and probably won't be for quite some time; I still have days where I can't even get out of bed. And God only knows what will happen when Hamish is old enough to start school and begins to understand whom his father is. Cameras and reporters will be everywhere and I…I don't know if I want to raise my son in that kind of environment."

"You're making it sound like we don't have a choice," I reply, "Sherlock, you and I can get through this and as I told you before we don't have to give in the press. You never have, so what difference does it make now?"

Sherlock takes in a deep breath and looks down at his son. Hamish just looks back at him with a wide smile, still trying to fight off the sleepiness. My husband's eyes suddenly have a watery haze to them; is he…crying? Sherlock rarely ever cries. What's going on in that mind of his? "Maybe…Maybe I shouldn't do this anymore." Sherlock finally says in a quiet voice.

"How do you mean?" I ask, picking up on the sad tone in his voice

"I mean that I don't know if I can live like this anymore, my darling." He clarifies, looking back at me, "Elfie, I…I've been considering the option of retiring. For the first time in my life, I'm not entirely sure if I want to do this anymore."

My eyes widened with shock and I'm completely taken back by his statement. Retiring? No, no way. Sherlock is his work; anyone has ever met him knows that about him. Without work, what would he do? Could he even properly function? It's bad enough when he's bored and waiting for the next case, I don't even want to think about what would happen if there weren't any cases at all. Besides, he's too young to stop now and there is far too much he still has to do.

I open my mouth to say something on the matter, but Sherlock puts his fingers to my lips to stop me: "Don't panic or anything just yet, darling. I…I haven't made a final decision on the matter." He goes on, "But for now just listen to me, alright?"

Reluctantly, I nod. Sherlock does anything without thinking it all the way through, so perhaps he has a good reason behind this ridiculous thought. With a heavy sigh, Sherlock takes in a deep breath and slowly sits up, cradling Hamish in his lap: "I honestly don't know if I can do this anymore, Elfie," He goes on, "I'm not the man I was, nor will I ever be. I've seen things and experienced life in a whole new perspective then I did before; it's not just my work and me anymore. I have to take care of you and Hamish and everyone else close to me for that matter."
"Sherlock, what would you do with your life if you didn't work?" I ask him, "These cases, chasing criminals, solving puzzles: that's your world."

"No, my family is my world." He states rather matter of factly, "I…I never had a true family, this you already know. But then, when I took up this line of work, I started developing one:

First, Mrs. Hudson took me under her wing and treated me as her own. I was a low-life when I helped ensure her husband's execution. When that case was finished, though, she looked out for me, offered me a home and warmth that I could turn to when things got rough and never turned me away. She was more of a mother to me then my own mother.

Then, there was Lestrade. He trusted in me to solve these cases when no one else would. I know I don't often show it, but I am grateful towards him for that and I always will be.

Above that, of course, there was John. My-my first real and true, friend: my best friend, in fact. He broke me out of my hard shell I guess you could say. Before him, I kept to myself and had close to nothing of a social life. John showed me that the world isn't just full of idiots and mysteries. He showed me that there is good in this world and people like him who are meant to help people like me. He taught me how to be a human being and without him, I honestly don't know where I would be."

Sherlock pauses for a moment to smile and softly stroke my cheek: "Then there was you," he says, gazing deeply and lovingly into my eyes, "You, my darling, darling girl; the historian who came out of nowhere and fired up my heart. I thought I was incapable of loving someone, but you proved me wrong as such is your way. You have given me something I never knew I was without: a real reason. A reason to wake up every morning and face the day's dull events. A reason for solving these cases, not just for the mystery and challenges it brings. A reason to come home to this life after three long years of being away from you and living in absolute despair.

I'm not making an official decision on the matter right now, but…but please know that it is a serious consideration of mine. My life once use to be all about cases and everything that they entailed, however I've discovered that there are more important things in this world; things that I could truly never live without. If giving up the work means getting rid of this unnecessary limelight and keeping my family safe, then so be it. I love you, Elfie Marie, and please don't be angry with me."

It is quiet for a while between the two of us. What can I say? What is there to say? This is a side of Sherlock that I never thought I'd see, nor that I ever knew he had in him. For as long as I've known him, solving crimes were apart of whom Sherlock Holmes was. When becoming part of Sherlock's life, one becomes apart of the work as well. One cannot be without the other…sort of like we are.

"Sherlock," I say in a quite voice, trying (but failing) to hold back tears, "I…I don't know what to say."

"That's perfectly fine," he says with a smirk, "and, perhaps, that monologue was a bit over the top, I admit."

"But that's who you are," I lightly chuckle, cupping his face in my hands, "You're my brilliant, over the top, genius and I love you. I will always love you, Sherlock, no matter the choice you make. But know this, okay? You are Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective: not just because the papers say so, but also because that's who you truly are. You have created this life and have helped so many people, myself included.

Raising Hamish out of the spotlight and living our lives is going to difficult, as such is the way of life, but I'm not afraid. I trust and love you, Sherlock Holmes, and I believe that you don't have to give up the life that you've worked so hard to achieve. I do and always will believe in you Sherlock."

Without uttering another word, Sherlock and I bring our lips together for a deep kiss. Things are never going to be the same for us; I realized this the day he came back into my life. But I have every bit of hope that we will pull through just like we always have. Yes, Sherlock is not the same man as he was before but I don't see how that will set us back. We have gone through so much in the short time we've been together that it has made our relationship stronger. I'm not going to let him give up on this life he's built and I know he would do the same for me if our roles were reversed.

I love him and I always will.

When we finally part, Sherlock clears his throat and situates his hold on Hamish, who has fallen asleep; "Well, then, um, shall we?" he says, slowly getting up off the bed, "You're right; this will be over in a blink." I give him a small smile and dry my eyes on my sweater sleeve. Sherlock then takes one of my hands into his and pulls me up to stand beside him. Our eyes lock in a loving gaze as he nuzzles his forehead against my own: "I love you, Elfie Marie."

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes." I reply. We exchange another quick kiss and then head out of the room. I take Hamish into my arms while Sherlock puts on his coat and scarf. He gives himself one more look over in the mirror and then turns to me.

"How do I look?" he asks with a quick turn.

"Almost perfect," I tease, situating Hamish on my hip. Sherlock furrows his brow in confusion but then rolls his eyes when he sees me pick up the deerstalker from where I had set it on the coffee table. I hold it out to him and give him a stern look: "There's no use in fighting it. Just put the bloody thing on."

"Fine," he grumbles, snatching the hat from me. With a heavy sigh, Sherlock turns toward the mirror again and puts the cap on his head. I let a small giggle escape me. His curls are sticking out the sides making the already silly hat look even sillier. Sherlock gives me an annoyed look, but takes me by the hand nonetheless as we head downstairs. At the foot of the steps, John and Mary are waiting for us.

"15 minutes on the dot," John says, looking down at his watch, "I am impressed, Fee."

"Told you I could do it," I tease, "and did you notice the hat?"

"How could one not," John chuckles, "You look…"

"Not a word on the matter, John." Sherlock hisses, "Not a single word." John just laughs and follows Sherlock to the door.

Mary quickly goes over to her fiancé to place a kiss on his cheek. Sherlock watches them exchange a few quiet words and then looks back at me; his eyes are just as mesmerizing as ever that it makes my heart skip a beat. I smile at him and nod. He simply nods back and straightens his back. John and Mary slowly part and the former army doctor turns to his best friend.

"Ready?" he asks with a hand already on the door handle.

"Yes." Sherlock replies "Open the door, John."

John nod and does so. The flat is immediately filled with the mix of reporter's voices calling Sherlock's name and the click of camera flashes. Sherlock gives me one more smile then swiftly steps out to face the press with John at his side. Mary and I wait a beat and then head up the stairs to wait for them to be done.

"So this is how things are going to be from now on, huh?" she asks me, "John and Sherlock will just go off on a case and leaving us to just wait on the sidelines?"

"No, not on the sidelines." I say, "We are part of it all, Mary, trust me on that."

"I don't know if I can put up with it like you have," she says, "I worry to much."

"So did I at first but you'll get use to it. Yours and John's life will change, that's a given, but trust me when I say that it will be for the better."

Mary gives me an affirmative nod and heads up the steps to the living room. I linger back for a bit and look back over my shoulder at the door.

'We're going to be okay,' I tell myself as I kiss the top of Hamish's head, 'we are really going to be okay.'

The End

Hello lovelies,

So this isn't the ending I originally had in mind but I am happy with it. Hopefully you all are as well. As I stated before, I have another "Elflock" story in the works and will be posting that soon. It will be a bit darker than my previous stories with these two as I will be delving into Sherlock's drug habit and the emotional roller coaster he and Elfie will be facing and …Well, I won't give you too many spoilers ;)

Thanks as always for your love and support. You all are so fantastic and it truly warms my heart when I receive responses from you guys so by all means keep it coming.

Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart!

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

Much love and many thanks Xoxo