Epilogue
Six months later, John and Sherlock exited the latest crime scene with smiles on their faces and muted chuckles that burst into full-out laughter as soon as they were out of earshot. John chuckled, "Really, Sherlock, you need to stop doing that. I don't know if Anderson will ever recover."
"He'll be fine," Sherlock replied dismissively, "it's not as if I haven't told him everything about his vacations before."
"All the way down to the name of the hotel they were in and their room number?"
"Mycroft owed me a favor."
They both chuckled as Sherlock hailed a cab.
"So," John asked, climbing in behind his friend, "what are your plans?"
"I have to meet with Mycroft," Sherlock replied dryly. "Apparently he wishes to see me." He glanced at John. "Why?"
Before John could answer, his phone rang. John quickly answered it.
"Yes, Harry, I'll be there in a few minutes. No, don't worry about it, last week worked out just fine..."
A small smile slowly crept across Sherlock's face and he turned to the window, smiling.
The End