Something rustled along in the field of tall yellow flowers swaying in the early summer breeze. It shimmied and weaved in a meandering serpentine path, occasionally being quite still and occasionally moving with a surprising quickness. Finally, a small head popped up over the flowers, and a little girl in a white dress muddied from crawling against the damp earth toddled out of the flower patch.

She couldn't have been any older than three years old, and given that a little baby fat still clung to her frame, two and a half was likelier still. Her hair was dark and fell in waves around her shoulders. A daisy chain sat atop her head, and she held it in place with both of her hands as she ran down a short hill.

The little girl lost track of her momentum, and she barreled along until she collided against the legs of a tall figure dressed all in white save for a large hat covered in black mesh. She fell to her bottom and whimpered a little at the pain. Her big brown eyes looked up at the strangely dressed figure; whoever it was reached down to her, offering her one gloved hand. She gasped and scooted back from it.

The figure tilted its head in confusion for a moment before something seemed to dawn on it. It pulled off its black mesh hat, revealing a face the little girl was very familiar with.

"Grandad!" she exclaimed, wobbling to her feet and hurling herself to hug his knees. "Scared!"

"You've seen me in my beekeeping outfit before, Beatrice," he said, stooping over to pick the little girl up.

"Scary hat," Beatrice mumbled, adjusting her crown of daisies.

Her grandfather shook his head, chuckling at the toddler's fidgeting. He carried her down another small hill, toward a picnic table in the shade of a large tree. Several beehives sat in the sun about twenty yards away – close enough to hear the sounds of the bees as they went about their business making wildflower honey, but far enough to keep them from hurting Beatrice, who was still too small to be near them unsupervised.

There was another man at the table. He appeared to have been halfway through arranging a snack of tea and biscuits on the red checkered tablecloth before something else caught his attention. He looked a bit fretful. Beatrice recognized him instantly as she got closer. She waved a hand gleefully in the air and exclaimed, "Granpapa! Hi! Hi!"

The man turned and the tension melted out of him immediately. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed. "Thank God you found Bea. I turned my back for ten seconds and she was gone."

"Don't worry about it, John. She is notoriously slippery," Sherlock noted, setting the little girl down on the seat of the picnic table. "Though to be quite frank, it's more accurate to say that she found me."

"Beatrice Elaine Moran-Holmes, I've told you not to wander off on your own," John chastised. "And look at your dress. Your new baby brothers are leaving the hospital today, and you're going to greet them looking a mess."

Bea pouted, running a finger along a whorl in the table's wood. "S'rry," she mumbled.

John sighed. "Apology accepted." Turning his attention to Sherlock, he asked, "Speaking of slippery things, have you seen Andy? She was here about twenty minutes ago, but she left after cooing over Bea a lot and helping her make that daisy chain."

"Auntie!" Bea crowed, her sulk already forgotten. "Auntie said, um. Said… um…" She scrunched her face up in thought for a moment, but then it came to her. Her expression lit up like the sun. "Auntie said goin' to chat-up girls in village! Said coffee lady has nice legs."

"Oh God," John groaned. "She's playing with fire if she thinks she can flirt with any Omega and get away with it. Who knows what trouble she's getting into up in Uni." Louder, he addressed Bea: "Bea, if anyone like your auntie tries to be friendly with you when you're older, punch them in the face."

"'kay," Bea answered dutifully, not understanding what was being asked of her. Though tested and proven to be an Omega at birth, it would be years and years before any of that meant anything to her.

"Good girl," John said.

A moment of peaceful quiet went by with the only sounds being the gentle wind rustling trees, distant birdsong, and the low buzz of the bees. But with a toddler present, such peace can only last so long. "Bored!" Bea called, slapping her open palms on the wooden seat. "Bored, bored, bored."

John shot Sherlock a knowing look before turning his attention to his granddaughter. "Would you like to draw a picture?"

"Yes!"

"Here, I brought some paper and crayons to the table with the things for tea. You didn't get a chance to see them before you ran off." He set a sheet of paper and the box of crayons before Bea, whose eyes gleamed. "How about you draw the twins? You remember what 'twins' means, right, Bea?"

"Two babies!" Bea exclaimed, holding up two fingers to illustrate. "But they're just pink 'n squishy 'n Hamish is bald!"

"Well, they're brand new. All babies look like that when they're new. Why don't you draw what you think they'll look like when they're older?"

"'kaaaay," Bea answered, her tone sing-song. With that, she seized the green crayon and went to work, scribbling intently.

John smiled and ruffled the little girl's hair fondly. He turned his attention back to Sherlock and said, "Ah, Mycroft called a bit ago. He said he would be by within the hour."

"Yay, Gruncle Mycroft's coming!" Bea squealed as she drew a big sun in the sky in her picture.

"Great-Uncle, Bea," John corrected, trying to stifle his laughter. "Not, er. 'Gruncle'."

"No, I rather like the sound of it," Sherlock said. "It sounds like a particularly virulent strain of foot fungus, which is shockingly accurate."

John nudged him in the ribs. "None of that. He has the right to see his great-nephews."

"Yes, I'm sure he's quite eager," Sherlock said. "They're less than two days old; a more malleable age you are unlikely to find."

John rolled his eyes. "You've always been so insistent that Mycroft is out to – I don't know - contaminate our family, or some such rubbish. You have absolutely no evidence of that."

"Ah, but I do, John. How could you be so blind? One need only see his dire influence on Andromeda to have my point proven resolutely."

"You mean the influence of giving her some structure as well as something to occupy her attention so she only sometimes makes messes just to have something to do? Yes, I've noticed. It's truly awful, what he's done for her." The sarcastic teasing expression drained away from John's face, leaving something distant and contemplative. "For us. If he hadn't helped me… back then, we probably wouldn't be where we are today. Who knows where we would be."

Sherlock shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I suppose he didn't gain as much weight with age as I suspected he would," he said grudgingly. A buttoned pocket on his beekeeping suit vibrated as his phone signaled an incoming call. Relieved over a convenient excuse to get away from any and all compliments involving Mycroft, he checked the call I.D. "Ah, it's Absalom."

He answered, and in the ensuing conversation John gathered that Abby, Jamie, and the new babies had left the hospital and were en route to the little family gathering planned at Sherlock and John's estate. The conversation was very calm and measured until Sherlock abruptly spoke up:

"Whose voice is that in the background? Is that – Moran is with you?! We agreed at your bonding ceremony that –" He frowned. "I don't care that he flew in from India. He could have come from Mars for all I care, but I will not have him on my land touching my things. His mere presence will spoil the honey output for this season at the very least. The bees will-"

He went silent for a moment, and some mad flash of an idea flashed through his eyes. He covered bottom portion of his phone with his hand. "The bees. Of course," he said quietly. He removed his hand from the phone and in a louder voice continued, "Fine. Let him come. But you know my opinion on the matter. Goodbye."

He hung up, dropped the phone into his pocket, and quickly gathered his things. "The hospital is approximately forty minutes away in favourable traffic conditions. That gives me a window of thirty-five to fifty minutes before they arrive with Sebastian Moran in tow. John, mind Beatrice. I have less than an hour to determine if bees can be trained to attack specific individuals while delivering no harm to others. It would solve all of our problems handily." With that, Sherlock set off on his mission. He may not have been as spry as he was in his much more manic younger days, but he could still move with an impressive quickness for a man in his early sixties.

John shook his head. Even after all these years – nearly three decades of madness, adventure, and sheer bloody-mindedness – Sherlock was still Sherlock.

He glanced back to his granddaughter, who was still focused on her drawing. She had sprawled out on her stomach on the wooden plank, kicking her legs behind her and humming a rambling melody. He found himself remembering a time when he thought that his future could never turn out as bright and sunny as this. He remembered grey skies and blood. He remembered the bone-deep dread that the only good thing in his life was living on borrowed time and could be snatched away from him at any moment. Back then, the odds that he would end up sitting here with so many happy years behind him and a few more ahead of him seemed less than zero.

Sometimes – not often, but sometimes – it weighed on him enough that he wondered if this wasn't all a dream or an illusion.

He pinched himself on the arm and winced at the very real pain. Good.

He took in a deep breath, relishing the scent of growing grass and blooming flowers. He felt the speckles of sunlight beaming down on him through the treetop, warming him in spots. And, just for a moment lest the slippery toddler in his care make another break for it, he closed his eyes, enjoying the hum of bees and Bea.

THE END


FINAL NOTE: And now, at long last, this series is finished. It's a bit strange for it all to be over, but so it goes. I'm currently working on other stories for this fandom, so hopefully this won't be the last you see of me. :) Odds are decent I may write more Omegaverse stuff, though probably in a different form than I used here. We'll see.

I just want to thank everyone for reading and that I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I enjoyed writing it. Once again, I appreciate any and all reviews, follows, and likes any story in this series has gotten. Hearing back from readers in any of these ways really, really means a lot to me and helps keep me motivated. Thank you.