Settling in to his new life, John woke ready to move on the operation at hand. Mycroft met him that early morning with his dossier and his updated passports. Today, Auryn was going to be able to get some comeuppance. Today was a bad day.
Locking up for the day, he headed to the main estate to meet with mother for breakfast. She was as steadfast as ever, reminding him he belonged home with them and to be cautious if he could. She understood the game very well, but had learned years ago showing worry would do nothing but cause second guessing in her men.
She had the kitchen prepare him some small jam tarts to go with his tea. A little sweet with the bitter, she knew this juxtaposition well. Auryn enjoyed his time with her chatting about the office he had procured just a little out of the center of town. It was an old schoolhouse with large attached kitchen, ten boarding rooms, and as luck would have it a headmaster's quarters just off the main building he would convert to a small surgery and birthing area for the local midwife to use at her leisure.
Mother seemed pleased with the purchase and the sound idea about the miniature women's clinic. It was about time as far as she was concerned that the women had their own office instead of having to go into town properly. Now they could have a small center here. He would bring in two nurses from the local area if possible to assist if he picked up enough patients.
Finishing breakfast, he rose and kissed the dear woman on her forehead breathing the words he always said on days such as these. Comforts of being back soon, promising to try to come back whole to the family, then asking her to bring the blue hydrangeas this time from him to Sherlock, maybe with some of the last of the Queen Anne's. The last bouquet from the main heated green house for that fall. They were some of Sherlock's favorites due to the color variations you could force, he had loved playing with them in his younger years.
Taking on of Mycroft's unmarked cars, he was driven to the private airstrip. His only luggage was his worn leather knap sack and his carry-on shoulder bag. On days like this he worked very light. Messaging his brother, he saluted to Mycroft's agent, Anthea, as he boarded ready to find his mark. They had formed a tenuous working relationship and friendship, which was helpful as they both had Mycroft's interests in mind secondary only to his desire for those who murdered his beloved to ultimately pay.
The next time he would touch sovereign soil would be three and a half weeks out, just a two scant days before Christmas. Once his flight was close, he texted Mycroft that he would, indeed be home for the celebration. It would be so good to see the snow again after all of the grit he had been reintroduced too. He felt giddy. Twenty two total no longer in service. Today was a good day.
Mycroft met him in the vehicle sent to pick Auryn up and take him home. They debriefed on the way to his cottage laughing heartily at the gruff disheveled man who he became while away admitting he couldn't wait to have a scorching bath and freezing roll in the snow to get clean again. His spirits had lifted considerably as Mycroft informant him of all of the changes and arrests that had very discreetly been made at the Met under the careful hand of the minor government official and Lestrade.
This was something that would come as a surprise at the time, but Mycroft felt that Auryn's time had come. It was time to introduce his new-self to Mycroft's new interest. His brother explained how it had happened slowly, much as Sherlock and John's relationship had. Over the last year they had been working so closely to clear both of the men's names, even in death.
Then, he explained that the journals are what did them in. Lestrade had kept them on his desk in his office ever since the two had initially found them along with the one picture of the two of them that had been in Sherlock's room from some candid moment. Those few tokens fueled him, no matter how tired or ill; to seek justice for the two men he missed most. London had been their battlefield and as such they had forged such tight bonds the three of them.
Auryn missed Gregory, but it would be a risk. The two decided it would be worth it.
Christmas eve, Gregory came to the main manor for the first time as a family guest and companion to Mycroft. When Auryn strode into his brother's den, he poured himself a whiskey and sat by the other two gentlemen waiting to be introduced all over again to Lestrade.
He was friendly, but a little wary, his deductive skills hitting on lower levels that something was not as it seemed. Looking closer over the hour long discussion that had wound and meandered into the early evening Gregory finally put it together. In the end he would tell the two it was the band on the doctor's left hand that had ultimately given it away. It had just took Gregory a small amount of time to understand why it bothered him so.
Standing, he had put his drink down, hauled Auryn up into his arms, and held him until he thought he would never breathe again. Laughing, then misting when he looked over the doctor's shoulder to his own lover. Moving, he clasped Mycroft's hand and pulled them all into another hug.
It took the better part of the night after the family dinner and festivities to explain everything, but in the end Gregory was just so thankful to have one of his two friends still among the living. He tentatively brought up the idea of bringing cases around again, if Auryn would like to pick up where his old life had left. Of course he would, it would be in honor of the only man esteemed enough to win the heart of John.
The next morning, he excused himself for a moment, going to his cottage to pick up the parcel he knew would be waiting for him. It had happened every holiday and birthday since Sherlock's passing. The first was the delivery of their skull with a hand written letter once again vowing eternal sentiment and hope to bolster John at that time.
The next, was Christmas when the lavishly wrapped rectangular box had shown up, with the beautiful full sized bench chest at the foot of his bed while he slept. Mycroft had helped that time. Inside the deep chest, Sherlock's most prized violin. In the box, a viola with unparalleled quality. Just for him. Sherlock again had a card prepared for this most personal of gifts. Auryn could see that he had written it sometime in the spring before either of them had known of the danger and sorrow that were to come.
The end of January, the night they met there was a pull of the bell outside his door. His heart had stopped for a moment, but he had collected himself. What was waiting was a wrapped meal from Angelo's and a bouquet of the purest white lily's and deep red roses he had ever seen. No card this time. Just warm memories. That night, at 2:12 am, a text came through promising adventure this time, in another life. Thanking him for being a friend.
He had taken a photograph of his doorstep with the items earlier and a screencap of the texts so he would always have them when needed to raise his spirits. As he settled he forwarded them both to Mycroft while he turned in for the night. Letting him know tonight was not a danger night after all.
The next one was left on his birthday in July. He had been off on his first run then, no one knew to expect it. The caretakers of the property let Mycroft know that a parcel had been delivered to the cottage and that they had placed it on the counter but that it was perishable. He made a small dent of time to stop by that evening and was astounded. It was a perfectly small four layer cake. No words written, just a lovely shade of blue.
This time, Mycroft took the picture, wrapped the cake carefully and put it in the freezer for Auryn to enjoy when he returned. The next morning, when he was contacted he forwarded the picture and received thanks for the thoughtfulness of storing it.
Auryn knew that there would be some small gift there, another tangible link to the love in his heart. He was marveling at how through out the year had been and if it would always be this way, or if he would ever receive a gift with a notice that it would be his last.
As he rounded the path, he opened his gate with a smile. Their home.
The small front was in stark relief of dark and white from the snow and ice. Everything just lightly dusted, as if angels knew this would make his heart take flight in the wonder he now felt. Taking in the scene before him, he smiled. There was a scarf, just like Sherlock's ruined one tied in a perfect bow on the door pull with a scrolled note in the middle. Untying it, he went into the cottage and noticed that his fire had been brought up to a cheery warm thing and that the kettle was on the hook waiting.
He would bless Mycroft later.