"Ah ah ah! Be careful what you do next," Sebastian Moran was speaking to her in Moriarty's voice. He had a fistful of Sherlock's lapels and was holding him on the very edge of the rooftop of St. Bart's. One push and he was dead. Sherlock's toes kept sliding on the edge, the surface too slippery to get a good grip on. Felicity felt a pang of fear; Sherlock was crying, and he never cried, not ever. In Moran's other hand was a gun, a gun that was pointed at John a few meters away. There was blood on the faces of both men, fresh, still dripping blood.

"Please, stop this. Take me instead!" Felicity heard herself beg, and Moran giggled.

"No, no! You have to make a choice between the two. Which one dies, Felicity? Tick tock, time to pick onneee" he sang, loading the gun with a foreboding click.

"Felicity, pick me. It'll be ok- you and Sherlock will be-," John started.

"Felicity, pick me. J-John can take care of you. It'll be ok." Sherlock cut across him, voice shaking as his eyes flicked to his lover.

"Aww, how sweet! Look at them, throwing themselves at death's door, just for you. They're making it easy for you- at least they aren't begging. Yet." Moran/Moriarty smirked, giving Sherlock a tantalizing shake. Suddenly, someone burst out onto the rooftop.

"Fee! FEE!?" The voice yelled, and Felicity whirled to look, hope rising in her chest, only to explode in sadness as Charley ran across the rooftop towards her. He was dressed in his uniform, looked as if he could be on the frontline. He was clearly panicked for her safety. Felicity just stared at him- he was alive, he wasn't dead after all, she could hug him and stay with him and- Seconds later, a gunshot pierced the air and Charley Muller sprawled to the rooftop, dead. A second gunshot rang out and John Watson fell to join him.

"Look at me, Felicity…" Moran sang, and Felicity somehow found herself turning away from the bodies of John and Charley. Moran was gone. In his place was a man in a well-tailored suit with the coldest eyes Felicity had ever seen. He smiled at her and let go of Sherlock's coat. The detective fluttered off the edge and out of sight as Moriarty crossed the rooftop to stand in front of her. He took her chin, leaning over a bit to stare right into her eyes. The muzzle of the gun pushed to her temple. "Revenge is sweet." He breathed, and then—

With a gasp that mingled with a scream, Felicity suddenly found herself jerking awake, struggling to sit up in a hospital bed. Her mind still felt hazy, still felt drugged, but it was racing with panic and the images from her extremely vivid dream. It took her a moment to realize that John and Sherlock were on either side of her, trying to calm her down. "Felicity, it's ok, it's alright," John was saying anxiously, patting her knee and silently shooing a nurse that appeared in the doorway. She left. Sherlock's hand was holding hers tight, his eyes roaming over her face with silent worry. Only then did Felicity realize how she was gasping for breath, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. "Here, lie back." John instructed softly, propping up her pillows and helping her recline properly. Felicity took a moment to just look at both of them, trying to get her heart rate and breathing back to normal as she returned the pressure of Sherlock's grip. "Felicity? You ok?" John asked her, watching her carefully with a doctor's eye as well as a father's. The panic he saw in her eyes worried him, made his heart twist.

"It was just a dream." Felicity managed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "Just a dream," she reassured herself, relaxing a bit when John kissed her forehead. "And you're both ok?" She continued, opening her eyes to look back and forth between her Dads.

"Yes," Sherlock affirmed softly, still watching her closely, as if he was deducing her dream just by looking at her. Felicity could still picture him falling off the edge and she shivered. "And you? How do you feel?" He asked, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. Felicity pondered his question, looking down at herself for evidence besides her still racing emotions. She didn't feel so dizzy anymore, like she had on the rooftop, and the medicine in her IV was keeping her relatively numb. There was a single bandage around the wrist of her hand that Sherlock was holding, and she knew instantly it was from the handcuff. Her head didn't throb anymore. Other than her obviously hurt arm and shoulder, she was alright physically. However, if her dream proved anything, she was damaged emotionally and mentally, and those wounds would take time to heal.

"I can't feel much of anything, so I think I'm ok," Felicity said, peeking at her sling with increasing curiosity. She was curious to know what had been done to fix her shoulder and how much damage had been caused.

"I know this might be hard for you, Felicity, but- John and I want to know what happened to you. We want to make sure you're alright." Sherlock was still speaking in such a soft voice that Felicity's worry for him shot up exponentially. What had happened between the distraught face from her memory and now? She had no recollection of the brief moment she woke up before surgery, so the last thing she remembered Sherlock doing was finding her on the rooftop, and even that memory was hazy. Her thoughts, having turned to the rooftop, got steadily darker and Felicity inhaled slowly, working to stay calm.

"If it's too soon, we can wait." John said firmly, stroking her hair, and Felicity felt herself smile a bit. He and Sherlock really did balance themselves out perfectly. When Sherlock was pushy John was patient. When John was careful Sherlock was dangerous. When they were together and with Felicity, the world felt right to her; she felt safe.

"No, I'm ok. It's just…the dream I was having." Felicity murmured, deciding to get that out of her head first. The idea of everyone she loved dying in front of her was still terrifying her more than her experience with Moran had. Sherlock's expression hardened. "We were on top of St. Bart's, and Moran was there. He had you at gunpoint," her gaze flickered briefly to John, "and he was holding you over the edge of the roof." Felicity glanced once at Sherlock before taking a shaky breath to calm herself. Admitting that alone was terrifying because the dream was still so fresh in her mind. John had inhaled sharply when Felicity told them about her dream-Sherlock; the idea of seeing Sherlock on a rooftop edge was an idea that he could sympathize with completely. Sherlock, on the other hand, hated the mental image of John staring down a gun, defenseless. However, both men couldn't stand the idea of Felicity dreaming about that kind of thing, especially because there was nothing they could do about it. "He told me that I had to pick which one of you was to die." Felicity whispered, her grip clenching around Sherlock's.

"And then?" John asked, his voice barely calm as he kept a firm grip on her knee. He wanted to hug the life out of her, but he would press against her sling and only hurt Felicity. It upset him- John always embraced her when she was struggling, and he couldn't do that for another month or so until her shoulder and clavicle healed.

Felicity took another breath before answering. Crying might get rid of the lump in her throat, but it wouldn't help her share the story and get it off her chest. It was just a dream. She told herself again, trying to drill the fact into her mind. "Someone called my name, and I turned to see and—it was Charley." Felicity spoke haltingly, trying to speak only in an even tone. "He was wearing his uniform, like he'd just come home. Then Moran shot him."

Silence spread through the room as Felicity closed her eyes, tears leaking out from her eyelashes and streaming down her face. The dream had been so remarkably vivid that she could replace the rooftop of St. Bart's with a background of the Middle East to picture how her brother had been killed. John got up and pressed a kiss to Felicity's temple, very gently hugging her, smoothing her hair. "I'm sorry." John said softly, mad inside that all he could do was stroke her hair and say nice words. If he could, he would hunt down Moran and make him wish that the doctor was only as cruel as Moriarty.

"Then he shot you, John, and he let you go, Sherlock- you fell off the roof." Felicity shared, her voice getting more upset despite her efforts to stay calm. She could still picture the blood on John's jumper and the brief flutter of Sherlock's coat and the smallest glimpse she got of his eyes before he fell. Sherlock flinched slightly at Felicity's retelling of what had happened to him in her dream. Falling once had been traumatizing enough, and he had been glad that Felicity hadn't been in London to see it happen. He'd felt better knowing that she hadn't actually seen him fall, and now she had. It wasn't the same thing, but it distressed him nonetheless, especially because he had very little control over Felicity's subconscious. "And then Moran was gone," Felicity told, sounding slightly horrified now. "There was a man there in his place that was wearing a fancy suit. His eyes were black. I think- no, I know that it was Moriarty." Felicity said, and her Dads looked at her in surprise. Felicity had never seen Moriarty and yet she had described him, dreamed of him in a fairly accurate manner.

"What then?" John asked, reaching up to gently wipe any remaining moisture off her cheeks. Felicity sighed with a bit of a frown thrown in as she looked up to meet Sherlock and John's gaze.

"He shot me and I woke up." Felicity said almost dismissively, shifting a bit against her pillow to take strain off her shoulder. Sherlock's grip on her hand got almost uncomfortably tight as he thought about someone, not just Moriarty, shooting his daughter. "But it was just a dream. You're both alright." Felicity repeated, smiling weakly and returning the pressure on Sherlock's hand until he lessened his grip.

"And what happened on the rooftop?" Sherlock asked, seeking distraction. He wanted to know everything so that he could process all of the data at once. That way, less emotion got into the deduction. With Sherlock and John by her side, Felicity started her version of the events that occurred up on the rooftop. Her Dads were horrified to know that Moran had been so psychotic- enough to imagine Moriarty being there, enough to mimic his voice without realizing. To make matters worse, Felicity's logic was what had caused Moran to shoot himself, leaving Felicity up there all alone with a body in front of her, blood soaking into her clothes. Felicity was absolutely horrified that her actions had led to another person's death, even if that person was Sebastian Moran. When Felicity reached the part about throwing Charley's dog tags over the edge of the roof, John instantly reached into his pocket and withdrew the shiny tags, making Felicity gasp.

"I thought I'd lost them," She said, letting go of Sherlock's hand only to receive the tags, carefully running over the stamped metal with her fingers. No trace of the blood that she'd accidentally smeared on them remained- they looked just as nice the day she'd gotten them at Charley's funeral. Felicity felt herself relax fully then. She had lost everyone she cared about in her dream and she'd gained them all back in one way or another just by waking up. "Will you help me?" She asked, handing them back out to her Dads. John propped her up and held her with a steady hand on her back as Sherlock slipped the tags back around her neck to rest over her sling and her heart.

"Much better," Sherlock said approvingly, kissing her cheek, making Felicity smile.

"I suppose you should see your doctor so that we can get you cleared as soon as possible, hmm? Healing at Baker Street will be better than here," John said, standing up and rotating his shoulder with a slight wince. For some reason, the idea of knowing that Felicity had hurt the same shoulder as well was making his act up.

"Why can't you do it?" Felicity asked, wrinkling her nose, and John laughed.

"Because I'm a Dad right now, not a doctor. I'll be right back, I promise." He insisted, ducking out of the room.

"Are you still feeling alright?" Sherlock asked Felicity, surveying her IV and sling, looking for clues of discomfort.

"I'm fine, Sherlock, really. It's over, isn't it?" Felicity asked, the question half rhetorical and half serious.

"It will be shortly. I needed to hear your version of the story before I could tell Lestrade to officially close the case." Sherlock informed her, mindlessly running the IV tube between his fingers. He hated hospitals and hated them even more when his loved ones were dependent on their services. The sooner he could get Felicity home the better he'd feel.

"Did he visit?" Felicity asked, looking around the room for a clock or a sign that time had been passing.

"No, he was finishing the case. We've managed to close it in two days," Sherlock revealed that she'd only been there two days, making her relax. The police had come very early in the morning, she remembered, so it wasn't as if she'd been in the hospital for weeks, unresponsive and in surgery. It was hard for her to grasp that it'd been such a short amount of time since she'd been rescued; time had passed so slowly on the rooftop and drugs had confused her mind. "However, Mycroft visited briefly." Sherlock said, changing the subject to take her mind off of 'the case' itself.

"Really?" Felicity perked up right away, wishing that she'd been conscious to say hello. Both Sherlock and John were brilliant in their own ways, that was true, but Mycroft seemed much more wise and intellectual to Felicity, possibly because Sherlock acted like such a child around him. Mycroft reminded her faintly of her father, someone to learn from. Having tea with him was one of her favorite social activities (besides making cookies with Mrs. Hudson).

"Yes…and he had the most interesting news." Sherlock said, suddenly remembering that Mycroft had mentioned his Mummy and her desire to meet Felicity as soon as possible. If that didn't cheer up Felicity, nothing could. Felicity bit her lip slightly as she stared at Sherlock, trying to figure it out without being told. Sherlock felt his lips twitch up in amusement as he stared back, willing himself to give nothing away as Felicity wracked her brains, trying to think past a bit of exhaustion, a bit of fear from her dream that remained, and the drugs still loose in her system. Most of her evidence would come from Mycroft, but she hadn't seen him. It would be foolish to try and get data from Sherlock- he had obviously been at the hospital or working 'the case' this entire time without going home or changing or resting and tidying up his appearance. She'd gain nothing from his expression or clothes or even his mannerisms; they were still focused on her. With those options limited, she had to think back to things that had occurred before her abduction and Moran's attack. Before she could answer, John ducked back in, talking with an older man in a white lab coat- her doctor.

From one look Felicity knew that his first daughter had recently gotten married, he had built a gazebo in the garden he and his wife worked on recently, he had an affinity for cream bismarks, and he had a lot of experience as a doctor. With that in mind, she had no problems letting him ease off her sling to take a look at the bandages beneath. It hurt a bit, but once she held her arm still she was fine. The examination took about fifteen minutes, and Felicity spent most of it working over the puzzle Sherlock had given her, leaving her Dads to ask most of the questions. Felicity wasn't even paying attention when the doctor eased her sling back on with all the gentleness in the world because she'd just figured out what was behind Sherlock's cryptic hint. "Are you feeling alright then, Ms. Watson-Holmes?" The doctor asked her at almost the same time she blurted out: "It's your MUM!"

When John finally stopped laughing, he assured the doctor that it had nothing to do with his Mum and that they were very grateful for his help (and his signature on the discharge papers). Sherlock was still laughing when he got back. Felicity was giggling in short bursts- it felt good to laugh but it also jarred at her shoulder a bit, irritating the surgical site.

"Do I even want to know?" John asked, watching his family giggle with a smile on his face. If Felicity wasn't dwelling on the attack then he was happy.

"I gave Felicity a puzzle to solve, and she did." Sherlock explained through a chuckle.

"Oh, about your Mum wanting to meet her?" John put together, and Felicity's face lit up, her giggles dying away.

"She wants to meet me still? Now?" She asked, her mind running with possibilities. Mummy Holmes was just a silhouette to her, and Felicity was eager to see a face, to discover a personality. Felicity loved meeting new people, especially when they were important to her friends and loved ones.

"No, not until you've healed a bit. Ready to go home?" John said, catching Sherlock's eye briefly. His look said, 'We still have to talk about the machine gun collection'. Felicity watched it curiously, unsure of the true meaning.

"Yes," she affirmed, and John set to work, sending Sherlock off to get a wheel chair. When the detective had been away to wrap up the case, he'd stopped very briefly at 221B only to get Felicity a pair of clothes, something comfortable to be in instead of the hospital gown. John took out Felicity's IV and helped her into the garments, being exceedingly careful with her shoulder. By that time, Sherlock had returned and swooped her up, placing her into the chair. After an eventful ride out to a private car from Mycroft (Felicity made one of the guards crack a smile and made the others snigger), they were speeding off to Baker Street, Felicity curled up on John's lap. She'd been cheerful leaving the hospital but as their ride through the city progressed she became more and more tired, starting to feel the effects of her surgery and her medication. By the time they were pulling up at the flat her forehead was resting on John's neck, her breathing slow and regular. He was holding her up with an arm around her shoulders so that her own hurt shoulder wouldn't contract in her relaxed state.

Sherlock let the guards get the door and John carried Felicity gently up the stairs and into the flat, Sherlock hovering right behind, worried about his lover's old bullet wound. Sherlock pulled back the covers on their bed and John tucked their daughter in. "It's finally over now," John said softly as the two of them watched Felicity rest easily. Sherlock wrapped a long arm around John's waist.

"Not if we do what she wants," Sherlock disagreed, and John looked at him curiously. An issue had been weighing on Sherlock's mind since Felicity had insisted that she wanted the two of them to keep solving cases. He wanted to solve cases, and he wanted to spend that time and love with John, but the idea of Felicity possibly becoming collateral damages ever again scared him. Would he really be selfish enough to continue with his clearly dangerous profession when it would risk hurting the people he deeply cared about? The old, more sociopathic Sherlock wouldn't have even thought of how his actions affected others, but Sherlock had changed quite a bit since meeting John and then Felicity. He wasn't sure what mattered most to him and what should matter most to him. If he liked his job more, was that a bad thing? If he liked his family more was that a bad thing? All Sherlock had ever been solid doing was his work and now he was in uncharted territory. He didn't know what to think. And, furthermore, should he discourage Felicity from becoming a detective? She was already well on her way and clearly enjoyed it, but Sherlock, like any parent, was worried. "If we continue to solve crimes, John, there is always a chance of collateral damages." Sherlock summed up all of that worry and anxiousness into one sentence (he had a habit of doing that, but, luckily, John was a pro at looking for deeper meaning).

"You're worried about her getting hurt again," John pieced together, looking up at Sherlock who was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"I'm worried about Felicity, you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade- oh, and god forbid, Mycroft. I'm caring John, and it's not an advantage."

"Sherlock bloody Holmes you listen to me," John said with a sudden firmness, standing in front of the detective and grasping him by the elbows to hold his attention. "You are you. You have to do what makes you happy. There's no telling where you'll end up when you do that, and that's a scary thought, but you find people along the way who go the same direction you do. You've already found all the people you just mentioned and that's a good thing. Keep following what feels good and what really matters will always be safe. Ok?" John asked. Sherlock blinked at him, half overwhelmed by John's wisdom and half confused by his metaphor.

"I am I." Sherlock repeated with another blink and the beginnings of a frown. John's words had made him realize what he wanted, but he didn't understand how he'd gotten there and wanted to. However, he soon found that it didn't matter.

"You are you." John affirmed, stretching up and pressing his lips to his.

OoOoOoO

A/N: What's going to happen? Will Sherlock give up solving cases in order to protect his family? When will Felicity meet Mummy? You'll find out...IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! Things are rapidly finishing up- there's only one more chapter to go! I hope all of my American readers had a good Thanksgiving, by the way! I hoped to improve your holidays with fluff. I hope it worked.

You've only got one more shot to review, so why not do it now? :D

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