Mary had fallen asleep, so it was just John and Ailis. He held her in his arms and smiled down at her. "Your mother has had a busy day, she's tired." He looked over at his wife. At least it had been a quick labour, not even four hours. He frowned. That was unusual in a first pregnancy, unless... John thought of how Mary had looked at their little girl, it had been full of love and... a sense of redemption? For the first time, John pondered what had happened before his wife had become an assassin. How had she been hurt to make her into what she had become? John shivered. "We won't ask her that, will we Ailis? No."

He ran a finger lightly over one of his daughter's lightly fuzzed eyebrows. "What makes any of us who we are? Your mum, me, Sherlock. Now there's a problem. What do I do about him?" John kissed Ailis on the forehead. "I think you'll like him. He's a bit mad and he's messed up like the rest of us. I hope you don't hold that against us, how messed up we are. We still love you and we'll do our best by you." He let out a sigh and stared at his daughter, smiling wistfully.

Ailis hit herself with her tiny fist. John caught it in his hand and kissed it. "About Sherlock... Your mum seems to think dinner and tea a few times a week will fix everything. I don't know, what do you think?" John watched as his little girl yawned. "Right. It's no good. Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Your mum said I should decide what I'm willing to give him, but I don't even know what I want, for him, for all of us to be happy, I suppose. I want you and Mummy and quiet nights at home, but I want mad chases across London. I want to take care of the mad git and make sure he eats, make sure he sleeps. I want to be there when he makes that little 'oh' sound when the pieces of a case fall together. I don't want to spend my days at the clinic, tending to mundane illnesses. Jesus!" John jiggled Ailis in his arms, soothing her. "I just want to bloody giggle at a crime scene, over the damned corpse, even." He sighed again. "I think I know what your mum wants, a second chance, to love and be loved. I can do that. Here's the question, sweetie, what does Sherlock want? If I knew that..." Ailis looked at John with an oddly serious expression for a newborn. "What? You think I should ask him, don't you? I suppose you're right. It's an error to reach a conclusion without all the facts or something like that." The new father kissed his daughter again. "Alright. I'll ask him."

Greg drove towards the hospital, stealing glances sideways at his silent companion. Sherlock looked drawn and his eyes were red rimmed. The DI hated seeing him like this, it reminded him of other days long since passed.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Greg offered into the silence. "Go see the baby, I mean."

"You think I shouldn't see John." Sherlock turned his head to look out the window. "I promised him I would come, so I will. It's that simple."

The shade of Moriarty was there in the back seat behind Sherlock. "Is it really that simple?"

The detective ignored him.

The DI sighed. "It's not that I think you shouldn't see him... I hate to see you in pain."

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks!" Greg hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "You're anything but fine. You're in worse shape than you were back then."

Sherlock's expression didn't change. "Your concern is appreciated, but not needed."

Moriarty shook his head. "My, my. That was almost civil of you, Shezza. You're slipping."

"Right." They travelled in silence for a while before Greg tried another tactic. "Of course, Mycroft will want you to stay with him. I imagine he'll demand either that or rehab."

"Mycroft can mind his own business," Sherlock snarled. "Just because I don't want him dead, doesn't mean I'll put up with his interference."

"As if you could stop him," Jim scoffed.

"Sherlock," the DI glanced over at him, "I'm making you the same offer I did back then. If you want, you can stay with me until you get through the worst of the withdrawal. We did it before, we can do it again. Unless... are you addicted to more than the cocaine? I can handle the mental withdrawal, but if you're on something that causes physical withdrawal..."

"I'm not." Sherlock turned his head to look at Greg and saw a doubting look on his face. "Ah. You heard about the airplane. That was... that was something different. I don't use those drugs normally. Only the cocaine is an... addiction."

"Alright, then." Greg nodded to himself. "So, what do you say?"

The detective struggled not to turn around and shout when Moriarty taunted, "Aren't you going to answer the man?"

Sherlock was quiet for several minutes as he thought about everything, about his friends, Mycroft, John. He thought about how he crashed through their lives like a destructive force. It had to stop. "Yes, thank you, Greg. Your offer is more than acceptable."