Hermione Granger's communication mirror – the outdated version, with the range limited to the greater London area that only one person, who had been out of said limited range for nearly a year and a half, would have an excuse to use, made a soft chiming sound from the corner of her desk.

She answered it with a grin. She might be irritated that her cousin had taken so long to call her now that he was back – she had gotten his message saying he was on his way home well over three weeks ago – but she was too happy that he was back safe to yell at him.

"Sherlock!" she squealed, like the childish schoolgirl she never had been.

"Granger," Sherlock's greeting was the same as it ever was, but she saw lines of tension ease around his light eyes, and there was relief in his tone.

Her joy at seeing him safe in London and the fact that he was glad to be back; that they had both missed each other far more than either was willing to admit; that the work he had done had worn on him terribly and that she was concerned for him about that; that he was relieved that she wasn't going to give him hell for making her worry or for running off like he had, but that he'd thought she might, and her brief irritation that really, you should know me better by now, were patently obvious in their expressions, and did not need to be said aloud.

"What took so long?"

Sherlock made a face that said distinctly that Mycroft had been involved.

"I apparently wrote too soon. I finished up what I predicted was the last job, but was captured by a local paramilitary unit I'd had… an altercation with, just outside of Belgrade."

Mycroft had asked Hermione to track the movements and arrange the extraction of a British agent from an extra-legal detainment center in rural Serbia a week after Sherlock's note. Another two weeks from then to now would mean that Sherlock had been seriously injured and needed time to recover before contacting people. "That bloody bastard! He told me that was an Intelligence extraction!"

"And you believed him?" Sherlock raised a mocking eyebrow.

Hermione scowled at him. "He sent a memo. Easier to lie when it's not to my face. Did he go to fetch you in person? He disappeared for three days two weeks ago, and Anthea told me he was at a Summit Conference, which is what she always says when I'm not authorized to know and she thinks it will make me feel bad to say so straight on."

Sherlock nodded and smirked. "He even wore a costume."

Hermione had been about to threaten her elder cousin with an untimely and untraceable death, but that comment threw her. "I… don't think I've ever seen him not in a suit."

"Even his pajamas are bespoke silk."

And suddenly the two of them were laughing like they never did with anyone else. No one else knew them well enough. Mycroft might, but he would abstain due to his disdain for sentiment, and even if John lived with Sherlock for another eight years, he would never know about magic, or what it was like to hunt down and systematically execute terrorists who were out to kill everyone you loved, or how hard it was to deal with average people day in and day out when all you truly wanted was a break from the mundane and so-very-obvious.

When their laughter finally eased, Hermione asked, "When are you coming to see Miri and me? I'll have the boys over and we can do a family dinner."

"Depends how things go with John."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, only slightly surprised that he was planning to visit his doctor first. He had already seen Mycroft, after all, and this was almost as good, though he was going to owe her a hug when she did finally catch him in person. "When are you going to visit John?"

"Tonight. In a couple of hours."

Late-ish, then. Probably planning to just show up at his flat with no warning. She could see the sense in just showing up in person, though she did rather worry it would go poorly without any warning on Sherlock's part. "Do you want me there to mediate?"

"Best not."

"Ten pounds says he punches you in the face at least once."

Sherlock looked uncharacteristically nervous. "No bet."

"Oh, come off it. We've already talked about this. You know he'll forgive you eventually."

"How can you know? Mycroft seems to think he won't want to see me."

The uncertainty in his voice ate at her heart. "Oh, Sherlock… Mycroft's an idiot. Never listen to him. Not about human things, at least."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem. And Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Let's not do this again," she said, referring to the whole eighteen months' running off to play assassin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Agreed. Being dead is so dull."

"Arsehole."

"Witch."

Hermione ended the call with a grin. Some things never changed. Now to call Mycroft and inquire as to whether he had spoken to Violet yet regarding the fact that her younger son was still, against all the odds (and the funeral), not actually dead. Probably not. Sherlock wouldn't have done, either. Hermione rather thought it should be Mycroft's responsibility, anyway, just for not telling her that he was haring off to Serbia to rescue Sherlock.

…

Sherlock: John is Not Pleased. I did not tell him you knew. You're welcome. Will keep you posted.

Sherlock: Also, why did you not tell me John is getting engaged?

Sherlock: This is pertinent information, Granger!

Hermione: Pay attention to John.

Hermione: He's going to get pissy if you're texting and not apologizing.

Sherlock: He and Mary just left.

Sherlock: Why are you letting my John get engaged to an ex-spy?

Hermione: /Your/ John? Mary?

Sherlock: Former. Spy. Interesting, therefore, name.

Hermione: I was leaning toward assassin myself.

Sherlock: Like that's any better.

Hermione: Glass houses, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Do you trust her?

Hermione: To do what?

Sherlock: She said she would talk John around. Acted like she likes me.

Hermione: Yes. And she probably does. Brings your total up to… eight.

Sherlock: Her, you… maybe John?

Hermione: Irene, Molly, Greg, Fred, George, and yes, John. Oh, and Mrs. Hudson. Nine. You're growing quite popular, you know.

Sherlock: Speaking of, I'm at Bart's now.

Hermione: Say hi to Molly for me.

…

An hour later, just before midnight, Hermione's bedside, landline telephone, meticulously warded to avoid magico-electrical interference, rang. She hauled herself upright reluctantly to answer it. "Hullo?"

"Hermione? It's Greg." Greg sounded nervous.

"Hey, Greg. Wha's'up?"

"You, um, might want to sit down."

"Greg? What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting?"

"Yes."

"It's Sherlock. He's not dead."

Hermione burst into relieved laughter. "Oh, thank God!"

"You – you're alright?"

"Yeah, no! Jesus, Greg, I thought you were going to say Molly's in hospital or something."

"You knew," he accused.

"Well… yes, I did. I've been in contact with him periodically. Are you okay?"

"Aside from thinking I was going to have a heart attack in the bloody car park? Yeah, fine. He still doesn't know my name, you know."

"Of course he does. He probably also knows your parents' names and your National Insurance number. He just likes to pretend he doesn't care about you."

Greg muttered something incomprehensible.

"Sorry?"

"I said all the Holmeses are bloody mad."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not sure I know anyone who'd disagree with you, there."

"So you've known, then, all along? And you just… let us all mourn."

"Well, I suppose, if you want to put it like that. Yes." Hermione said, after a short pause. "It had to be realistic. Moriarty had snipers targeting you, John, and Mrs. Hudson."

Greg sighed loudly. "Who else knew? Mycroft? Molly? I bet she did know – she signed off on the autopsy! Who else?"

"You know I can't tell you that. Mycroft will've had the whole operation declared Classified, at the very least."

"Ugh! Fuck it. I'll just bugger off then, you know, go deal with all the petty little crimes and laws that you lot are apparently above!"

"Come on, Greg," Hermione wheedled. "It's not like that. He didn't even tell John. And," she added, as inspiration struck, "I really do appreciate your calling me to let me know. No one else thought to."

"You're welcome," Greg said gruffly.

"It is the middle of the night, though, so, ah, if you don't mind?"

The DI gave what seemed like a reluctant chuckle. "Yeah, alright. Sleep well, Hermione."

"Sleep well, Greg."

…

John: Did you know about this?

John: Sherlock, being alive.

John: Damn it, Hermione!

Less than five minutes after the last text was sent, Hermione's phone rang again. "Hullo? Wasa time?"

"Oh, um. Sorry. It's… just gone three? Shit, I'm really sorry. I can call back in the morning." John sounded terribly embarrassed.

"'s alright. I'm up, now. What is it?"

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"About Sherlock. Being alive."

"Ah… Greg was much nicer when he called."

"You did, didn't you! Goddamnit! He lied to me!"

"It's Sherlock. He lies to you all the time. Poisons your tea. Does decomposition experiments in the kitchen. If you minded all that much, you wouldn't have stuck around so long," Hermione said muzzily.

"Not about things like this. Not about – he let me think he was dead. YOU let me think he was dead!"

"We had to make it convincing, John. Did he not tell you Moriarty had snipers on you? And Mrs. Hudson? And Lestrade? He didn't even tell Mycroft until after the funeral. I was the only one there that knew."

"What about Molly? He said he told Molly, and Mycroft, and his homeless people, but no one else."

"Ah, no. I'm not sure who all knew beforehand. He gave me a hint on the roof that he wasn't actually dying, but then, he gave you one too, didn't he? I think he expected you to put it together before now."

"What hint?" John sounded outraged.

Hermione quoted the transcript of the conversation Mycroft had somehow obtained from John's phone. "'It's a trick. Just a magic trick,' remember? And I've only ever talked about him in the present tense to you. We both wanted you to know, but we wanted you to get there on your own. You were under surveillance for a while. It would have been bad if you'd had whatever reaction you had today, a year ago. And by the time it was safe to tell you, you were already coming to terms with it, and I didn't want to tell you he was alive, just to have to tell you later that he'd been killed in some third-world cesspool. Understand?"

John gave an absolutely humorless laugh. "Yeah. That's the worst part. I do. I understand exactly why he thought it was necessary. I can even understand why you couldn't tell me. But I will never understand how he thinks it's alright to show up out of the blue and interrupt my proposal to Mary, and make jokes about my moustache and just… keep lying, even after all that!"

Hermione could only blame her utter exhaustion for her response. "Well, it is a horrible moustache. Mary hates it – wait," she did a verbal double-take. "You actually proposed? Oh, good for you, John. Congratulations!"

"Yeah, she said yes, when I finally got around to asking her properly… in the cab, on the way home. Least romantic thing ever."

"Well, she'd have to be an idiot to say no."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Yes, well, someone in the family had to get the social competency genes, and it certainly wasn't either one of the boys."

John groaned at the reminder of Sherlock. "I'm going to go to bed now. Again."

"Okay. Good. Me too. Talk to you later, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Sleep well, John."

John must still have been a bit irritated with her, because he didn't return the farewell before he rang off. Hermione was, admittedly, far too tired to care. She was asleep again before she managed to settle the phone properly in its cradle.

…

Hermione: What have you done to Mycroft?

Hermione: He's acting… odd…

Sherlock: Suggested he's lonely and should adopt a goldfish.

Sherlock: What's he doing?

Hermione: Slightly more staring into space than usual, and he had no taste for dessert at lunch.

Sherlock: That worked better than I expected.

Hermione: Hard to say if he's more disturbed that you're giving him relationship advice at all or that he might have given away some sign of being lonely.

Sherlock: Could be both.

Hermione: Got a goldfish in mind for him?

Sherlock: Seriously, or as a joke?

Hermione: Either.

Sherlock: Seriously Harry Potter; as a joke, Anthea. Romantically.

Hermione: I'll get right on it.

Sherlock: This is why you're my favorite.

Hermione: Because I help you prank Mycroft?

Sherlock: And also because I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have waited and watched me get beaten bloody before intervening in Serbia.

Hermione: What about Greg, romantically.

Sherlock: Is Lestrade bisexual?

Hermione: Nope.

Sherlock: That's even better. Do it.

…

Mycroft: You'd better be joking about getting me a goldfish.

Hermione: I think you and Harry would be great friends. He's a bit slow, of course, but hardly ever dull, and a decent native philosopher. Lestrade, too, actually. And stop monitoring mine and Sherlock's texts.

Mycroft: But you and Sherlock are far more entertaining than goldfish. Especially now that you're both in London again. Why would I want one of those when I have you two?

Hermione: Decoration? Godlike power over the life of another living creature?

Mycroft: I already have Anthea for that. And the entire United Kingdom.

Hermione: You two were the ones who chose the analogy. I'd have said a child, so you can attempt to relate to it and teach it things.

Mycroft: That assumes some potential to learn… Can I have Miri? She at least shows promise.

Hermione: She's only two, and she set Al Potter on fire last week because he wouldn't give her the last biscuit. You can have her whenever you want.

Mycroft: Oh, god… it would be like Sherlock all over again… but worse. At least he had to use matches. Never mind.

Hermione: That's what I thought. And Smith from MI6 is whinging about the terror alert level.

Mycroft: Can I flush him?

Hermione: No.

Hermione: Unfortunately.

Hermione: The Queen said to play nice.

Mycroft: Interagency cooperation does not require Smith's specific or personal involvement.

Hermione: Still…

Mycroft: Fine.

…

Mycroft: Deal with Smith from MI6.

Anthea: Yes, sir.

…

Sherlock: Fixed it.

Hermione: Fixed what?

Sherlock: John. And the terror threat.

Hermione: Are those two related?

Sherlock: Only insofar as I convinced John that we were about to get blown up with parliament to make him realizes how much he really does care about me.

Hermione: Wow. The twins will be so impressed.

Hermione: Also, really? Blowing up Parliament? On Bonfire night?

Sherlock: I'm torn between declaring it trite and adorable.

Hermione: Trite. Bit less not good.

Sherlock: Adorable it is then!

…

Sherlock: Why is Molly engaged to my doppelganger?

Sherlock: And why didn't you tell me?

Hermione: Because she's obviously still a bit obsessed with you. And because I didn't want to ruin the surprise.

Sherlock: Does she even realize…?

Hermione: I think so, but she's pretending she doesn't.

Sherlock: Why?

Hermione: Because she's pretending she's over you. Obviously.

Sherlock: Whatever. As long as she still gives me all the good spare parts.

Hermione: I sincerely doubt he wants her for her morgue access.

Sherlock: His loss.

…

[So this is the first chapter where I have major inconsistencies compared to Sherlock canon. Specifically, the fact that I've so far largely written Sherlock's parents as separated (or with his father dead), and unaware of the fake suicide; tweaking the fall rather changes all the canon characters' roles in it, especially Molly's; and assuming that the code Moran uses to activate the bomb (051113) is, in fact, the date, Sherlock should have been off hunting terrorists for 2.5 years, not 1.5 (oops). I may fix these eventually, or I may not (depending on how lazy I feel about re-posting slightly edited chapters) but I am aware of the issues.]