Author's note: Here is the last chapter. Thank you to all who have read this story. If you liked it, please leave one last review.

It blinked. Sherlock looked at John, then bent down. He picked it up and studied it. The silence was only broken by Garrideb, who walked up the stairs to see if Trevelyan had done anything to his valuable collection.

Eventually, Sherlock spoke.

"There's a switch".

"And if it's Moriarty at the other end?" John asked, many emotions and thoughts coursing through him. He had given up the moment Trevelyan shot himself, although not in the way many would have supposed: he had simply given up the thought to return home and focused on keeping Sherlock save. This world wasn't so bad, and he had his best friend at his side. His greatest worry had been for Greg, who would have to go up against Moriarty.

"It's possible" Sherlock said, and his eyes were glowing, glowing in the way that told John he would try anyway because Sherlock wanted to get home, and John wanted it too, only not at the price that Sherlock's life might be in danger.

"It's worth a try" John said; not the doctor, but the other John, who was looking at Sherlock and seemed to understand.

"And if it gets them killed?" Bill asked, worry evident in his voice.

Sherlock looked up, then let his gaze fall on Trevelyan's body.

"I underestimated him" he admitted. "I didn't think he would kill himself".

"It's the coward's way out" Bill replied defiantly. "You overestimated him".

John saw Sherlock flinch, only slightly, and his grip on the sensor grew slack. Being reminded of Moriarty apparently also reminded him of the danger they were in.

"You should go".

It was the other consulting detective again, his voice clear and loud in the silence.

"John –" Bill began, but he shook his head.

"You don't understand" he said, but there was no venom in his voice, no assumption that Bill was an idiot; he was simply stating a fact.

"This isn't his battlefield. He belongs there."

John wasn't angry that he had simply said "He" instead of "they"; it was clear that he would follow Sherlock. And looking at his friend, he knew the other man was right. Sherlock needed London, their London; needed the air that he had made sweeter by protecting the city.

He would press the switch. And they couldn't risk to wait, to maybe find a way to contact their home; the light might go off any moment, and then they would be stuck here.

When Trevelyan had died, John would have been able to cope. But now here was hope again, the hope to return home, and he already knew they were going to take their chance.

Sherlock spoke.

"I am sorry to leave you – "

Then doctor's counterpart chuckled. "It's a mess, isn't it? But don't worry, we can take it. You dealt with Moriarty, didn't you?"

This was different, though. This was not about playing games, but destroying the opponent, and Sherlock didn't know if they would win.

But looking at them and remembering Jim and Mike and Greg, not to mention Gregson and Dimmock, he started to think that they might have a chance.

"Don't worry" Bill said, "We'll make it. We always do".

He sounded so confident that Sherlock suppressed a smile.

Bill turned to the doctor.

"Take care of him. They are lost without us".

"Yes, they are. And I will".

They hugged, John careful with Bill's arm, and Sherlock reached out to shake John's hand.

"It's going to be a long fight" he warned him.

"At least I won't be bored" the other man shot back, and they smiled at one another.

"Sorry, but he – oh" Greg entered the room, followed by Mike and Jim; the elder Holmes immediately went to his brother, barely looking at the body on the floor.

"Well, that complicates matters" Greg said at the same time as Jim inquired, "Does that mean you can't get home?"

Sherlock wordlessly held up the sensor. John explained, "We could get home with that. Possibly."

"And, are you going to try?" Jim asked. The doctor nodded.

Unexpectedly, he was pulled into a hug by Jim.

"Look after yourself and him. And sorry again".

John laughed and patted the back of the man he'd punched when he'd first seen him.

Greg strolled over to Sherlock.

"You don't have to worry about these two. Plenty of hideouts I can get them in".

"Thank you".

The man seemed uncomfortable with the gratitude that shone out of Sherlock's eyes, shuffled his feet and nodded.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to Mike

"Yes?"

"Tell my counterpart to keep a better eye on you, alright? You are too thin."

The thought of Mycroft making him eat would have been funny if Sherlock hadn't remembered his detox in his mansion, so he simply told him he would pass on the message, and Mike squeezed his shoulder.

Sherlock looked at them all in turn and was surprised that he had to clear his throat. Despite the similarities and differences between them, or maybe because of them, he had grown to like these people.

"You should leave. It's likely that the sensor will transport anyone in a certain radius."

Greg was the first to leave, with a quick glance back; then followed Mike and Jim.

Bill and John lingered, smiling at them once more before walking out the door.

John took a deep breath, silently wishing them the best. They would need all the help they could get.

"Well, then".

He looked up at the ceiling. "Do you think Garrideb will be safe?"

"It's likely we will take the body with us. He will simply recall our visit as an inconvenience" Sherlock replied.

John shook his head. "Of course we had to meet someone who was more unsociable than you" he grumbled. Then he smiled.

"Let's go home".

Sherlock nodded and grasped his hand; he wanted to make sure that they would go together, wherever they might be going.

"Ready?"

"Always" John replied, looking straight into his eyes.

Sherlock flipped the switch.

For a moment, Greg thought nothing had happened. He was about to ask if Mycroft thought anything had changed when a blinding light filled the room and he had to close his eyes.

There was a loud noise, as of several bodies falling down, and he quickly opened his eyes again and blinked, trying to adjust to the once more normally lighted room.

Mycroft was fine and moving towards Sherlock and John, who were sitting on the floor, looking confused; Greg automatically went to follow him when he remembered the room's other occupant and drew his weapon as he turned around, pointing it at Moriarty who was trying to leave.

"Can't blame me for trying" he explained, "especially since it seems like our deal lost his point."

Greg almost turned around. Everything in him told him to turn around, because this was about Trevelyan, and if it was about Trevelyan, it was about Sherlock and John too; but he managed to fight the temptation and motioned for Moriarty to walk back into the room with his gun.

The consulting criminal looked almost impressed.

When Moriarty had reached the middle of the room, Greg finally registered that Trevelyan was lying on the floor, dead.

"Sherlock? John? Are you okay?"

By this time, his friends were standing. Sherlock was staring at Moriarty, who was looking back with a small smile on his face.

"Yes" John answered, "We're fine". He smiled. "Glad that it was you who pressed the button".

There really wasn't much else to say, not with Moriarty in the room, and Sherlock took a step towards him, and there was such ferocity in his face, such hatred that only became worse when Moriarty started to laugh, and Greg was wondering whether he should grab Sherlock before he did something he might regret –

Moriarty looked away, looked at something next to Sherlock's left shoulder, and the expression on his face spoke of surprise, but Greg didn't want to concentrate on anything else than his friend –

A shot rang out. Moriarty fell down, a bullet in his heart.

All of them stared at Mycroft. He walked over to the table and laid the gun down.

"He was a danger to the country" he said. "We would have been forced to eliminate him anyway".

It seemed like a spell had been broken, because suddenly, John and Greg were embracing and Sherlock hugged back when the DI did the same to him afterwards, and even Mycroft looked slightly pleased.

Greg realized that he was the accomplice to two murders, but he didn't care.

Sherlock and John were back. Even that Moriarty had been alive for three years and that they had to get Moran and unravel his web all over again didn't matter. They were back.

Hours later, after a hug Sherlock had reciprocated, Sherlock and John had told them what had happened and Greg was trying to imagine Sherlock being called Bill and John being impolite and himself as a homeless man, the consulting detective asked his brother for Trevelyan's files.

Mycroft replied, "You are aware – "

"I am not trying to find a way back. I'm trying to find a way to contact them. They need all the help they can get".

Mycroft hesitated, but when he looked in his brother's eyes, Greg saw understanding there.

And as he handed Sherlock the files and the consulting detective looked at his flatmate, Greg couldn't help but feel that his friend had been right when he had told him something years ago.

They had to hide bodies and explain their behaviour (even if they thankfully no longer had to fear for their memories, because since Sherlock's and John's return they hadn't had troubled holding on to them), they had to see what Moriarty had done in the last three years, but they were already on the brink of another adventure.

Because Sherlock was right.

The game was never over.

Author's note: I wish you all the best of days.