Can you believe it? We're finally here! Final author's note will be following this chapter. Please enjoy!

James eased himself to a seat, his face almost white. We could still hear the police and maintenance crew outside, working on the burned-out tube station. The weight of everything rested like an iron plate on my shoulders, crushing me down into the corner of my armchair. Even you were affected, balanced against the edge of the desks with a glazed gaze as the three of us waited in silence, disgust hanging like a chill in the air.

"There's no doubt in my mind that this was the colonel's doing." You said. "He told Cemal very clearly that he was going to kill Macie. Although he changed his mind about getting rid of us, that was only after we had arranged to pay, he made no such agreement with Macie. And if he was responsible for this bomb, it isn't a far stretch to consider him responsible for the bombing in Glasgow."

"How do you figure?" Sholto asked.

"It's farily obvious now that he only brought up your supposed memory loss to slow us down. If we had actively pursued the case, Macie's case, eventually we would have caught up with him. When you and John went to Scotland, you separated yourselves and gave him the perfect opportunity. Whether he had truly intended to kill you or to scare you off, I'm not sure. But the woman who rescued you was a friend of Miranda's."

"Isatta."

"Yes. She, at that time, was answering Miranda's word. You and John were caught in the crossfire between the colonel, who wanted you more or less gone, and Miranda, who wanted you alive."

"Why did he rescue us from Cemal, then, if he wanted us gone?"

"I don't know. He possibly thought we could be more useful to him later on."

"But if he was the one to kill Macie, will he go after Sholto, too?" I asked.

"No." You answered. "We paid him off of the major when we paid him off us."

"We did?"

He nodded and added, "I've been keeping potential terrorists off my back for years. As long as I can get back safely, I'll be fine."

"I still don't want you leaving so quickly," I said, "Not after this."

"His estate is the best place for him to be. Like he said, it's built to deter threats, and it's been doing so for a good amount of time." You turned to me. "You and I are safe in London, but I can't promise the same for Sholto. I'll have Mycroft make arrangements for him. The colonel won't dare try to cross my brother."

I bit my cheek.

We were quiet until Sholto stirred again, running his fingers across his brow. "Are we responsible for Macie's death?" He asked.

"No." You replied. "The colonel is."

"Miranda is." I seethed. "She tried to use Macie as a mole."

"Or Macie herself if responsible, because she tried to use Miranda as protection." You said.

"They killed each other." Sholto said. "Macie might have been the only one to die, but Miranda in a way destroyed herself. Her source of secret information is gone. Which begs the questions of what she was using Macie for in the first place, and what kind of 'foreign business' got them exposed. What would be worth sticking out her own neck? Was it a code? or a location? or a person?"

"When we were going through the journals, she kept the more modern books to herself." I mentioned. "She seemed a bit aggressive, too, about them. What if she was looking for something the whole time, and trying to hide whatever it was from us?"

"Or hiding her own identity," You said. "She wasn't featured in the books we were going through. She made her appearance after Macie's military career. Miranda may have been trying to avoid revealing herself."

"It could've been both." Sholto added. "She was hiding herself, while also hiding what she wanted."

I paused, then asked, "What do we know she wanted?"

You closed your eyes to think. "She wanted to save Macie, but in the end, regardless of her efforts, she failed. She also wanted to keep you and the major alive, which is why she sent Isatta to help you in Glasgow. She wanted to identify who had kidnapped Macie, that's why she was in Wales..." You trailed off, opening your eyes. "No. That doesn't make sense."

"Jandi knew who took Macie. It was Tamim. He said he had made a deal with him." James said. "And Miranda had spent time with him. She could've just asked Jandi who had taken Macie, and that would've been the end of it."

"She could've been searching for his location," I offered.

"No. She knew plenty about Cemal, she told Isatta so." You stared at the wall. "She was looking for something."

"All that searching we did, then, that was just window dressing? She wasted our time?"

"There must be something missing." You folded your hands underneath your chin. "She knew where Macie was, she knew how to get to her. What else did she need? Jandi? He wasn't with her in the house, but since he was relatively unharmed when she brought him back, he must've been kept in a safe place." You drummed your fingers together. "If Miranda knew where Macie was, what kept her from rescuing her?"

"Leverage," I said. "She might've been trying to use us as bargaining chips."

You nodded. "Possibly."

We were quiet for a moment, then Sholto spoke up. "What if the information that Miranda needed would have been cut off when she rescued Macie?"

You glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if Miranda had to figure something out before she rescued Macie, but not because it related to Cemal or Tamim? It could've related to what she was looking for originally, the thing that exposed both herself and Macie. But once Macie was saved, she wouldn't be able to find it. Or, maybe, it wouldn't have mattered anymore."

You opened your mouth, but paused, your mind still whirring.

"What did Miranda lose after rescuing Macie?" He asked.

"Not much, besides Macie as a whole," You admitted. "But I don't know why Miranda would have tried to rescue Macie if she had anticipated her murder. If Miranda's plan had gone the way she had intended, we would have rescued Macie and brought her to the surface without interception or loss of life. But we were separated, and you captured."

Sholto shifted in his chair. "There's something else."

We both looked at him. "And what is that?" You asked.

"The separation was Miranda's intended course of action." He said, quietly. "On the plane, while John was asleep, she spoke with me. She wanted me at her signal to break John away from the group and take him back to the surface. Not to hurt him. To keep him safe."

"And you went along with her?" You fumed.

"Only because I thought she was right." He defended. "John shouldn't have been anywhere near Cemal. Not only was it bad for him, you two could've gone much farther on your own."

"If she really believed that, why the hell would she let him down there in the first place?" You rubbed your temples. "That must've been it. She wanted to get me down there, alone. She was going to use me as her leverage."

"No, you're wrong." I said. "When I was arguing with Franklin, she told him that you were too valuable to lose. If you were too valuable to lose, you would have been too valuable to trade."

"But that doesn't make sense, then." Sholto said. "If you weren't her bargain, why did she want you alone?"

"Maybe I wasn't the purpose." You looked at me. "John was."

"Me?" My eyes swam. "But... You're a world-renowed detective, a genius, and you have your brother's prestige, too. I don't have anything."

"You have a connection to Guendolyn," James said. "He let Cemal have Sherlock, but he wouldn't let him have you."

"And when you revealed who you were, Cemal gave the colonel what he wanted." Your face went blank. "You were Miranda's leverage. If she had you, Cemal would've given her what she wanted."

I glanced between you and Sholto. Both of you had the same expression.

"But if she was his wild card, why did she want him off the field?" He asked.

"His value must've been too great to risk revealing, even to us. She appealed to your affection, major, rather than mine, because she knew you would sympathize more with John at the time. She knew she could use you. And whatever idiotic argument she used on you, it must've worked."

"But that doesn't explain why I would be valuable." I said. "Why would someone want me more than you?"

"I don't know, but someone does. Someone with relevance." You rolled your jaw. "I'll have to keep thinking."

"I am sorry, Sherlock." Sholto said. "I wouldn't have listened to her if I had known."

"Next time, consider all possibilities," You replied. "But, in your blunder, you revealed a chink in Miranda's armor. Perhaps ours, as well.'

"I don't understand." I put my head in my hands. "Does this mean I'm to blame for what happened?"

"No, John." You said, firmly. "It only means that now we know there's something below the surface. From the beginning, both Franklin and Miranda were trying to keep you distant from the case as well as they could. Franklin said he couldn't help, and Miranda was not interested in our assistance. When we pressed forward, the dichotomy between them opened. Franklin wanted to kill you, and Miranda wanted to use you. But neither of them wanted you to know why."

"What now, then?" I asked. "What do we do now?"

You settled against the desk again, looking toward the floor. "Guendolyn has thrown Cemal off our scent. We three have gotten out, but only by the skin of our teeth. We now know that there's some sort of disguised interest in you, but it's not the time to throw ourselves back in, not yet. We need to build our security back up. Refresh ourselves. Prepare, so that if and when another Miranda comes, we'll be able to root out her, and everything she stands for, permanently."

We nodded, solemnly. You looked toward the street.

I sat nestled deep into my armchair, the tea gripped between my hands now gone cold. The sun was setting, and I watched the colors bleed into the horizon, clouds soaking up the hues of purple and gold. I hadn't panicked yet, which was good. But I still hadn't shaken the feeling of failure. I stirred the tea. I was beginning to suspect that everyone I had ever come into contact with was some kind of criminal. Guendolyn had been interwoven with the black market so tightly that it was now difficult to think of him independent from it. Macie, also, had been harboring her own secrets. And somehow I now had the crown of an invisible bounty on my head, a fact that made me even more incredibly nervous. All our unknowns threatened to suffocate me.

I always despised cases which ended with jagged strings left over. We'd encountered them before, of course, but this one was far too personal to be comfortable. There was no smooth solution for you to identify and file away. Our answers only seemed to give way to more questions, questions we couldn't answer without putting ourselves into even more danger. The last thing we wanted was to get lost in a mess like this again. Like you had said, we were not ready to jump back into a case we had been ill-equipped to handle the first time.

That led me to think further about just what the consequences were for us. Had we already swam out too far? Would it be impossible for us to move past? Would we be able to rest again until we figured out what exactly Miranda wanted from us, what exactly had gotten Macie killed? I didn't know. It sickened me, but I didn't know. I took another sip. You had told me not to think too long about it, but I couldn't help it. It was, in the most basic sense of the phrase, my business. And I didn't want anyone else getting hurt because I didn't realize I was dangerous.

Especially not James. He came down from the upper flat with his suitcase in-hand, generously returned to him by Mycroft. A black car waited outside for us, humming in a parking space. You were still dressing in the bedroom, so he set the case down and took a seat in your chair.

He watched me for a moment, then sat foward. "Are you sure you'll be alright, John?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question," I replied, swirling my cup.

He quirked his lip. "I'll be fine, of course. But right now, you're the one with the bigger target on his head."

"I've got Sherlock," I said.

But then I froze. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say, considering. But he didn't seem fazed by it. In fact, he nodded, glancing up toward the kitchen doorway. "He'll be good for you."

I studied him, and he looked back at me, holding my gaze for a long time. He was not a simple man, nor was he a particularly kind one. But he looked at me with beautiful honesty. I realized then that his bright eyes shone the way yours did, like two quartzes of different shades. And I realized that he made my chest ache not with longing but with relief, bittersweet contentment, because he was still lovely, and that meant he had not broken me.

He saw the same in me, I think. In a way I was his reassurance, his reminder both of the depth of his own failure and of the potential of forgiveness. He had watched me fall to pieces at his own hand, he knew every detail of my pain. In his eyes, I am strong, and so I am. I reminded him that no matter how deep the storm became, just above the clouds, the sun still shone. He was not defined by his losses. He was not a captive to his mistakes. In my eyes, he is whole, and so he is. That was enough.

You came from the bedroom, just finishing with your scarf. James stood, and I set my tea to the side. "Ready?" You asked.

"Ready." He nodded.

The ride was quiet. I had the seat between you and James, and at first I was nervous. But there was no argument and no tension, not this time. You even offered to carry his case for him as we arrived, which he politely declined. I was both surprised and suspicious. Obviously something had changed your thoughts about him. Of course, I still noticed your shoulders tense whenever he got close to me. Some things would never change, I guess, but I chose to be okay with that. It was definitely a start.

A typical nighttime crowd was milling around the airport, disguising us as we walked with Sholto through security and toward the gate. Mycroft had assigned two plainclothes officers to Sholto and gotten him a flight on a commercial aircraft under a different name. All precautions, of course, since you were fairly certain Franklin wouldn't try another bomb. That still didn't help my nerves, though, and my stomach was flipping wildly.

James' plane began boarding not long after we reached the gate. As he set his suitcase to the side to say his goodbyes, he offered his hand to you, and you took it, shaking firmly. "I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Holmes." He said.

"And you, major." You replied. "Take care."

James nodded, then turned to me. He lifted his arm in a sharp salute, and I returned it.

"I hope to see you again." He said.

"Soon." I agreed, letting my arm fall. "Send me an e-mail when you're home. I want to know you've arrived safely."

"I will."

"Call us if you need anything, anything at all, and we'll be right over."

"I appreciate that."

I looked at him, trying to keep up a neutral exterior, but my own sadness jostled me. He smiled, trying to lift my mood. But I had no idea when, if ever, I would see him again. It wouldn't be long until his old habits set in and he would drop out of communication. We were on separate paths now, and no amount of grief would change that. Of course, that didn't stop me from wishing it could. I stepped up to him before I could talk myself out of it and wrapped my arms snugly around his chest. He responded, setting his chin on the top of my head.

We only stayed like that for a few seconds, but I felt my heart start to tear as I pulled away. He took his suitcase again.

"Thank-you, both of you." He nodded. "Good-bye, John."

"Good-bye, James."

You stepped up beside me as I watched him go, your hands buried deep into the pockets of your coat. "He'll be alright."

"I know he will." I kneaded my hands. "I know he will."

You looked at me, then reached over to touch my arm, sliding your hand down the sleeve of my jacket until our fingers intertwined.

"We'll wait to leave after his plane takes off." You said, glancing back into the airport. "There's a café, let's get something warm."

"Mm, alright."

You kissed my temple, then pulled me toward the crowd.

"James told me the two of you talked," I said, taking my coffee as you sat down across from me. The runway floodlights sparkled through the window and into your hair as you raised an eyebrow, and I continued. "I couldn't help but notice your attitude improved. Did he say something? That made you change your mind?"

"Change my mind about what?" You asked.

"Your treatment of him," I said.

You shrugged, stirring your drink. "I'm still not fond. Nothing's changed in that respect. I still consider him destructive and probably not the most favorable of friends."

"Then what has changed?"

You looked up at me. "He shared some details of your deployment that I hadn't known before."

"Oh." I sipped. "Like what?"

"The situation of your shoulder wound." You said. "You were on the move, and you stalled to assist your supervisor. He was killed. You were shot."

I nodded.

"At first I thought Sholto would have been the one to save your life. He had implied it before, saving you."

"No, he didn't mean like that."

"He meant afterward."

I nodded again.

"He talked about how you insisted on continuing to work, ignoring your injury until you were severely ill with infection. Even bedridden, you refused antibiotics for favor of the wounded soldiers. In the end, the only option he had was to bring you back to England. If he hadn't, you would've died."

"Yeah, I was pretty stubborn about it at the time."

"Your 'stubbornness' was later attributed to PTSD."

"Yes," I studied you. "And?"

"I don't know, it sounded exactly like something you would do."

You took a drink from your cup, rearranging your thoughts in your head.

"He also told me that you had been his best friend."

I opened my mouth to say something, but you weren't finished.

"He explained how, after the assault, things began to change within and between you. You were angry and wounded, emotionally, and you wouldn't have it anymore. You were finished excusing his actions and would not allow yourself to be used. But you didn't threaten to expose him or hurt him in any way. You just ran, kept yourself from getting close again, but you didn't keep himself from you, you kept yourself from him. This both confused and irritated Sholto at first, but after he realized what you were doing and why, he was able to recognize how monstrous he had been toward you. Your self-defensive response both negated any excuse he had for anger and prodded him to consider that the source of the problem was himself."

I shfted. "Well, when you put it that way."

You continued to swirl your coffee. "I know you well, but I had falsely assumed that when you distanced yourself from me it was an aggressive action rather than a defensive one. You were trying to prevent yourself from getting hurt, therefore you tried to separate yourself. I don't want you to continue to be isolated."

"Alright," I said, but you were not convinced, and reached across the table to touch my wrist.

"What I mean is, I don't want you to be afraid of being hurt by me. I want you to trust me."

I nodded.

"It would help if I knew what exactly was keeping you from trusting me," You continued.

"It would help me, too." I laughed, then went quiet. "I don't know."

"You don't have to figure it out right now. I can be patient." You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "I know it's probably difficult for you to think about, both with the stress right now and all those months of shitty therapy working to bury it. But when you're feeling better, think about it. Until then, I'll just spoil you."

I grinned, chuckling softly toward my cup. You smiled too and swung your legs out from the table.

"I saw muffins inside, I want to get us some." You stood up. "I need your credit card."

"What's wrong with yours?" I asked.

"Mycroft's gotten it suspended as payback for wage he's giving the colonel." You huffed. "Not even my debit will work."

"Only the muffins," I dug into my pocket and handed you my card. You nodded and disappeared, headed up toward the counter.

Past the glass, the plane began to pull away, headed down the asphalt runway toward the sky. I took another sip of my warm coffee, letting the smell waft up through my nose. My head buzzed with all the fresh emotion, but I closed my eyes and let it fade away, leaving only the crisp fufillment of the echo of your voice inside my head. I could tell that you were still wrestling in a way with the revelation of Sholto and the fact that my affection did not begin or end with you. But I hoped that you'd take comfort in the fact that, in the end, you were the only one who held my heart, regardless of how splintered it might be.

James' plane lifted off the ground, carrying him far into the distance. I followed it until it was a tiny speck on the horizon, dissolving into the dark skyline.

So here we are again, Sherlock, standing at the horizon between the future and the past.

Truly, I would have never expected anything like this. There are much more pleasant things to hope for than the death of friends, or the loss of others. But through all the pain of this ordeal also came a deeper sense of who I was, not only in myself, but also in you. Seeing a person reflected through another's words does a lot to change your perpsective, and I think you understand that as well as I do. Being prepared for it only lessens its effect, along with its benefit. So, in that way, we did gain.

Please, remember that I love you. I always have. I might be weak at times, but my feelings for you will always be strong enough to sustain me. I do know that at times I am disappointing. Believe me, I disappoint myself more often than I disappoint you. Too often I find myself needing what I don't want and wanting what I don't need. But you have always been my resting place, my safe haven, regardless of how we might change. If you promise to leave your heart open to me, I will try my best to leave mine open to you.

Now, hopefully, you understand my battlefield better than before. It's not that I am unable to trust you. But the memories of dark times make me afraid, and make me doubt if I'm strong enough. I adore you, but I don't always understand you, and the scars of old wounds hold me back. All I ask is that you don't let my fear or my pain become yours. I want to trust you, and, eventually, I'll get there. For now, you can help me by remaining honest, by remaining lovely, by remaining yourself.

We've lost a great deal, but I hope that in losing we've tilled the soil for new growth. I look forward to seeing the new heights we'll reach, together, even if those heights are accompanied by troughs and thorns. That's just what life is. That's what love is. And I want to experience all of it with you.

All to you, Sherlock Holmes.

John