AN: I am not big on authors notes so they have been few and far between on this story. I just wanted to say a quick thanks to everyone who stayed on and read to the end. I am just super proud of myself for making it through my first ever fanfic and am very grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read, follow, favourite and review it. I probably won't write a sequel, so I apologise if people want more Eurus.

I hope, as a reader, this might inspire others to post more Hermione/Sherlock who, as you might be able to tell, I am a big fan of! :)

Enjoy the epilogue.

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Epilogue: The Little Detective

The living room of 221B Baker Street was, as usual, a controlled chaos. However, today, the flat wasn't filled with the usual lab equipment and chaotic notes on Sherlock's latest cases. Instead, Sherlock Holmes stood by the door, adjusting the tiny deerstalker hat on his five-year-old son's head, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. Little William Holmes—"Liam" to family and friends—stood proudly beside his father, wearing a miniature version of Sherlock's signature coat, the boy's unruly curls peeking out from beneath the cap.

"I think you're ready, William" Sherlock said, straightening up. "A true Holmes never ignores even the smallest of clues. Today, we investigate!"

Liam's face beamed with excitement. "Can we blow something up later, Daddy?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock mused, smiling at his son's enthusiasm. "But first, we solve a mystery. A classic—no blood, no guns, just good old-fashioned deductions."

It would be the first time Sherlock had brought his son along to a crime scene.

Liam often mimicked his father's every move, much to Hermione's amusement. Even at such a young age, Liam showed clear signs of being as inquisitive and observant as Sherlock—perhaps even too much for his own good. A perfect blend of his parents' best qualities, the boy possessed Hermione's fierce intelligence and compassion, alongside Sherlock's deductive genius and penchant for mischief.

Today, Sherlock was more determined than ever to start Liam's education in the art of deduction, even if Hermione had warned him about taking things too far. But with her away on a case in Budapest for the past eight days, Sherlock had free rein—at least, as long as Hermione didn't find out.

--

The crime scene was an unremarkable London townhouse, nothing too dramatic. Some missing items, a few broken windows. The police had done their initial sweep, but Sherlock had arrived to offer his expertise, or so he said. In reality, he was more focused on teaching Liam the intricacies of crime-solving. The officers on the scene were growing increasingly agitated as Sherlock narrated every minor mistake they'd made, loud enough for his son to hear.

"And you see, William," Sherlock said, crouching down beside him, "this broken glass? It's inside the house, which means the intruder didn't break in—they staged it."

Liam nodded earnestly, repeating, "They staged it."

"That's right," Sherlock said with a proud smile. "No detail is too small. That's lesson one, my boy."

Suddenly, Detective Inspector Lestrade arrived, looking none too pleased. He hadn't come because the case warranted his presence, but because one of his officers had called in, exasperated by Sherlock bringing a child to a crime scene. Lestrade could hear Sherlock's voice drifting from inside, instructing Liam with great enthusiasm. He shook his head, a weary sigh escaping him.

Lestrade approached them and cleared his throat. "Sherlock, what are you doing bringing a child to a crime scene? This is too far man."

"Nonsense," Sherlock replied without missing a beat, rising to his full height and pulling Liam closer. "I'm teaching my progeny. You can never start too early."

"Teaching him?" Lestrade exhaled in disbelief. "You can't just—" He gestured towards his officers. "—bring your son here to harass my officers!"

"It's not harassment if they're incompetent," Sherlock countered, eyes sharp but with a teasing lilt.

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhausted already. He had plans for the evening—a date with Molly Hooper, the cheerful morgue assistant—but of course, Sherlock had to throw a wrench into things. He pulled out his phone, ignoring Sherlock's raised eyebrow.

The phone rang twice before Hermione Granger's voice came through. "Greg? Is everything alright? Should I be worried?" She sounded nervous, though there was a hint of laughter behind her words.

Lestrade shot Sherlock a sidelong glance. "Hi, Hermione," he greeted tiredly. Sherlock's face fell immediately. "Listen… Sherlock's at a crime scene. With Liam."

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Sherlock lunged for the phone, but Lestrade was too quick, holding it out of his reach. Sherlock had to keep one hand on Liam, preventing him from slipping through the crowd of police officers, who were now watching the scene with bemusement.

"Greg, I—" Hermione started, but Lestrade cut the call before Sherlock could grab the phone.

Sherlock groaned, lifting Liam onto his hip. "Traitor," he muttered at Lestrade, who simply shrugged.

--

Halfway across Europe, Hermione hung up the phone, a grin playing on her lips. She had been missing her boys terribly, and Sherlock's antics were exactly what she needed to push her decision.

She sent a quick message to Mycroft, informing him that the case in Budapest had gone cold. She had been on standby for three days now, waiting to be recalled. With a flick of her wrist, her belongings packed themselves neatly into her suitcase, which flew into her hand.

"I'm going home to my boys," Hermione whispered with a smile, before Apparating out of the room.

--

Back at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock and Liam had returned home, chips in hand. As they climbed the stairs, Liam chattered excitedly about how much fun he'd had, while Sherlock listened, amused. The little boy stuffed chips into his mouth, wiping his greasy hands on his trousers.

"William," Sherlock scolded mildly, "don't wipe your hands on your trousers."

"Yes, Daddy," Liam said through a mouthful of chips. "Sorry."

Sherlock smiled to himself. Life had changed in so many unexpected ways since Liam was born. Every day was an adventure, filled with both challenges and joy. He couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man alive.

After putting Liam to bed with a kiss on the forehead, Sherlock headed into the kitchen and flipped on the kettle. Hermione had insisted on buying the kettle when she realized Mrs. Hudson had been making Sherlock's tea for years. She had given him a thorough lecture about treating people like house-elves, a concept Hermione despised.

As Sherlock walked out of the kitchen and toward his favourite chair, he heard a familiar crack behind him. His head snapped up, and there, standing in the middle of the living room, was Hermione—wild hair, eyes shining with excitement.

Before he could do anything more than turn in her direction, she dropped her suitcase and launched herself into his arms. Sherlock caught her, pulling her close, their lips meeting in a heart-stopping kiss. He lowered her gently back to the ground, pulling her in closer to deepen the kiss, when Hermione pulled back, her face stern.

"Sherlock," she growled, "you took our son to a crime scene."

Sherlock, looking sheepish for once, responded, "It was only a small crime scene. No guns, no murder."

"As if that makes it any better," she muttered, shaking her head. But she couldn't hold her stern expression for long. She had missed them too much, and despite everything, she was just relieved to be home with her family.

"I'm really just glad to be back," Hermione admitted softly, letting her frustration melt away.

Sherlock loosened his embrace and took her hand, leading her to Liam's room, where the boy lay. Hermione sat on the bed beside him, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. "My baby boy," she whispered. "I missed you."

Liam smiled to himself, eyes scrunched shut, pretending to sleep. Hermione and Sherlock shared a knowing look, both thinking the same thing: they were the luckiest people in the world.

The witch, the detective, and the little boy who made it happen.