Sherlock huffed for breath, hands braced on his knees.

John came to a stop next to him, equally out of breath, hair windblown similarly like Sherlock's. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Sherlock panted, waving his hand. "Where's Mary?"

"She's-"

"Not as fast as you," Mary said as she jogged up next to them. "Long legs." She pointed at herself. "Short legs." She leaned against the wall.

"John has short legs," Sherlock replied.

"Oi."

Sherlock laughed breathlessly, pushing himself up to full height. His body protested the workout, and his head throbbed beneath his eyes slightly. Better to run than be caught illegally at that crime scene, though. Lestrade was still hesitant on what cases Sherlock was allowed to investigate, and this hadn't been one he'd been invited to.

He leaned back against the wall slightly, just a shoulder against the brick facade. His eyes fell closed for a moment too long, and John noticed.

"You okay?"

Sherlock offered a half smile. "Yeah. Tired," he added, because he was. His full strength still wasn't back, but he knew the road to recovery was a long one. He knew from experience that it was not a short hop down the Health line.

But was alright. He was doing cases. He was doing experiments. He was doing food, and if he was still doing therapy, so what? He was more alright than he had been in months, months.

He let out a breath he wasn't aware of holding, and smiled to himself.

"We should get a cab back," John said, and Sherlock nodded.

He could have walked back, honestly. His legs were a little wobbly, but he could have managed it. A cab just sounded better, and a little more safe, regarding the threat they were chasing this time.

He clambered into the cab ungracefully, limbs getting tangled up in themselves and his own coat, and he flopped into the seat with a little sigh.

"Well, that could have gone worse," John commented, sitting across from him.

Mary filed in beside him. "It could have been better."

"We didn't get caught, it was fine," Sherlock said, fumbling for his phone. "Oh, that reminds me, do you have-"

"I am not paying," John interrupted. "And no, I don't have cash, anyway, I didn't bring enough for anything except pastry at Speedy's. I thought we were going to your place."

"We are, we just had to make a pit stop."

"I'll pay," Mary interrupted, and Sherlock grinned.

"There you go, John, your wife has tact."

"Oh, like you're so well-up in that department."

Sherlock's grin only widened, and he tipped his head back against the seat. He wanted tea with honey in it, and chocolate covered biscuits or grilled soup with tomato soup. Hunger. He wanted food, he wanted sleep. Company sounded good, and crap telly minus the exertion regarding yelling at it was pleasing, too.

"So, any ideas about the scene?" Mary asked, drawing Sherlock out of the current list building in his head.

"Oh, a few."

"Any promising?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "They're all promising."

Mary laughed, leaning against John's shoulder lightly. John seemed to respond automatically to her, leaning over to peck his lips against Mary's cheek. They were prompted into action by one another...

... and both of them were prompted to action by Sherlock, he thought fondly, letting his thoughts wander back to the crime scene.

He yawned and shuffled back into the seat, running his fingers through his hair. He hadn't been lying to Mary; he did have promising leads on the case. But they seemed less important now, now that they'd taken off from the scene, and he'd probably get an irate call from Lestrade, but he'd solve it, like usual.

Because that was what he did.

Solved cases.

And he was good at that. So very good. Like John had first called him "brilliant" so many years ago, or Mary had called him "amazing" after meeting him, and how they all agreed that they were drama queens and theoretically unhinged, all three of them. That was good. So was food, and sleeping without medication, and chocolate dipped biscuits and the smell of new car from a barely broken in cab.

Sherlock tipped his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

Mary rest her head against John's shoulder. "Is he okay?" she asked quietly, voice dropped to a whisper, and John rest his head back against hers gently.

"Yeah. Well..." John pondered Sherlock's sleeping face for a moment, the closed eyes and the ruffled hair and the shadows beneath his eyelashes. "He's getting there."

He definitely wasn't back to his usual self, that much was for sure. John was all too aware of the fact that Sherlock was rarely winded after a run, and that he never needed to lean against a wall for support. Falling asleep in a cab wasn't unheard of, after a long day, but it hadn't been a long day by their terms.

So, no, Sherlock wasn't back to his usual self. He was getting there, though. That, he was doing. By sheer bloody minded willpower.

John knew how detrimental traumatic experiences could be. Hell, he was too familiar with that, and he didn't even know what Sherlock had gone through while he'd been gone. It was something that Sherlock had never explained, and John wasn't prying there. There were so many things that he hadn't told Sherlock, regarding Afghanistan, regarding the two years... Even if Sherlock could just read it on his own, John wouldn't have been willing to share it verbally. There were just some things you couldn't talk about, even to your best friend.

So, he didn't ask, and he wasn't going to.

The point was that he was there if Sherlock needed to talk, or wanted to, or if he needed anything else along the way. Or if he needed someone to remind him to eat (which he was managing much better at now) or sleep (and he could do that without sleeping medication half the time now) or take the pills he was prescribed (to be fair, that was one thing that Sherlock rarely needed a reminder on).

Or whatever. Whatever he needed.

John had already been doing a horrible job earlier, so he was still trying to make up for it. So letting Sherlock spend the night or finding a babysitter (mostly Mrs Hudson, who didn't mind in the slightest, or their neighbours) so that they could run off on cases together. It couldn't happen all the time, but he had to make as much of an effort as Sherlock had been.

"Yeah," Mary agreed. "It's good. I'm glad he's better; all he's been through."

"Yeah." John hummed, letting his gaze fall away from Sherlock's sleeping form. "He's been through hell."

"Runs in the family," Mary remarked.

John laughed humorlessly. "Through blood and bonds."

"Through thick and thin."

"Yeah."

Thick and thin, indeed. It wasn't easy with them, with Sherlock, it never had been and it probably never would be, but John didn't like normal (apparently), and he didn't like boring (allegedly), and between his wife and his daughter and his best mate, he was certain that it would never be normal or boring.

The cab hit a bump, and Sherlock jolted awake.

"... didn't do it!"

John blinked at Sherlock, and Sherlock blinked back at them with sleepy eyes, and a frown that slowly turned his lips down at the corners.

"... I was just talking to Lestrade," Sherlock said slowly.

John raised his eyebrows, and felt rather than heard Mary's stifled laugh, as he looked back at Sherlock. "You were just asleep."

Sherlock blinked slowly, and then exhaled. "Oh." He sat up slightly in a small stretch, and then slumped back against the seat. "It seemed real. He was yelling at me for breaking into the crime scene."

"Oh, he's getting premonitions."

"God. Don't even joke," John remarked, and Sherlock laughed a bit. "Go back to sleep," John continued shortly. "We'll wake you when we get back, yeah?"

"Mm, I'm okay." But Sherlock's head tilted against the seat again, and John was sure that he'd be asleep again in a few minutes.

That was alright.

Where Sherlock had his shortcomings, John was determined to help him pick up the pieces. Him and Mary, and everyone else in between.

Sherlock was snoring quietly within minutes.

John smiled softly and reached for Mary's hands. Only two of their hands were entwined in that moment, but all three of their lives were entangled enough that they were never truly fall apart. There was comfort in that, that Sherlock could fall asleep across from him, and that he and Mary could hold hands, and that they had a daughter to return home to after working a case.

Things weren't perfect, but flaws made for beauty, and for all of their mistakes, they had painted a mural of life worth looking at. With many more years to come, it was bound to be a masterpiece in the end.

John smiled.

He was looking forward to it.

The Epilogue was slow in coming, but I literally had very little left to say (and I sort of ran out of steam for this story, ah!). Sorry for the delay; I got super into anime again (woohoo i'm back in CLAMP hell yey) but I've had time to rewatch some Sherlock and get my video back, so I finally got this Epilogue finished. I hope you all enjoyed the ride; I hope the requester enjoyed it as well, and I thank you again for the amazing prompt! Thanks for all the favs and follows and reviews, and I hope you stuck around to the finish!

Thank you so much~

I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!