Epilogue

12 June 2011

"This phone call—it's, er…it's my note," Sherlock told him. "It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

Sherlock could see John shaking his head, dropping his hand for a moment before bringing it back to his ear. "Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John," said Sherlock, hoping that this time around, it wasn't forever.

"No," said John. "Don't—"

Sherlock let his arm drop, trying to control himself. He tossed his phone backwards onto the roof and looked down at the airbag below him. He knew his lab tests showed no major blood clots, but what if it had been that way before? What if there was no escaping fate? What if, no matter what they did, he was to die this morning?

He took a deep breath. It didn't matter. If he didn't, his three friends would die. He had to.

For Lestrade. For Mrs. Hudson.

For John.

Distantly, Sherlock heard John scream his name as he raised his arms and pitched himself from the roof.

12 June 2013

John froze, blinking, as a peculiar sensation swept over him. Frowning, he glanced up at Greg, who was sharing the bewildered expression on his face.

"What is it?" asked Mary.

"It changed," said John as Greg nodded. "The funeral changed. Before, it was open casket, and it was Sherlock in there, but now—"

"The casket was closed," Greg finished.

"And Sherlock's parents," said John as the memory became clearer. "They weren't there this time. That would make sense if he had faked his death, right?"

"Yeah, he wouldn't have let them think he was dead when he wasn't," Greg agreed.

"And now, I don't remember Mycroft coming to tell me the truth, that Sherlock had actually died instead of faking his death," said John.

"So, it worked?" asked Mary.

"I think it did," said John, a smile breaking out over his face.

Mary enveloped him in a hug as a couple cheers and laughs filled the room. It wasn't long, though, before John sobered a bit.

"Wait," he said, a distant look on his face as he searched his memories, "if it worked…why didn't anything else change?"

"What do you mean?" asked Mary.

"I still remember him being dead for the last two years," John explained. "If he's alive, why hasn't he come back?"

Eight hours later…

John, Greg and Mary were sitting grimly in 221B's sitting room, each lost in their own thoughts. They had waited all day for Sherlock to walk through the door or for John's or Greg's memories to change more, but…

"If he didn't die, why didn't he contact me?" John spoke up. "I mean, he'd be able to tell from my first letters how much his death wrecked me. Why wouldn't he tell me he was alive?"

"He must have his reasons," said Greg.

"Yeah, like he didn't make it," muttered John.

"Don't say that, John," Mary told him.

"Well, what if it's true?" said John. "What if the reason why it was a closed casket wasn't because it was a body double but because it actually was Sherlock, too broken from the impact with the ground that they decided on a closet casket? I mean, what if I only made things worse?" His throat tightened horribly as tears threatened to fall. "What if Moriarty caught on to Sherlock taking streptokinase and put another plan in motion? What if Sherlock actually had to jump and—" His throat closed up and cut off his sentence.

Mary stood and stepped up next to John's armchair, squatting and wrapping he arms around him. John put his own arms around her. It was a while before anyone spoke.

"If he did, he proved me right," said Greg.

John and Mary looked up at him.

"He saved our lives," Greg went on. "He was a good man."

John remembered back to that first case.

"Because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one."

John nodded. "He was." He gave a small smile. "I visited his grave for the first time after the funeral, and I…" his smile grew, "I told him about how he was a hero…the best man I'd ever known…" His smile faltered. "I asked him to stop being dead." He looked up at the others, a sort of ironic laugh in his smile. "If he'd been alive, that would have been the perfect time to let me know."

The other two chuckled a little and fell silent.

"If I had, I'd be dead."

John's head snapped up to face the doorway, where Sherlock Holmes stood, a roomy jacket with jeans and a t-shirt on instead of his usual attire. John's jaw dropped.

"By believing I was dead, your letters the last two years saved my life," Sherlock went on.

John slowly stood and faced his friend, shock written all over his features.

"Besides, you know how I love a dramatic entrance," said Sherlock.

That did it. The shock broken, John started laughing and stepped forward to embrace his friend. Sherlock returned the embrace for a moment before it was broken. He looked up at Greg.

"You never wrote that Lestrade was in on this," Sherlock accused John. He then looked at Mary. "And…" his brows furrowed, "I haven't met this one, have I?"

"Ooh, you were right, John, he is charming," Mary teased.

Smiling, John gestured between the two of them. "Mary, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Mary Morstan."

"Ah, the latest girlfriend," said Sherlock.

Mary giggled as John's jaw clenched.

"Not 'latest,' Sherlock," John muttered. "Hopefully, the last."

"Oh, you're finally giving up on dating," said Sherlock. "Well, it was a valiant effort, but not many women can cope with such an active, dangerous lifestyle."

John shook his head and turned towards Mary. "Why do I bother?" He strode back to his chair.

Mary's giggles renewed as she stepped towards Sherlock. "Can't cope, hmm? What can you deduce, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock frowned at her rather uninhibited confidence and then looked her over. "You are an only child, whose parents made up for lack of siblings by buying a pet, which is why you are a cat lover. You work as a part-time nurse—oh, at John's practice; that's how you two met. You're short-sighted and wear contacts, not comfortable with laser eye surgery due to a bad experience you had when you had your appendix removed. Oh, and you have a secret tattoo."

Mary nodded with an impressed smile. "Hmm. Looks like I did an excellent job with my identity, then."

Sherlock frowned, thrown for a moment. "Identity…Witness protection? No, not quite that. Witness protection comes with government handlers, and you're far too independent for that. Government agent?"

"MI-5," Mary supplied.

"Ah," breathed out Sherlock in realization. "Operative?"

"Part of an elite team, sent to extract and interrogate," Mary told him.

"Ah, an assassin," deduced Sherlock. He glanced over at John. "She told you about this?"

"Not at first," said John. "It took a while before I showed her she could trust me."

Sherlock glanced at Mary. "In other words, you were bragging on our cases so much that Mary got jealous and wanted to show she could handle cases as well."

"Basically," shrugged Mary.

"Solve any while I was away?"

"If I had, I would have told you in the letters," John told him.

Sherlock nodded and moved over to his armchair. "Well, it's nice to finally meet you."

John frowned. "We've met, Sherlock."

"No, we haven't," said Sherlock, settling into the seat. "I've met the John before the letters. You are a John that has communicated two years into the past, a John with a burden of keeping my death a secret from me, of determining what to tell and what not to tell. I do not envy you that burden. Nor am I ungrateful."

John nodded, accepting the gratitude. "So, what's with the attire?"

"Less conspicuous," Sherlock replied. "I am supposed to be dead, remember?"

"Right," said John. "How do you plan on returning from the dead? When?"

"Very soon," said Sherlock. "Once Mycroft is finished dealing with my exploits over the last two years."

"What have you been doing?" asked Greg.

"Hunting down Moriarty's network."

"By yourself?" asked John in surprise.

"Mycroft sent people when I needed them, but, yes," said Sherlock.

"And you're finished?" asked John.

"Mycroft's people are dealing with the last loose end I pointed them at, but I had places to be," said Sherlock. He gave John a smirk. "It's a very important anniversary, after all."

John shook his head. "Always the drama queen."

"I have to be," Sherlock replied. "Apparently, I'm a miracle worker."

John looked over at him, the smile fading a little.

"Wait, there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't…be…dead."

Sherlock looked back at him, conveying everything in one solemn look. I was there. "Sorry I'm late."

John's smile returned. "Better late than never."

There was silence for a few moments before Greg stood.

"Well, I better be off," he told them. "My shift starts early tomorrow, and I haven't slept all night." He moved towards the door.

"Night, Greg," said John.

"And Lestrade—" began Sherlock.

"My lips are sealed," Greg assured him. He turned back. "Do me a favor, though? Tell me when the news breaks? I'd love to see the look on Donovan's face."

Sherlock frowned. "Just Donovan? What happened to Anderson?"

"Oh, he was let go months back," said Greg. "Mental breakdown, is what they said. Completely obsessed with this mad theory that you'd faked your death." He gave a smirk and left.

Sherlock stared after him. "Well, what do you know? Anderson got one right." He looked back at John. "So, when are you proposing?"

John looked at Sherlock in rising indignation. "Sherlock—"

"Oh, it's fine," said Sherlock dismissively. "Mary knew."

"You—" John frowned as he looked at Mary. "You did?"

Mary gave him a sheepish smile. "I did. You've been furtive for weeks, there was a receipt sticking out of your pocket last week for Gillman's—which has a jewelry shop on the same street, and you keep patting your coat pockets—which, judging by the bulge over your chest, is where you've got the ring now."

John rolled his eyes. "Great, there's two of them."

Sherlock smiled at Mary. "Excellent set of skills, Mary. John, I approve."

"Well, thanks, for your blessing," muttered John sarcastically.

"My pleasure," said Sherlock.

"I do have one question, though," said Mary, looking over at Sherlock. "Molly."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, Molly was involved."

Mary waved that off. "No, no, of course she helped you fake your death. I want to know what you think of her."

Sherlock frowned and looked up at John.

"She thinks you have feelings for Molly," John told him for clarification. "Romantic feelings."

Sherlock looked back at Mary, staring at her for a long moment before sighing. "Possibly."

John's eyes widened as Mary's smile widened immeasurably. "What?"

"For years, I have felt that Molly counted more than everyone else, but I just assumed it was because she was one of the few people that put up with me," said Sherlock. "But then, there was Lestrade, and then you, John. Molly feels more important to me than either of you. Is that attraction, romance? I don't have a clue. But I believe I am willing to explore it."

"I knew it," laughed Mary. She looked at John. "I told you."

"I see you've told her all about me," Sherlock told John. "Well—" he slapped his hands onto the armrests and pushed himself to his feet, striding towards the door, "—let's go give Mrs. Hudson a heart attack, shall we?"

"Sherlock—" John exclaimed, jumping out of his own chair and hurrying after him as Mary dissolved into laughter again.

26th June

The Empty Hearse

Well.

So yes.

You'll have seen the news.

Where do I even begin?

As the trending hashtag says: #sherlocklives

So yes. He's come back from the dead.

Oh, and in other news, I've got engaged. But, it's not something I'm really going to talk about much here. I want to keep some things private. I will say, though, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Sorry, Sherlock :)

So, yes. It's all good. Better than good. It's bloody brilliant. #sherlocklives means #johnwatsonlives.

THE END