*** This is only for those that wanted a little more closure at the end of the story!***

I'm sure the rest of you will read it anyway, but hey, now you can't say I didn't warn you.

Secrets - One Republic

Fireflies - Owl City

Vanilla Twilight - Owl City

Hear You Me - Jimmy Eat World

He sat in his lounge chair quietly observing as he did on those days that he felt no need to tangle with his newest inventions. The pile of letters on the tea table to his left held nothing quite as interesting as the woman he watched across the room. One arm stretched over head with a cloth in hand, the other grasping the window's frame for support as she moved. Side to side then up and down. The steady rhythmic movements might have almost been mesmerizing if he were not somewhat otherwise occupied with contemplating other things. Things he never thought to contemplate before now.

Because now they were clearly coming into his life despite every effort to avoid them.

Sherlock thought of telling her once again to put her four hundred thousand pound income to work by hiring a maid. The words never passed his lips though they sat heavy on his tongue. The woman would only glare at him and tell him once more that she could handle the house work and the cooking. It was only the two of them. It was not as if they had more than a handful of friends or visitors to speak of. She insisted on being more than capable. For the two of them.

That line of thought only brought him round to brooding once more.

The knowledge should have bothered him. He knew it. He knew it the moment that his brain added one and one together. It did not, however, which in turn bothered him more than not being bothered in the first place. A bizarre occurrence. Especially for him.

Sitting there in the lounge chair in what used to be the parlor of Missus Hudson's house (though it legitimately belonged to him for these last two years) his brain mulled over the reality of the situation before him. Dark eyes darted back to the red haired woman with her lovely face set in a deeply determined furrow. She claimed to enjoy the cleaning. He knew she preferred to cook. Baking long ago became a favorite of hers thus lending to the delay in his discovery. Now that he went back through his memories of the last month he felt as if there were large painted signs shouting at him in bold red lettering.

He pressed his fingers to his forehead.

"Sherlock," Naoi's cut through his mental meanderings, "I asked if you'd heard from my brother." She looked at him, one hand on her hip, head slightly cocked, blue-grey eyes so very blue in the dwindling sunlight coming through the window. A wisp of coppery hair fell against her cheek.

Would it be so terrible? The idea struck him seemingly out of nowhere. For two years this woman shared his life, his bed, his home. He gave her use of his name. Her sharp, quick mind had been useful on more than one case. More than one occasion. Her wit made him laugh. She could shush Watson into submission. Would it truly be so terrible to simply open his mouth and ask a question that would keep her with him permanently?

He met the gaze of questioning blue-gray eyes, "No."

People assumed they were married to begin with.

Her head bobbed once in assent, her fingers pulling at the knot of her apron.

His eyes dropped to the slight bulge in her belly revealed only by the loss of that white square of cloth. Two weeks he'd been gone on a case. Two weeks that lent him new eyes when he returned home. If he thought to blame her slight weight gain on her new found love of baking and cooking before, he found no excuse now. Five days of thinking brought him down to several conclusions.

One, that he did not necessarily want back the life he had before Naoi Edric entered it. Two years ago the life of a bachelor suited him. He had no need of anything but the next case, and the occasional shot of cocaine. He remembered those days vividly. He did not mourn them. For a short time the beginning he might have, but now? Not so much.

Two, Naoi never asked anything of him while giving him everything. From the day she returned from Ireland. She was everything he needed and then some. Sounding board and voice of reason.

Three, their child would be a force to be reckoned with. His brain. Her beauty.

Four, Naoi had no idea she happened to be with child.

Five, he should have asked her to marry him a long time ago.

The grandfather clock Naoi shipped from Ireland to England chimed indicating midday. She stopped her cleaning. "I think I may have a few scones left from yesterday. I know we have some jam left." She asked after tossing aside her apron. "Did you want tea?"

"Marry me."

Naoi's head bobbed once as if she heard him answer her question. She made it a handful of steps before stopping in her tracks. He watched her shoulders twitch, her back straighten and then in an almost agonizing slowness, she turned to face him. She looked at him with her brown drawn together in what seemed like confusion mixed with worry. Knowing himself and their previously rocky relationship quite the way he did, lent him a certain appreciation for her apprehension. The woman had every right and reason to think whatever it was she happened to be thinking at the moment.

Whatever her thoughts were she did not voice them. So, in the quiet that filled the space between his question and the current moment, Sherlock decided to argue his point. Lest she begin to voice an argument as to why he must've gone round the bend in the last twenty minutes or so.

"It would make sense," he told her, "everyone we know refers to you as my wife. I've caught Watson and Mary saying as much. The butcher, the baker, the grocer all know you as Missus Holmes. You know my habits intimately, as I know yours. And I-"

Her voice, lower and softer than he'd ever heard it, cut through his ramblings. "Sherlock, did you just ask me to marry you?"

He thought he made that abundantly clear, "yes."

Naoi's head bowed, "is this because you were with Irene for two weeks?"

Now it was his turn to be confused. He did tell Naoi that he would be gone helping Irene figure out the culprit involved in the untimely death of husband number four. Or was this husband number five? He couldn't remember. Not that it mattered. It had been a case, a good one at that and Sherlock distinctly remembered informing Naoi of his plan to leave and the goings on when he came back. Well…not all of the goings on. She didn't need to know that he'd been locked in a coffin for the better part of a day. Nor did she need to know that Irene had attempted to kiss him several times. Attempted being the operative word. Only one kiss happened to hit its mark and he did push Irene away without thought. Not that he felt guilty, there really wasn't anything to feel guilty about. He had not kissed the woman back. Something Irene did not appreciate.

"No," Sherlock told her after a few silent moments. "It isn't."

"Are you taking morphine again?"

An exasperated sound left his mouth, "Woman you would be the first to notice if I began to use stimulants."

Her brow furrowed further, "Then why…?"

"Perhaps it is because I am tired of you being referred to as my wife without actually being my wife. Perhaps I would like your last name to be the same as mine. Perhaps because I want you with me for the rest of our natural lives and damn the consequences!"

A delicate blush graced her pale skin, reminding him just how much he liked the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. "Is that your way of saying that you love me Sherlock?"

He let out another sound of annoyance, "is that what you would like me to say?"

Her shoulders rolled, "I might like to hear it just once. Just to know that you said it."

"Should I be down on one knee as well?"

"Traditionally that is the custom. But we're neither traditional nor customary, so I suppose not." The cheeky smile she gave him with her shy, yet knowing eyes evaporated his irritation quickly.

"Woman you'll be the death of me," Sherlock declared.

"I doubt that very much," Naoi told him, "now say it and I'll give you an answer."

The great detective sighed to himself, and wondered exactly how he had gotten to this point. Then he remembered that he did care for her, quite a bit and yes, it was love. He did love her. So, if it would get him the answer he wanted, why shouldn't he give her what she wanted? "I love you, Naoi Edric."

The smile that lit her face made all of it worthwhile. Naoi dropped into his lap with a laugh and a peck on his stubbled cheek, "Yes, I'll marry you Sherlock Holmes."

He wrapped his arms around her with a smile all his own, "about damn time."

A/N: I am very well aware that many of you (including myself) thought that the last chapter was the very end of this journey between Sherlock and Naoi. This morning when I woke up I had this burning urge to write something for the two of them. Blame it on me being another year older and seeing that Sherlock and Naoi would love each other regardless of their mutual flaws.

Okay, now that really was the end. Really. I mean it this time.

I think.

For updates on other stories and/or old ones please visit my Author's page to view my twitter account.

TruthnChaos