Okay! This is the final chapter.

I hope you are intrigued/pleased with the way this little mystery ties itself up. But more than that, I hope you have been entertained by the interaction between Brennan and Sherlock, and their wing-men, Booth and Watson. If I could have written a 'My Dinner With Andre' -style conversation piece, I would have, but it did not seem prudent to write a Bones/Sherlock crossover without a murder mystery involved! It was my first... perhaps not last, but at least the last for a while! The logistics of murder are exhausting, especially when you don't have a forensic anthropologist or a borderline-autistic genius on-hand for consultation!

Thanks for "watching" - it's been fun!

The next morning, when Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan arrived to interrogate Abbie Henshaw, Lestrade had some bad news.

"A new wrench, I'm afraid," he said. "The mother is corroborating the wife's story."

"So the victim was with her mother in Banbury over the weekend?" Brennan asked.

"The mother says yes," Lestrade answered.

"Damn," Booth said. "I could have sworn I was right. Or really, that Sherlock was."

"Well, sometimes Sherlock's wrong," Lestrade shrugged. "Not often, but it does happen."

"Where are they, anyway?" Booth asked. "He and John said they were leaving at the same time as we did. They should be here by now."

As if on cue, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson came through the door. Booth updated them on the "new wrench," as Lestrade had called it.

"Impossible," Sherlock said. "She was not with her mother."

"Then where the hell was she?" John asked.

"She was in Surrey, spying on her husband and the girlfriend," Sherlock said, annoyed. "Honestly, how can you ask that?"

"Well, maybe because I wasn't there, I don't connect random things, and a witness is corroborating a different story, Sherlock," John answered in his own annoyed way. "I don't live inside your world, I'm afraid."

Sherlock sighed. "Don't I know it. Look, she finds the text message. She either recognises the number as a Surrey number, or she has it traced. She dresses in the husband's clothes so she can't be recognised even as a woman, and she spends the weekend tracking down and spying on the husband and the mistress. If she didn't confront her husband straight away, then this is what she did. It's human nature."

"What the hell would you know about humans?" asked Lestrade.

Everyone ignored the jab.

"We still don't know for sure that she didn't confront him," Booth said.

"If we are fairly certain that her husband killed her, and I think we are, then he would have killed her then, alone, instead of waiting to conspire with his girlfriend," Sherlock reasoned, getting jinned up for a tirade.

"You think?"

"Of course," Sherlock shot at him. "Businessman, mover, shaker, literally gets his feet dirty but not his hands. He's efficient. He's no fuss, no muss. He'd have got rid of her well before all this rubbish."

"Maybe," conceded Booth. "In any case, the girlfriend is waiting. Isn't she?"

"Yep," said Lestrade. "She's in the room." He gestured towards the door.

Booth stepped inside with Brennan right behind him.

"Hello, Miss Henshaw," he said. "I'm Agent..."

Brennan grabbed his wrist with intensity then, and said, "Can I talk to you outside?"

"What? Now?"

"Yes! Now!"

"Excuse us, please," Booth said to the attractive brunette at the table inside the interrogation room, who had not said a word, but looked worried and confused all at once.

Booth and Brennan stepped back out, and shut the door.

"They're sisters," Brennan said.

"Who?"

"Jessica and Abbie!" she exclaimed, and Booth shushed her. She lowered her voice and said, "The wife and the mistress! Sisters!"

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked, suspicious.

"Their bone structure is practically identical," Brennan insisted. "If I were doing a reconstruction of Jessica Leonard's skull – well, more accurately, if I was having it done by someone with more artistic talent than I have, i.e. Angela…"

"Right, I get it, Bones," Booth sighed.

"… it would look like Abbie Henshaw. Or reasonably enough like her to make me fairly certain that they are related. Given the similarity, their ages..."

"...and the mother's involvement!" Sherlock added with a fluorish.

"Yep," Brennan said, agreeing with Sherlock, amazingly. "They're sisters. I'm sure of it!"

"Is Jessica's maiden name Henshaw?" Watson asked.

"No, it's Ridge," said Lestrade. "But Abbie has been married. I can check into her ex-husband's name."

"The mother must know that Abbie helped kill Jessica," Booth said. "She's protecting her by putting Jessica someplace else that weekend? Wait… let me get my mind around this. So, Jessica..."

"Jessica was going to kill her sister Abbie, for shagging her husband," Sherlock chimed in, overtaking Agent Booth rather impatiently. "And dressed in Trent's clothes to make it look like he did it. Fibres, cologne, witnesses from afar… it would all add up to one of Trent in one of his stupid MacArdle's shirts."

"They must have seen her lurking," Booth decided.

"Chased her down in the field with the truck, and when they realised why she had the knife…" said Lestrade.

"…they pre-emptively killed her with what was handy!" Brennan shouted. "The knife she was carrying, and garden clippers from the truck."

"And of course, the boulder," John added.

"Bravo," Sherlock said, though no one was certain whether he was talking to them, to himself, or commenting on Trent Leonard.

"Let's get in there," Brennan said.

"No, I will go in," Booth told her, as he would speak to a child. "You and Sherlock are on probation now."

"Good man," John said, slapping Booth on the shoulder and walking away. "I'll be having a Scotch if anyone wants to join me."

After a slight stunned pause, Brennan said, "Yeah, I guess I could use a Scotch," and she followed Watson toward the door.

"Anyone have a cigarette?" asked Sherlock.

"Would you behave, please?" Watson chided.

It had been just over a week when Booth and Brennan finally left London and headed home to their little girl. John and Sherlock insisted on accompanying them to the airport.

Or, rather, John insisted on accompanying them, and insisted that Sherlock come along.

"Sherlock, isn't there something you'd like to say to Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth?" John asked as they stood in the terminal exchanging handshakes and goodbyes.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "I'm sorry I tried to send you back to the States in a kayak. That would have been extraordinarily dangerous, as I don't imagine that either of you have much experience in rowing. And the north Atlantic is mightily cold at almost any time of the year." He did not make eye contact, nor show any emotion when he spoke.

"Sherlock," John scolded.

Sherlock paused, and reluctantly caught Brennan's eye. He sighed with annoyance, broke contact for a moment and shuffled his feet.

"Go on," encouraged his flatmate.

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Brennan, and for realising that the victim was female," he said, irritated with himself and most everything else. "I must admit that it's fairly probable I would never have noticed."

"Mr. Holmes, I accept your thanks," Brennan announced regally, rather proud of herself. She genuinely thought she was making a concession and being a bigger person.

"Bones," Booth scolded/encouraged, in very much the same tone as John Watson had said Sherlock's name a few moments earlier.

"What?" she asked.

"Come on."

"What? He didn't make any insights that changed the case."

"Dr. Brennan, I believe that your partner is wanting you to concede something to me, namely that my methods led me to the same conclusions as yours, and that you may have been wrong in attacking the way I investigate," Sherlock said.

"I see," said Brennan. "I don't feel ready to make that concession."

"Then don't," Sherlock shrugged. "I understand why doing such a thing would make someone such as you feel threatened."

Her mouth scrunched up in anger, and she suddenly felt immeasurably glad that she was going home to Washington D.C., to her daughter, her dad, her lab, to a life with people she understood how to talk to… as much as she understood how to talk to anyone.

"I will concede, however, that…" she began. She gulped hard and looked at Booth. "It's obvious that I can't do this job by myself, and I am usually appreciative of insights that help push a case forward."

"Very big of you, Dr. Brennan," Sherlock practically whispered.

"And I will admit that I was…"

"What?" Sherlock wanted to know, suddenly interested.

"I was impressed by the range of your knowledge."

"Really?"

"Yes. In spite of your gross lack of education, your intellect is… nothing short of staggering and I believe that you could waste your talent, and you have chosen not to. This is laudable, and I wish you the best of luck in your case work."

The two shook hands and smiled at one another for the first time.

A pause, and then Booth spoke. "John, you're a great guy. Hope we see each other again."

They shook hands.

"Likewise, Booth," John said. "Thanks for making the trip."

Booth sported a big smile and he looked at Brennan. "Did you see how easy that was? Sheesh. Ready to go?"

Once more, they exchanged goodbyes, and the two Americans turned and stood at the back of the line to go through security.

As Sherlock and Watson walked away, Sherlock commented, "They are so different, those two. I wonder how they can live together."

Watson chuckled. "Agent Booth is a very, very patient man."

Sherlock just kept walking alongside him, not having heard John at all.