Disclaimer: Yeah, still the same day and none of them are mine and I'm poor as a church mouse…sorta. I do have a job.

A/N: So last chapter of the Blitz and the story. This was very fun to write and I'm glad you all enjoyed it. See you next week. Please review. Putting at the top this time just because. So hit the review button when you're finished and at least tell me what I screwed up or if you don't think I screwed up (I'd actually prefer that but I'll take what I can get).

Aftermath

A paramedic put an orange shock blanket around Sherlock's shoulders as he sat in the door of the ambulance. Sherlock looked down at it in confusion. Where was John? Lestrade ducked under the tape and approached him. "Why have I got this blanket?" Sherlock asked when he spotted him. "They keep putting this blanket on me."

Greg assessed him for a moment before replying. "Yeah, well, it's for shock."

"I'm not in shock," Sherlock protested.

Greg smiled. Sherlock was going to be just fine. "Yeah," he agreed. "But some of the guys want to take photographs and John will be less likely to tear strips off of you if you're wearing that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and clutched the blanket a bit tighter around himself. "Where is John?" He asked plaintively.

"I hope he's washing his hands," Greg said quietly. "There's no evidence that it was him that shot Hope but we both know it was."

Sherlock nodded. "Good." He looked around for a moment and finally spotted his husband standing calmly next to the barrier with Sgt. Donovan. "There he is. Good night, Lestrade. I'll give you my statement tomorrow." He leapt off the back of the ambulance and strode away.

"Yeah, fine." Greg grumbled. "John! Make sure you bring him round tomorrow for his statement."

John waved and gave him a thumb's up sign. Sherlock scowled but joined his husband at the police tape cordoning off the scene. "Thanks for the head's up, Sgt. Sally," John said as Sherlock approached.

Sally grinned. "Like you really needed it, Dr. John," she snickered and rounded on Sherlock. "Don't ever do that again, Freak! Dr. John won't always be around to save your arse!"

"I know that, Donovan, thank you." Sherlock grimaced.

Sally turned back to John and patted his arm. "Good night, Dr. John," she said. "Night Freak."

"Good night, Sgt. Sally," John smiled. They watched her join Greg and then wandered down the street.

"Good shot," Sherlock complimented him as they walked.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" John smiled.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked and pulled John's hand into his.

John gave him a strange look. "Yes, of course I'm all right."

"Well, you have just killed a man."

John considered for a moment. "Yeah." He swallowed. "That's true." He gave an unconscious grin. "But he wasn't a very nice man."

Sherlock smiled back. "No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"He was, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie." John turned sparkling hazel eyes to meet Sherlock's blue ones. They both chuckled a bit.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took us to get here."

John giggled. "Stop—we can't giggle, it's a crime scene."

"You're the one who shot him, don't blame me."

"Sherlock, keep your voice down," John admonished as one of the milling officers gave them a sharp look. "Sorry," he told the officer. "It's just nerves, I think."

Sherlock echoed his apology half-heartedly.

John tugged on his hand to get his attention but didn't untangle their fingers. "You were going to take that damn pill, weren't you?"

"Course I wasn't," Sherlock assured him. "I was biding my time. I knew you'd turn up. You always do."

John couldn't deny that. "Sometimes, Sherlock, you're a colossal idiot. What if I'd been stuck in traffic or the laptop had crashed or any of another million unforeseen circumstances."

Sherlock shrugged. "You've never let me down before, why would you start now?" John squeezed his hand, his anger fading. "Dinner?" Sherlock offered.

"Starving, you didn't let me finish at Angelo's."

"There's a good Chinese at the end of Baker Street, stays open until 2. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."

"Good evening, Mycroft," John said as they passed the black car he was stepping out of.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock spat out.

"Checking on you," Mycroft told them lightly. "You did just get kidnapped by a serial killer, brother. Though you did solve the case in the end, didn't you?"

Sherlock made an agreeing sound. "I must have missed your snipers on the roof."

Mycroft smiled. "Why would you need mine when you have one of your own? Excellent shot, by the way, John."

John smiled back. "You paid for my lessons, before the army took over, anyway."

"Money well spent, obviously." Sherlock said. "Now, why are you really here, Mycroft?"

"I can't be concerned about my brother and his husband?" Mycroft affected a wounded look. "Because I am, constantly."

"That's because you're the oldest and it's your job to worry about us, constantly," John grinned. "Or that's what you told me when I was sixteen."

"And it still holds true to today," Mycroft confirmed.

Sherlock stood behind John and wrapped his arms around his waist while leaning his chin on the top of John's head. "That's not the only reason you're here, though, is it?"

Mycroft sighed a bit. "So untrusting," he shook his head. "Where did we go wrong?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock growled. "I'm tired, hungry and horny; just spit it out already so that we can go home."

Mycroft shared a commiserating look with John before holding his hand back down into the car door. "Yes, there is another reason I came here tonight," he confirmed. "Be nice," he warned them. A feminine hand gripped his and Mycroft pulled a woman wearing a pale lavender evening gown from the back of the car. She kissed his cheek and then turned to face John and Sherlock.

Sherlock's arms dropped from John's waist and his mouth dropped open in shock. "Molly?" Sherlock and John said together.

"Hello Sherlock, John," she nodded at them a bit uncomfortably.

Mycroft took her right hand in his left. "Sherlock, John, allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Molly Holmes."

"Mrs.?" Sherlock breathed in confusion. He shook his head. "How did I not see that? How did you hide it, Molly? Does Mummy know? Why? When?"

John ignored his spluttering husband and embraced Molly. "Welcome to the family, Molly," he told her. "We're a bit insane but you already knew that."

"Mummy knows, Sherlock. She planned our elopement nearly five months ago. And we married for the normal reasons people marry. I love her"

Molly smiled. "We've something else to tell you," she said hesitantly.

Sherlock waved that off for the moment and pushed John away so that he could hug her too. "Really well done, Molly. I'd begun to fear that Mycroft would ever find someone."

Molly smiled wider, a little teary eyed. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"Now what's the news?" Sherlock demanded knowingly.

"You've already deduced it, haven't you?" Mycroft sighed.

"Yes, but I have read that it's something that needs to be said allowed for the health of all involved. People, especially in your situation, tend to get snippy when someone steals their thunder."

"You're going to be uncles in about seven months," Molly said blushing.

Sherlock hugged her again. "Excellent!"

"Brilliant," John echoed and hugged Mycroft as Sherlock was still hogging Molly to himself. "Congratulations, Mycroft."

They spoke for a few more minutes about the plans for Sunday dinner and then Mycroft dragged Molly back into the car and drove away. John and Sherlock watched the taillights disappear with satisfied grins. "So, tired, hungry and horny," John commented. "I believe I can alleviate all three."

Sherlock grasped his hand again. "You most certainly can."