Disclaimer: I don't own anything. A.N. Thank you so very much to my dear Ennui Enigma for her work betaing this fic and saving me from glaring errors and various nonsense. This time, no warnings. Enjoy the happy…ish end.

John couldn't believe it when Sherlock returned, intact, from his ordeal. He almost might have examined him thrice to be absolutely sure that the detective wasn't lying to him and pretending to be unhurt. It wouldn't be the first time it happened, after all. With so much at stake, the doctor refused to risk being duped. The sleuth had been hurt too often in the past without allowing him to help.

As for Sherlock, he explained mostly everything except why his view of hereafter had suddenly changed. He was still trying to come to terms with that himself. And, after Moriarty had ruined his friend's life too, he wasn't sure that his blogger might deem him ultimately responsible for not having looked after Redbeard properly, or trained him better, or something. The thought of losing his friendship was unthinkable, so the detective kept his little secret and enjoyed cuddling on the sofa next to his best friend. Neither had the force of will to give up the intimacy after such traumatic events getting to their respective beds. And, that was how, ultimately, they fell asleep.

The following day, John's mind kept turning back to the consulting criminal's words. Was Violet really the sniper's child? If so, he supposed he had no legal rights to her, despite having been married to her mother and loving her with all his soul. Perhaps he could storm in and take the baby by force? Moran certainly wouldn't stand for it, and putting her at the centre of a potentially gun-fought custody battle would endanger her. Possibly get her hurt. That couldn't be allowed. But, how could he renounce and abandon her, on the other hand?

As for Sherlock, he thought that John would be the one to take the lead in the saving of Violet. For once, being the leader instead of the loyal follower. She was his child. The detective was ready to defer to John's higher experience about anything concerning her future. Instead, he observed his best friend clearly agonizing over his choices. What was there to doubt? It was pretty obvious, wasn't it? They only had to get her out from Moran's murderous hands.

John was in an agonising quandary, that is, until they heard a child's cry. At this, John's heart broke – was he starting to have auditory hallucinations because of his aching for Violet? – and then up came Mrs. Hudson, with a baby (no, with Violet – really Violet!) in her arms, saying someone had left her down and maybe they could help finding the parents?

"Done, Mrs. H. Here's her dad, " Sherlock declared, with a grin, indicating his flatmate. The old woman cooed happily, and John embraced his child, choked with emotion.

"Moriarty did say that everything of yours would eventually be returned," the sleuth pointed out. Though he hadn't thought the baby would be included in the list, the father being Moran. But evidently the man didn't want to bother with a needy baby. Perfect. "Is she ok?" he wondered apprehensively.

"I think she's just hungry. Thank God I brought a bottle over thinking you'd get to watch your goddaughter sometimes. You do have milk, yeah?" John replied, after looking her over her like a protective mother hawk.

"Surprisingly I do," the detective quipped with a smile. "Uummm…John, Moriarty's associates might still try something. I think it would be safer if you and Violet came to live here.

Sherlock was quiet a moment, observing the reunited pair. Then he added, "Umm…, how would Violet like a pup?"

"She's just been born, I don't think she has much of an opinion on the matter of a puppy yet," the doctor replied, warming the milk for her bottle and rocking the child at the same time. "Thanks for the offer though. For safety, I will definitely come back to it." In truth, he was all too grateful to have an excuse to leave his marital home and the undoubtedly, nightmare-inducing Mary memories he'd be surrounded with, there.

"I think we should get a dog…for her, of course," Sherlock said with a sly smile. "Children are less likely to have allergies if the family has a pet early on in life."

"Do you really think it's wise making that kind of a commitment with your lifestyle? I'll be busy taking care of Violet; I won't be able to look after your dog too, you know," the blogger pointed out practically.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of a dog. I had one as a child…and, I more or less, promised Moriarty I would adopt one," the sleuth confessed, shrugging.

"What?" John yelped. "Then absolutely not. There's the perfect pup you'll surely fall in love with out there…trained to rip out your throat in your sleep, no doubt."

"Then we shall wait for the birth of a pup that wasn't even conceived when Jim was alive. That's probably for the best anyway. He would never have had opportunity to be trained by Moriarty that way, right? It's important to me, John. I can't simply abandon him again," Sherlock replied vibrantly.

"You're making no sense, do you realize that? How can you abandon again someone who isn't even born yet?" the doctor quipped, worried for his friend's mental state.

"Don't make me explain, John. It's complicated. You wouldn't believe me. I barely believe it myself – but I did have evidence," the detective pleaded. It had been a big shift in his view of things, death not being the end of it all. Of course, that meant he could get Redbeard back. That he could maybe see grandma again – she was such a sweet woman. But Sherlock had always seen himself as a frequent failure, so maybe now he would be punished for all his mistakes. When he added every screw-up in his life, the tally was decidedly high. Fine, stop thinking about that, he told himself. For now, concentrate on helping John with Violet. Then, soon, Redbeard. He would try to screw up a bit less. One thing at a time.

As always, when something really meant a lot to the detective, John ended up caving. It took less than three minutes for John to agree to Sherlock's pup plan. When the dog arrived – once Redbeard, then Jim – Sherlock's joy was contagious. Anyone who knew him smiled reflexively when they saw his expression of bliss.

As for the pup itself, he was ecstatic. Finally he was once again at his Sherly's side. He had a new name, which was perfect, because Redbeard the Second would simply not fit for his third life. And Sherly's interests had changed in the meantime. A pirate name would be ridiculous. The pup's new name was Copper. He liked the chemistry aspect of it – although he suspected that the dual meaning of copper might be a permanent means of reminding him which side of the law he was supposed to be committed to in his third incarnation. The blogger joked that Sherlock just wanted to have at least one policeman forever at his beck and call.

Copper's tail wagged like mad every time his master so much as glanced in his general direction. He tried so hard to be perfect for his beloved Sherly. He was a rambunctious pup by nature– exploring and running around during his daily strolls at Regent's Park. But if the sleuth was absorbed in one of his experiments, Copper lay quietly at his side for hours, head slightly inclined and intently observing. Close enough for Sherlock to absently pet him now and again, but never asking for attention he knew he wouldn't get.

Just being allowed close to his adored master was all Copper needed to be happy. He had waited so long for this. The affection the detective poured on him was absolute heaven. He was once again Sherlock's confidante, his friend, his protector. Though, of course, he wasn't the only one anymore. Although he had to accept the fact that didn't mean that he had to like it.

He was still bitterly jealous of one, John Hamish Watson. But he'd promised Sherly he'd behave towards his flatmate, so he never even once attempted to bite him, or destroy his things in a fit of boredom (even if Sherlock didn't show him the same courtesy).

It helped that John didn't hate him or try to punish him for past misdeeds. And while the dog knew the man was forgiving to a fault (towards Sherly at least) he suspected that such lack of hatred meant that his master had kept the secret of his past identity. The detective was protecting him from John's possible retaliation. It warmed his canine heart to be so cared for.

Despite insisting that he was Sherlock's dog, in truth, John had a soft spot for him. He'd always wanted, but never got to have, a dog as a child – that was easy to deduce even for Copper. Often the doctor would give him little treats or pet him gently. And yes, it was nice, but the old-soul pup wouldn't let himself be bought by a belly rub or chicken. His heart was all for his beloved Sherly. No amount of bribes would make him see the blogger as more than a tolerated evil.

At least it was Copper who was the one sharing Sherlock's bed, just like he'd used to in his first life. Though he figured it was a temporary victory. Sooner or later Sherly would stop telling his dog how desperately he loved John (and let me tell you, that was bloody annoying) and finally confess as much to the man himself. Copper had no doubt that the doctor would jump to the occasion with glee (how couldn't his master see that everyone loved him?). But as long as the sleuth was a coward, Copper got to cuddle and comfort him every night, much to canine heart's delight. He'd really missed this so much. And judging by the way Sherly hugged him; he might have missed this too.

If only Redbeard, now Copper, had never tried to play human. For his boy's sake, though it might have been – could they have had this all the time? He'd been so silly, trying to make things the best he could as a human and messing up instead. Oh, no matter. They were together now. That was what counted now, anyway.

For a while, he was excluded from cases, and it hurt. Sherly was having such fun without him (and more importantly, with John). But then came the time the most speedy way to locate a missing murderer of three was to follow the scent track he had surely left – the man was known to have very violent motion sickness so he'd probably flee on his bike. And so, instead of asking for a police dog, Sherlock brought in Copper, unnoticed.

The fact that he saved his master from a sneak attack from the same murderer gained him extra praise (nobody would injure his sleuth if Copper had any say in it!). And, with such initial victory, it led to him being more often involved in future cases. Even the doctor said that it was a good idea. So now it was the three of them against the underworld of England, and occasionally against other nations too. Both his pets had made Sherlock famous, after all.

And if Anderson objected to his presence at crime scenes, nobody cared. Especially after that time the murderer had hid quite close to said crime scene and Copper had smelled him out and stopped him from attacking Donovan, who was examining the area. He still didn't like her much, but if he let her get killed they might have been deemed useless and that was a big no-no.

All in all, life was good now. Very good. John tended to tense up at first anytime he'd sniff too close to Violet, but the dog had soon shown that he had no intention of harm. He was just curious. Why hadn't Sebby kept her? On second thought, his tiger had never been a very fatherly type. They wanted the child. Seb didn't. Everyone was happy. Copper was honestly fond of the baby. She'd been his pet project, to begin with. If she sometimes tugged on his fur more harshly than he'd like – well, both her parents had always liked to play rough. Copper allowed it – and there was always someone keeping an eye out so he wasn't tormented for long.

The Irish Setter, if interrogated (maybe by his much courteous angel) would assure his inquirer that he wanted for nothing now…and yet. He was happy, of course he was happy, he had Sherly by his side. It was all he'd ever wanted. But it was both his gift and his curse to remember all his past lives. Everything that had happened. Everyone he'd met.

And there was Violet, who yes, mostly looked like his mother (and however little he liked the woman in the end, he couldn't fault Vi for that)…but sometimes, still, she reminded him of her blood father.

And while he said to himself that he had absolutely no right to long for his Seb, as he'd chosen himself to leave behind that life and all its screw-ups, he still couldn't repress the occasional sharp stab to his heart, missing his favourite sniper, slash lover, slash best friend. Now that he's lost him, he could admit, if only to himself, that Seb really was all this, and more, to him. He hadn't worshipped Sebastian like he did his Sherly, but God, he'd liked him.

It was true. The old proverb that says, 'you never miss the water till the well runs dry' or 'you don't know what you had until after you've lost it'. He wondered, sometimes, where Sebastian was at present – what he was doing? Had he found another employer? He must have, surely. But was he as fun as Jim? The former consulting criminal highly doubted it. Was Seb missing him too, maybe? Or had he been disappointed that Jim had left with no explanation, and perhaps now hated his guts?

When out on a case, Copper started sniffing around, hoping to find his former lover's distinctive smell – 'Bast should be keeping busy after all – but he never found him. Which was good – Seb wouldn't go to jail due to Sherly anytime soon – but at the same time, a disappointment. What was the bloody man doing? He hadn't reenlisted had he? That'd be idiotic.

Then, one day, John heard from Bill (the same Bill who saved his life in Afghanistan). The man had gotten in the path of a bullet, too, and been sent home. His service dog had pushed him aside enough that the bullet hit wasn't fatal. "I didn't know that Bill had a dog," the doctor remarked.

"A gift from some civilian he's saved, probably," Sherlock said, shrugging.

Bill's dog might be a hero, but he couldn't steal his pack's attention, Copper decided immediately. Otherwise he would have to take some sort of measure against him.

They met Bill at Regent's Park. Coffee with the boys, his dog trailing after him. It was a lean, strong, blondish furry thing, wearing a muzzle. As if Copper couldn't handle dangerous. He barely stopped himself from scoffing at the mangy beast. "That's Bast, my saviour," Bill said, grinning.

Both Sherlock and John moved to pet him briefly. "Bast?" the doctor queried.

"He's always grumbling and growling, like my uncle Sebastian. It seemed apt," Bill explained, making everyone laugh.

And then this strange, grouchy looking dog barked briefly, almost hesitantly, "Jim?"

Wait a moment, Jim? And Bast – it was too odd, surely a coincidence (but did coincidence even exist?). Copper had to ask, even if he made a fool of himself. "Moran?" he queried, moving to sniff him.

"Yeah," Bast choked out – and showed him his belly in submission. Which amazed his owner – who was barely treated to the same deference. The belly roll at least got him out of that damnable muzzle though, as he clearly meant no threat to the people present.

They played and ran around and lavished each other enthusiastically, until Jim asked, amused, "So, Afghanistan again?"

"Tiger-type Kuchi dog. Do you have any idea how much trouble your nickname put me in?" Bast grumbled, still wagging his tail despite the annoyance. He simply couldn't stop now that he'd found Jim back.

"I know, I know, ironic angel. At least you didn't take thirty-odd years to find your way back. You're lucky. I didn't think I'd see you again," Copper confessed.

"As if I could stay away from you," Bast chided.

"You could have saved your master entirely from being shot, not just from a fatal wound, couldn't you?" the former consulting criminal queried, smirking.

"Yeah well, I wouldn't get home that way, would I?" the Afghan breed replied, with the canine equivalent of a shrug.

Copper barked a laugh, and invited him to play tag, which Bast was only too glad to do. "I don't like that you have to follow your owner," the red dog said when Bill whistled to his playmate to come back.

"Kuchi dog are notoriously independent. Tell me at which hour I should report and see if heaven or hell can hold me from coming," Bast declared vibrantly.

"Then see you at midnight, Tiger. I'll sneak out, too. Unless we have a case," Copper half-invited half-ordered.

"Your wish is my command," the blond dog agreed. Then he trotted back to his master and accepted again that horrid muzzle. Copper hated it – and he was sure Bast did, too, even if he didn't complain. It was, above all, a show of mistrust and Bill should really know better. Bast had never been anything but loyal.

Copper wondered briefly if he hadn't just reincarnated this time. Maybe this really was heaven. Having Sherly, having Bast… His two loves in one place at the same time. It certainly seemed like heaven.