And here it is my lovelies. The final chapter of Strange as Angels. Thank you for all of you who have favorited, commented, left kudos and reviews, and followed this story, whether from the beginning or having recently discovered it.

Thanks to my beta, old ping hai. Who is honestly the most lovely and talented beta on the planet and I have been really lucky these last two years to have her by side. I can't wait to bombard her with more stories for years to come.

You know, I realized I never explained the title. And I really should. It is from the song "Just Like Heaven" (which is where the movie got its title) by The Cure. It comes from the chorus:

You, soft and only, you lost and lonely
You, strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream
You're just like a dream

And when I saw that bit about angels and I just had to apply it to our boys.

Now, I ended up not being able to wait until Monday to post this. But if you still want to do the game for fun, go ahead. But as EllieSaxon on AO3 was the only one to play, she gets to pick her one-shot. You want to see how well she did?

Chapter 1- Anderson, the man Sally is sleeping with who is married.
Magnusson, Janine's blackmailing boss
Chapter 3- Sarah Sawyer, the bartender
General Shan, exorcist
Henry Knight, Priest
Chapter 4- Mrs Hudson, neighbor (which she ended up not being a cameo so much as she is mentioned in this chapter)
Major James Shalto, the wrong address man with the service pistol
Chapter 5- Soo Lin- Young Asian woman at Speedy's
Wiggins- Billy, the thief
Chapter 7- Archie, Mycroft's son
Chapter 8- Dr. Bob Franklin, Sherlock's Doctor
Dr. Louise Mortimer, Franklin's boss

So she got 10/12 right. Very impressive.

John offered to move out immediately and Sherlock's family were thankful for the offer. John knew that they were wondering how they were going to broach that, as legally they couldn't kick him out. He was just grateful they didn't press charges. Well, Dr Franklin tried, but John's lawyer pulled out John's service record, told them about his lack of criminal record, and then wove them a tale of heart-breaking woe that had the court in tears. The story was bollocks, but it got John off, so he kept his mouth shut.

A few days after the hearing, John had been digging through his pockets, making sure they were empty before throwing them in the wash, when he found it. A small brass key. The spare to Sherlock's flat.

John tossed it lightly in the palm of his hand. He made the decision then. He would build Sherlock his garden. He had a few weeks before the hospital would release the detective and then at least a couple more weeks with his brother. That last bit he learned from Mycroft when they had talked about the lease.

Mycroft wanted to make the place up again with Sherlock's things. So for a couple days John couldn't go near the flat for fear Mycroft would catch him. But once Mycroft had finished making the place back up, John began sneaking in at night bringing in potting soil, flowers, benches, everything he needed to make Sherlock's garden perfect.

He had the help of Mrs Hudson. She made sure that the family didn't walk in on John being there and kept the still very bitter Irene from tipping them off. She also let him use her back door to keep people from getting suspicious.

Let's just say, there were an awful lot of biscuits being plied to Mycroft and Irene during that time.

Sherlock was glad to be home. After nearly two months of Lestrade and Mycroft asking him if he remembered John Watson, it was great to get away from his brother's house.

Archie and Anthea weren't too bad, but it was good to have his own space again. He had been told this John person had stayed in 221B whilst he was in the hospital, and despite Mycroft's best efforts to return Baker Street to its state before the accident, the doctor had left his presence all over the flat.

He closed his eyes tightly. There had been something about that bright, piercing gaze that had met his over the bars of the gurney. It stirred something in Sherlock, but it was slippery, like chasing a puff of smoke or trying to catch a sunbeam. He wanted to remember John. He did. It just never stayed.

He shook his head. It was then he stopped trying to pin down his phantom and really looked at the flat. There was a bit of dirt on the floor and when he stooped to examine it, it appeared to be potting soil. He followed the trail up the stairs and to the door to the attic. He noticed was open a crack and pushed it open. Above him he could hear the sounds of movement.

Someone else was here. Sherlock made his way through the flat and up to the roof. He threw open the hatch door and got a good look at the transformation. It was beautiful. It was the garden from his dream. It was amazing. Then his gaze fell on the huddled figure in the middle of this paradise.

There was John, planting the last of the flowers. He was in rough jeans and tatty button-up, with the sleeves rolled up. He had a couple of streaks of dirt on his cheeks and forehead where he'd rubbed his face. He looked up and shielded his eyes from the sun. He grinned when he saw who had thrown open the hatch.

"Just in time!" he said. He dusted himself off and then pulled off the gloves. He shoved the gloves into his pocket and walked up to Sherlock. He held out his hand and helped Sherlock the rest of the way to the roof.

Now standing in the garden, Sherlock was struck by how delightful everything was. He giggled and clapped his hands together, then pressed them to his lips. He ran around stopping at every little thing, from the small bench on the side of the wall where John and Sherlock had talked many a night while the detective was a spirit, to the hives on the other side of roof.

"Bees!" Sherlock giggled. He whirled to face John. "How did you know?"

"You told me," John said with a shrug of one shoulder. "I tried to get Mrs Hudson to let me put them in the back yard, but she protested. So here they are. Just don't bring anyone up here who's allergic."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"How did you do all this?"

"I have some skill, I was taught by a master. But I believe you are asking how I got in," he said and dug into the pocket that didn't have his gloves. He pulled something out of it which he held out for Sherlock to see.

"That has got to be the spare. I know Mycroft had you surrender the keys he gave you." Sherlock frowned. "No one knew there was a spare but me."

"I know. You told me where it was. It was on the light fixture outside the flat, in the hall."

Sherlock smiled sadly. "I want to remember you. I can't. I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "It was a dream to think you would. After all, we never actually met in person."

Sherlock let out a whine. John gave him a soft smile and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sherlock called out. John turned back. "The key, please."

The doctor's expression fell. He heaved a sigh and walked back to Sherlock. He held out the key and Sherlock opened his palm. John placed the key in Sherlock's upturned hand and slid his fingers along his palm as he released the key to Sherlock's grasp.

Sherlock inhaled sharply. His eyes grew wide as the memories of his time with John came flying back to him.

"The bar! JJ! You and your stupid beer!" he stammered. His hands flew up to his face. "You told me you loved me!"

John took Sherlock by the wrists and pulled them away from his face. "I did. I still do. I'm so happy you remember. I hoped all it would take was a touch. But I couldn't bear to in case it was the last time I was able."

Sherlock grabbed John by the face and kissed him hard on the lips. John reached up and buried his fingers in Sherlock's hair. The kiss softened to something less desperate and more affectionate.

"Stay," Sherlock breathed.

John huffed out a laugh. "I thought you'd never ask!"