Infinite Improbabilities

Epilogue: John

No news is good news, right? - Not Tamarind (oh, you knew that?) - Loxodonta Africana - unexpected inside jokes - Not so weird (or is it?) - Not right but right

For three days after John had left Sherlock behind in the lab, he heard nothing. No texts, no calls from either Sherlock or Sally. No word on how they were getting on. . . or not. Although he supposed he would have heard if there had been a homicide on Baker Street.

He managed to find his "new" office, and discovered he even had a very efficient assistant who brought him up to speed on their current cases without asking too many questions (although John was sure she wondered why he didn't remember any of it). A few times he saw something that looked familiar, but the memories were slippery. He could sense them at the edge of his awareness, but if he tried to focus on them, they vanished. And then when he tried to bring up clear memories of how things had been before, he found them clouded, overlaid with slightly different images, like a double-exposed print from an old-fashioned camera.

Mary moved back in, and although they were still dancing 'round each other a bit, it was getting easier, at least on John's part. Mary still seemed to be a bit uncomfortable, as if unsure whether this was going to last, but John was determined to make it work. Whenever he got frustrated, he just reminded himself what it felt like to wake up in their flat alone and discover all her things gone.

On day three, he finally picked up his phone and texted Sally. How are things?

It was almost an hour before she texted him back. Good. You?

Yeah, good.

Good.

Working any new cases?

Wrapping up loose ends on the Wizard case.

Oh. Ok. John found himself vaguely disappointed that he hadn't been called back in on that case, but he had others to keep him busy, which he supposed Sherlock would know. Want to meet us for dinner on Saturday? he texted impulsively.

Who is "us"?

Mary and me and Lucy.

You're back together?! Lovely! Yes, let's. How about Tamarind?

Sherlock won't eat curry. Says the smell gets in his coat and lingers for weeks.

Oh, right. I forgot. Angelo's?

John's eyebrows went up. Sally knew about Sherlock's curry aversion? And Angelo's? Ok. Bring the little monster. I need to meet him.

Little monster is right. Will do.

John and Mary arrived at Angelo's five minutes late, to find Sherlock and Sally already there, tucked into a booth in the back with two high chairs pulled up to the end of the table. Both high chairs were empty, and John had a moment of disappointment thinking that perhaps they hadn't brought the baby, but then Sherlock stood up to greet them, and in his arms was a tiny carbon copy of himself, right down to the cowlick in the part and the divot above his upper lip. John's breath caught in his throat at the sight and he couldn't help but stare gormlessly at the baby, who was sucking on the ear of a threadbare soft elephant. The phrase "Lox-uh-don-tuh Af-ri-ca-nuh" floated through his mind, in a high-pitched, childish lisp. Where had he heard that before? And the elephant looked familiar, but how could he have seen it before, seeing that he had never met the baby?

When he finally met Sherlock's eye, he was surprised to see a flash of insecurity there. He hadn't said anything, but was chewing the inside of his cheek and seemed to be waiting anxiously for John to speak first, as if John might suddenly decide to rescind his forgiveness.

John couldn't help himself. He threw his arm around Sherlock's neck and pulled him into a fierce hug that had the baby nearly squashed in between them. After a moment's hesitation, Sherlock shifted the baby to his hip and returned the hug just as fiercely.

John held the hug longer than he had intended, probably long enough to make Sherlock uncomfortable, but he didn't care. It just felt so good to have things be right between them again, like it hadn't been for months even in the other timeline.

"I'm glad you came. I was worried you wouldn't show up," Sherlock said in John's ear.

"Me too."

"So we're—uh—good now?"

"Yeah. But I'm still not playing Cluedo with you."

Sherlock made a noise that was halfway between a chuckle and a giggle, and John felt something loosen inside his chest. He had missed that sound so much. How many months had it been since he had heard Sherlock really laugh?

John finally pulled away when he felt a tiny, moist hand latch onto his ear. He turned to find the baby's slobbery face inches from his, grinning toothily.

"Hey, there, Phinney," he grinned back in delighted surprise. It was one thing to hear about the abstract concept of a little Sherlock-clone out there, or even to see a picture. It was quite another to have said clone grab your ear and smile at you.

John saw that Sally had stood up too, and Mary had pulled her into a tight hug as well. When Sherlock turned away to wipe the baby's face, John heard Mary whisper into Sally's ear, "Sherlock looks happy," with a smirk on her face. Sally caught John's eye briefly, turned pink and quickly looked away again. Since when did Sally and Mary have inside jokes, John wondered distractedly.

And then Angelo was there, carrying plates of finger foods which he plunked down in front of the high chairs. When he saw John, he flung up his plump hands and cried "Johnny! I no see you in long time!" and grabbed John in a bear hug that squeezed the air from his lungs.

After he finally broke the hug, Angelo caught both of John's hands and held them tightly. "Mr Sherlock very happy you come back, Johnny," he said seriously. "He was pine away. Never eat nothing. I say he has beautiful wife now, no need boyfriend."

"I wasn't—" John started to protest, but stopped himself when he saw that the rest of the group was obviously suppressing the giggles. "Right. . . well, thank you Angelo."

With that, Angelo released John's hands, and he covered his embarrassment by taking Lucy from Mary's arms and wrestling her into a high chair while Sherlock slotted Phineas into the other with practiced ease.

Making small talk when he had no idea what was going on turned out to be sort of a minefield for John, but luckily it didn't take much to get Sherlock to talk about the Wizard case. He gave a fairly thorough explanation of how the preserved spleen had led him to the Wizard's house, although little of it made sense to John. In fact, John tuned out about halfway through in favor of making goofy faces at the babies, who found him quite hilarious.

When he tuned in again, Sally was saying, "I think that shirt is completely ruined, unless you know a good seamstress."

"Unimportant," Sherlock said with a shrug. "I have others."

"And have you got another stomach? That cut was deep."

"Just a scratch." Sherlock flashed her a lascivious grin that raised John's eyebrows. "Didn't bother me later that night."

Wait a minute, did that mean. . .? Would she really? Sally at least had the decency to look embarrassed, even more so when Sherlock wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smooshed a kiss against her temple.

It was weird, but in some way that John couldn't define, it felt right to see the unlikely couple together, maybe because this time he knew Sherlock wasn't faking. Sherlock actually did seem happier than John had ever remembered. That aloofness that he usually carried like a shield had faded a bit. He seemed more open, more engaged with the people around him in a way that had eluded him before. Judging by the way Sherlock was looking at Sally Donovan, John had to wonder if maybe she had been a part of that change, even if she didn't remember it.

John's thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound of Sherlock's phone vibrating on the table. Sherlock picked it up and scowled at it.

"Lestrade. This had better be at least a six," he said, scooting out of the booth. "Won't be a minute. Even less if he wants me to investigate another obvious jilted lover case like last week."

"I'd better change Lucy's nappy too," Mary said, making little shooing motions at John to move out of her way so she could exit the booth.

"Why? It's fine."

"You can't smell that?"

John frowned as he scooted out of the booth. "No, but I suppose I'm glad you can."

She rolled her eyes at him, scooped Lucy out of the high chair, and headed toward the toilets, leaving John alone with Sally and Phineas, who had dumped most of his finger foods on the floor and was busily smashing the rest into the tablecloth.

"So. . ." John said, folding his hands on the table and leaning in toward Sally, who looked at him quizzically. "You and Sherlock. . ."

"Oh, no, not you too," She rejoined quickly. "I am married to the man. I thought you would have been used to that by now, even though you haven't been around for most of it."

"It is weird, though, isn't it?"

"What's weird?"

"Well, having our memories be different from everyone else's."

Sally's eyebrows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

John frowned. What did he mean? "I mean, remembering when—when you and Sherlock weren't together, I guess." They hadn't been together, right? His mind felt a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"Yeah, but that was a while ago now."

"Right, but. . ."

"What do you mean our memories are different?"

"I guess—I guess I don't know exactly what I mean. I'm just—I'm happy Mary and I are back together."

"Yeah, that's great," Sally agreed enthusiastically. "I didn't think that was ever going to happen."

"I didn't either," John admitted. "But I missed her. It was hard to live without her for. . ." How long had it been? Months? It felt like months, that was for certain. Long enough for him to know he had to make things right.

The front door jangled and Sherlock came back in with his phone still clutched in his hand, a feral grin on his face. "Good news," he said gleefully as he slid back into the booth beside Sally. "Double homicide in Covent Garden. It's at least a seven! I told Lestrade we'd stop by after dinner." He was looking at John when he said that.

"'We' meaning. . .?" John said.

"You and me, of course," Sherlock said, his grin faltering a bit. "Right?"

"Yes, right, of course."

The relief on Sherlock's face was so palpable that John had to grin back. Were things "right" now? Maybe not the same as they had been. But, John reflected as he watched Mary returning from the toilets with Lucy in her arms, that didn't matter, as long as he had the people he loved.

A/N: All done! Love it? Hate it? Indifferent toward it? Let me know by leaving a review. . .