Epilogue

I did it! I got the story done on time!

One year later…

"And then, he-he just stopped emailing me," the young blonde woman, trying and failing to hold in her sobs. "N-no goodbye, no explanation that he's busy or-or away on vacation. I waited almost a m-month for him to contact me and explain w-what had happened, m-maybe apologize, but—" She finally broke down and burst into tears.

Her father, sitting next to her on the somewhat sagging brown sofa, picked up a rather frayed box of tissues and offered them to her. She pulled a tissue out and pressed it to her nose as she continued to cry. The father glanced up at the two individuals watching them—one with sympathy, one with what appeared to be vague disinterest—as he replaced the tissues, and he went back to comforting his daughter.

Across the room from them, the sympathetic woman with ash brown hair and a whimsical pink jumper jotted something down in the notepad balanced on her knee. She glanced over at the withdrawn man in the black leather armchair across from hers, who was staring intently at the two people on the sofa with his keen light blue eyes. His elbows were propped on the armrests, and his fingertips were steepled in front of his mouth, the index fingers tapping together every couple of seconds. Another few moments passed as the daughter cried before he brought his hands away from his face slightly and spoke.

"When did these pen pal disappearances first start happening?"

Both the daughter and her father looked up at him with a frown.

"About…two years ago," the woman responded hesitantly, wiping at her eyes with the tissue. "How did you know it had happened before?"

"And that was shortly after you moved back in with your father," stated the man matter-of-factly.

The daughter's frown deepened as she nodded. "I had graduated from university six months earlier."

The man nodded before looking over at the brunette woman in the faded plaid armchair next to him, lowering his voice so as not to be heard by the other two. "Stepfather posing as online boyfriend."

The brunette's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

"Breaks it off, breaks her heart," he went on. "She swears off relationships, stays at home—he still has her wage coming in." He abruptly looked back over at the father. "Mr. Windibank, you have been a complete and utter—"

"Sherlock," muttered the brunette woman in a warning tone.

The man paused, closing his eyes and cocking his head a little in acknowledgement, and opened his eyes. "What I mean to say is that I have devised a solution to your problem, Miss Windibank."

She brightened slightly in expectation.

"Move out," Sherlock told her. "Immediately."

Mr. Windibank's gaze shot up to the detective in alarm.

Miss Windibank frowned at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Move out of your father's house," responded Sherlock. "That should solve everything."

Miss Windibank only stared at him. "Move out?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "In an attempt to keep your income close, your father has been posing as these pen pals before breaking it off and causing you to stay at home. Move out."

Miss Windibank looked over at her father, a hurt look on her face. "Is this true?"

"Of course it isn't!" exclaimed Mr. Windibank. "Your money's safe at the bank!"

"Which he takes care of for you so you won't see the withdrawals," stated Sherlock.

The father stuttered in protest as the daughter let out an affronted sound and snatched her purse from the sofa, getting to her feet and storming out the door.

"Laura, it isn't what it looks like!" Mr. Windibank called as he rushed after her.

The woman looked over at Sherlock with an impressed smile. "You know, you didn't collect the fee from them."

"Not to worry, Molly," Sherlock told her as he got to his feet. "As soon as the heat of the moment wears off, she'll be in contact in order to pay us, which I will refuse."

Molly's brows rose in surprise. "Pro bono? You usually just forget to get paid, but to refuse it?"

Sherlock picked up one of the books he had been perusing before his latest clients came in, opening it and flipping through the pages as he scanned them. "She was being robbed. She needs all the money she can get." At the silence that greeted that statement, he looked up to see an amazed smile on Molly's face. "I am capable of being nice."

"You're learning," said Molly, impressed.

"It would seem so," Sherlock stated, going back to the book.

A knock came at the door, which Sherlock completely ignored as he knew Molly would tend to it.

"I have a package for Dr. John Watson."

Sherlock turned his head towards the door to see a courier in the doorway, a box approximately ninety-two centimeters long and sixteen centimeters wide and deep. His eyes roamed over the parcel, searching for any sort of clue as to its contents, but the box appeared to be unlabeled in any way, apart from a shipping label that he couldn't read from this distance.

What would John purchase that would be that big? Sherlock wondered. Intriguing…

Sherlock snapped the book shut, putting on a pleasant smile as he set it down and approached the courier. "Yes, thank you, I can sign for that."

Molly stepped forward to intercept him. "Sherlock—"

"Darling, I have told you many times before to call me by my middle name," Sherlock told her in a fond voice as he accepted the handheld device, pulling the stylus from it and getting ready to sign.

Before he could sneak a look at the label on the box, the sound of feet pounding quickly up the stairs towards them drew the attention of the courier, and he turned with the box towards the staircase behind him, which managed to obstruct Sherlock's view of it.

Damn! Sherlock internally exclaimed as John reached the landing.

"Don't listen to him," John quickly told the courier. "He has no middle name." He reached past the man and yanked the device out of Sherlock's hands with an annoyed glare at him. "I'm John Watson." He signed for the package and handed the device back over. "Thank you."

The courier frowned in confusion as he handed the box to John, looking back and forth between him and Sherlock. "Have a pleasant evening, sir." He turned and headed down the stairs.

John immediately turned towards the stairs up to his room, starting to climb them.

"What's in the box?" Sherlock asked from the doorway.

"Nothing," John told him firmly.

"You really expect that to work?" said Sherlock.

Molly shook her head, moving back into the sitting room. John came to a stop halfway up the stairs, heaving out a sigh. Sherlock smirked as he recognized the patented John Watson Shoulder Slump of Defeat.

John performed an about-face and marched back down the stars, his jaw clenched. "Fine." He strode past Sherlock and into the sitting room, setting the box down on the coffee table. "Knock yourself out." He moved over to the doorway, standing next to it with crossed arms.

Sherlock immediately moved over to the box, reading the return address on the shipping label, but as luck would have it, the name of the sender and most of the address had been scratched off sometime during delivery. Grimacing in annoyance, he grabbed his penknife from the table by the windows, slitting the tape along the edges of the box and lifting open the top side of the thick cardboard. He froze as his eyes landed on what was inside.

It can't be…

Sherlock glanced up at John, whose eyes tracked off to the wall, avoiding his gaze. Sherlock looked back at the box and the large, black fabric case inside. It was a case he recognized immediately, and not because of the white logo printed on the top of it near the carrying handle. He grabbed hold of the handle and pulled it out of the box, setting it on the coffee table in front of it. He pulled the zipper open and lifted the case's lid.

The interior was lined with gray felt with a humidity sensor built into the lid just above where the black fiberglass bow hung strapped to the felt. Strapped into the main area of the case was an item hidden by a protective felt covering. Lifting it carefully to the side, Sherlock found a beautifully varnished violin, its wood a striped mix of light and medium brown—obviously Italian spruce and Bosnian maple.

Sherlock looked up at John, his brows drawn together. "You bought a violin?"

John gave a shrug, his gaze boring into the floor and his voice low. "Maybe."

Sherlock stared at him a bit longer before looking back down into the case, taking the instrument in and deducing its properties. "Hmm. A Scott Cao 850 Kreisler 1730." He looked back up at John, who was eyeing him nervously. "Rich tone. Excellent projection. Worn appearance concealing a profound strength." He gave John a smile. "It suits you."

John gave a small smile, still slightly embarrassed.

"How did you expect to keep this a secret?" asked Sherlock. "The sound does tend to carry."

That did the trick. Reminded of all the times Sherlock had screeched away at his own Stradivarius or woke John in the middle of the night with it, John's face broke into an amused smile as he laughed. "Don't I know it." He turned more towards the two of them. "In my defense, I wasn't even going to touch it until after I moved out next week, so you wouldn't have heard a thing anyway."

"You should have had it delivered to Mary's," Sherlock told him.

John hesitated, wincing. "I couldn't."

"Why, did her flat suddenly burn down?" Sherlock asked.

John hesitated once more. "It was supposed to be a surprise…one I really hope she has not picked up on with her telepathic abilities."

"Surprise?" asked Sherlock, confused. Why would John buying a violin be a surprise for Mary? It's not as if he bought it for her as a gift…right?

"Oh, my God!" Molly suddenly exclaimed.

Sherlock looked over at her in confusion; she was staring at John with wide eyes and excited smile. "What?"

"Are you really?" asked Molly.

Sherlock looked back at John, who also had a giant smile on his face as he nodded. "What?" he asked in frustration.

John looked at him. "I'm going to ask her to marry me."

Sherlock stared at him with a vacant expression. John's smile began to fade at Sherlock's lack of positive response. He glanced at Molly, his dejected gaze falling to the floor.

"With a violin?" Sherlock finally asked.

John looked up to see Sherlock frowning in confusion as he tried to understand the whole thing. He smiled at his friend. "Sort of. It's this whole evening I have planned."

Sherlock nodded, looking back down at the violin. He glanced up at John, cocking his head down towards the instrument. "May I?"

John shrugged, raising his brows in assent. Sherlock turned the latches inside the lid, pulling the bow out and adjusting the screw to tighten the hair. Opening the compartment near the lower bout of the violin, he pulled out a case of rosin, applying it to the bow. He then unsnapped the Velcro strap holding the violin in at the neck and raised it to his shoulder, placing his chin on the rest. After spending a moment tuning the four strings by ear, he then raised the bow to the strings and began playing.

John smiled as he instantly recognized the song. It was the one Sherlock had composed before they had left for Vulcan almost a year and a half ago. It had been one of the only positive moments during the time John had thought he was going insane. The song seemed to flow from the violin, and it spoke volumes to him. It had to have been the best song Sherlock had ever composed.

Sherlock came to a slow end, lowering the instrument.

"That really is a beautiful piece," John told him.

Sherlock began placing the violin back in the case. "You should know. You wrote it."

John smiled in amusement at the memory. "Yeah, I may have thought that at the time, but that was before I knew you were up here." He pointed towards his own head.

Sherlock latched the Velcro over the fingerboard and covered the instrument with the felt covering. "No, no, John, you did write that."

John frowned, shaking his head at his friend. "I may have been the particular outlet, but that was all you, Sherlock."

Sherlock finished tucking the accessories into the case before closing it up. "John, I promise you I did not write that. The melody is not my style."

John's frown deepened. How could it be true? Sherlock was the musician. John's expertise ended with his schoolboy clarinet lessons. Even if he could remember a thing about music, a woodwind and a string instrument were two very different things. And composing? John didn't have a creative bone in his body apart from his skills with lexicon.

"But I wouldn't have known how…" said John.

Sherlock straightened up from zipping up the case. "I may have inadvertently given you the knowledge, but trust me, the inspiration came from you."

John stared at him, astonished. He had written it? He guessed it was, indeed, possible. Everyone was capable of creating melodies or even complete songs in their head; only a select few possessed the know-how to follow through with it.

"It still needs the composer's signature."

John shook himself from his thoughts to see Sherlock holding a couple sheets of paper towards him. John stared at them a moment before taking hold of them to have a look. Sure enough, there was the song that had haunted his waking moments for days before he took pen to paper to get it out.

"And a title," Sherlock added, holding a pen out as well.

John eyed the pen before smiling at Sherlock and taking it. He thought for a moment over everything the piece made him think about before a title appeared in his mind, as though waiting for him to stumble across it. John gave a smirk as he placed the sheet music on the coffee table and bent to write the title along the top.

A Friend's Farewell Greeting

By

John Watson

Sherlock smirked at the title as John straightened back up, holding the music in front of him in appreciation.

"Better frame this," said John, looking up at them. "God knows it'll never happen again."

They chuckled as John grabbed the violin case and headed up the stairs to his room. Sherlock moved back to the book he had been perusing as Molly went into the kitchen, moving about as she began making tea.

"Can you believe it?" said Molly. "John and Mary getting married!"

Sherlock's eyes rose from the book as his fingers froze over the page. He slowly let it fall closed as his gaze fell to the floor.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock tilted his head to indicate that he was listening.

"You know nothing's going to change, right?"

Sherlock frowned as he looked up to see Molly staring at him in concern. What was she talking about?

"John will still keep you in his life after he's married," Molly told him.

Sherlock's face brightened as he realized why she thought he looked so upset. "Oh, no, no, I'm not worried about that. John's a danger addict. He won't last more than a month of domesticity before going out and trying to find trouble, preferably with me." He flashed an amused smile in her direction.

Molly returned the smile before her face fell back into a frown. "Then why so troubled?"

The smile fell from Sherlock's face as well as he hesitated before setting the book down on the table. "That conversation didn't upset you?"

Molly shook her head a little, completely lost. "Conversation…"

Sherlock nodded towards the staircase. "John and Mary. Getting married."

Molly's brows drew together as her head cocked to the left a little. "The one who would be upset about that is you, and we just established you're not, so…"

"Well, we haven't talked about…" Sherlock gestured towards her, unable to get the words out. "I mean, we're not…" He shuffled his feet a little before sighing and lowering his eyes to the floor in embarrassment, his voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't proposed."

Molly's face softened at the dejected picture he presented. "Oh, Sherlock." She stepped up in front of him, placing her hands on either side of his face to draw his eyes up to hers. She pushed up on her toes to place a loving kiss on his lips. She pulled away and smiled comfortingly at his confused frown. "I know you're not ready."

Sherlock began to open his mouth to defend himself.

"And that's okay with me," Molly quickly cut him off. "You know why?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly.

"Because I know that we're going to spend the rest of our lives together," Molly told him, stroking her hands over the sides of his face. "I don't need a fancy ring to tell me how much you love me."

A smile crept over Sherlock's face as he lowered his head to give her a kiss. He rested his forehead against hers. "I do love you, Molly. More than I ever thought I would."

"I love you, too," Molly told him, moving her arms to wrap around the back of his neck.

"And I promise, whenever I do get around to proposing, it will be a very fancy ring."

Molly giggled as Sherlock began kissing her again. Molly squealed in surprise as Sherlock suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her from the floor, holding her fast to him. Molly laughed against his lips as Sherlock turned on the spot once and set her back down.

"Kettle's boiling, just so you know," said John.

Molly broke the kiss, looking into the kitchen to see John tending to the electric kettle. She laughed as she gave Sherlock one last kiss and pulled herself from his hold to go help John. "So, playing Mary a song on the violin."

John nodded as he pulled cups down for them all. "I've been taking lessons at a local music shop the last few months. It was a lot easier than I expected; guess it kind of came back to me."

"And you bought what apparently is an expensive, professional violin just for the occasion?" asked Molly, pouring the tea. "Why didn't you just rent one?"

"Well, I kind of…" John shrugged a little.

"Ah, taking up the violin, then?"

"I just enjoy it so much," John explained. "It relaxes me." He shared an amused smile with her. "Guess it kind of stuck around after…" He gestured towards Sherlock.

"Well, at least you got something good out of it," said Molly.

John glanced past her to Sherlock, who was pinning a piece of paper to his evidence wall and surveying the whole thing. He gave Molly a playful smile as he pointed at the detective. "I hope you mean him."

Molly closed her eyes, realizing how that had come out. "Well, of course him."

John laughed with her a moment. "I knew what you meant." He carried the tray of tea into the sitting room.

Molly took one of the cups and handed it to Sherlock.

"Ah, thank you for the tea, Molly," Sherlock told her.

"You know, I helped," John told him, sitting in his armchair. "So, any good cases today?"

"Nothing worth calling you for," Sherlock stated, his attention back on the wall. "Hence, no call."

Molly waved her hand at Sherlock as she sat in his armchair. "Two affairs, one misplaced lottery ticket and a rather dishonest father. Nothing we had to leave the flat for."

"Good," said John, taking a sip of his tea. "I would've hated to have missed anything."

"See, Molly?" stated Sherlock. "Addict." He took a drink of his tea.

Molly laughed as John looked between the two of them in confusion.

"Addict?" asked John.

Molly waved him off. "Nothing."

"Yes, of course!" exclaimed Sherlock suddenly. "I've been an idiot! A blind idiot!" He set his tea down none too gently on the coffee table, ripping his dressing gown off and flinging it onto the sofa. "John, your coat!"

John jumped to his feet as Sherlock yanked his Belstaff from the back of the door and threw it on. John pulled his from the hook next to it.

"If we're quick enough, we may just prevent the collapse of Western civilization," Sherlock rattled off, hurriedly fixing his scarf around his neck. He hurried out the door, John hot on his heels.

They were halfway down the first set of stairs before Sherlock came to a sudden halt and turned right back around, John scrambling to a stop and pushing himself against the wall to get out of his friend's way.

Sherlock hurried back up the stairs, strode straight to his armchair and bent to place a kiss on Molly's lips. "See you tonight. Happy anniversary."

Molly smiled at the fact that he remembered the anniversary of the night they started dating all on his own. "Have fun."

Sherlock smiled and went back out the door, where John was waiting with an amused smile.

Sherlock woke slowly in the middle of the night, stretching his hand out beside him and discovering an empty bed. He lifted his head, looking towards the window across from the foot of the bed. Molly stood in front of it in her dressing gown, staring out into the night.

Sherlock lay there for a moment, watching her. She looked like an angel bathed in the moonlight, her hair falling elegantly over her shoulder. He could see the side of her face from where he was, and she had the most peaceful expression on her face as she stared out the window. Smiling, Sherlock grabbed the sheet from the bed, wrapping it around himself as he got up and moved over to her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, encasing them both in the sheet. Molly reached up, placing her hands on his arms.

Sherlock laid his chin on her left shoulder, holding her close. "What are you thinking about?"

Molly leaned back into him, humming contently. "Vulcan."

Sherlock turned his head to look at her, surprised. "Vulcan?"

Molly nodded, her eyes on the stars. "What you would be doing right now if you hadn't come back with us."

Sherlock stared at her a moment before glancing up at the stars. "Probably holding vigil on the peak of Mount Kispek. It's the tallest point on Vulcan."

"To see the stars better?" asked Molly.

Sherlock paused for a moment. "To be closer to you."

Molly turned towards him in his arms, staring at the serious look in his eyes. He seemed to be lost in his mind palace as he stared at the stars, thinking about what his life could have been like if he had stayed on Vulcan. Molly slid her arms up between them, wrapping them around his neck.

"I'm here," Molly assured him, giving him a kiss. "You're here, and I'm here." She kissed him again. "It never happened."

Sherlock tightened his hold on Molly, kissing her before pulling away and taking hold of her hand. He led her back to the bed, where she removed her gown and climbed back under the replaced sheet and blanket next to him. Sherlock pulled her close, cradling her head against his chest. They lay together for several minutes before Molly broke the silence.

"I still can't believe you gave all of that up," Molly told him.

"All what?" said Sherlock. "The ridiculous rituals? The uptight society? The complete lack of emotion? The isolation from the entire planet's population? The incessant boredom—" He pulled suddenly away from her to look her in the face, his voice having risen in his agitation. "There's no crime on Vulcan, Molly! None!"

Molly leaned up onto her elbow next to him, giggling at the thought of Sherlock Holmes, world's greatest crime-solving mind, stuck on the most crimeless place in the universe. "Yeah, I know, but…it's your home, your family."

Sherlock tucked the hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. "You're my family."

Molly smiled and leaned forward for a kiss. "I guess I just can't imagine leaving the place—the planet—I grew up on to go live on another, never to see it again."

Sherlock smiled and pulled her back down into his arms. "My family will tell my story. After all, my parents do have a new son to carry on the family."

Molly hesitated for a while before speaking. "And who knows? Maybe one day, his descendents will meet our descendents."

"Come on, Molly. What are the chances of that?"

Molly gave a shrug next to him. "You never know. They may track each other down. Solkar's children will have his stories about you to pass down, and our child will have our stories."

"Definitely," said Sherlock, closing his eyes, completely content with this moment in time. It was perfect. Nothing was better than being here on Earth in London with Molly by his side. Let Solkar and his future children keep their rituals and—

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. Children. Molly hadn't said our children. She had said our child.

Sherlock leaned away from Molly to find her looking up at him with a wide, excited smile. He glanced towards her midsection and back up to her eyes, raising his brows in question. Molly nodded nervously, her smile growing even wider, if that was possible.

A smile burst onto Sherlock's face as he pulled Molly back for a kiss. "Whose side of the family do you think it'll take after? Yours or mine?"

Molly laughed before Sherlock rolled her onto her back, proceeding to show her just how much he enjoyed her anniversary present for him.

Two hundred and seventy-four years later…

"Captain's log, stardate 8442.6. Having been demoted to the rank of captain, I have been assigned to the newly-christened USS Enterprise-A, along with my senior staff. While the crew familiarizes themselves with the new ship, we have chosen this time to celebrate the return of our comrade, Captain Spock."

Captain James T. Kirk entered the observation lounge, finding that the dining staff had set up the dishes and silverware in preparation for the small celebration. It only took a moment before his crew began filing in, Spock being the last to arrive.

"Spock!" several of them exclaimed as they stepped forward to greet him.

Spock shook hands with each of them before dinner began, and as the meal wound down, conversation struck up.

"Happy to be yourself again, Dr. McCoy?" Commander Nyota Uhura asked.

Dr. Leonard McCoy raised his brows as he shook his head. "Boy am I ever." He glanced at Spock. "No offense."

Spock gave a noncommittal shrug. "You forget, doctor. I am Vulcan; I have no ego to bruise."

"I'm just glad the refusion worked, what with them not having done it in so long," McCoy stated.

"That is actually not true," Spock told them.

"What isn't true?" asked Commander Pavel Chekov.

"That the ritual hasn't been performed in thousands of years," Spock told them with a straight face. "It has."

"A Vulcan?" McCoy asked in a sarcastic tone. "Lie?"

"An omission," Spock replied. "The majority of Vulcan prefers to pretend that my great-great uncle Sherlock did not exist."

"Ooh, I sense a wee skeleton in the family closet," Captain Montgomery Scott, or "Scotty" as he was known to them, said in his Scottish accent with a smile.

"No, Sherlock was buried on Earth centuries ago," Spock replied.

"No, Spock, he means a family secret," Kirk explained.

"Oh," stated Spock before nodding once. "More of a legend than a secret."

"Well, now you have to tell us," said Commander Hikaru Sulu as he sat forward in interest.

Spock straightened in his seat as he prepared to tell the story. "It began three hundred and eight years ago when a Vulcan scientist arranged a survey mission near Earth."

One of the staff came along the table, refilling their drinks.

"The ship came under duress and crashed on Earth," Spock went on.

The officer made it to the end of the table, refilling the captain's glass.

"Thank you, Holmes," said Kirk with a nod to the officer.

The officer nodded to his captain before making his way over to the refreshments table along the wall, listening in to what was being said.

"Thomas decided to stay on Vulcan and marry Ainok," Spock was saying. "A few years later, Sherlock was born, the first half-human and half-Vulcan in history."

Officer William Holmes smiled at the familiar tale. He wished he could stay to listen to his distant cousin's version of the story he knew so well, but he was needed elsewhere. As Spock continued his story, Holmes moved out into the corridor, smiling at the memories his superior officers had brought up of his ancestor.

The End!

Now, for those of you who follow me as an author, I want to warn you that I probably won't be starting another story until May or so. With my last semester before graduation, I don't want to start a story and then get too busy and leave you guys hanging. But I think I know exactly which story I'm going to get to when May comes. See ya then!