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Epilogue

Sometime later the Holmes family gathered again to visit Eurus. Sherlock was still making regular visits on his own and adding a family one now and again just made sense. After the success of the first visit, Eurus was still wary but more open to it and even managed to stay grounded as they arrived. Mycroft, surprisingly, didn't object or complain.

Emotions were high and happy as the group exited Sherrinford and waited in the helipad. Mrs. Holmes took the opportunity to sidle up next to Sherlock, husband in tow.

"Sherlock, do you think we could arrange a nice dinner together as a family? Your father and I miss you boys."

Her blue eyes reflected anxiety and worry that he might refuse. Sherlock considered it and glanced at Mycroft, who was close enough to have overheard. Since Mycroft didn't have a grimace of distaste on his face, Sherlock decided it might be a possibility. He returned his mother's worried look with a kind smile.

"Yes, I think we might be able to do that. What do you think, Mycroft?" They all turned to Mycroft for a reply.

Mycroft was silent a moment as he thought, then his eyes began to gleam. "Why not? I'm sure you've been looking for an opportunity to introduce our parents to your girlfriend, after all."

Had he dropped a grenade in the middle of their group he could not have possibly shocked them more. Both Mr. and Mrs. Homes gasped in stunned surprise. Sherlock stared at his brother, completely flabbergasted and outraged as only a wronged younger sibling could be. Mycroft grinned.

"What's he talking about? Sherlock, do you have a girlfriend? For how long?" Mrs. Holmes peppered her son with questions. He opened his mouth to reply but she had more. "What's her name? Is it serious? Why didn't you tell us? Were you ever going to tell us?"

Sherlock blinked, trying to decide which question to answer first and highly aware that Mycroft was watching in delight. This was probably payback for the incident with the clown and the girl. Finally, he simply decided on the last question.

"Of course I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for the right time."

"What, like your wedding day?" Mycroft had the smuggest of all smug smiles on his face. It was infuriating. Both parents gasped again, but Mrs. Holmes spoke first.

"Are you getting married? Oh my god!"

Sherlock glared at his brother as he tried to stem her exuberance and get in a word or two. "No, no, I'm not. I'm not getting married. At least not…now…" Sherlock suddenly closed his mouth. Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he picked up on it.

Mrs. Holmes was still going. "Well? What's her name? When do we get to meet her?"

Sherlock gave Mycroft a look promising revenge in the near future. Mycroft made a note to double check his security system and possibly have an agent steal his set of house keys from Sherlock's flat.

Now that the important thing was out of the way Sherlock focused on his parents, recognizing that the truth was out and there was nothing he could do but provide answers and hope for the best.

"Her name is Molly Hooper, and she's a pathologist at St. Bart's Hospital."

Mrs. Holmes sighed as if it were the most romantic thing she had ever heard. Mr. Holmes simply nodded, as if it made perfect sense. "And I suppose I could ask her if she wanted to be included in our little dinner…though Mycroft may want to bring a poison checker along."

"Oh, don't joke like that after last Christmas!" Mrs. Holmes gave him a disapproving look.

The pilot indicated he was ready and the group began to move across the helipad. Sherlock was overwhelmed with questions and demands from his parents, struggling to stay on top of the conversation. Mycroft followed and realized something.

He hadn't had such a nice time with family in so long…

A chuckle drifted across the helipad, drowned out by the helicopter noise and unnoticed.

Time passed as everyone went on with their lives. John and Rosie were regular fixtures at Baker Street, a nanny had finally been approved by Sherlock with some help from Molly, Mrs. Hudson was in her element as matron of Baker Street.

"Sherlock, I think Toby is starting to feel depressed." Molly broached the subject as Sherlock was working on an experiment in the kitchen.

"Really? Why?" Sherlock barely looked up since he was at a sensitive point but she knew she had his attention.

"Well, we've been dividing our time between Baker Street and my flat, and he doesn't get as much attention as he used to when it was just him and me."

Sherlock adjusted the flame on his burner. "That's a natural result of life changes."

"Yes, it is, but he's taken to shredding my front drapes and I'm worried about him, he needs people around more than he's getting."

Sherlock looked up briefly, then quickly compensated for that by increasing his stirring rate. "What do you suggest? Do you want to bring him here? I don't know if that would be safe, he could easily get out as clients come and go…"

"No, no, actually…" Molly hesitated and then blurted it out. "I thought maybe we could both live at my flat all the time."

Sherlock looked up, completely diverted. "Leave Baker Street? I don't know if I could do that…what about my clients? What about Mrs. Hudson?"

Molly took a few steps into the kitchen, anxious to reassure him. "I don't mean altogether, just maybe use my flat as our home and yours as your office. You could be here all day, as much as you like, and then spend the evenings with me when you're not on a case. That way Mrs. Hudson isn't lonely, Toby isn't lonely, and your clients still know where to find you. Really, not much would change except that we sleep in one bed every night instead of changing around…" Molly's voice drifted off as she realized Sherlock was staring at her, ignoring his experiment completely, an inscrutable look on his face.

"Molly Hooper, are you asking me to move in with you?" His face was starting to reflect a hopeful quality she found encouraging.

"Well, if you want to look at it that way, yes I suppose I am. But it's really for Toby—"

"Because that would be a big step for us, you know, and I don't want to rush things and make you uncomfortable. I know how worried you are about not rushing things…" He was beginning to smile. A broad grin splitting his face as he teased her, leaving her equal parts amused and annoyed. Her lips twitched, involuntarily trying to smile in spite of her annoyance.

"It's not the same, Sherlock, it's for my cat—"

He laughed, arrogant and sure. "Of course it is, Molly. Of course, it is." He began moving toward her. "Because you would be nervous about such a big change, asking me to move in with you, because it indicates we might just have a future and might just belong together. And I know my previous mentions of that same topic have left you worried and feeling that it's too good to last…"

"Oh shut up, you big idiot." She grabbed him and kissed him. He was laughing when they separated, but she wasn't done yet. She poked his chest. "You know we're made for each other."

"Yes, I do. And better yet, so do you." He looked delighted. "I'd he honored to move in with you, Molly Hooper."

Molly gave him a teasing smile. "For Toby?"

He winked. "For Toby."

Their moment was rudely interrupted by the long ignored experiment boiling over.

Later Molly and Sherlock were relaxing on the couch, discussing recent events. Molly had met his parents weeks ago and set up regular communication with them. They were ecstatic. Cases were coming in at regular intervals. John and Rosie were due soon, and Mrs. Hudson had just left after visiting with them a bit.

Sherlock was busy telling Molly about his last visit with Eurus, and how despite their relationship and musical communication he still felt that there was something he was missing lately. There was a different feel to their interactions that gave him the impression that she wanted something he didn't understand. Molly, as usual, helped him ponder the dilemma and identify the actual problem.

"Feelings are so messy. What does my sister want? Why wouldn't she just ask me for it?" Sherlock ruminated aloud.

"Because she's worried you'd refuse, or because it makes her too vulnerable to ask." Molly supplied. She was invaluable when it came to helping him sort out emotional things.

Sherlock frowned, deep in thought. "What could make her feel so vulnerable? I've given her all I can give except her actual freedom, which is beyond my control and something I don't think is best for her."

"She's still not speaking actual words?" Molly asked. Sherlock nodded. "And you haven't either?" He nodded again. "Maybe it's that."

"She wants me to speak to her? Why would she want that? Our musical communication is far more intimate a form than the clunky words of the English language. Why would that matter to her?"

"Sherlock," Molly's response was quiet and careful. "Sometimes we need the words." He looked at her, and she gave him a meaningful look. And it suddenly hit him what Eurus wanted. Needed, in fact.

"Of course," he breathed. "Molly, you are so clever." He kissed her quickly and stood up to grab his phone, dialing Mycroft. Molly smiled after him.

The solution was patently obvious. Sherlock was annoyed at himself for not realizing it before. He decided it was time for Molly to get clearance to visit Eurus as well, and with Mycroft owing him for outing his relationship with her to their parents, it should be fairly easy to get.

Their trip on the helicopter was uneventful, except for the nervous quality that followed them both. Molly was about to meet the final member of Sherlock's family, and she had many worries about doing it right and well. Sherlock was about to take another giant leap in his dealings with Eurus, and his family as a whole. It wasn't something that came without stress.

They held hands to reassure each other as Molly went through the doors with him and dealt with the necessary security precautions. Sherlock had his black bag as usual and led her through the labyrinth down to the belly of Sherrinford, past the final guards and into Eurus' cell.

Eurus stood in surprise when they both entered, having expected only her brother. Her eyes warily observed Molly, no doubt a bit unsure of her feelings for the woman who had threatened to blow her up. Molly met her eyes, smiled, and took a seat in the lone chair that had been provided.

Sherlock wasted no time unpacking his violin and quickly began communicating.

"Eurus, don't be alarmed. You know Molly Hooper?"

"Why is she here?" Even Eurus' playing was quieter as if Molly could somehow understand their speech.

"She wanted to meet you. She's been asking about you and very much cares how you are doing. I hope it's okay that she's here."

Eurus glanced at Molly, sitting quietly with a tender look on her face. Finding no trace of resentment or malice, she relaxed a bit. "I suppose it's fine."

"Thank you, Eurus, truly. Besides, it's only fair that you get to meet the woman you saw your brother loved before he did." Sherlock's eyes were full of mirth.

Eurus smiled before she'd even realized she was going to. "Well, someone had to help you bumble along."

Sherlock laughed, but it didn't drown out the sound of Molly giggling. Brother and sister turned to look at her in surprise. Molly said nothing, but her look of delight and enjoyment said it all. If she didn't understand their exact words, she certainly got the gist. Eurus smiled again, this time straight at Molly. The two women's eyes met and shared a silent joke.

Sherlock smiled between them. "Come on, sister dear. Let's play."

Much later as they were finishing up and saying their goodbyes, Eurus turned to Molly and played a message for Sherlock to relate. "Tell Molly it was nice to meet her in person. She can come back anytime." Molly beamed and promised to return.

Sherlock took a steadying breath and played one last thing. "I hope you know how much I care for you and about what happens to you, Eurus. I thoroughly enjoy our time together. I admit you may have been instrumental in helping me move past the shadowy walls and ghosts that had been haunting me for so long, and for that I thank you." Eurus stood in surprise, bow at her side. She hadn't expected this. Sherlock's eyes flicked to Molly, and she gave an encouraging nod. "Sometimes I forget that words are important as well, and so I wanted to tell you, so you are assured of my regard for you. You're my sister, no matter our past, and I'm glad that you are."

Sherlock lowered his bow and held it in the same hand as his violin. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, looking straight at his sister as he approached the glass, reaching out a hand to touch three fingertips to it. He needed to make some kind of physical contact. He remembered how he had hugged her in their burned-out family home and wished he could do that again. He looked into her eyes, wanting to make sure she understood. Molly held her breath, not sure why her eyes were suddenly pricked with tears. Eurus was still standing there, surprised and pleased.

Sherlock opened his mouth.

"And I love you, Eurus. I love you."

The spoken words swept the quiet cell, the first in a long time. Eurus still didn't move, frozen in the same position. But her face said everything she couldn't. The light reflected off the tears glimmering in her eyes that she refused to shed, her mouth trembling as she took a breath. She swallowed.

Sherlock smiled tenderly at her, surprised at how good it actually felt to tell her that. Just like with Molly. His look told her she didn't have to speak, she didn't have to answer, he would still be back and he would still love her. He pulled his hand away from the glass and stepped back to pack his violin quickly. Molly stood and moved to his side, and they both gave Eurus a final smile as a goodbye before they turned to leave.

Eurus watched them go, not trusting herself to do anything until they were gone. The door hissed shut and she was alone in her cell.

But she didn't feel alone. Her brother's words still echoed in her mind, his face in her vision. Her bow and violin hung in her grasp, useless and abandoned as she moved her lips in forgotten ways, shaping a new language that could not hold any form or reprogramming or recruitment for her own purpose. They were simple words, but they carried so much weight. And maybe one day she'd say them to him.

"I love you, too."

Perhaps she could get the right path this time.

Sherlock and Molly were quiet on the way home, in the comfortable way that basked in their recent experience and prolonged the good feelings from it.

It was their last night at Baker Street before they permanently moved to Molly's flat as a residence together. They had decided to have one last night there as a goodbye, even though they'd be seeing it as early as the next day.

Sherlock still had his violin with him. He unpacked it and moved in front of the music stand, trying a new melody and making notes on a composition. Molly had a sneaking suspicion it was the third movement in the piece named after her, and if so she heartily approved. It was a full sound, beautiful and melodic. It spoke of shared experiences and deep commitment. It spoke of love and happiness and the future. It was perfect.

Molly prepared for bed as he played and wandered out to him once she was done. Sherlock had stopped to make some notes on the music, so he wasn't bothered when she interrupted and wrapped him in an embrace. He smiled down at her, violin and bow in his hands, but his arms still around her waist. Molly smiled back.

"I'm proud of you, Sherlock. Eurus needed to hear it."

"Thank you. You give me strength beyond my usual measure."

"Are you ready to start a new part of life?" Her arms squeezed around his middle, letting him know it was okay to be nervous. His lips twitched.

"Once more into the fray?"

She gave him that quizzical look again, searching her memory. He could see the exact moment it came back to her.

"Oh, that was the night after you—"

—faked my death, yes." He finished for her. "I stayed at your flat, my first night in that particular bolt hole."

"You were very quiet that night. You had so much on your mind." Molly's eyes darkened at the memory. "And I was just watching some movie that came on while you sat on the couch. Wasn't it called The Grey?"

"Yes, it was. Liam Neeson."

"I didn't think you were paying attention at all. I figured you had things to figure out now that everyone thought you were dead."

"I did. But a few things slipped through and apparently they stuck with me."

Molly shook her head at him, smiling. He was always full of surprises. "Once more into the fray, Sherlock." She kissed him lightly and went down the hall to the bedroom.

Sherlock watched her go, then turned to the window to run through the piece one more time. He stood in front of it, a tall silhouette, and played as he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Molly remembered the film and his quiet presence that night, but she couldn't possibly remember the pattern his thoughts had taken. He had been poised on the brink, ready to jump off into the great unknown to tackle and dismantle Moriarty's network. He had faked his death and left behind the people he cared about, leaving them to think he was gone. And he would leave Molly Hooper too.

Sherlock continued to play.

Only now could he see why the film, a basic movie that he wouldn't have looked twice at since films were barely on the periphery of his notice if at all, had left an impression on him. The protagonist had been stranded after a plane crash, surrounded by snow and ice, fighting for his life in the face of a ravaging wolf pack. Interspersed in the story were memories of his life and the woman he had left behind.

However it could be figuratively applied to his own life at that moment, Sherlock wouldn't have paid it any attention at all except for the lines of poetry the protagonist remembered hanging above his father's desk. The first line in particular struck him.

Once more into the fray.

It was a modern rendition of the famous speech from King Henry V by Shakespeare that began with the iconic line "once more unto the breach dear friends". Victor's father had been a literature aficionado, and somewhere in his childhood Victor had been exposed to the iconic speech and remembered the first line. In true childhood fashion, Victor had seized onto the line and thought it perfectly fitting to yell at the top of his voice while brandishing his pirate sword, like a brave swashbuckler who feared nothing. Even now that memory was how Sherlock preferred to remember his first best friend.

And all through his life, a thread forgotten but still present, Sherlock had been drawn to that speech and that line in all its iterations.

Once more into the fray.

Into battle.

Once more unto the breach.

Sherlock's playing continued, weaving in and out of his thoughts.

The poem from the film had seemed particularly appropriate considering Sherlock had faked his death and had no idea if the coming months or even years would bring about a real one. He was about to enter a last good fight unable to see how it would end or what might come after. He'd had an idea those two years would forever change him, but he never anticipated them striking home the idea that he didn't truly relish being alone, and there were some people he was willing to actually kill and die for. The lines of poetry had embedded themselves into his mind.

Once more into the fray.

Into the last good fight I'll ever know.

Live and die on this day.

What he hadn't realized but could see now was that every day was the last good fight. Every day he was living and dying, creating a new version of himself based on the events of that day, burying the one that didn't survive. Millions of iterations of himself that were all different and all the same. All living, all eventually dying. Living, dying, living, dying. A perpetual cycle with no end all the days of his life.

Some good fights were solving a case or facing his past. Some were making sure others had a better fight. Some were simply saying "I love you" or remembering Mary without pain. Holding Rosie. Talking with John, his best friend. Making love to Molly or simply holding her in his arms. Trying to bring his family back together. Every day he woke up and entered the fray once more. And he'd keep doing it, just like everyone else, until that last day, whenever that was.

For so long he had fought to make his fights bigger, better and more impressive, filled with danger and intelligence. But now he could recognize the importance, the beauty, and the sheer magnitude of all the small ones in between, ones he used to consider boring and beneath him. And for once, he could appreciate them.

The last strains of his new composition hovered in the air as he held them, his bow quivering with trepidation and joy. He repeated the lines one more time in a soft murmur as he gazed out the window deep in thought.

"Once more into the fray. Into the last good fight I'll ever know."

"Sherlock?"

He turned and beheld Molly in the door to his bedroom, beautiful and alluring in his purple dressing gown, her hair down around her shoulders. She smiled slightly, giving him a look of pure happiness.

"Are you coming to bed?"

He nodded and set his violin down in its case. She left the doorway, leaving it open for him as a reminder that she was waiting for him. Sherlock smiled to himself, thinking how different his life was now compared to where he started when he first came to live in this scruffy flat that would always be a home to him. All the pain, all the triumphs, all the bits in between. And tomorrow he would start again, and he couldn't wait.

But at this moment, Molly was waiting. The woman he lived for. The woman he'd die for. He stared out the window one last time, caught in the moment. A prayer. A motto. A reality.

"Live and die on this day. Live and die on this day."

He left the window and strode to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

The poem The Fray is by Jon Treolar and was used in the film The Grey. I don't own them.

I do not have a specific song chosen to reflect the third Movement of Sherlock's composition entitled "Molly", you are free to use your imagination and find one that you think fits!

Thanks for reading, you guys are the best! *hugs* I have a few other ideas rolling around, so it's possible I will eventually write more Sherlolly fics. Hopefully, life will give me the time to do it. :)