Author's Note: Ah! Hello! We are finally at the end of this tale! I can't even begin to comprehend that, but here we are. I never expected this series to be more than nonsensical drabbles when I first began Nights in Diagon Alley. Then a plot unfolded and away we went with Hermione and Sherlock. I'm still astounded that I even wrote the side-story, One Night in Hogsmeade. What I'm trying to say is, I'm so thankful I was able to spin a tale so many of you adore and asked for more!

I know many of you will be sad to see this end, but never fret! I hope to start a new Hermione/Sherlock fic sometime in the New Year (2019). I'm currently working on finishing out many of my other WiPs, so that is what will delay me. I'll try and hurry, I promise!

Anyway, thank you, readers, for always being so wonderful. This is for you and I hope you love it! I never would have pushed myself through to finishing this if it wasn't for all your lovely feedback. Enjoy this final chapter, darlings!

And I can't forget to thank my fabulous beta, GaeilgeRua for working with me on this story! I'm so very grateful to you for your guidance and grammar skills. This fic would only be half as good without your help. I love you forever! Much love, xxDustNight

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

Nights in 221B
Rated: M
Pairing: Hermione/Sherlock
Summary: When Hermione leaves the wizarding world behind, choosing to aid Sherlock in his desperate search for Moriarty, she learns much more about the consulting detective than she ever thought possible. *Sequel to Nights in Diagon Alley*

Chapter Fifteen: The End

Death wasn't fair.

That was what Hermione was thinking as she stood in the drizzle, staring down at the new grave before her. There was no reason for people to die so young and with so much more life to live. Families to raise, friends to enjoy, partners to love. All of that could be ripped from you within a matter of minutes, and it just wasn't fair. It didn't matter that she'd been through this before, war and death. It never got any easier and it probably never would.

It wasn't Harry or even Draco who finally came to her side as she stood weeping silently. It was John, and he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and held her close for a few more minutes as she said her final goodbyes. He didn't try to rush her nor did she suspect that he would. In fact, he had more of a right to be standing here crying than she did. Taking a deep breath and pulling herself together as best she could, Hermione extracted herself from his embrace and wiped at her mascara smudged eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, peering up at John with a tearful expression. "It should never have come to this."

John heaved a sigh and then placed both his hands on her shoulders. Looking her directly in the eye, he said, "I don't blame you, so please don't blame yourself."

"I know, and that's what makes this so much worse," she muttered, bowing her head as a few more tears slipped free of her eyes.

"Listen to me, Hermione," John started, using the tip of one finger to push her chin up. "We're not guaranteed every day. Living the lives we do… We take the risk that each day could be our last."

"How are you so calm about all of this?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Because I have to be," he admitted with a sigh. "Now, come on. Let's get back to 221B, okay?"

Hermione nodded despite herself as John began leading them away from the gravesite. There was a cab waiting to return them to Baker Street. She didn't really want to go back there. Too many memories of happier times, even if they had been working the case. Harry and Draco had done a fantastic job of restoring the flat to its former 'glory', but it was still tainted with the memory of Moriarty and his destruction.

The cab ride was uneventful and extremely quiet. John fiddled around on his mobile, texting a few people. Hermione didn't bother to do anything more than stare out the rain-slicked window as the city blurred on by. When they arrived at Baker Street, John hurried to get out of the cab and open the door for Hermione. She accepted his hand and then stood there awkwardly as he paid the fare. When the cab drove off, John turned to her, and she closed her eyes.

"I think I need a minute before I go upstairs," she said honestly.

"Sure," he said and then gave her a small smile. "I'm going to go and check on Mrs. Hudson. I want to make sure she got home safely. Don't stand out here in the rain too long, yeah?"

"I won't. I promise." She returned his smile, if briefly, and then turned her gaze up at the windows of 221B. "I'll see you up there."

She only stood on the sidewalk a few more minutes before gathering herself together and entering the weathered door. She paused only to fix the knocker, or rather, make it crooked once more. Mycroft must have stopped by earlier while they were at the funeral. He always made sure everything was neat and orderly. Shutting the door behind her, she recalled meeting the man for the first time. It was the morning after Moriarty had attacked her and Sherlock… He was definitely interesting and knew far more about their world than she would have thought by just looking at him.

He'd helped them come up with a coverup for the explosion that rocked the flat, as well as the multiple deaths that ravaged the city. Given the circumstances, she was surprised he never appeared more distraught over the matter. John told her it was just his way, but she knew he had to be feeling something over what happened to his little brother. Right?

Shaking those thoughts from her head, Hermione began a slow ascent up the stairs. She knew what awaited her and she wasn't looking forward to it. At all. Nevertheless, she eventually reached the landing and was forced to take in the humble facade that was 221B Baker Street. It seemed colder somehow, less welcoming than before. She knew it was because Sherlock wasn't there to fill it with his presence.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione pushed her heartache aside and fully entered the room. She wandered over to the chairs by the fireplace and sat down in Sherlock's rather than her's or John's. Merlin, how she missed him so. Smoothing her hands over the worn leather, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine him here with her. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be here with her.

A strangled sob escaped her before she could stop it and she covered her mouth with one hand so more wouldn't follow suit. It didn't take much more for the tears to start running down her already stained face. This was most definitely not how it was supposed to be. Sherlock… She loved him more now than ever before. He'd sacrificed himself for her; how couldn't she love him? And he, apparently, loved her as well. How could he finally say those words aloud only to be torn from her an instant later?

"Hermione?"

She looked up at John's voice, a worried expression on his face. Quickly, she dabbed at her eyes once more, hating that he was always seeing her fall to pieces. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, her mobile pinged, so she extracted it from the jacket she still wore. Frowning, she checked the message that had come through. Her heart began to race, and her skin felt clammy. "It's Harry." She jumped to her feet, forgetting her tears for the moment. "We have to go!"

"Where to?" John said, eyes wide with fear. He was already sliding his arms back into his jacket.

Hermione rushed to his side and looped an arm through his. Without having time to explain adequately, she merely replied, "St. Mungo's. Sherlock's awake, and he's asking for us." Then, she apparated them away, leaving the flat empty once more.

Hermione and John arrived in the Apparition Room at St. Mungo's and then both immediately took off running in the direction of the ward where Sherlock was recovering. Magical comas were no laughing matter, and Sherlock had been in one for nearly a week now. After his heart stopped beating, Harry had quickly pulled him from Hermione's arms and apparated him to get treatment. Of course, Hermione wasn't far behind but after having your body blasted by an Obscurus, who knew what was going to happen.

Numerous surgeries and copious amounts of life-sustaining potions. When at long last the Healers told Hermione and the others that Sherlock was stable, but in a magical coma, they had no idea what to expect. So they'd just gone on with their lives in much the usual manner as possible. Draco and Harry took care of closing out the case, with Mycroft's help. John prepared for Mary's funeral, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson took turns caring for little Rosie and Hermione. Now, though… Now there seemed to be hope.

Hermione reached the door first and didn't even bother to catch her breath before storming inside. Harry was there, a smile on his face as he chatted with Sherlock, who was blessedly awake in the bed. Hermione's heart swelled with pure joy as he paused mid-sentence and turned his sea-colored gaze upon her. Without a word, he reached out to her, clearly wanting her to come to him. Not waiting for a second, she rushed to his side, looking him over to make sure that this was indeed happening.

Smiling tearfully as she realized he was alive and well, Hermione settled herself in the chair next to Sherlock's and swept up his outstretched hand with her own. She squeezed tightly, not wanting to let go now or ever. Taking a deep, calming breath, she found words escaped her. Somewhere behind her, Harry excused himself and allowed them some privacy.

"Hermione," Sherlock began, sounding just the same as he always did. "You've been crying."

"It was Mary's funeral," she said by way of explanation, completely avoiding telling him she'd cried over him more than she had for Mary. The corner of his mouth lifted, showing he knew she was lying. He didn't call her on it, though, and for that she was grateful. "She's buried under this beautiful tree, Sherlock. I'll take you to say your goodbyes when they release you. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she asked, inching closer and holding his hand against her breast.

"You're rambling," Sherlock said and then laughed when Hermione playfully hit him in the chest. He feigned pain and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.

"Hush, you," she scolded, now holding his hand to her lips and kissing it. "I thought you were dead, and then I thought you would be forever in the magical coma. The Healers had no idea what to expect."

"I can't die yet," he told her in a serious tone. "I've much to learn still about your world, and I'm not yet finished with you either." Affectionately, he used his free hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her tearstained skin. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

"It's fine. You're here now, and that's all that matters," Hermione whispered, a grin lifting her lips. "Did the Healers say when we can take you home?"

He waved off her question. "They tell me nothing of importance. I wanted to know about Moriarty and what happens to him now that he's been procured. Luckily, Potter was able to fill me in before you arrived. Magical vaults in Azkaban. He's going to love spending his remaining days there." Sherlock smirked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I saw Harry but was Draco here too?" Hermione inquired, glancing over her shoulder toward the door. "He was surprisingly concerned about your wellbeing, especially after he learned you saved my life."

"He's on a date."

"A date?" Hermione's face showed the surprise she felt.

"Yes," Sherlock intoned. "He and Molly are probably sipping expensive wine and gazing adoringly into one another's eyes as we speak."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head. "Well, now that the case is over and the threat has abated, I don't see why they can't be happy. Draco deserves happiness."

"As does Molly."

"I think we all do," Hermione admitted quietly. Sherlock merely nodded.

They were silent a spell, both staring at one another briefly before looking away. Hermione cleared her throat, unsure what to say next. There were so many things going through her head, but they had all the time in the world to sift through them together. Moriarty was taken care of, Sherlock was alive, and they could finally just be… As if reading her chaotic thoughts, Sherlock took over the conversation.

"That's it," Sherlock said, smoothing out the sheet covering his legs. "I see no other way around it."

"What's that?" Hermione inquired, quirking an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"You and I. We're just going to have to get married, and you'll move into the flat permanently." Sherlock said all of this with a straight face but looked up when Hermione gasped.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" Hermione sputtered, one hand coming to rest over her heart.

"Isn't that what two people in love tend to do?" Sherlock began, frowning in confusion at her apparent line of questioning. "I'll admit, I never thought about marriage before but-"

Hermione cut him off, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him soundly. That went on for quite some time before she reluctantly pulled away. Placing her forehead against his, she sighed happily. "Of course, Sherlock Holmes. I'll marry you. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Hermione," he replied, one hand carding through her curls. "I apologize for not telling you sooner. The case-"

"You don't have to apologize," Hermione told him. "I'm more than happy to be your wife and spend the rest of our lives together. Solving cases and whatever life throws our way."

"If that's what you wish." He kissed her again, relishing the way she melted into his embrace. "Besides," Sherlock said with a coy grin. "Someone is going to have to teach me how to use this thing." At that revelation, he lifted his hand and revealed a wand, which he then proceeded to use to shoot red sparks into the air.

Hermione's mouth popped open in shock. As the realization set in that the Obscurus attack must have triggered Sherlock's hidden magic, Hermione merely shook her head. Of course, Sherlock was a wizard. It all made sense now…

Sighing, she said, "Clearly, Nights in 221B will never be the same."

Fin