So, yes. This is the end. The finale. I had a lot of fun with this story, and thank you all for the reviews and simply for reading it! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did ^^

"Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me - anything can happen, child. Anything can be."

- Shel Silverstein

X X X

There was a sort of gladness in their parting, in knowing that the threat of murder was gone – even though Sherlock wasn't entirely happy about the case being over and done. But there was also sadness there too, for they'd become more than acquaintances in the days they'd worked together. They'd become friends.

And – inevitably – friends are always sad when they have to go their separate ways.

"I'll make sure to visit every once in a while." The Doctor promised, flashing them his signature goofy grin.

Sherlock shook his hand. "Thank you, Doctor." He said, offering him a hesitant almost-smile that just barely twitched at the corners of his lips.

The Time Lord nodded, barely keeping back his own gigantic grin, "To you as well."

Next, Sherlock and John said goodbye Sam, Dean and Castiel. The three were hitching a ride back to the US with the Doctor in order to cut spending half of their paycheck on airline tickets, but they lingered so Sherlock could make sure they'd visit occasionally as well.

"Of course we'll visit, Sherly!" Dean exclaimed, laughing when Sherlock grimaced at the use of his pet name – the one usually only his older brother, Mycroft, used.

Castiel shook John's hand, giving him a solemn farewell. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

John nodded, still a bit awed about meeting an angel, "You too."

In truth they would've stayed there forever if they could've, suspended in time so their paths could stay overlapped. But they each had lives and people to return to you, and they couldn't stay. So finally they said their final goodbyes, and Team Free Will loaded up into the TARDIS with the Doctor right behind them.

"Don't wait twenty three years to visit again this time!" John called in their wake.

"Yes, sir!" The Doctor replied laughingly. And then the doors closed and suddenly the only people – besides John – that Sherlock had ever really considered true friends were gone, and the flat at 221b Baker Street was quiet once more.

"What now?" John asked in the silence that ensued.

Sherlock turned to him and, despite the apparent calm on his face, inside he was a chaotic whirlwind of emotion and uncertainty. His heart was beating at three times its normal speed, and he felt breathless with the sudden realization of what he was about to say. Weightless. "We're alone," the consulting detective murmured, stating the obvious.

John gave him an odd look. "Yeah, uh, are you okay, Sherlock?"

"I'm better than I have been in a while."

"What?"

Sherlock stepped closer, taking John's hand in his and squeezing it – hard – as if he believed that the action would give him strength. "This gives us a chance to talk. Because, John, there are many things we need to talk about."

John was feeling nervous now. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "Is there something you want to tell me, John?"

John stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. But Sherlock said nothing and just stood there, smiling back at him and teasing him with those high cheekbones, those clear gray-green eyes with just a hint of blue, that curly hair that was just begging for him to run his fingers through it and tug. John stared, mouth going dry, and desperately latched onto whatever Sherlock was aiming at, hoping his own assumptions were right.

Grabbing the consulting detective by the lapels, John slammed him against the wall and crushed their lips together, pouring all the frustration and loyalty and love he'd held pent up inside for the last few months into that one kiss.

And when they finally pulled apart, faces flushed and breathing hard, Sherlock smiled in a way that John had never seen before, one that made his eyes twinkle.

"I knew you had something to tell me." He said cheekily.

X X X

Sioux Falls, South Dakota . . .

Bobby was sprawled on the floor of his living room, eyes wide and tattered baseball hap lying askew on his head as he stared at the blue box materializing in his living room out of thin air because, seriously, Bobby Singer had seen some weird things in his life time, but this definitely took the gold.

But when Sam, Dean, and Castiel stepped out of the box moments later, waving goodbye to whomever else was inside of it, Bobby rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the fact that the blue box had disappeared again.

"Shoulda known that it'd be you idjits," he grumbled. "What kind of crazy people are you runnin' around with these days?"

"Time Lords." Castiel said.

"Aliens." Dean clarified.

"It's a long story." Sam added.

Bobby blinked at them in turn and then sighed, grabbing a half-full liquor bottle from the desk and two glasses. "Why don't you join me then, Sam, and tell me all about it? I've got time."

"What about us?" Dean asked, motioning to himself and Castiel.

Bobby glanced at them. "I can tell you guys have some things to talk about." He said, winking in that knowing way of his. Then he and Sam traipsed off to the back porch to talk, and Dean glanced at Castiel, feeling uncomfortable.

"Bobby is especially intuitive," Castiel said after a few moments of awkward silence. "How did he know I wanted to talk to you alone?"

"He's got that whole father-instinct thing going on." Dean said, "He always did treat us like we were his actual kids."

Castiel nodded, looking distracted.

Dean shifted nervously. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

The angel hesitated. "I . . . I don't know how to phrase it." And, for the first time in a long time, Castiel looked – uncertain.

". . . Cas?" Dean ventured. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean. I just – don't know how to say this."

"Just say it, then. Blurt out whatever comes to mind. That's usually the easiest way to do it when you're at a loss for words."

"Iloveyou." Castiel said in a rush.

Dean went very still, wondering if he'd heard the angel right. "What?"

"I – I love you."

Dean stared at him, eyes wide, jaw slack, and stutters. "Wait, I – I don't . . . what?"

Castiel huffed impatiently and leaned forward, "Just let me show you." He murmured, and then the angel's lips were on his, gentle and compliant and feather-soft, just as Dean had dreamed they'd be. And – he admitted to himself – he dreamed about Castiel's lips a lot. But more than that, he dreamed about Cas himself a lot. And before he'd just pushed it to the back of his mind, told himself he didn't swing that way, but now . . . now he wasn't so sure.

And when Castiel pulled back Dean was smiling.

"What?" The angel murmured, his violent blue eyes looking almost scared.

Wanting to erase any doubt Castiel had that Dean returned his feelings, the hunter pulled his angel into a crushing embrace, holding him close so he'd never have to let go. And then, barely above a whisper, he murmured "I think I understand now."

And Castiel knew then that Dean loved him back.

X X X

The Doctor stood in the TARDIS, listening to the way it hummed, pulsing with the beat of the universe around it. There was peace here, and the Doctor liked that. What he had a hard time getting past, though, was the solitude. Peace he could handle, silence he could handle.

Loneliness . . . not so much.

He'd gotten so used to having a companion. During this regeneration alone he'd had three different ones, Rose, Martha, and Donna. And now, with the TARDIS empty save for him, he realized that he'd forgotten what it was like to be by himself. He'd been travelling alone for a long time before he met Rose, and for a while he'd liked it better that way.

But now . . . now he was lonely.

My lonely angel, Madame de Pompadour had called him once. And she'd been right. All the friends he'd made, all the places he'd been, all the people he saved, it all seemed for naught during the time he was standing there inside the TARDIS, alone with only his thoughts.

But then he'd think back to the new friends he'd made – the Winchester boys, the angel Castiel (who was particularly interesting), the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, and his best friend John Watson – and suddenly he didn't feel so lonely anymore, especially with their invitation for him to visit whenever he wanted echoing in his mind. And then the Doctor smiled, because maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

Maybe this story had a happy ending for once.

THE END.