Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, be it the movies or the books. I am merely an admirer.

Last chapter, folks!

EPILOGUE

Watson smiled to himself as he remembered he still had a promise to keep.

"Remind me again why you've dragged me along?"

"Because the fresh air will do you good."

"If it was fresh air I required, I would have visited somewhere such as Devon or Cornwall... not Ireland."

"Holmes, stop whining. You are coming to see Catherine Collins whether you like it or not."

"Why do you keep calling her Catherine Collins? She wasn't married to him."

John Watson faltered during their banter match. They were both sat in an old cab which was rattling down an old country lane in Dublin. Sherlock Holmes was slouched in the corner, constantly huffing about the whole situation. Watson was sat opposite him, still relishing the victory of getting Holmes to another country without having to sedate him. He could still remember the look on Holmes' face when he'd told him where they were going...

Watson hurriedly closed the door of 221b Baker Street behind him as the icy winter air nipped at him and caused his leg to throb. He limped up the stairs and pushed open the living room door. Holmes was stood with his back to him, favouring his left leg whilst facing the window and playing a melancholy tune on his Stradivarius. Papers were scattered around the room, and on the coffee table suspicious-looking fumes were circling a small experiment. Watson ignored the probably toxic gas and set about clearing the mess from his armchair and drawing it closer to the warm fire. Sighing, he sunk into the chair and stretched out his legs. He closed his eyes and let the warmth flood through his shivering form. His relief was short-lived, however, when he opened his eyes and suddenly found Holmes bent over him and watching him closely. Watson raised his eyebrows.

"Why haven't you told me where we're going?" the detective asked.

"How did you–"

"I can see the two boat tickets sticking out of your pocket." he said sharply.

Watson smiled, "That's it? No grandiose deduction about the certain type of mud on my shoes that can only be found at the docks... or the distinctive smell of some baker's shop that I must have travelled past?"

"There is snow on the ground, causing the soil to harden and thus preventing mud from sticking to your shoes, and the baker's shop which you refer to closed down a month ago." Holmes said dryly, "So again, why haven't you told me where we're going?"

"I was about to, actually. But seeing as you're in such a good mood, why don't you work it out for yourself?" Watson chided.

The detective, paused, considering his options. "No," he said as he moved to pick up his violin and settle in his own armchair. He began to pick at the strings as he spoke. "I'm not going."

"Yes you are," Watson said firmly, "The holiday will give you a chance to fully recover, and I'm sure Scotland Yard can survive without you for a few days."

"I doubt it." Holmes muttered, "Even so, I refuse to go until you tell me where our destination is."

Watson sighed and put his head in his hands, wincing as the stitches on his arm stretched. It had been two days since the pair of them had returned from the warehouse, and both of them were still sore and moving stiffly from the various scratches and bruises on them. Holmes was still adamant that he could move perfectly well despite the bullet wound on his leg. Apart from the occasional wince, the only signs Holmes showed was a small limp, which he repressed if he could. A holiday would definitely slow Holmes down and help him to relax, Watson mused. He knew, though, that Holmes wouldn't agree with their destination. Still, he was going to find out sooner or later. "Ireland." he muttered, preparing for the oncoming tirade. Looking up from his hands, he saw Holmes gazing levelly at him, processing facts and recent events that could have contributed to the sudden decision to take a holiday in Ireland. Suddenly his eyes widened as he realised why Watson wanted to go.

"No. I'm not going with you."

"Yes you are." Watson said, standing up. "You are coming with me so I can give the ring back to Patrick Collins' fiancée. She already knows we're coming, and we'll be leaving this evening."

"But why do I have to come?" Holmes whined. Such a child.

"Because it was you who solved the case and stopped Silverstone. He was, effectively, Collins' killer, and I'm sure Miss Catherine will appreciate your help and want to thank you for your determination in finishing the business, despite the side-effects." Watson said, gesturing to Holmes' leg.

Holmes sighed, "I suppose I have no choice in the matter," Watson nodded. "Very well, I shall begin packing. Do you happen to know where my violin case is?"

"No." Watson said sternly, "You are not taking that. I will not have you waking everyone at three o'clock in the morning. No, don't give me that face. It may work for Mrs. Hudson, but if you think I'm going to cave then you've got another thing coming." Watson left the room, leaving Holmes staring after him with a large pout on his face.

Back in the cab, Watson contemplated Holmes' previous question. Why had he used Patrick's surname? He glanced up at Holmes, who was watching him through half-lidded eyes, ensuring Watson knew he was bored and would rather be anywhere else but here.

"I just assumed," Watson said slowly, "that Catherine would want to keep the name. She had just lost someone she loved dearly, and I'm sure she'll want to hold onto his name, as a keep-sake, if you will."

Holmes huffed. "But you're guessing. How do you know she'll keep the name?"

"I don't, but if I was in that position, I'd–"

"I know what you'd do, Watson, but you are not in that position, so don't make guesses based on your emotions."

"I was in that position, Holmes." Watson said, looking out of the window as he spoke. "You have no idea what that poor girl is going through. She'll be feeling all alone, and nothing anyone else can say or do will ease her pain. If she remains that way, she'll continue to isolate herself from the world and sink into a deep depression. I've been through that, Holmes. I've experienced that pain, with no one to comfort me, so don't you dare tell me what I should and shouldn't do, especially when it comes to emotions. If I recall, that's one of the areas in which you dwindle."

Holmes remained silent through his friend's outburst. Of course, he should have known this visit would have a personal effect on the doctor. He never had asked what had happened to Watson during his three year absence, instead focusing on their next moves after his return. The only way he'd learned of Miss Morstan's (he refused to call her 'Mrs. Watson') death was through Mycroft, who had warned him a few weeks after returning to Baker Street.

The remainder of the cab ride was spent in silence, the two of them gazing out of their window as they bounced in their seats. Soon, the hansom drew up alongside a small house, and Holmes and Watson departed, Watson paying for the fare whilst Holmes strode up to the house. The street they were in was currently empty, with only the occasional stranger passing by. The cab rattled away on the cobble-stone road as Watson joined Holmes at the front door.

"Behave." he muttered as he knocked loudly.

The door opened to reveal a young woman, wearing a simple blue dress with bright green eyes and smoky black hair that hung in loose curls around her shoulders. Watson smiled and stepped forward, introducing himself and Holmes.

"It's so lovely to meet you." The sweet Irish accent rolled of her tongue as Holmes stepped forward to kiss her hand softly. "Please, come inside. I'm sure you've had a long journey." Holmes stepped aside to let Watson follow Miss Catherine through the cream carpeted hallway and up the stairs, until they reached as small living space with a red-plush sofa against the far wall and a mahogany writing desk in front of the window. Paintings were hung around the room, and bookshelves lined the wall on the right.

Miss Catherine gestured for the two men to sit, whilst she went down to the kitchen and made tea. A few minutes later she returned, and after handing over two of the three cups she sat down on a small stool situated near the door.

"I'm a big admirer of yours, Mr. Holmes. I've read all of Doctor Watson's work and I have to say that sometimes I can hardly believe the deductions you make."

"I can assure you, Miss...?"

"Oh, please, just call me Miss Collins." Catherine assured. Holmes ignored the small smile on Watson's face.

"As I was saying, Miss Collins, I can assure you my deductions are completely accurate. For example, your–" he was cut off by Watson discreetly kicking his ankle as a warning.

Miss Collins looked at him expectantly. "My...?"

"Your... paintings... reveal that you are a wealthy lady, as your former fiancé, Patrick Collins, was still a relatively new doctor, and would not have been able to afford these magnificent works of art." he said, using the charisma he knew would flatter Miss Collins.

Miss Collins looked around the room at each picture. "You're right, Mr Holmes. Ever since I was a young gal I loved viewing paintings by Auguste Renoir. Patrick seemed to like them too, I might add."

Watson coughed nervously. "Miss Collins, I...er... I have Patrick's engagement ring he was going to give to you," he said, taking out the small, red velvet box from his pocket, "I presume you already knew he was going to propose?"

Miss Collins chuckled, "Yes, I did. He was never very good at keeping secrets, and every time I mentioned the idea of getting married he would suddenly become very flustered and mumble an excuse to leave the room. At first I thought he was afraid of the prospect of us being wed, but one of my friends who owns the local jewellers accidently let slip that Patrick had been in his shop."

"You would have said yes?" Watson asked, handing her the box. She took it and slowly opened it, gasping as she saw the ruby ring in the centre of the lavish cushion. Her eyes glistened as she put it on her finger and spoke.

"Yes, of course I would." she whispered, "Patrick was the sweetest man I ever knew, and he treated me with such care. He always strived to make me happy, and I've never known a man who could be so loving and devoted... and... I miss him... somuch." Tears began to stream down her face, and Watson knelt in front of her to take the tea from her grasp before it spilt. He gently shushed her and stood her up, enveloping her in a soft embrace in front of the door. She clutched at his jacket, desperately trying to prevent herself from crying into his shoulder whilst he continued to mutter soothingly in her ear. Holmes cleared his throat quietly, unsure of what to do, and Watson met his eyes.

"Find the maid." Watson mouthed to him.

Holmes frowned at him, not understanding.

"Find the maid!" he repeated.

"What?" Holmes mouthed back.

"Find. The. Maid!" he emphasised his words and Holmes nodded, finally receiving the message as he left the room whilst Watson rubbed the young woman's back. He heard Holmes trudge downstairs to find Miss Collins' maid, but focused his attention back to Miss Collins when he heard her sniff.

"I'm sorry, Doctor... I didn't mean to break down like that." Tears were still running down her face, and Watson silently wiped them away, allowing her to continue in her own time.

"It was just... all so sudden. One day, I'm receiving letters from him about his experiences in London... and the next, I have an official on my doorstep telling me he's d-d-dead." she began to sob again, and Watson pulled her back into a hug.

"It's alright," he murmured. "You'll get through this, I promise... It will be tough, but eventually you'll find that spark you think you've lost."

Miss Collins hiccupped, "You sound as if you're speaking from experience." she mumbled into his shoulder.

"I am," he said softly. "I lost my wife a few months ago to consumption. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to go through."

"I – I'm so sorry." she said, looking up into his blue eyes.

"Don't be," he said gently, looking down at her and brushing aside a strand of her dark hair. "I survived, and you're going to do the same." A firm tone in his voice caused her to form a small smile.

"Thank you, Doctor. You've no idea how nice it is to talk to someone who understands. Can I... ask you something?"

"Of course." he answered softly.

"You mentioned re-discovering a... spark... I've lost. When did you find yours?"

Watson gazed at her, before looking away. "For a time, Holmes led me to believe he was dead – for my own good. In his line of work, danger is always around the corner, and the only way he could defeat one particular enemy was to throw the two of them off a balcony and down a waterfall, supposedly to his doom. He was gone for three years, ensuring all of his enemy's followers had been eliminated. When he returned, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I have to confess I punched the man," this elicited a giggle from Miss Collins, "but he helped me to move on with Mary's death. His fall was by far the worst thing that has happened to me, but his return was most definitely the best thing that I could have asked for, and there isn't a day that goes by where I wish Mary could be here instead of him... despite how infuriating he can be." he smiled to himself, before looking down at Miss Collins, "Catherine, I'm certain you're going to find someone who can help you like Holmes did to me, too."

Mrs Collins smiled at him, "Mr Holmes is lucky to have you." she said quietly.

"I would say it was the other way around." he corrected, before the door opened and Holmes led a small, plump woman, who must have been about forty, into the room. Immediately, she bustled over to her mistress, promptly casting Watson out of the way, as she fussed over the young woman.

"We'll be leaving now, I think." Holmes said. Miss Collins looked up at them sharply, drawing away from her maid.

"Won't you stay for the night? It will get dark outside soon, and I would hate for something to happen on your journey back."

Holmes hesitated before replying, but one look at Watson revealed the doctor thought this was a good idea. "Of course," he answered, "How could we refuse?"

Miss Collins beamed at them. "I have a spare room down the hall which the two of you can use. I'm sure you'll be perfectly comfortable there."

Holmes put on his best smile, "That would be most appreciated, thank you." he said.

"Oh, not at all. Maria, come help me prepare the beds for these two gentlemen." The maid nodded and followed her mistress down the hall, leaving Holmes and Watson to themselves.

"Watson," Holmes turned to his companion as soon as the door had shut, "You know how much I dislike being in the company of an... emotional party."

Watson sighed, "I know, Holmes, and I'm sorry, but it's clear Miss Collins wants someone to talk to, and she needs us."

"You." Holmes corrected, "She needs you. You are the only one of us who can relate to her, and you are much more capable of dealing with the fairer sex than I, so there is no reason whatsoever for me to still be here."

Watson gazed at him, a slight frown on his face. "Fine," the doctor said after a few moments, "You're right. I suppose it's bad enough I've taken you along with me, much to your displeasure – as you've made clear, so it's only fair you go home. I've booked rooms at the Shelbourne Hotel under my name, so do what you will." he handed Holmes the hotel's business card with its address, before leaving the room and turning down the hallway, presumably to go to his temporary room. Holmes knew the doctor was trying to hide his disappointment, but he really didn't want to be here. Throwing the card on the table after memorising the address, he limped downstairs, shrugging on his coat as he did so. Just as he was about to reach for the handle, he heard a shout from behind him. Turning, he saw Miss Collins hurrying down the stairs and towards him.

"You're leaving?" she asked, crestfallen.

"I'm afraid so. I've urgent business to attend to in London, and it really cannot wait. I'll be catching the last boat tonight."

"Oh, alright." she accepted, though still obviously deflated, "Is Doctor Watson going with you?" she added as an after-thought.

"No, he is still going to stay the night, as far as I'm aware."

"But does he know you're going?" she asked, a frown forming on her features.

"Yes, and he understands why I must leave. What? Why?" he asked, after seeing Miss Collins frown even more.

"It's only... I didn't think you were going to leave him behind."

"I'm not leaving him behind, I'm just..." Holmes paused, unsure of where he was going with this. "The... er... the cold affects his leg... and I think it would be best if he stays... rather than brave the weather and risk injuring himself more."

"Mmm-hmm? Well, I suppose it's none of my business, though there is always a free bed in the spare room if you change your mind, and I'm sure Doctor Watson wouldn't disagree at all." Once finished, she said goodnight and returned upstairs, turning right, most probably to her bedroom and leaving Holmes alone in the hallway. He could hear the slightly heavier steps of Watson on the other side of the house, and it sounded as though the doctor was pacing. His hand still on the door knob, Holmes strained to hear for any more noises, but it soon became apparent that Watson had lay down on his bed. He stood frozen there for twenty more minutes before sighing to himself and plodding noiselessly upstairs. He poked his head around the door of the spare room, and the light from the lamps on the landing cast a beam on the nearest bed, revealing the sleeping form of Watson. His eyes were closed, though faintly moving underneath his eyelids, and Holmes guessed he had only just entered REM sleep. He seemed peaceful enough, and finally making his decision, the detective reversed from the door and silently left the house. He soon called a cab and was bustling towards the hotel Watson had booked rooms for them at.

Holmes was half-way through packing his belongings on the hotel bed when there was a sudden rapping on the door. Muttering, he strode across the room and opened it to reveal an angry-looking Catherine Collins. Before he could say anything to her, she had stepped forward and sharply slapped him across the face, causing him to stumble backwards as she advanced into his room.

"You bastard." she growled as he stood to face her, clutching a hand to his cheek.

"Though I am used to being addressed as thus, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for a reason."

"You think you're being clever? You find this funny?" she continued to stalk towards him, and he eventually stopped her by placing his hands on either of her arms.

"Miss Collins, if I knew what it was I was supposed to find amusing, then rest assured I would answer your question."

"Do you know what Doctor Watson said to me last night, when you went to fetch Maria?" Holmes shook his head, "He told me about his wife's death, and he then added – and I quote – 'His fall was by far the worst thing that had happened to me, but his return was most definitely the best thing that I could have asked for, and there isn't a day that goes by where I wish Mary could be here instead of him.' He said he was lucky to have you as a friend, but what kind of friend leaves him to suffer?"

Holmes frowned, not certain what Miss Collins was talking about, until the realisation hit him like a train. "He woke you up?"

"Yes, he woke me up, though I hardly blame him. It's a good thing Maria had gone home, mind you, she's a lovely woman but she could talk for Ireland. Any person can see the exhaustion on his face and the suffering he goes through, and if you've got any sense, Mr Holmes, I suggest you march out of here and apologise to him right now."

Holmes stared at the young woman, speechless. She continued to stand there, arms folded, whilst he attempted to glare at her and manipulate her into leaving. She held her ground, however, and soon Holmes relented.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly.

Miss Collins blushed and coughed nervously, "Mr Holmes," she began slowly, "maybe if you had told me the truth yesterday, he'd be here, and not..." she trailed off.

"Catherine, where is he?"

"I'm only here because I found this hotel's card in the living room..."

"Miss Collins–"

"He's left, Mr Holmes. I told him what you told me last night, and he thinks you've left for England. He's probably already on his boat."

Holmes swore and quickly threw his remaining belongings into his bag before hastily shooing Miss Collins out of the hotel room and sprinting down the hallway, shouting a goodbye as he went.

He managed to call a cab within seconds of rushing out the doors and with the promise of a double fare to the driver if he got there in ten minutes, he prayed he would reach the docks in time. He could only imagine the betrayal Watson could be feeling, apparently having his best friend leave him in an unknown country without telling him, and he pounded the leather seat in frustration.

After far too long, the cab stopped, and Holmes leapt out, throwing change to the driver as he ran to the edge of the docks. He ran alongside the water, scouring each and every boat and ignoring the pain in his leg as he hoped to find the unmistakable figure of Watson. He continued to run up and down for another ten minutes, before giving up and cursing loudly. The ship was gone, probably halfway across the Irish Sea by now.

Thank God he had contacts in Ireland. Soon he was sat on a small sailboat that was being captained by one of his client he'd met in his early years as a consulting detective. After Holmes had explained the situation, his client, who had met Watson a few years back, had quickly gathered more crew members and had abruptly set sail across the sea.

It was an excruciatingly long journey, and Holmes had continued to pace for the full eight hours, constantly dreading what Watson would say when they met again. Would he leave? No, he was far too loyal to do that, but then again, he had left him for Miss Morstan without hesitation. Yes, but you heard what Miss Collins said, the voice in his head reminded, Watson would much prefer you were here than Mary. This sort of argument continued in his head for the rest of the trip.

Finally, they docked in Southampton, and after a brief thank-you, Holmes had secured a cab and was hurtling towards Baker Street. Maybe Watson hadn't gotten there yet. Perhaps they had overtaken the ship and they were both in separate cabs, heading for the same destination. It was a slim chance, but he held onto the thought.

Twenty minutes later Holmes leapt out of the cab and jumped up the steps leading to 221b. Pushing open the door, he quietly made his way up the stairs and walked into the living room, his heart sinking as he saw Watson sat in his armchair, looking exhausted and reading a newspaper, not bothering to look up when Holmes entered.

"Watson, I–"

"Save it, Holmes. I don't want to hear your excuses." he said quietly, still pretending to read the paper.

"Well, too bad, you're going to hear them whether you like it or not." At this, Watson put his paper down and looked up expectantly.

"It was... all a big misunderstanding," Holmes started, "I did go to the hotel you had booked for us. I didn't come here. I only told that to Miss Collins because I knew she wouldn't allow me to leave if I'd said I was just going to some hotel. She said to me that she'd found the business card that you'd given to me, and only realised the mistake once you'd left." Holmes made his way towards Watson. "I am truly sorry for having you believe I'd left you. You must know that I would never do that, no matter what the circumstances are."

Watson sighed. "It's alright, Holmes."

"No, it's not alright. I shouldn't have left in the first place. I knew you still had trouble sleeping," at this, Watson looked up sharply, and Holmes answered his unspoken question, "Yes, Miss Collins did hear you, but know that she doesn't blame you at all. My behaviour was thoughtless and selfish, and... I understand if you wish to leave."

Watson raised his eyebrows. "Holmes, if you think this is going to make me leave, then you are very much mistaken. What's happened wasn't your fault, though I'll have to congratulate Miss Collins on her powers of persuasion."He gestured to Holmes' cheek, where a large red mark was spreading across it. "How hard did she hit you?" Watson asked, looking back down at his paper.

"Very hard. I had half a mind to hit her back."

Watson chuckled. "Well then I doubt you would have left that room alive."

Holmes snorted. "Any letters?"

Watson grinned at his paper. "Yes, there is one letter I think you might like to read. It's on your chair."

Holmes turned and picked up said letter, settling down as he read. Once he'd finished, he couldn't help but let a smile creep across his features:

Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson,

I am writing to inform you of the events that have occurred since the two of you have left for Ireland. Much has happened, and I'm sure, Mr Holmes, that you would not wish to be left out.

Firstly, you will be pleased to hear that Lord Silverstone is to be hanged next Friday. After appealing his case to prove his innocence, which I must admit sounded completely crazy, your brother Mycroft stepped in and completely abolished his case. I'm sure your presences would have convinced the jury to make a decision quicker, but I've a feeling my appearance helped convince them.

Secondly, I must warn the two of you that Mycroft has found out the ring Doctor Watson gave to Silverstone was a fake, and be aware that he is not too happy. Indeed, he accused Inspector Lestrade of tampering with evidence, and I had to quickly explain the conditions that had led to the rings being swapped. Know that Mycroft will be wanting a word with you, Doctor, for failing to hand over the genuine ring.

Finally, if either of you wish to talk some details over the case with me at Scotland Yard, I ask you to refrain from asking for Constable Clarke, as I now have a new title.

Sincerely,

Sergeant Clarke

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading my fanfic, and a special thanks to all those who have favourite, alerted and reviewed! I really hope you enjoyed it, and reviews now would be the icing on the cake :)