And this is the final chapter. Thanks to everyone who read it and commented, and a special thanks to my beta, Thinkswithpen. She's away, so I've proof-read the last two chapters myself…hopefully typo-free.

John sat innocently in the passenger seat as Simon drove. He soon realised that they were not headed for Scotland Yard.

"Simon, where are you taking me? We should have turned left back there."

"Sorry, can't explain to civilians. Don't worry."

"Nah, I've really got to insist on an explanation. I'll just ring Lestrade."

Simon responded by ripping John's phone from his hand and throwing it out the window.

"What the f…" he started as he saw the gun in Simon's hand.

"What is this?"

"There's rather a lot you don't know, man, but it's all going to become very clear shortly. Now just sit there quietly. I don't want to have to shoot you in the knee."

Despite or perhaps because of his army training, John was not the kind of man to jump from a moving vehicle, so he had little choice but to obey.

Sherlock was pacing. Molly's cat was keeping time with him. Molly was sitting nervously and fidgeting with her hair. They heard the chime of a mobile phone but it wasn't hers. They looked around and soon found a new iphone on her coffee table. There was a photo of the two of them kissing set as the wallpaper, taken earlier that day. An unread text was waiting.

Having fun playing house? Wouldn't have expected you to go for my seconds!

Sherlock grabbed the phone and dialled the number. It rang once and was picked up.

"Finally! After all this time, he calls me. I was starting to think you didn't care, Sherlock."

"Where's John?"

"Oh, straight to the point. Well don't worry, love, he's unharmed but whether he stays that way is up to you."

"What do you want?"

"Come to the morgue at St Barts. Let's end this where we started. And no police. But bring the little Mrs: I've a feeling she'll be useful."

He hung up.

John found himself at the morgue in St Barts. But unlike his previous visits, he was being held at gunpoint and Moriarty had just appeared. He looked as neat and kempt as ever, with that slightly mad glint in his eyes.

"John, I'm delighted to see you. Sit down there, I've lots to tell you."

"What the hell is this?!" John was sick of being a good boy.

"Temper, temper. Sherlock wouldn't want me to upset his little pet."

"Yeah, well, in case you have forgotten, you already caused his death so I don't think he'll mind anything at all."

Moriarty shook his head.

"John, it just breaks my heart to tell you this but you've been lied to. He's alive."

"What kind of sick joke is this?"

"It's no joke, love. Alive, in hiding and oh yes in love with someone else! Look, I've got a cute picture."

John glared at the proffered phone. He blinked twice at the image. That it was Sherlock was clear. And he was kissing Molly! This could have been taken anytime before his death, though it was hard to believe that they'd ever kissed and neither had told him.

"Now, I know what you're going to say – this could have been taken at any time. But look, you were at Molly's yesterday. That billboard in the background is current."

"I don't believe you. Sherlock's dead. And even if he weren't, he'd have to undergo some major trauma or personality transplant before he'd kiss anyone with such passion."

"You mean like the trauma of faking your own death? I know. Shush. It's ok. He's moved on without you. You've had a shock. Would you like a hug?"

"Get off me! This is ludicrous. I don't believe it."

John barely felt the hypodermic needle as he struggled free of Moriarty's embrace and fell to the floor, out cold.

"We need to get going."

"We need to call Lestrade."

"He said no police."

"I don't care. We need backup."

"Molly, we don't know what's happened yet. Let's just go and see first."

"No, I'm calling Greg." She ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind her and made the call while Sherlock pounded on the door. After a minute, he seemed to lose momentum and shouted that he was going to down to hail a taxi.

Joining him outside, she laid a hand on Sherlock's arm.

"John's going to be fine."

He shook off her arm.

"How many times do I have to die to save him?" Sherlock's voice cracked as he spoke,

"Just once. None of us could cope with it a second time – you included. I know this feels awful right now but we'll beat him and everything can go back to the way it was before."

"I can't believe I fell for his play. There was a time, quite recently, when I wouldn't have believed for a moment that you were at risk. My brother once said to me that caring was not an advantage and I am sorry to say that once again Mycroft has proven himself correct. We've been running around today pretending our little world was perfect – and it was – that's what Moriarty wanted from me. He wants me preoccupied by beautiful women, lust and emotions so that he can run in and pull the rug from me."

"So you are distracted by me?"

Even though they were standing in the street, his response was instant. He pulled Molly to him and kissed her fiercely – all tongues and heavy breathing. His arms wrapped around her waist beneath her open coat and he slightly lifted her off the ground. Just as suddenly, he pulled away, fighting to get his breathing under control.

"Yes," he said curtly as a taxi drew up to the curb.

The ride to the hospital was silent, each of them lost in thoughts.

Molly couldn't believe he had admitted his feelings for her, albeit in a backhanded insulting kind of way. Progress was progress. They would have to have a grown-up conversation once this thing was done. And then Molly decided she was a terrible person for thinking about her love life when John's actual life hung in the balance.

It was still so hard to reconcile Jim from IT with Moriarty the master criminal but that, she supposed, was his talent.

Sherlock's thoughts were more along the concern for John's life lines.

"I will kill him, and then resuscitate him and kill him again if he as much as breaks a fingernail! What do I have to do to keep them safe? Once this is over, I will have to leave London. Damn Mycroft! John will find out I'm alive and then I'll have to break him again by leaving. And Molly! This time she'll be broke too. Maybe they'll comfort each other. In another life, the three of us could have been so happy together. Where the hell did that come from?! I really need to leave."

Sherlock and Molly got to the morgue before the police. They had agreed Lestrade and his team would stay back until the situation was assessed.

Moriarty had left them a note on the door.

"Come in and join the party! We're just dying to see you."

Inside, John was tied to an autopsy table. He had been gagged and stripped to the waist. Someone had set out Molly's scalpels. His eyes were closed, so probably drugged. Moriarty was nowhere in sight but Molly got a shock when Simon appeared.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were off duty today!"

"Molly, it would appear your bodyguard is a double agent," deduced Sherlock.

"Fantastic deduction, Mr notsodead Holmes. Yes, Jim and I go way back. You could say he was my mentor. It is my honour to be with him at his finest hour."

"Where is he?"

"He's here," said a Dublin accent from behind them, holding a gun tightly with two hands.

"I'm so happy to see you, Sherlock. Look how far you've fallen since, well, since you fell. Turns out you're more ordinary than I thought. All that snuggling with Molly here. I thought you were married to your work. Wasn't that your excuse to John and Irene? What's Molly got that broke you? I could've broken you – I could have played the mousy adoration line. Why don't you want me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes widened as he listened to Moriarty's bizarre pseudo-love confession.

"Sherlock, we could have been so great together. Like a modern day Bonnie & Clyde. What a life we could have shared. No crime to big for me to cause or you to solve. We could have taunted the police of London and then when we got bored, moved on to somewhere else. But no, you were ordinary with your pet blogger and your little girlfriend. Oh look, the doctor will see you now," he finished as John stirred.

John awoke and opened his eyes. He tried to stretch but found he couldn't move his arms. As he realised where he was, he began to struggle. Sherlock made a move towards him and Moriarty, gesturing with the gun said;

"Oh go on, have your dramatic reunion! I'm sure it will be BAFTA winning."

Sherlock approached the metal table where John lay. John turned his head and saw Sherlock alive and standing in front of him. He started making noises but his gag was too tight.

"John, I know this is a shock. Please know that everything I have done has been to protect you and the others, though it does appear I have failed."

He leaned down as if to kiss his cheek and whispered,

"It'll be alright. We have backup."

John's eyes darkened with surprise and he again struggled to speak but couldn't. From the other side of the room, Moriarty laughed.

"Touching. Breaks my heart." Turning to Molly he continued, "Bet it breaks yours too, baby. Now, if you like to scrub up, you can get started on your autopsy. He's waiting on the table."

Molly jumped as he spoke but she didn't move.

"You want me to perform a post-mortem ante-mortem?"

"Exactly, ooh, Sherlock's been training you up. She catches on much quicker now," he said to himself.

"To be more accurate, sweetie, I want you to do the mort part. I like the poetic justice of you killing Sherlock's other pet."

Simon exclaimed loudly at this.

"You said I could do it. I so enjoyed the last one!"

"Oh for god's sake, why can I not get decent staff?"

Quick as a flash, Sherlock grabbed one of the scalpels and got Simon in a headlock, the knife at his throat.

"Drop the gun."

"Moriarty looked around and smiled a huge toothy grin.

"Oh Sherly, you still don't get it. I don't care about Simon here. I'll kill him myself if you like. But now you've forced my hand. You can keep one. Molly or John. I'll count to, what do bad guys count to? 10? Ok, I'll count to 10 and then you choose. The blogger or the snogger?"

"Sherlock, it's ok, pick John," said Molly desperately.

"One."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not choosing one of you."

Simon, who had been silent, started to struggle, forcing Sherlock to pay attention.

"Two."

And then a number of things all happened at once.

"Three."

Sherlock pushed Simon away from him, suddenly, and towards Moriarty. Molly flew over to John and grabbed another scalpel. Moriarty grunted in surprise as Simon was launched at him and the gun went off. Molly jumped as she was knifing through John's wrist ties and nicked his arm. Sherlock dived for Simon and Moriarty as an almighty melee got going. Then Lestrade arrived with an armed squad.

"What? Have it missed it all?"

The dust settled: Simon and Moriarty were taken away in handcuffs. John got up unsteadily and nodding his thanks to Molly, came to stand in front of his friend.

"Tomorrow, we're going to have a very large row and I will most likely hit you. But for now, I am just really really glad to see you."

He threw his arms around Sherlock and they hugged. John didn't even care that he was half-naked hugging another man in public but it was a one time only not caring. Sherlock realised that there was no way he could leave these people again.

Molly looked on sadly. Things really wouldn't be the same from now on. Suddenly she found one long coated arm jerk her forward and she was pulled into the hug. After a minute, John pulled away.

"I have questions."

Sherlock cut him off before he could get the first one out.

"I'm sure you do, but you are in shock. You need a blanket."

"You're right. Moriarty showed me a picture of you two kissing. I can tell from your clothes that it was today. What's that about?" He sat down on a nearby chair. "I do need a blanket," he added absently.

"It's a long story," answered Molly. "We were just acting."

"Acting?" cried Sherlock. "I wasn't acting? Are you saying that you were?"

Molly was more than a little surprised by this outburst.

"Em, what? Of course we were acting! It was to draw out Jim, I mean, Moriarty."

"And you promised you would take me back to yours afterwards and…" Sherlock trailed off, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Got you!"

"Oh you bastard, Sherlock Holmes" might have been what you'd expect Molly to reply but the words came from the other doctor in the room.

"Have you been messing Molly around again?! After her helping you fake your own death. I rescind my earlier comment. I may well hit you now as well as tomorrow."

The three of them stood looking at each other.

Finally, Sherlock said "Molly, perhaps we should talk in private."

"Yes, let's. Come into my office."

She closed the door behind them.

"So the danger is passed once again," she said, nervously.

"It has. And with it, the need to hide my continued existence. Tomorrow I can begin to reassemble my old life."

"Where do I fit into this new old life?" asked a much bolder than she felt Molly.

"Well, in many ways, you will be exactly where you always were. By my side in the lab, assisting with the more technical details of murders."

"I see," she said tightly.

"But I am hoping you'll branch out into a heretofore unseen area."

She moved closer and faced him.

"What's that then? I can't agree to a new role without having the full particulars. What if I don't have the right skill set?"

"Oh I assure you, you do. Molly, I don't want to play games. I don't, I mean, I have never wanted a woman in my life or my bed before but the last few weeks have led me to see that I was wrong to exclude that aspect of life. In short, I have been missing out. And more specifically, I don't want to be without you."

"Sherlock," she breathed his name out as she pulled him into a fierce rug. Molly could feel his heart beating double time and she catalogued fully blown out pupils, shallow breathing and a mild tremble.

"What do you deduce? I see you are scanning me for symptoms."

"I deduce sincerity and desire. Most surprising."

"Is that a yes then?"

"Oh was there a question?"

He smiled broadly.

"No, actually, I may have omitted it. Molly Hooper, will you please be more than my pathologist?"

"Is that the best you can do? Seriously. I'm not expecting marriage proposals on bended knee here but can you not even say the word "girlfriend"? Fine, I'll ask you. Sherlock Holmes, will you be my boyfriend?"

"I will, though I'm not sure I can agree to you using that term in public."

"Terms can be discussed later."

"Is that before or after I see the rest of your new clothes?"

She pulled him tight to her and kissed him for all she was worth.

John and Lestrade looked on through the glass door, mystified. Definitely more conversation to be had tomorrow.