An - Hope you all enjoyed your holidays and New Year. Almost at the end now!

"I don't think you understand how important this decision is," Molly said seriously.

Pausing as he fiddled with his shirt collar, Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Molly in the mirror and then dropped his gaze to Ava who had pressed her lips together thoughtfully as she stared at her pyjama choice.

"No-one will see them," Sherlock muttered.

"Molly will," Ava replied.

"She can see them now, what's the difference?"

Ava gave him a withering look that he would have fully approved of had it been for any other reason than him disparaging her clothing choice. Molly was clearly trying not to laugh as she rested her hand on her now prominent bump.

It was galling, Ava turned to look at Molly with a sigh as if she were dreadfully disappointed in Sherlock.

Bending down, Sherlock scooped Ava up, swinging her into his arms and taking a deep breath as she automatically shifted into him, her head laying on his shoulder with ease.

"You won't give birth while looking after her?" Sherlock asked Molly as she reached down to pick up Ava's little bag.

"Well, I'm not planning on it," Molly said with a happy smile just as Ava huffed.

"I want to see the baby," Ava complained as she reached out for the collar of his shirt, rubbing it between her finger and thumb.

"After it's been cleaned," Sherlock suggested.

"Molly's baby's clean," Ava said, sounding horrified that he'd dare to suggest anything to the contrary.

He wasn't going to touch that one.

"Everything ready?" Molly asked brightly, apparently deciding it wise to change the subject. Though perhaps asking about the day wasn't the best option. And the problem was Sherlock had very little to get ready, annoyingly little.

The easiest option was to simply ignore the question but he could feel the tension in his daughter as she listened for his answer.

"Yes," he lied.

John looked as if he might throw up when Sherlock walked into the side room that Mycroft had insisted the lawyers use to meet with John one more time before the appeal. It was strange…in a good way, to see John in a suit again.

Even if his tie was tugged loose.

The lawyers were finishing up with their preparation when Sherlock let himself in. Quietly, he stood at the edge, listening to the last minute advice that John was given. Mostly to ensure that it was correct.

Half just to watch John.

He was nervous. Painfully so. Frustratingly so. Everything had been tugged at and fiddled with. His longer than usual hair was rumpled and sticking up from where his hands had scrubbed through it.

Calm down, Sherlock wanted to say. Well…no, that was a lie. He wanted to grab the stupid man and shake some sense into him because John Watson was not a man who collapsed into a heap at the first sign of pressure. This was the worst time to start picking up poor habits.

John's nervous eyes met his and then glanced away quickly to stare at the table.

"Go away," Sherlock said simply to the lawyers.

The three lawyers turned to look at him. Elaine simply rolled her eyes, stared at the ceiling and then scraped her chair back.

The new one (what was the point in remembering his name now, the trail was far too close? If he succeeded then good, if he didn't then they wouldn't be using him again), something Waller, gaped at Sherlock and bristled as if about to launch into some petty tantrum about how important he was. Thankfully, Elaine placed a hand on his shoulder. "We have enough time for coffee before this begins," she said, nodding at Simmonds.

Really, the woman was the best of the bunch. Sherlock could only assume that the other two were acting as overpaid assistants or perhaps they were simply extra bodies to create some vague intimidation factor.

Or whatever the lawyer version of that was.

"It won't work," John said as soon as the door closed.

"Ah, I had forgotten about your vast knowledge of law," Sherlock said as he strode to the table and threw himself into the seat opposite John. "We should have had you try your case."

Thankfully, John was still able to muster an annoyed look. "Fuck off," he muttered.

So Sherlock waited.

It was amusing to see John blink when Sherlock sat in silence. Slowly, a suspicious, worried look crossed his face. "You…you're just going to sit there?" John checked.

Sherlock nodded.

Still bemused, John blinked down at the table and then groaned, burying his head in his hands. "They keep telling me that I might be out later on today," he said into his hands.

Ah. That would be…overwhelming, Sherlock could imagine. "Focus on one thing at a time," he suggested. "Don't stretch yourself."

The hands dropped down and John shot Sherlock a foul look. "Thanks," he muttered.

Sherlock smirked as he met John's eyes.

The smirk fell away.

"John-"

"I don't want you in there."

Oh.

Right. That was unexpected. Maybe he should have seen it. Looking away, Sherlock stared at the door as if help would arrive as to how to deal with the situation.

It was painful to ask but he gritted his teeth and took a deep breath anyway. He'd done far harder this year. "Why?"

Silence.

Then: "I don't want to watch you get your hopes up."

Mm. "For you getting out of prison or for us?"

When he looked over, Sherlock could see the hesitation in John's eyes. Hesitation. Why? Why would John hesitate to-

Oh.

OH!

"You're a moron," Sherlock decided, settling into his chair comfortably, a warm sensation starting to bubble within him. "Even if it took twenty years to get you out I would still wait."

He could see the moment John considered arguing, pretending that the reason he was hesitating wasn't because he didn't want to hold Sherlock back and then the moment that John realised it would be endlessly stupid.

"I'm not saying that we…I'm not promising you anything."

"I am," Sherlock said, not looking away. "I promise you everything."

John's mouth opened and closed a number of times and then he shook his head, appearing to struggle with the conversation.

"Forget about it," Sherlock ordered. "One thing at a time. As I said, we don't want to tax you."

This time the smile was far more genuine before it fell away. "I still…" John drew in a breath. "I don't want you in there."

Annoying. Frustrating. Unfair. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock rocked on his chair and glared at the ceiling.

The knock at the door behind him didn't improve his mood. "John?" Elaine said as she stepped in. "We're ready to go in."

"One moment," John said, standing.

"Not too long," she warned before shutting the door.

How long would he have to wait? Sherlock glared at the ceiling. Court bored him and appeals even more so. It was just listening to stupid people attempt to try to pick holes in his perfect solution. Amusing at times but ultimately predictable. It wasn't even as if he could-

John's lips touched his.

Sherlock froze, terrified suddenly of chasing him away. Clenching his hands on the arms of the chair to prevent himself from reaching up to clutch at John and never let him go, Sherlock let John lead the very tentative kiss. So tentative that it barely felt like it was happening.

John pulled back and for a second they shared breath as John tipped his forehead to Sherlock's and then lifted his chin to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock's hair.

Tears blurred his eyes as he forced himself to keep still. He pressed his lips together firmly to avoid saying anything at all because begging was unwise and arguing would simply unbalance John before he went into face his appeal.

"Thank you," John murmured gently before he moved away.

Sherlock couldn't watch him walk out the door.

It was interminable.

Waiting.

The clock that he had taken down from the wall was ticking in the corner where he has shoved it. An endless countdown to possibilities.

They had to let him out, surely. Without the press interest it was far easier to rule in John's favour. An example had been made.

It hadn't even been a year.

Maybe they should have waited a year. Whose idea had it been to go appeal after less than a year? For the sake of two months they could have waited if it would have ensured that they had more chance of getting John freed.

He wanted to phone Ava but that was foolish. What would a six year old say to him? That was wrong anyway. He was the parent, not her. She was hardly old enough to understand…though she would be seven soon. Very soon. He'd done nothing to prepare for it.

Was he meant to throw a birthday party? With children?

Molly should do it. Good preparation.

Or John.

That was strange. John could be out of prison today. That simple.

They'd kissed.

A goodbye kiss? A hello kiss? John had said thank you…who did that? Who kissed and said thank you?

Moron.

He stood and paced. Over and over again he managed to walk the room. He would have gone outside and people watched but if he was outside when John came back then he wouldn't hear the news or check how he was or be able to ask what the hell he was meant to do for Ava's birthday.

Or what John had meant by kissing him and saying thank you.

Sherlock sunk into the chair and bent over, fingers tugging through his hair in the hopes that he would be able to re-order his thoughts, find focus and clarity because currently he was a mess of emotions and utterly useless.

No wonder John hadn't wanted him at the appeal.

He'd never been so nervous.

The door opened.

Sherlock turned so quickly he was half sure he would have whiplash.

John.

The man stumbled in and leaned back against the door as if to barricade the world from coming in. He looked ashen, ill.

Upset.

No.

No. It was unfair. Wrong. John had done the right thing, they had to see that. They were morons if they didn't. John had saved lives, he'd been a hero that day. He was the best man that Sherlock knew and those cretins were putting John back to rot in prison?

How would he tell Ava?

Slowly, feeling far more unsteady than he would like, Sherlock got to his feet and edged towards John who was almost shaking. It was easy to gather him up, wrap his arms around John and give him something to lean on.

Mercifully, the man simply leaned into him and Sherlock hated how he clutched at John tightly, as if sheer will could anchor them to that spot and together. Unmovable for when someone came to-

His brain stalled at the thought.

He couldn't go through it again. Watch John be taken away, put into handcuffs and bustled into a prison. Couldn't watch John rot from the inside and then drag himself back to the living just to be shattered again.

Couldn't do that bloody birthday party without him.

"We…" Sherlock stopped, stunned at his own wobbling tone. Frowning at the wall and digging his chin into John's shoulder, he tried again. "We'll wait a little longer. Get better lawyers."

He stopped when John shook his head, hands scrabbling to clutch hold of Sherlock's shirt as emotion tremored through John.

It wasn't fair.

Pressing a kiss to his ear, Sherlock held on, his eyes starting to burn. He wanted to call them idiots, he wanted to tell John that he needed John to be strong because…because Sherlock wasn't too sure how much longer he could hold onto this for. Not alone. Not without help. He wanted to yell, to scream, to cry even.

"I love you," was what came out. Gasping and tear choked and pathetic and so utterly-

"I'm free," John breathed into him.

Free.

For a moment the words didn't seem to make any sense. Just a jumble of noise that shaped sound familiar to his ears but without the necessary association of meaning.

Free.

"Oh," Sherlock said, sounding stupid even to his own ears.

Free.

What did they do now?