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Chapter Text

November 2014

221B

“Helena!”

The woman exclaimed, holding her arms out and pulling her into a fierce hug. Helena hugged back, knowing their landlady had been all but alone ever since John had left a few weeks after Sherlock’s fall. She had visited four times in more than 2 years… now she felt awful.

Mrs H offered her a cup of tea and a plate of freshly baked cookies before taking the seat opposite hers and asked, “How have you been dear? And little Teddy? It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?

“Yes, Mrs H.” She mumbled shamefully. “Teddy’s fine. Back to school after Christmas hols.”

“You’ve lost so much weight.” Mrs H said worriedly. “Simply dreadful.”

Helena was aware of the obvious changes she’d gone through – she’d lost weight due to stress and the scarcity of food during their time in Russia. It had been too bloody cold that it was a wonder she and Sherlock had survived in a tent somehow. Her hair had grown back, but it hung limply despite being the wild mane she had. She was pale due to the lack of sun, but not worse than ‘her husband’. Helena couldn’t help but huff.

Turning back her attention to the woman, she registered the last few words…

“Of course, John was just as bad, but he got better.” She said before her eyes widened and she stated clandestinely, “He's getting married, you know? To a girl!”

Helena wasn’t sure how their landlady got the idea of John being gay, but she spoke like it was the scandal of the century. Helena bit back a smile before pointing out carefully, “Mrs H, John isn't gay.”

Martha gave a look that made her feel dense, but their landlady patted her hand and asked, “It’s been two years. Did you find yourself a nice man?”

Knowing how Sherlock could be, Helena didn’t want the old woman to have a heart attack when he jumped in front of her with a scream of – Surprise! So, she said, “Uhh… Mrs H… Sherlock isn’t dead.”

“Oh, dear.” Martha gave her a pitying look and said, “Have you thought about moving on? Maybe try talking to a psychiatrist?”

Helena sighed but didn’t try to convince her again. She took a sip of her tea before speaking, “Is 221C still available?”

Mrs H clapped her hands, her face beamed with sudden delight and she asked, “Are you moving back in? The house has been empty… Oh, it’s wonderful.”

London

The Landmark Hotel

After being thrown out of the hotel, Sherlock, John and Mary were forced to shift to a nearby café.

Sherlock was sitting across from John and Mary as he stated, “I did not calculate on Helena being there. Granted, I had no idea about her plan until the last moment. She contacted…”

"…you know…” John interrupted what he knew was going to be a long rant and deadpanned, “…for a genius, you can be remarkably thick.”

"What?" The detective blinked confused.

John’s arms were folded across his chest as he asked coldly, "I don't care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why."

"Because Moriarty needed to be stopped – Oh… 'why' as in..." Sherlock trailed off as understanding dawned, now noticing John's expression. He moved his head uncomfortably and said, "I see. That's a little more difficult to explain."

"I've got all night," John announced with a humourless smile.

Sherlock cleared his throat unnecessarily, looked down and said anxiously, “Actually, um… that was Mycroft's idea…"

"Oh, so it was your brother's plan?" John asked.

"Oh, but he would have needed a confidant," Mary spoke, pointing towards Sherlock, who nodded approvingly.

John threw her a dark look and she lowered in her sear before muttering meekly, "Sorry," 

John looked back at Sherlock and asked optimistically, "But he and Helena were the only ones, right?"

Sherlock lowered his gaze once more as he mumbled, “There were a couple of others. It was an elaborated plan…”

John looked down at his lap and asked in an anguished whisper, "…who else knew?"

Still unable to meet John’s gaze, Sherlock informed, “Molly, Helena’s friends and some of my homeless network."

"Okay." John sat up a little more and counted, "So just your brother, Helena, Helena’s friends…”

“Teddy,” Sherlock added unintentionally.

He was ignored as John continued, “…Molly Hooper and a hundred tramps."

"No!” Sherlock huffed as if John was being ridiculous before adding, “Twenty-five at most."

John hurled himself across the table and attacked his old friend once more.

It took two punches and a broken nose for Sherlock to realise that John wasn't as angry as Mycroft had promised he would be.

"You knew?" He spat through the tissue he was holding to his nose.

John gave an angry smile, which seemed to relieve his fiancée. Mary grabbed his hand, probably to stop him from throwing a punch again.

"Course I did, you utter bastard. Helena told me a few months after YOUR SUPPOSED DEATH!” He shouted.

Later That Night

221B

“You were right.” He mumbled sullenly as soon as his eyes fell on her.

She turned to look at him, trying to keep her face neutral and gave a nod. “He punched you.”

He stopped himself from firing a seething remark and asked, “When did you tell him?”

“Sometime after New Year.” She told him nonchalantly.

Sherlock gaped. She’d told John the truth only a month after his ‘suicide’?! How had he missed it? Her guilt had lessened sometime after his birthday and he’d just been relieved that she wasn’t gloomy anymore. Ah… that was a dead giveaway, but he’d been busy. He should’ve known.

Helena continued settling the minimal groceries which included the special Darjeeling and Masala tea she’d bought from India, biscuits, eggs, bacon, bread, milk and a few other groceries in the cupboard and fridge.

Ignoring the look thrown her way, she uttered, “He was hurt and angry, but I think he understood.”

“Did he?” He asked rhetorically, removing various tissues from his face and wincing at the blood stains. He dropped them on the counter before moving to stand beside her and demanded, “Heal me.”

“No.” She stated without looking at him and continued her work.

“Why?” Sherlock frowned.

“You deserve it.” Helena closed the door before turning to pat his cheek and added with a smile, “Mycroft even more so.”

Sherlock blinked owlishly, still unable to respond. She always healed him. Always! Even when she had been angry. With a huff, he rushed to the bathroom to clean his face.

“Tea?” Helena called out but didn’t wait for a response, already knowing that Sherlock would never say no to a hot, heavily milked and sugared cup of tea. She put the kettle on and asked, “Did you scare Mrs H too?”

“Of course, not!” Sherlock shouted back indignantly.

“You did.” She shook her head, exasperated but fond.

He returned a few minutes later with his gown on, patting his nose carefully with a towel. Helena served the tea before settling on John’s armchair. She sighed with pleasure as soon as she took the first cup before looking up at Sherlock and asking, “So, how is she?”

“Who?” He grumbled from his chair.

“Don't be thick.” She sniped, rolling her eyes.

“John likes her.” He shrugged looking around curiously.

There was something in his tone… something odd, so she inquired, “How did the proposal go?”

He shrugged innocently, still not looking at her.

“Goodness…” She exclaimed, shaking her head. “You ruined his proposal.”

“How could I possibly...” he started, but was stopped when she gave him a look and stated, “I’ve told you before… you can’t act.”

“I can!” Sherlock declared, but she just smiled and sipped her tea.

After letting him suffer for an hour or two, Helena healed him, much to Sherlock’s delight. Feeling warm and comfortable after being back, Helena decided to retire for the day. They’d been sharing a bed for more than two years now, so they didn’t even think before walking to Sherlock’s room. Glad that she’d cleaned the rooms, she settled on the bed, resting against the headboard.

Sherlock opened the door of his closet and stopped short before pointing out intelligently, “These are your clothes.”

“Very astute.” Unbothered, she uttered from her spot on the bed.

When he blinked at her, she arched an eyebrow before asking gleefully, “You like ripping my clothes regularly. Would you like me to walk downstairs naked when you have a client… or John… or Mycroft over?”

Sherlock had nothing to say to that, but his eyes darkened at the mention of his brother seeing Helena naked. He huffed before removing his dressing gown and throwing it on the chair.

‘They shared bodily fluids on regular basis, so clothes weren’t big deal.’ He thought as he joined her in the bed.

221B

Next Morning

Sherlock was standing on the sofa, wearing his new dressing gown and was peering at the wall where he had stuck the maps, notes and paperwork when Helena walked into the living room.

“Found something?” She asked before turning to put the kettle on.

“Maybe.” He muttered distractedly when they heard the main door open.

By the way, Sherlock let out an enormous sigh, she knew it was Mycroft and her lips twitched upwards. As predicted, the British Government trudged in before leaning against his umbrella by the door.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock demanded with a heavy frown. “We just saw you yesterday. Two days in a row is completely unnecessary.”

Mycroft smiled coolly before greeting, “Hello, brother mine.”

Sherlock’s frown turned into a full-fledged scowl when Helena decided to interrupt.

“Mike.”

“Mrs Holmes.” He responded swiftly.

Helena was not impressed. Her lips thinned into a line and she said, “I do have a name, you know.”

“So do I, but your insistence on calling me by a childish name…” Mycroft started with another one of his smiles.

“…turns you into a puffed peacock?” She asked bemused, much to Sherlock’s delight because he burst out laughing.

“I see my brother has been a terrible influence,” Mycroft said a bit irritably and sat on John’s armchair.

She ignored his words completely and asked, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“If it won’t be an issue,” Mycroft responded pleasantly.

“Naah…” she sang before flickering her wand. The hot kettle, along with cups, sugar and milk floated into the living room and settled onto the table.

Mycroft tried not to let his awe show at the display of magic, but he wasn’t sure he was successful.

“Now, move your lazy ass and do the rest yourself.” She commanded.

Sherlock smirked, settling back on his armchair, while Mycroft threw a look her way before taunting sarcastically, “Your language has improved remarkably.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” She uttered with a beaming smile before looking at her boyfriend and saying, “I’m going out.”

“Where?” He asked with a frown.

“I told you I’ll be visiting Mrs Weasley and bring Caesar home!” she responded exasperatedly.

“Ah…” Sherlock nodded before ordering, “Get some milk.”

Now, Helena shifted uncomfortably which wasn’t missed by either of the Holmes brothers. She knew it would likely send Sherlock into one of his epic sulks, but now that she was back and wasn’t constantly worried about him, she wanted to meet everyone properly. She probably should have eased him into it, but it was too late now, so she told him slowly, “Uh… I’ll be staying the night.”

He asked sharply, “What? Why?!”

“Well, I haven’t met them properly for a long time… and Ginny just won the Quidditch world cup, so Mrs Weasley is throwing a get-together. Everyone will be there and I’m not going to miss it this time.” She replied, picking up her purse, ready to leave.

As expected, he didn’t respond, but she could tell he was ready to throw a tantrum.

“Eat something, will you? There’s leftover Cottage Pie in the fridge.” She said, ignoring Mycroft’s presence altogether and walking over to Sherlock. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and mumbled in his ear, “Message if you need something.”

Sherlock waved her off and she rushed downstairs… towards the floo.

Once she was gone, Mycroft rolled his eyes and stated, “You really are pathetic brother dear.”

“Shut up, Mycroft,” Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft prepared tea for the two of them before breaking the silence. 

“Wife,” Mycroft said as if testing the word in his mouth. “I think I’m beginning to understand now.”

“What?”

“How these things work.” He said pointedly.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably but shrugged, “We both know it’s a forged piece of paper. It doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” The older Holmes brother mocked before air quoting, “Tell me? When was the last time you weren’t in each other's pockets?”

“And you haven’t thought about… ever?” Sherlock asked, sipping his tea.

"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish." Mycroft said dramatically.

Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of him, looked at his brother and said, "Yes, but I've been away for two years."                                                                 

"So?"

"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself… a goldfish." Sherlock shrugged.

"Change the subject – now," Mycroft ordered, appalled by the current discussion.

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously and asked, “What about Helena? Would you have pursued her if I hadn't?"

"Pardon?" Mycroft asked seriously.

“I can say with conviction that Helena is smarter than any woman I’ve ever met. I can also tell that she is the most powerful witch in the world and it wouldn’t take much time for me to list all the times you have been awed or impressed by her.” Sherlock said with genuine curiosity.

“I agree with your deductions, but Helena and I… we have an understanding with each other,” Mycroft responded slowly.

“You’re hiding something,” Sherlock observed.

“Believe what you will, brother,” Mycroft muttered, unconcerned as he felt his phone buzz and promptly pulled it out of his pocket. He looked back up and sighed, "London’s terror alert has been raised to Critical.”

Sherlock smiled, not completely believing his brother, stood up and walked over to the fireplace. "Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."

Later that Night

“The pen.”

“Helena…”

“Helena!!”

“Did you forget? She’s gone out.” Mrs Hudson’s voice comes from the door. “She said she’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes.” Sherlock remembered and sighed deeply before mumbling, “Quiet.”

“What’s that, love?” she asks bustling around the kitchen.

“It’s too quiet,” he informed.

“Oh, let Helena enjoy. No doubt, poor dear needs a break.” Mrs Hudson said knowingly.

Sherlock turned to face her looking thoroughly insulted, so she added, “Don’t look at me like that! Why don’t you talk to John?”

"I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear.” He replied, turning away from her.

Mrs H sighed and decided to change the subject as she said, “I’m making a roast which will be ready in one hour. I expect you to come downstairs and eat it with me.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn’t hungry when she cuts him off and said sternly, “You’ll be there, Sherlock. It’s been such a long time since we’ve sat together, young man!”

She tutted at him before making her way downstairs.

Sherlock sighed and complained to no one in particular, “Quiet!”

Mr Honeybee – 2:45 AM
Bored.
SH

Mr Honeybee – 2:48 AM
Come home.
SH

Mr Honeybee – 2:49 AM
Helena.
SH

Mr Honeybee – 2:50 AM
Helena.
SH

Mr Honeybee – 2:52 AM
Stop ignoring me!
SH

Sent – 2.59 AM
Sherlock! I’m busy.

Mr Honeybee – 3.00 AM
Doing what? Inane gossip?
SH

Sent – 3.01 AM
Yes.

Mr Honeybee – 3.01 AM
Come home.
SH

Sent – 3.02 AM
I’ll be home tomorrow, Sherlock. Why don’t you go to sleep?

Mr Honeybee– 3.03 AM
Boring!
SH

Sent – 3.04 AM
Right. See you tomorrow. Good Night.

Mr Honeybee– 3:05 AM
Helena!!
SH

Sherlock glared at his phone rather hatefully before throwing it at the sofa angrily.

Next Day

221B

Sherlock looked at his watch – nearly 1 in the afternoon, and turned back to look out the window. He couldn’t stop the slight grimace that crossed his face when the door opened, already knowing it wasn’t Helena.

“You wanted to see me?” Molly asked happily.

“Yes.” He said while turning to face her. Sherlock took a few steps toward her and asked, “Molly…?”

“Yes?” Molly asked eagerly.

“Would you...” He stopped to search for the right words, feeling rather awkward. Walking closer to her, he started, “Would you like to...”

“...have dinner?” Molly finished for him at the same time he asked, “…solve crimes?”

He gave her a look and she mumbled awkwardly, “Ooh.”

221B

Caesar bounded inside as soon as she opened the front door. She watched amused and was about to enter when someone tapped her on the back and a voice asked, “Excuse me?”

Helena turned around, closing the door behind her and asked the man, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but could you please tell me the address?” He asked sheepishly, shoving a piece of paper in her hand.

“Sure… let me have a look.” She mumbled, looking down at the paper when suddenly a sharp needle pierced her neck and something cold was pushed into her veins.

She gasped as her eyes snapped to look at the man, who had now moved to grab her hands in a vice-like grip. A gloved hand covered her mouth before she could scream or even turn to look at the other assailant.

‘And here I thought I would have a relatively quiet life now that Moriarty and his men were gone.’

She thought, struggling to free herself, but her movements were sluggish as the drug had already taken effect. She felt another pair of hands around her waist before her world went black.

Later that Evening

“Fancy some chips?” he asked, walking past her.

Puzzled, she asked, “What?”

Sherlock continued downstairs even as he said, “I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions.”

Following him, she asked, “Did you get him off a murder charge?”

“No – I helped him put up some shelves.”

She giggled and he gave a brief smile as they exited Howard’s building together.

“Sherlock?" Molly asked, stopping him at the bottom of the stairs. “What was today about?”

He looked up at her and said, “Saying thank you.”

“For what?” she asked confused.

“Everything you did for me.” He replied.

She blinked before stating softly, “But I didn’t do anything. It was all Helena.”

“But you were ready to do anything before we knew about Helena’s plan.” Sherlock told her truthfully before stepping closer and added, “Helena wasn’t the part of our original plan. Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was one of the most important ones. You were ready to do anything at all costs.”

He drew in a deep breath and added, “But you can't do this again, can you?”

Molly smiled, blinking back her tears and started, “I had a lovely day. I'd love to... um…”

Suddenly noticing the diamond ring on her finger, he said, “Oh, congratulations, by the way.”

“He's not from work. We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He's nice, we go to the pub on weekends…” Molly explained hastily before stopping herself. “I don't know why I'm telling you this.”

“I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it.” Sherlock whispered sincerely before leaning in and kissing her cheek.

Molly kept her eyes closed for a few seconds before looking at him again and mumbled, “I hope you’re happy too… with Helena.”

He gave her a beautiful smile before turning around.

‘Back to his home. Back to Helena.’

She watched… wishing for the impossible. Her hope diminished with every step he took away from her. Molly wished she could be in Helena’s place. She didn’t understand how the woman had made Sherlock feel for her when Molly herself had been trying for years.

She loved Sherlock… had been in love with Sherlock for years now.

‘Why couldn’t she let him go and move on?’ She thought miserably, watching until he disappeared around the corner.

221B

Sherlock knew Helena was back as soon as he opened the front door. He heard Caesar barking from Mrs Hudson’s apartment and walked over before knocking on the door.

“Oh! Hello, Sherlock. I thought you were Helena!” Their landlady said as soon as she opened the door.

“Helena isn’t here?” He asked with a frown, just as Caesar jumped on him, barking continuously.

Mrs Hudson shook her head before pointing towards Caesar and said, “I found the poor dear in front of 221C. I thought she’d gone shopping, but it had been hours!”

He frowned, just as the front door banged open and he heard a familiar voice. “Sherlock?!”

He turned to look at the man and questioned, “John?”

John raced over to him, his eyes filled with panic as he gasped for breath. “Sherlock…”

“What’s wrong?” He asked automatically.

A phone was shoved in front of his face, displaying a text which read –

[Witch Hunting.]

“Someone sent this to me. I thought it was spam, but it’s not. Mary said that it could be a skip-code.” John told him hurriedly.

The text was from an anonymous sender. Sherlock noticed, filing the fact that Mary was the one to decipher the code – for later. Then John showed him another text which read –

[Is she a Saint or Sinner?

Who will it be – James or John?

The more is Less?]

“Mary didn’t understand what the text meant by ‘witch hunting’, but she understood the second – first word, then every third,” John repeated his fiancé’s words.

The unimportant words seem to fade, leaving just the vital ones: [Saint James The Less]

“John! We have to go, now!” Sherlock said urgently as his eyes widened with horror and he raced out the door.

“The church?” John asked, following him out.

“Yes. Twenty minutes by car.” Sherlock fired before asking, “Did you drive here?”

“Er, yes. Mary’s car.” John replied.

“It’s too slow. It’s too slow.” Sherlock muttered to himself, pacing in the middle of the road.

He was oblivious of the blaring horn, not until John pulled him suddenly, just as the car swerved around him.

“Jesus, Sherlock!” The doctor shouted before shaking his head and asking, “What the hell are you doing?”

Sherlock didn’t pay attention and stepped directly into the path of the approaching motorcycle. He held up an arm, forcing the driver to slam the brake as the bike skidded to a halt right in front of him.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock and John raced through the streets on the bike – wearing identical helmets, they had borrowed from the driver.

‘10 minutes.’ Sherlock calculated in his mind just as John’s phone pinged.

[Getting warmer, Mr Holmes. You have about ten minutes.]

John read aloud before asking, “What does it mean? What are they going to do? And who are these people?”

“I don’t know.” He replied, pressing the accelerator, increasing the speed even further.

The phone pinged again and John showed it to him.

[8 minutes and counting…]

Turning his attention back to the road, his eyes fell on the roadblock. The road ahead is cordoned off with police tape and Sherlock slammed the brakes, stopping the bike altogether.

“Damn!” He shouted before looking to the left, rapidly working out an alternative route, overlaying it onto the original one. The original route had an ETA of 8 minutes, but this new, more direct route showed an ETA of 5 minutes. Sherlock turned the bike, heading up onto the pavement and into a walkway between two buildings, ignoring the policeman who chased uselessly after him.

On the other side of the buildings, the path descended a long flight of steps, but Sherlock headed straight down before turning onto the road at the bottom, which happened to be The Mall. They race towards Buckingham Palace when another message pinged.

[Better hurry

things are

hotting up here…]

Sherlock raced the bike but had to slow down when they had to cross a bridge and were backed by a slow-moving lorry.

John read another text:

[Stay of execution.

You've got two more minutes.]

He checked the map in his mind – it would take 3 minutes if he took the road, but if he went straight, it would take a minute. Sherlock swerved the bike off the road, heading straight down into a pedestrian underpass. He forced the bike up a steep flight of steps and out onto the street again.

[What a shame

Mr Holmes.

Helena is quite a Witch!]

“What does it mean?” John yelled after showing him the message.

But Sherlock’s focus was fixated on the bonfire as it began to blaze and he exclaimed, "Oh my God."

The onlookers cheered, but Sherlock’s eyes went shiny and he turned around the square towards the only gap in the fence surrounding the park. The onlookers continued to celebrate the ignition of the fire when a voice screamed, “HELP!”

He accelerated the bike towards the bonfire in the park before instructing, “Jump off!”

John hopped off the bike just as Sherlock hurled himself off, dropping the bike. Removing his helmet, he raced towards the fire, shoving onlookers out of the way.

“Move! Move! Move!" He yelled, reaching the front of the crowd and racing towards the bonfire.

“Helena?” John called out frantically. “Helena?”

Crouching down, Sherlock peered through the flames while also throwing some wood aside and shouted, “Helena!”

“Help!”

Sherlock heard Helena’s voice and without caring, plunges his arms into the inferno. Throwing pieces of the bonfire aside with his gloved hand, together, he and John created a path and finally, they were able to reach her. Sherlock grabbed her arm and hauled Helena out, pulling her away from the fire. Once she was onto the ground, safe, he rolled her over onto her back and crouched beside her. Helena was breathing heaving, looking extremely dazed as the two men loom over her.

“Helena?!” Gently patting her cheek, he asked, “Helena! Are you alright?”

“Let me check,” John said, kneeling on the opposite side of Sherlock and taking her wrist to check her pulse. He asked, “Helena, can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond, possibly because she let out a series of dry, gravel sort of coughs. Sherlock’s concern grew as Helena continued coughing and her hand moved to rest on her chest.

“Helena?” He croaked out just as a man walked closer to them and said uncertainly, “I – I called the ambulance. They’ll be here in ten.”

“Thanks, mate.” John replied, giving half a smile to the man, just as Sherlock called frantically, “Helena!”

"Sherlock. She doesn’t seem to have any major injuries. She has inhaled a bit of smoke, but she will be fine.” John told him softly just as they heard the siren.

An EMT walked towards them, led by the people who were still surrounding them and asked, “Someone call for an ambulance?”

John moved to the side, so the paramedic could look at her. The man shined a light into her eyes before looking over the cut on her head. Pulling out a stethoscope, he listened to her lungs when she coughed some more.

“What’s wrong, what’s happening?” Sherlock asked, his hand moving to touch her arm unconsciously.

“Took quite the hit to the head, gonna need some stitches.” The paramedic listed without looking up. “She has inhaled quite a bit of smoke, but with oxygen and rest, she’ll be fine.”

Both Sherlock and John noticed the look of horror that crossed her face at the mention of ‘stitches’. The heel of her palm kneaded her breast bone and she said through a hitching breath, “I’m f — ine. Rea – lly!”

The paramedic ignored her as he and the other one hauled her up by the arms in a flash and onto a gurney.

Surging forward, Sherlock hissed at the paramedic, “She doesn’t need stitches!”

The paramedic glared at him and gritted out, “I know my job, sir.”

Sherlock was about to snap when her eyes found his and she gave him a weak smile. “Sher — Sherlock. I’m – fine.”

It did nothing to ease his frantic concern as tried to get closer to her, but was stopped when the paramedic stopped him and spat, “Sir, you need to move aside.”

He turned around, attaching an oxygen mask to Helena’s face, trying to coax her into catching her breath.

Now, John had known that Sherlock cared for Helena. His possessiveness when it concerned her was telling, but now, seeing Sherlock’s expressions had him reeling back. His eyes were wild and he looked hysterical – crazed, but John pushed it away. Helena had been hurt before, but he had never seen the self-proclaimed sociopath in such a state.

Shaking his head, he gently clasped Sherlock around the arm and called, “Sherlock.”

He was ignored as Sherlock shrugged him off and let out a noise of frustration as he stared at her.

John grabbed his arm once more and he tried again, “Sherlock?”

“What?!” Sherlock shouted, rounding on him. Then, he blinked as if just remembering he was there. He shifted awkwardly before speaking, “Oh. I – sorry.”

Flummoxed.

There was no other word for what John was feeling at the moment as he openly gaped at his ‘ex-best friend.’ Normally, he would’ve felt offended or angry, but Sherlock Holmes had just apologised to him… and John recognised the anger for what it really was – fear.

Collecting himself, John tried to ease his worry and said, “Sherlock, look at her. She is fine. I talked them into allowing us to take her home. Being a doctor, I can treat the wound on her head.”

“Oh.” Sherlock let out a breath. He trusted John more than himself and nodded before his eyes turned back to Helena again.

Sherlock’s Room

Once the paramedic had announced that it was safe for Helena to go home, the three of them had taken a cab. John insisted on keeping an eye on her, just in case, so he had accompanied them to Baker Street. Though he could’ve applied the healing salve on the gash on the side of her head, he let John do it… simply because it had been surreal to see John back in their home. He supposed, that John’s visit today had been nothing more than a social norm, but Sherlock indulged in the fantasy of having his best friend back. The three of them together, just like old times. John had made his position perfectly clear. He was going to marry the woman he loved and have the life he always wanted. There was no place for work in his life. Not anymore.

His mind kept whirling.

Now that Moriarty was dead, he didn’t know who would put a human in the bonfire and make a game of it. Whoever it was, knew Helena’s secret and wasn’t afraid to use it against them. Wizards were a lazy lot. They couldn’t be bothered doing menial tasks without magic and loved to show their superiority in one way or the other – which also made it fairly obvious that it was someone ‘muggle’. He imagined he would find out soon enough.

Caesar’s soliloquy was easily visible even in darkness as their dog was sprawled on the foot of their bed. He had stayed by his and Helena’s side ever since they’d returned and they hadn’t bothered to ask him to leave. Helena had dropped him back to the Weasley’s when Teddy had left after New Year and he knew that Helena missed him more than she let on.

Sherlock sighed as his eyes shifted back to her sleeping form.

One of his hands was resting over her heart as Sherlock counted her breaths. It was fifteen per minute when she’d gone to sleep two hours ago, but now, it was somewhere between nine to eleven. He had first noticed the pattern after she’d been kidnapped by Moriarty and knew by now that she was being pulled into a nightmare.

“Helena.” He whispered, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.

As if by magic, she let out a sigh and turned to burrow into his chest. He stroked her back and let his mind drift again, feeling inexplicably content and warm as he absently hummed an old French lullaby, mummy used to sing whenever he was ill or upset.

Next Day

221B

Sherlock was jolted awake when he heard someone banging on the door. He blinked, turning to look at Helena, who was sleeping soundly. Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, he gently detangled himself from her before putting on his dressing gown and walking out the door. He trotted downstairs, noting that Mrs Hudson was out and opened the door with a huff. His eyes met his father’s, just as he was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug.

“Mummy?” Surprised, he muttered, even as he awkwardly patted her back.

“Hello there, son.” His father greeted cheerily, too much for this time in the morning.

His mother pulled back, releasing him from the death grip and asked, “Sherlock, aren't you going to invite us in?”

There was no need to invite her in because she had already pushed him aside and entered the premises, waiting for him to show her the rest of the way. Sherlock groaned with despair before showing leading them upstairs to his living room.

221B

“…which wasn’t the way I’d put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing.” The woman prattled. “Have you checked down the back of the sofa?”

Sherlock had changed and was wearing a crisp black suit. His parents were sitting on the sofa, while he was sitting in his armchair. He screwed up his face, his head tilting forward, almost nodding off to sleep before jerking back up. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, trying not to fall asleep.

“He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?” His mother looked at her husband, who nodded. “’Fraid so.”

Sherlock stared at the kitchen as his mother continued, "Keys, small changes, sweeties. Especially his glasses.”

"Glasses." The man repeated dutifully.

“Blooming things. I said, ‘Why don’t you get a chain – wear ’em round your neck?’ And he says, ‘What – like Larry Grayson?’”

“…Larry Grayson.” His parents finished simultaneously.

He slammed his hands on the arms of his sofa chair and stood up. He walked towards them, buttoning his jacket and asked indifferently, "So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?"

He stepped onto the coffee table before stepping to stand on the sofa, right between his parents. Unbothered, his mother leaned to the side to give him space, while his father stared up at him, at loss for words.

“Well, yes, thank goodness.” His mother said. “We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower… but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament.”

Sherlock flicked through the paperwork he’d stuck to the wall the day before, but frowned down at his mother, baffled.

Ignoring the look, she finished, “Some big debate going on.”

He opened his mouth to say something, when he heard Helena’s voice, “Sherlock…?”

He turned to look at her and his eyes widened… because it would’ve been one thing to explain what a girl was doing in his bedroom, but it was another thing entirely when the said girl was wearing nothing but his shirt which was half unbuttoned and shorts that weren’t visible.

‘Christ. Mummy is going to be unbearable.’ He thought.

Her head was throbbing with pain and all she wanted was a pain potion. Helena was wearing one of Sherlock’s shirts and panties, but she was in too much pain to change just for going down to her flat. Suddenly glad that she had spare clothes in Sheldon’s closet, she hastily put her shorts on and walked out, rubbing her head… and came to an abrupt halt when her eyes fell on an elderly couple sitting on the sofa. Sherlock was standing between them, staring at her with comically large eyes.

Frowning, she looked back at the couple, not missing how the woman gasped and her hand flew to hold her chest, while the man gaped at her before hastily turning his eyes away.

She looked into those eyes and felt heat creeping through her ears as recognition hit her. She’d met the two years ago – when they were children and she used to visit Sherlock’s home.

Siger and Violet Holmes.

Sherlock’s parents.

‘Dear Merlin.’ Helena thought. ‘And she was standing here in nothing but their son’s shirt. The shirt she hadn’t bothered buttoning properly.’

Helena prayed that she’d changed enough, so they wouldn’t recognise her. She was about to make an excuse and rush downstairs, possibly to vanish somewhere far-far away when the door of their living room opened and John walked in.

Sherlock turned to look and exclaimed, “John!”

“Hey…” John greeted before turning to look where the two other occupants were staring and blinking.

And Helena wanted to melt into a puddle.

Chapter Text

221B

It was embarrassing how she had frozen, staring at his parents, who gawked right back through no fault of their own. Sherlock looked like he was a second away from hurling himself out the window, away from the drama that was about to unfold. At the moment, Helena was just thankful for Sherlock’s height because his shirt reached her mid-thigh and she held both ends together as if her life depended on it.

 Violet Holmes was the first one to compose herself and she asked, “Sherlock?”

“Uh…” Came the intelligently formed reply from the genius.

“You didn’t tell us about your girlfriend!” Sherlock’s mum accused him before standing up from the sofa and walking towards her. She said, “We’re delighted to meet you, dear!”

Then the woman turned to look at her husband and demanded, “Aren’t we, darling?”

“Uhh…” Mr Holmes floundered, just like his son had a moment ago before replying, “Of course, we are.”

Helena opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out because the woman – Sherlock’s mum was staring right at her. Despite the fringes hiding the faded scar on her forehead, there was no way Violet Holmes didn’t recognise her. Her features were too distinctive and she had met Sherlock’s parents at least a few times when they were children. She didn’t know how she would explain it to Sherlock…

She was having a panic attack, while John looked confused but rather entertained at her predicament or lack of clothing in front of an elderly couple and said, “I’ll come back later. You seem busy.”

“Er… no–no–no.” Finally breaking out of his stupor, Sherlock stepped down from the sofa and pulled his mother to her feet and said, “They were just leaving.”

“Oh, were we?” Perplexed, she asked as her son took her by the shoulders.

“Yes.” Sherlock nearly sang, dragging her towards the door.

John looked at Helena before turning back to Sherlock and trailing off, “No, no, if you've got a case…”

"No, not a case, no-no-no." Sherlock gave John his best fake smile before turning to his mother and saying, “Go. Bye!”

"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember. Well, give us a ring." Mrs Holmes spoke hastily as she looked at her son.

Sherlock herded his parents toward the door and replied, "Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out!"

Once they were outside the door, he tried to close the door, only for his mother to stick her shoe into the doorway before Sherlock could shut it completely. Sherlock looked down at her feet before staring at his mother, who whispered, “I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you.”

Sherlock slowly turned to look at John, who thankfully wasn’t listening and Helena, who had rushed back to his room, definitely mortified as his mother continued, “We're just so pleased it's all over.”

He tried to slam the door but wasn’t successful as his mother, stubbornly didn’t budge.

“Ring up more often, won't you?” His father spoke. “She worries.”

"Mh-hm." He agreed hurriedly.

"Promise?" His mother asked again.

Sherlock glanced back at John, who was staring out the window, deliberately keeping his back to them and turned towards his mother.

“Promise.” He mumbled with a sigh.

His mother smiled before reaching to stroke his cheek lovingly.

“Oh, for God...” He muttered before shoving the door until it closed with a click and took a relieved breath. Then, he turned to John, resting his back against the door, just as Helena sauntered back into the living room, wearing a hideous sweater and a pair of jeans. Her cheeks were flushed from what he assumed was discomfiture, just as John turned back, so he apologised unnecessarily, "Sorry about that."

“No, it's fine.” John waved it away before asking, “Clients?”

Unsure, he hesitated when Helena piped in, “His parents.”

‘Of course, she would’ve guessed correctly.’ Sherlock mused grumpily just as John questioned, “Your parents?”

“In town for a few days.” Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, keeping his eyes away from John, knowing he would figure it out sooner or later and walked towards his laptop.

"Your parents?" John repeated.

“Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of ‘Les Miserables’. Tried to talk me into doing it.” He informed both people.

“Those were your parents?” Seemingly shocked, John asked again as he walked over to the window and looked out.

“Yes.”

"Well…” John chuckled, unable to say anything as he turned to look at Sherlock before looking out the window again. “…that is not what I…”

Sherlock frowned. "What?”

“I – I mean they're just… so…” He trailed off, looking at Helena for help before looking back at the detective, who narrowed his eyes.

“...ordinary.” He finished with a wan smile.

Sherlock tutted disparagingly and said, “It's a cross I have to bear.”

John let out another chuckle before looking at Helena, who remained oddly silent and his smile fell.

“They knew, didn’t they?” He asked. When Sherlock failed to respond, he answered himself, “Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral!”

"Sorry. Sorry again.” Sherlock snapped defensively.

John walked towards the door slowly and mumbled cynically, “Mm.”

Sherlock watched him for a moment before lowering his eyes and spoke softly, “Sorry.”

Helena watched as John and Sherlock stared at each other silently before Sherlock decided to speak.

"See you've shaved it off, then.”

Helena understood John’s anger, but she could also see Sherlock trying hard to win John again and become what they were before his ‘suicide’.

“Yeah. Wasn't working for me.” John uttered as he walked towards his armchair.

“It was hideous.” Helena cracked, settling herself on Sherlock’s armchair.

It earned her a glare from the ex-soldier before he looked at Sherlock and asked, “What, you didn't like it either?”

“No.” Sherlock had his hands behind his back as he said with a smile, “I prefer my doctors clean-shaven.”

“That's not a sentence you hear every day,” John muttered before sitting on his old chair. He looked at Helena and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got smoked.” She quipped.

It earned Helena another glare, but John looked from her to Sherlock and asked, “Who did that? And why did they target her?”

Helena leaned back with a sigh, mindful of her arm which had small burns and closed her eyes, just as Sherlock said in a small voice, “I don't know.”

“Is it someone trying to get to you through her? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?” John asked.

“I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous.” Sherlock replied, clearly frustrated as he walked to look at the information he’d taped to the wall and continued, “Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what’s strange.”

Bewildered, John repeated, “Give his life?”

“According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London. That’s all we know.” Sherlock provided with a frown before gesturing to the paperwork on the wall and saying, “These are my rats, John.”

“Rats?” John asked, crossing his legs and turning to look at the pictures on the wall.

“His markers.” Helena supplied.

“Agents, low-lives, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly, but the sixth…” Sherlock pointed to the relevant photograph.

“I know him, don't I?” John asked, pointing to the picture.

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment.” Sherlock replied.

"Yes." John nodded.

“He's been working for North Korea since 1996,” Sherlock informed, turning his head to look at the two.

Both Helena and John blinked before John gasped, “What?”

“He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed.” Sherlock continued before walking over to his laptop and showing footage of the mysterious Tube train disappearance to John and Helena.

"Yeah, that's… odd. There's nowhere he could have got off?" John asked, staring at the footage.

“Not according to the maps. There's something – something, something I'm missing. Something staring me in the face.” Sherlock mumbled before ruffling his hair and turning to stare at the pictures again.

His phone beeped just as John asked, “Any idea who they are – this underground network?”

Sherlock took his phone out and stared at the sequence of photos taken of Lord Moran walking along the road next to the Houses of Parliament. The sequence indicated that he had just come from Westminster Tube station.

“Intelligence must have a – a list of the most obvious ones,” John muttered, staring at the laptop.

“Our rat's just come out of his den,” Sherlock murmured.

Helena replayed the video for the third time and frowned, just as John mused, “Al-Qaeda? The IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they're going to make an appearance…”

“Sherlock?” She called, interrupting John.

“Hmm?” He asked, still lost in his thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, but pointed at the screen and said, “Here… look.”

With a frown, he leaned over her shoulder as she replayed the footage and then shouted, “Oh, you’re brilliant!”

Helena beamed as Sherlock exclaimed triumphantly, “I've been an idiot - a blind idiot!”

John looked confused, waiting for some kind of explanation just as the detective started pacing and continued, “Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant!”

John pressed his lips together before asking patiently, “What are you on about?”

“Mycroft's intelligence is not nebulous at all. It's specific – incredibly specific.” Sherlock stated as he continued pacing.

Frustrated, John asked snappishly, “What do you mean?”

“Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network!” Sherlock responded as if it was self-explanatory. John blinked, so he explained, “Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face.”

Turning the laptop screen towards John, Helena replayed the footage and pointed, “Look – seven carriages leave Westminster…”

The footage switched to show the next station as Sherlock finished Helena’s sentence, “…but only six carriages arrive at St James's Park.”

“But that's… I… it’s – it’s impossible.” John stuttered.

“Moran didn't disappear – the entire Tube compartment did,” Helena stated.

Sherlock gave a nod and said, “The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage.”

“Detached it where?!” John asked, pointing to the screen. “You said there was nothing between those stations.”

“Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth,” Sherlock told him. “That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere.”

“But why detach it in the first place?” Helena mused aloud.

“It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. Helena is kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a firework par…” Sherlock stopped, his eyes widened as something occurred to him and he asked urgently, “What’s the date? Today’s date?

“Hmm? November the...” John froze before gasping, “My God.”

Sherlock walked closer to look at the information wall and spoke, “Lord Moran – he’s a peer of the realm. Normally he’d sit in the House. Tonight there’s an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill.”

He smiled before turning to look at the two and said, "But he won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November."

“Remember, remember,” John muttered.

“Gunpowder, treason and plot,” Sherlock responded.

221B

“There's nothing here, Mr Holmes.” Howard Shilcott said on Skype as Sherlock, John and Helena frantically searched the maps and papers on the kitchen table. He added, “I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations."

"There has to be. Check again." Sherlock ordered, looking closer at a map and listed, “St. Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street...”

Suddenly, Howard took the pom-pom from his mouth and sat forward. “Hang on, hang on. I think she's on to something.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at the screen as he muttered, “Sumatra Road. There is something. I knew it rang a bell.”

He walked away before returning with a book and kept muttering, “Where is it? There was a station down there.”

“Why isn't it on the maps then?” Helena asked.

“Cause it was closed before it ever opened,” Howard replied, holding up the book to show the relevant page. Grinning, he pointed to a spot on the page and continued, “They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes. They never built the station on the surface.”

Sherlock slowly straightened up while he was speaking and uttered, “It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster.”

Helena’s wide eyes snapped to Sherlock’s, just as John asked, “What's down there? A bomb?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, snagged his coat and rushed out the door. Helena and John shared a bewildered look before they too followed the detective out of the flat.

Westminster Station

The three took the stairs leading down into Westminster station. They walk across the concourse and through the ticket barriers.

“So it's a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb.” John asked.

“Must be," Sherlock answered as they walked along the corridors.

“Right,” John mumbled, taking off his glove and pulling his phone from his jacket.

Sherlock looked at him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Calling the police,” John replied.

“What? No!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at him with something akin to betrayal.

“He’s right,” Helena spoke. “This isn't a game, Sherlock. They have to evacuate Parliament.”

“They'll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient.” Sherlock told the two before snatching John’s phone and shoving it into his pocket. Then, he stopped at a locked maintenance entrance and reached into his coat to pull out a crowbar.

“And illegal,” John commented just as Sherlock forced the gate open.

Helena watched with barely hidden amusement as John fell into his old role and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching.

"A bit,” Sherlock mumbled as the door opened and he stepped through. Helena and John followed before closing the gate behind them. Helena pulled out her wand and whispered – ‘Lumos’, lightening the area around them, while Sherlock lit a torch. They walk down the maintenance tunnels, finally reaching the Sumatra Road platform after what seemed like hours. Sherlock shined his torch along the length of the track, looking for the sole train and uttered, “I don't understand. There's nowhere else it could be.”

Closing his eyes, Sherlock holds his fingers to both sides of his head and concentrated.

He was the sole passenger sitting on a seat on the missing Tube. The smoke comes from the bottom end of the door, racing along the car and engulfing him. Then, his image is relocated to the tunnel about a hundred yards away from the front of the car. The inferno billowed out of the carriage towards him but just before it could reach him, it is sucked up a large open vent in the tunnel’s roof. At the ground level above the Tube line, heated gas shimmers as it is forced through various air vents inside the Houses of Parliament. Outside, the perspective shifts to the opposite side of the River Thames... and the entire Palace of Westminster goes up in a massive explosion.

“Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed just as his eyes snapped open. He turned around and ran towards the end of the platform before jumping on the tracks carefully.

The Tunnel

They didn’t have to walk far before finding the missing carriage, but along with it, Sherlock found several small explosives attached to the sides of the vent. Sherlock looked around the carriage before opening the door and climbing inside along with John and Helena.

They checked every corner and seat until they reached the other end and John announced, “It's empty. There's nothing.”

“Isn't there?” Sherlock asked before lifting a cushion gently, revealing several wires connected to the explosives. Lifting his head to look at the two, he whispered, “This is the bomb.”

“It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb.” Sherlock stated as the three lifted other cushions, only to find similar explosives connected underneath them all.

Helena stopped when the floor underneath her feet made a sound. Frowning, she bent down to look at the panel and lifted it. Her wide eyes met Sherlock’s, who was staring at the huge bomb that had been hidden underneath the floor before he propped the panel up against a wall.

The three of them stared at each other before John declared, “We need bomb disposal.”

“There may not be time for that now," Sherlock replied lowly.

John turned to her and asked urgently, “Can’t you do something?”

Helena blinked at him and deadpanned, “Did you forget what happened to Sherlock’s laptop the first time I touched it?”

Neither Sherlock nor John could stop the horrified grimace that crossed their faces as the latter said, “Err… Maybe you shouldn’t be here…”

She huffed, but was ignored as the ex-soldier turned to Sherlock and asked, “So, what do we do?”

Sherlock paused briefly before muttering, “I have no idea.”

John narrowed his eyes and ordered firmly, “Well, think of something.”

“Why do you think I know what to do?” Sherlock asked, making Helena roll her eyes because this was not the time to vie for praise.

Possibly coming to a similar conclusion, John responded, “Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets.”

“Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb! What about you?” Sherlock contended.

“I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor.” John hissed back.

Pointing his torch at the doctor’s face, Sherlock added crossly, “And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all.”

Shaking her head at their childishness, Helena took a step away from the bomb as if it would stop the thing from exploding if her magic was triggered somehow. She snapped, “Can we focus?”

“Right.” John mumbled before asking, “Can't… can’t we rip the timer off… or something?”

Sherlock looked up from the clock which was currently frozen at 2:30 and said, “That would set it off.”

John pointed at him accusingly even as he said, “You see? You know things!”

Sherlock turned away, while Helena sighed at the two when all the lights lit up the entire train and the countdown clock begins to tick down.

“Sherlock…” Helena whispered, voice filled with dread.

“Er…” Sherlock stuttered.

“My God!” John yelled, breathing frantically.

“Er…” Sherlock repeated, pacing towards the other end.

“Why didn't you call the police?!" John asked him.

“Please just…” Sherlock’s voice was panicked just as John shouted furiously, “Why do you never call the police!?”

Sherlock waved his hand around and stated, “Well, it's no use now.”

The timer on the clock read 2:15.

“So you can't switch the bomb off! You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police!” John bellowed before turning away entirely.

Sherlock stared from John to Helena silently before pointing toward the exit and saying, “Go. Both of you, go now.”

“Don’t be stupid! I’m not leaving.” She glared him down, making him blink.

John nodded before adding, “It wouldn't matter anyway. There's not enough time to get to a safe distance to use magic. It could cause the bombs to go off and kill everyone like planned.”

There was another moment of silence when John exclaimed loudly, “Mind Palace.”

Sherlock arched a brow questioningly, so John explained, “Use your Mind Palace.”

“Oh, and you think I've just got ‘How to Defuse a Bomb’ tucked away in there somewhere?” Sherlock asked sarcastically.

 John and Helena nodded simultaneously.

Sherlock stared at them for another moment before mumbling, “Maybe.”

Bring his fingers to the side of his head, he screwed his eyes shut as John stated forcefully, “Think.”

Helena didn’t think badgering Sherlock was going to help, but she wisely chose to stay quiet. She still believed that he might have a plan. The only thing she knew for a fact was that Sherlock always… always had a plan B, though she might be biased. Also because if she died in the stinky tunnel of all places, she was going to haunt Sherlock’s remains for eternity. She could apparate with the two of them, but it just might trigger the bomb sooner. Lastly, she was just glad that Teddy was safe at Hogwarts.

Her eyes snapped back to Sherlock when he let out a cry, breathing heavily before looking at her and John apologetically.

“Oh my God!” John muttered with disbelief before turning away.

Helena stared wide-eyed as Sherlock ripped his scarf away from his neck and doubled over. He buried his head in his hands and continued groaning incoherently. Dropping to his knees next to the bomb, he flailed uselessly over the bomb.

“This is it,” John mumbled from where he had wandered down the carriage.

Helena stared at the man who was staring into space, looking heartbroken. She didn’t know what he must be feeling. Finally, after everything he’d been through, he had found someone – only to die in a bomb blast. She looked at Sherlock, who was still working over the device and muttering vaguely. So, she did the only thing she could. She looked at John and said, “Well, dying doesn’t hurt. Death is but the next great adventure.”

John turned to gape at her; Sherlock looked up from the bomb and stared at her blankly before asking incredulously, “You’re quoting Albus Dumbledore?”

Despite the situation, she pouted because that’s what she had been told after she had died, but John closed his eyes and breathed, “Oh my God.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head before looking at John and saying softly, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” John and Helena asked at the same time.

"I can't… I can't do it. I don't know how." He whispered, lifting his head to look at John with eyes filled with tears and pleaded, “I'm sorry, I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me?”

Helena stared speechlessly, while John hissed, “What?”

Sherlock folded his hands in front of him and nearly begged, “Please John, forgive me... for all the hurt that I caused you.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” John shook his head before letting out a chuckle and said, “No, this is a trick, another one of your bloody tricks. You're just trying to make me say something nice.”

He looked at Helena for a moment before looking back at Sherlock and said, “I wanted you to not be dead. You were the best and wisest man that I have ever known. Yes, of course, I forgive you.”

Helena was still gaping at Sherlock, while John closed his eyes, bracing for death when the detective began to giggle. John’s eyes snapped open, while she narrowed her eyes and took a step closer to look at the bomb – which was flickering back and forth between 1:29 and 1:28.

“You...” John gritted out, glaring with disbelief and anger.

Sherlock looked at John, pointed at his face and laughed, “Your face.”

“...utter...”

“Oh, your face.” Sherlock continued laughing hysterically as he stood up.

Outraged, John snarled, “You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f...”

But Sherlock continued grinning through his tears and said, “Oh, those things you said – such sweet things. I – I never knew you cared.”

John glared at Helena as if she was somehow involved before turning back to Sherlock and threatening, “I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone. You KNEW!"

Unbothered, Sherlock squatted down to the bomb and said, “There's an OFF switch. There's always an OFF switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems… unless there's an OFF switch.”

“So why did you let me go through all that?” John asked.

“I didn't lie altogether.” Sherlock stood up and told him truthfully, “I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these lights off. Nor do I know how to apologise.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Helena mumbled from where she was standing.

Sherlock scowled at her before saying smugly, “And you said I can’t act.”

Helena’s lips pinched, but before she could come up with a retort, they heard voices and flashlights beaming as someone approached along the tunnel. Instead, she asked, “When did you call the police?”

Sherlock smirked.

“I'm definitely going to kill you,” John uttered again.

“Oh, please! Killing me – that’s so two years ago.” Sherlock quirked a smile at John, who let out an exasperated sigh.

221B

“You’re an ass,” Helena announced as she busied herself in preparing sandwiches for their late-night dinner. John had returned to his flat and the two of them had returned home.

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly from his position on his armchair, staring at Caesar, who was sleeping in the corner. She was well aware of the fact that he was an ‘ass’, but nothing to be done about it.

But then she added as an afterthought, “….still brilliant though.”

Sherlock’s lips curled up and he opened his eyes to look at her. She had refused to leave him behind when she could’ve apparated. She trusted him. She believed in him.

‘Mine.’

His mind supplied and he smiled to himself. Standing up without conscious thought and his feet carried him to Helena, where he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. His lips ghosted up and down her neck, taking in the scent of her body wash – lavender, no longer smelling like him.

“Ummm… feels nice.” She mumbled, tilting her head to give him better access.

Sherlock’s fingers moved inside her dressing gown – his dressing gown and he pinched her nipple, earning a moan as her head fell back on his shoulder. Already feeling her body tensing for more… for him, he pushed his very prominent erection forward, right between her covered ass-cheeks. Another moan, louder this time as she pushed back.

“Dreaming of me?” He asked unnecessarily, already knowing the answer.

“You. Always you.” Helena gasped out when his tongue found its way behind her ear and he took her lobe between his teeth.

“Tell me.” He demanded, always yearning for more as he worked on the belt of her nightgown.

“You… riding you in your armchair.” She turned her head towards him and said, “Kiss me…”

With the hand that wasn’t busy, he turned the burner off, already knowing the sandwich was well on its way to turning black. And then, he took her mouth in a searing kiss, while his hand slipped down her flat stomach and his fingers brushed her panties where a wet patch was forming already.

‘Make more of those noises. Talk to me, I’m going to fuck you long and slow, you gorgeous thing.  Oh, it’s my turn to take you apart.’ He thought gleefully.

Removing his hand from her panty, he pushed it down her legs and she stepped out of them rather hastily. When his fingers rubbed up and down her lower lips, she sighed with something akin to bliss and he smiled. He unzipped his trouser before pushing them down as well and pushed the gown up, so it was bunched around her waist. He rather liked seeing her in his clothes… more so in the gown which smelled like him.

His finger kept moving inside her pussy, while he rubbed his cock against her arse.

Helena’s fingers were clenched on the table, eyes clenched shut as she felt – Sherlock’s tongue on her back, fingers moving inside her and just the tip of his cock pushing inside her… before he pulled it out. He kept his pace slow and deliberate, holding her hips tight in his grip as she tried to push back on his cock. It was torture. It was glorious… but not enough.

“Sherlock!” she cried out after what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Yes?” he asked casually as if the tip of his cock and three fingers weren’t inside her.

“Please!” she pleaded desperately.

He grinned, but asked lowly, “Please what?”

“Fuck me, you stupid… Ngghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

She couldn’t finish the insults because he pushed inside her in a swift move until his balls were pressed against her arse. Sherlock circled his arm around her waist to hold her close, placing wet kisses over her shoulder as he waited for her to adjust.

She bucked underneath him and ordered, “Move.”

But he wasn’t done. He pulled back until only his tip was inside her before thrusting all the way in and stopping again.

Frustrated, she cried again, “Sherlock…”

He had her exactly where he wanted and he panted in her ear, “Tell me you’re mine.”

Helena wanted to snap at him, but there was something in his voice… something vulnerable, so she tilted her head back to look into those molten eyes. Making sure he understood every word, she said, “With all my heart.”

She saw instant change as his eyes dilated. He picked one of her thighs, rested it against the stool and started moving in and out of her breathlessly. By now, he was aware of what her gasps or moans meant. What made her incoherent and where to touch to make her go wild – and he did just that.

“Oh, hnnngh….”  Helena’s head fell forward and she choked, “Sher –”

“You’re perfect –” Sherlock panted between gritted teeth. 

“That’s – Yes! More.  Sherl – ahhhh – ngghhh, yeah.  There!!!!  Ah, ah, ah…”

Sherlock pushed harder as per her demand. He could tell, she was close by the increase in volume… he was about to come and her voice just pushed him further. He set up a steady rhythm, firm and just fast enough to make both of them gasp with pleasure.

“… faster, ahhh!  Ha!  Ahhh… Yes!" Helena’s fingers scrambled for purchase over the counter, her knuckles white as she pushed back mindlessly… much in the same state as him.

“It’s – too – much!  Can’t!  You’re – just so – so!  Ahhh!!!!! Love you!  I love you… Come for me… Let go!  Ahh – yeah –”

He blabbered and she came without warning. Sherlock could’ve stopped if he tried… not after the way she clenched and fluttered around him. He fell on top of her, hips jerking in short motions as he emptied the last of himself inside her.

The only sound in the room was their harsh panting when Helena decided to break it by saying, “We didn’t make it to the armchair.”

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock promised, breathing heavily with his nose buried in the back of her neck, taking pleasure in the way she smelled like him.

He slipped out of her, making her grimace as she felt his cum slipping out of her. Sherlock was still slumped on top of her when she said, “Come on, let's get cleaned up and then you can order Chinese.”

“Why?” he mumbled against her sleepily.

Helena rolled her eyes, but said fondly, “Because I’m hungry… and I don’t want to deal with your grumpy ass.”

“You love my arse.” Was the response she received, but he stood up with a groan.

“I really do.” She told him cheekily before leaning up to press a kiss on his mouth. He returned the kiss but made a face when she pulled back and walked to slump on the sofa with his face down, while she went to the bathroom to clean herself up.

Sherlock woke up to fingers massaging his head and he moaned at the sensation, silently urging for more. He opened his eyes and found Helena kneeling beside him. Her hair was wet and she was wearing one of her pyjama tops and bottom. Freshly showered, then. He hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep.

“Not hungry?” She asked softly.

He shook his head. He could eat, but he wasn’t necessarily hungry and he wanted to spend the night lazing in his home after such a long time.

“Bed?” She asked again.

He made a face because walking to the bed seemed like a lot of work, but he stood up with a huff, still naked and followed Helena into what was slowly becoming their room. He fell onto the bed and mumbled, “Clothes.”

He felt her rolling her eyes, but she knew he liked sleeping naked. And she also knew that he liked when he could feel the heat of her body against his. He heard the ruffling of clothes before they were dropped on the chair and Helena crawled beside him.

Sherlock didn’t wait as he shifted to rest his head between her breasts and sighed with relief at the feel of her skin against his. He hummed when he felt her fingers playing with his hair and the feel of little kisses pressing against his head.

“Sleep.” She whispered against his head.

Sherlock mumbled a reply, barely discernible and promptly fell asleep with the feeling of warmth and home surrounding him.

November 8^th

221B

Helena was perched onto Sherlock’s bed, admiring his ‘Purple Shirt of Sex’ before he could cover it with his coat.

“Oh, I’m sorry, brother dear, but you made a promise. There’s nothing I can do to help.” He spoke on the phone but arched his eyebrow at her knowingly.

She shrugged, unashamed as he ended the call, grinning madly. So, she asked, “Mycroft still trying to get out of the theatre?”

“He is attempting to declare a state of emergency at the moment,” Sherlock smirked and leaned down towards her with a smouldering look in his eyes… when someone knocked on the door, making him curse.

The door opened slowly before John peeked in cautiously and sighed with relief that both his friends were ‘dressed’. Stepping inside, he urged, “Come on. You'll have to go down, they want the story.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the mention of photographers and reporters gathered outside the front door and waved him off, “In a minute.”

Disappointed, she grumbled something under her breath before standing up and walking towards the living room, leaving the boys behind. John’s fiancée, Mary was sitting on the sofa with Mrs Hudson, while Greg was sitting in John's armchair holding a glass of champagne.

“Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary.” Mrs Hudson was saying as both the women took a sip of their champagne. “Have you set a date?”

“Er… well, we thought May,” Mary replied, smiling.

“Oh, a spring wedding!” Mrs Hudson cheered.

Helena smiled because Mrs Hudson would’ve cheered even if John married in a dump.

"Yeah, well, once we've actually got engaged. We were interrupted last time.” Mary told with another smile before looking at Helena and saying, “Oh, Helena! Just the person I wanted to see!”

“Uhh…” Helena floundered at the woman’s energy.

“John told me you have a big family, so you might know how to plan a wedding! And… I’ll help you when you plan your wedding with Sherlock!” Mary told her cheerily.

“Err…” Mouth agape, Helena blinked.

“Breath,” Greg whispered, somewhat amused, just as both Sherlock and John walked in.

The chaotic ball of energy that was Mary Mortsan pointed at Sherlock and ordered, “You will be there, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stopped and gave her a look which screamed – ‘Ah, you poor peasant.’

“Hmm, weddings – not really my thing.” He informed offhandedly, before popping the cork of a new bottle.

“Well, I can’t wait.” Greg raises his glass in a toast, making John smile.

Walking across the room with the bottle and two glasses, Sherlock kneeled beside the coffee table and filled the glasses. Standing up, he offered one to Helena, who took it gratefully and took a huge sip. Sherlock arched his brow questioningly, but she shrugged, so instead, he walked towards the window and looked outside.

Just then, the door opened and Molly entered the flat, holding hands with a man.

“Hello, everyone.” She greeted before gesturing to the man accompanying her and introducing, “This is Tom. Tom, this is everyone.”

“Hey, Molly.” John greeted back, somehow managing to sound casual.

“Hi.” Tom greeted with a smile.

John exchanged a bewildered look with the witch. The man could as well be Sherlock’s double. Tom was just as tall as Sherlock and just as slender, had the same coloured dark curly hair along with large pale blue eyes and prominent cheekbones. He could as well be wearing Sherlock’s Belstaff with how similar it was and even the scarf around his neck was tied in the same way that Sherlock did.

“Err… Hi.” Helena responded belatedly.

“It’s really nice to meet you all.” Tom greeted with a genuine smile, the only thing that distinguished him from Sherlock.

John looked him up and down, unable to contain the surprised grin, sharing another wide-eyed look with Helena before pulling himself together and moving to shake the man’s hand. “Wow. Yeah, hi. I’m John. Good to meet you.”

Turning away from the window, Sherlock asked, “Ready?”

“Ready.” John replied expectantly with another grin, clearly waiting for Sherlock to notice his ‘twin’.

Tom turned to meet Sherlock, who nodded at Helena and was about to walk past her, but stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fell on Tom. The two ‘clones’ stared at each other with equally wide eyes, from head to toe.

Greg walked across the room and offered, “Champagne?”

Unbeknown to the elephant in the room, Molly beamed pridefully, “Yes.”

Helena would later be glad that she was able to witness an expression of genuine shock and bafflement on Sherlock’s face as his jaw dropped open and he turned to look at her. She gave him a similar smile, John was sporting. She would’ve giggled at the bizarre situation if she wasn’t feeling sorry for both Molly and Tom. Finally, Sherlock held his hand out and shook it with Tom. Sherlock glanced at Molly, who smiled up at him. Then, he turned to look at Helena, still confounded before walking out with a frown.

Chapter Text

November 2014

John and Mary’s flat

“So, tell me about Helena?”

John looked at his fiancée, unsure what to say.                                                                                                                                                               

“Er… she moved in with Teddy after I did.” He thought more before adding, “I don’t know how, but she is the only one I know who can – tolerate Sherlock… even handle his tantrums more than anyone possibly could. And he has always been oddly possessive about her.”

John finished with a frown, confused himself.

Mary sipped her tea before asking, “So, it has been what? 4 years?”

“More or less.” He shrugged, unsure what exactly had happened between Sherlock and Helena. If someone were to ask him, the only thing he would say is that those two were simply them.

Helena had been with Sherlock when he was ‘dead’. They weren’t exactly a young couple anymore. So, she asked the most important question which has been bugging her since she had met the two. “Why aren’t they married?”

“Er… I don’t think Sherlock is the marrying type. I also know that Helena would let him get away with murder and Sherlock has killed for her.” John told her before chucking, “To be honest, I don't know much when it comes to them. Only that Sherlock might not be able to survive without nagging her.”

December 2015

221B

Helena was rubbing her eyes, searching blearily for tea in the cupboard, when her eyes fell on the two men huddled by the window, staring down at something. ‘Dear Lord, it was too early.’ She thought, but still decided to ask, “What are you doing?”

“A client,” Sherlock responded without looking at her. “A boring one.”

“Why?” she asked.

“She thinks her husband is having an affair with her neighbour.” He informed.

“Isn’t he?” Helena asked with a frown as she put the kettle on.

“No. He is sleeping with her brother.” Sherlock replied offhandedly, making her gape.

January 2015

221B

Helena set the tray filled with a jug of milk and tea cups on the table before adding a plate of freshly baked scones by Mrs Hudson. Seeing as both the boys were out for a case, Mary was settled comfortably in John’s armchair, while Helena sat on Sherlock’s.

The blonde woman took the cup, sipped the still steaming tea and asked, “So tell me about yourself?”

“There’s not much to tell really.” Helena shrugged uncomfortably, unsure how to talk to John’s fiancée.

“How did you end up falling for someone like Sherlock Holmes?” Mary queried curiously, before adding carefully, “Don’t get me wrong. I like him, but from what John told me, he can be … difficult and you seem… normal.”

Helena snorted at the word ‘normal’. She refrained from telling the woman that Sherlock was much like Caesar and at times, adamant and stubborn just like Teddy and she loved him just the way he was. She told her derisively, “He has his perks.”

“He must be really good in bed, huh?” Mary stated with a smirk.

The witch blushed, turning scarlet before mumbling, “Well…”

February 2015

221B

Sherlock was driving her up the wall.

He was even driving Caesar up the wall… a feat on its own.

Two weeks without a case; John was busy in the wedding preparations and Sherlock was throwing things, fluttering around like a maniac, screeching with his violin – making a mess in general.

Helena couldn’t stand it anymore. She called Greg and cried, “He put moths in my tea and I’m about to kill him. Please tell me you have a case.”

The man in question jumped up from the sofa and pranced to the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

“Err… no, sorry,” Greg replied.

Sherlock shouted something through the door and she nearly slammed her head on the wall. She couldn’t tolerate it any longer and for the first time since they’d returned, fled down to her flat.

Mrs Hudson had left an hour after Sherlock started throwing things around, taking Caesar along for a walk. Ignoring the sounds of china breaking upstairs, Helena settled with a cuppa in front of the fireplace, enjoying the rare peace when the door to her flat slammed open.

“Get out.”

She turned her head to look at him, surprised and asked, “Sorry?”

“You’re distracting me. Get out.” He demanded.

Helena arched an incredulous brow. “I’m not even on the same floor. Why do I need to bugger off, only for you to Ballet in your Mind Palace?”

“You’re –” He broke off. “I don’t dance when I go to my mind palace.”

“Yeah, you do.” She let out a chuckle.

“I use minute physical movements to direct and channel my thoughts, and —” Sherlock scowled before snapping, “…you’re distracting me again! Get out.”

Helena set her mug down and asked slowly, "Speech still giving you trouble? Maybe I can help?”

He slammed his fists on the nearby table and exploded, “I don’t need you! I am perfectly capable of preparing a speech without a minder! I don’t want you here! I want you out of the building and as far as you can go!”

Startled, Helena jerked back before she was filled with a hot rush of anger. Standing up to face him, she snapped, “This is my flat! You bugger off if you want to! I never said you needed me! All I said was that I could help, you absolute tosser!”

His eyes turned cold as he loomed over her and sneered, “You can’t help me because you have the mental capacity of a ninny! I don’t need your help because all you do is hover around like some deranged nanny! I want you to stop bothering me with all your - useless - female… willies!”

“Female willies?!” she repeated, baffled. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“You’re destroying my work with your – your incompetence. You traipse around the flat in your…” He gestured at her wildly and to her complete bewilderment, she was wearing pyjamas and a sweater knitted by Mrs Weasley. He realised it was a losing argument and moved on immediately. “My work is actively deteriorating because you make me lose what had been a perfect, complete control of libido and emotions. I can’t think because I can smell you. I can’t work because I can hear you. I have puzzles to solve and all I can think about is throwing you across any surface available and fuck you until you can’t walk straight! It is absurd! Even now I want to have you against the door and I am furious with you!”

Helena was so livid that she had trouble speaking, but she managed to rasp, “Are you honestly blaming me because you can’t control your dick?”

“It was never a problem before you came —”

He started, but Helena had enough and she yelled, “How dare you!? You do not get to vilify me because you can’t control yourself! Do not stare at me, if I repulse you so! You don’t get to attack me for your goddamn feelings!”

She wanted to slap him for basically blaming her for existing and congratulated herself on not hurling a curse or two his way. She knew his tantrum had been long coming. Not only was he panicking about the change that would happen after John’s wedding, but also because there hadn’t been a case for weeks and he was going mad. That knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less. His carelessly thrown words took her back to her childhood where she was just a ‘burden’.

At the moment, Helena was just thankful that Teddy wasn’t here to witness their meltdown.

They had been in each other’s pockets for years now… and maybe, needed a break. The decision being made, she walked around, making sure not to touch him in any way. He followed her, momentarily cowed but still fuming, into her bedroom, but stopped at the door when she accioed a bag and started shoving her clothes in. She faltered momentarily, distinctively remembering their last fight – which hadn’t ended well, but this time things were different. They were home and Mycroft and John were here to look after him.

“What are you doing?” he asked angrily.

She snorted. For a genius, he could be goddamn stupid.

“Well, you asked me to get out, so I’m getting out.” She looked at him and air quoted, “I don’t want to bother you with ‘my useless female willies’.”

Her bag packed, she picked it up and turned to leave when he said, outraged, “You can’t leave!”

She glared and gritted out, “A moment ago, you were screaming at me to get out. You’re annoyed because of the lack of work, but you’re not allowed to hurt me. Not when I’ve given up so much when you needed me. I don’t take this kind of shit from anyone… not anymore, and I’m not taking it from you.”

Sherlock looked like he’d been slapped… which was ironic. Now, he stammered, “I’m not – I don’t – we insult each other all the time. It doesn’t count.”

“Don’t even try to pretend that you don’t understand the difference here. You were actively trying to hurt me and that is unacceptable. Even you know it’s not good, Sherlock.” She told him. “Now, get out of the way or I won’t be responsible for cursing you into next week!”

Sherlock looked sick as he stared at her, but she couldn’t find it in her to feel bad for him. Undecided about where she was going to go, Helena stalked past him and threw the front door open. He trailed behind her quietly, but she didn’t look at him before slamming the front door behind her angrily.

It took about twenty minutes of furious and directionless walking before her anger abated and she started feeling silly. It took another twenty minutes of listlessly staring at the river for her to feel foolish enough to realise that she didn’t have anywhere to go. Going to Hermione’s will only make things worse because Helena didn’t want to see the look – ‘I told you so’, thrown her way. Yes, Sherlock had asked her to ‘get out’ but he hadn’t asked her to pack and leave the apartment. So, she might have overreacted a tad bit, but she also believed that the two of them needed space. So, here she was, sitting on a bench with nowhere to go other than Grimmauld Palace – a dark and dreary place she unconditionally abhorred.

Shivering due to the cold, Helena cast a non-verbal warming charm and glared at the river… when someone dropped beside her. Turning to the side, Helena couldn’t help but frown when she found Greg sitting beside her and she asked, “What are you doing here?”

Instead of responding, he said, “We received a call on the domestic abuse hotline about your building.”

Okay… she hadn’t realised they’d been that loud. “It wasn’t domestic abuse.” She grumbled.

“So… what did His Holiness do to make you leave?” Greg asked.

“We fought.” She sniffed.

“I can tell.” He snorted.

Helena glared at the water some more and despite knowing the answer, she asked, “And how did you find me?”

“Mycroft.” He told her carefully. “I believe he is talking to Sherlock right now.”

Helena let out a snort… as if Mycroft would be able to knock some senses into his brother. Sherlock would flush himself into a toilet sooner.

He took a breath before asking cautiously, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Another deep breath before he asked tightly, “Do I need to bring any paperwork for you?”

“No. Sherlock would never hit me.” Helena told him vehemently. “He was just… he was just an enormous git.”

Greg nodded as some of his tension bled before he asked softly, “Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”

“No.”

He stared at her silently before questioning, “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

“I can’t go to my friend’s house. Maybe a hotel…” She told him sulkily.

“Stay with me.”

Helena’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide, so he explained, “I have a small apartment, but you can stay in the bedroom and I’ll take the couch.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

He arched a brow before stating, “It’s freezing and I can’t possibly leave you on the pavement.”

“Greg, you don’t have to—”

“I know, but you’re my friend.” He said as if it was that simple.

“Thanks.” She looked at him and mumbled gratefully, feeling overwhelmed, “…but only if you let me take the couch.”

“Fine.” He huffed.

Two Days Later

Brooding.

There was no other word for it.

Two days after her fight with Sherlock, Helena was still sulking on Greg’s couch when her phone rang off. She groped for it muzzily before answering.

“Everything alright?” Greg’s voice came through.

Helena smiled before muttering, “Yes. Better.”

“Good to know one of us is better.” He grumbled.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Sherlock’s gone bloody mental, which is why Mycroft wanted us to check his flat.” Greg’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. 

She sat up straight, trying not to apparate and asked urgently, “Drug bust?”

“He’s clean and we didn’t find anything.” Greg understood and calmed her quickly. “He has been cleaning. We didn’t find a single body part or experiment. Sally checked the microwave and the fridge. Even John was surprised.”

Unsure and shocked, she replied, “Well, that’s – new.”

“Cleaning? Yeah, I remember what his flat used to look like before John moved in. We practically tidied it up with the search, but today…” He told her, perplexed.

Helena herself was surprised and mumbled, “Oh…”

“Yes.” Greg rubbed his eyes tiredly as he said, “Not only Sherlock and Sally have been at each other’s throats all morning, but he has been glaring at me like he’s plotting my murder… and he has been more infuriating than I’ve ever seen him. Except when he’s darkly listless and silent, of course.”

“If you find him a case…” she tried.

“Everything is ‘boring’, apparently,” Greg muttered sarcastically. “Oh, and John called. He’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

“What?!” Helena groaned.

February 2015

Greg’s flat

Helena blinked at the woman, feeling like she’d been hit with a confundus charm and repeated slowly, “You want me to be your bridesmaid?”

Mary nodded, smiling at her brightly.

“Why?” She asked incredulously.

“Sherlock is the best man.” Mary ignored the way Helena flinched at the name and continued, “And we’re friends now! It’s logical.”

“Err…” Helena stammered uncertainly. “Sure?”

“Brillant!” Mary beamed. “Now, you have to help me with the planning.”

Helena’s eyes widened with barely hidden horror.

John, the traitor, smirked.

Another Two Days

Caesar came bounding downstairs as soon as she entered 221B. She knelt to greet him and couldn’t contain the laugh from bubbling when he gave her a tongue bath. She scratched behind his ears, burying her nose in his fur and muttered, “I missed you too.”

“Helena.” Sherlock’s voice greeted and her eyes turned towards him.

The first thing she realised was that she’d missed him terribly.

The second was that he looked awful – like he hadn’t been eating or sleeping. Though it had been 3 days and he wasn’t starving, which meant John had fed him while she wasn’t here – which was good. Everything about him was buttoned up, obsessive, carefully closed. His eyes though were red-rimmed and Helena couldn’t stop herself from glancing at his inner arm, remembering the last time she’d left.

He, of course, caught her and she flushed. Wordlessly, he rolled up his sleeves, displaying his old scars and said, “I’m not using.”

“Sorry.” She mumbled, feeling like a complete wanker.

He waved her off after which they stood in awkward silence for quite a long time.

He broke the silence by asking hesitantly, “Are you – back?”

And the anger was back…

“I thought I was clogging up your brain with my incompetence and female willies? Why would you want someone around who has the mental capacity of a ninny?” She asked sourly.

“I was wrong. Your presence doesn’t hinder my work. You’re integral to my process and I have difficulty functioning without you.” He told her desperately, “I — I think about you whether you’re around or not.”

“Sherlock… I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep forgiving you every time you hurt me, only to have to do it again.” She kept her eyes on Caesar as she said softly, “Maybe… maybe we should take some time. Try to function on your own. “

“I don’t want to function without you,” Sherlock told her miserably. “I know you still love me, so please come back. I want you to come back.”

“Sherlock, this is my home. I have nowhere else to go.” She stated bitterly.

For once, he understood the hurt that was hidden beneath the surface. He swallowed before muttering quietly, “Which is why you should come back.”

Then, he said, “I can leave if you want.”

“You have fewer places to go than I do.” She said with a frown.

“I can go to Mycroft's.” He whispered rather quietly.

Helena made a face at the thought of Sherlock, miserable and depressed in Mycroft’s care. However earnest the man’s intentions may be, Sherlock at Mycroft’s home was a recipe for disaster. “No.” She told him flatly.

“Please.” He clenched his eyes shut and said, “I – I won’t do anything again. I won’t say anything. Please don’t leave me. I know I was wrong – I can change. I will change. I’ll do anything you want. You’re a vital part of me and I cannot function properly without you. I don’t want to.”

Much to Helena’s horror, he let out a sob as he pleaded, “I can’t promise I won’t hurt you again, but if I do, you can tell me to leave and I won’t come back until you ask me to… if you say it at all. Please. Come back. I miss you.”

“Sherlock…” She croaked out, moving forward until her arms were around him. Helena realised how toxic their relationship was, but she loved him and didn’t think she could live without him. She had tried and had been miserable.

He collapsed against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, fingers in her hair, breath hot against her skin.

“I don’t want you to change. I love the way you are. I just want you to stop when you realise you’re hurting me.” She mumbled against his skin.

She felt him nod against her and they stood, breathing against each other.

His fingers clenched against her coat and he asked desperately, “Can I touch you? Please? I want to touch you.”

“Yes.” Helena gasped as her fingers weaved into his hair, pulling him down.

Sherlock let out a choked sound when her lips met his, while his hands went under her clothes until his fingers found her skin. He held her against him, revelling in the skin-to-skin contact and simply breathed.

March 2015

221B

Sherlock dropped a book in her lap before burying his face in the cushion. He lifted it enough to grumble, “Why did he ask me? Mike Stanford would have been a better man.”

Then he spat darkly, “…even Lestrade would’ve been better.”

Helena couldn’t help but roll her eyes. He had been at Greg’s throat ever since she’d stayed at his house during their fight. Despite the knowledge that the man was her friend and nothing more, Sherlock had been jealous and overly possessive. He had snogged her right in Greg’s office before mumbling ‘sorry’ to the poor man – rather gleefully… much to her chagrin.

She picked up the book and stared at the title speechlessly. – ‘How to Write an Unforgettable Best Man Speech.’

Sherlock Holmes bought a book to write the speech for John Watson. It clearly meant a lot to him and he was scared, but she knew that Sherlock would deliver the best speech possible. She just hoped he wouldn’t end up insulting John, Mary or everyone in the room.

“You’re his best friend.” She told him, placing a soft kiss on the back of his head before going back to her book.

At his dramatic grunt, she added, “Don’t think you can get out of giving that speech.”

“This is the hardest thing I had to do.” He sighed rather dramatically.

“Why don’t you ask Greg?” she suggested genuinely.

Sherlock lifted his head to glare and cursed darkly before jumping off the sofa and fluttering around like his ass was on fire.

Helena smirked.

March 2015

221B

Helena ran upstairs with her heart in her throat because of all the noises suddenly blaring outside – an ambulance right in front of 221B, and was that a… helicopter? She’d just been upstairs to give Sherlock his overly sweet and heavily milked cup of tea. What could have possibly happened within an hour?

Greg was standing by the door, winded, while Sherlock was showing him ‘the book’ before asking, “Have you any funny stories about John?”

“What?!” The man asked with disbelief.

“I need anecdotes,” Sherlock uttered before noticing Helena and Greg’s nearly murderous expressions. He asked with a frown, “Didn’t go to any trouble, did you?”

Helena looked between the two and asked cautiously, “Err… what’s happening?”

Finally, Sherlock became aware of the sirens outside just as the curtain billowed, knocking his music sheets from the stand

Greg handed Helena his phone and hissed through clenched teeth, “This.”

She looked down at the message:

HELP.
BAKER ST.
HELP ME.
PLEASE.

“Oh.” She mumbled, unable to say anything else.

March 2015

221B

Mary groaned loudly, staring at the long list of wedding details.

“Could you please help me with this?” She asked rather desperately, waving the list in her direction. “You must’ve thought about how you’re going to plan your wedding.”

“What?” Helena asked, startled.

“Well, yes.” Mary looked at her like she’d grown another head and said, “You and Sherlock have been together for years now. John told me you’re even co-parenting Teddy and he loves Sherlock. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about a wedding?”

“Err…” Helena desperately glanced at Sherlock for help, who buried his face behind the paper.

John stood up, mumbling something about ‘tea’ and rushed to the kitchen.

She uttered uneasily, “Oh, well… we haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Mary stared before sharing a look with John, but thankfully, moved on to focus on her wedding.

April 2015

221B

Helena carried the groceries bag upstairs, grunting when Caesar collided with her and she nearly fell over.

“Sherlock! Could you…” She stopped short when her eyes fell on the man sitting on the chair and she asked, “Dean?”

Dean’s eyes widened as he stared back before crying, “Merlin’s saggy balls! Helena Potter?!”

Thankfully, John had etiquettes as he stood up and took the bags from her hand, while her boyfriend kept staring between her and Dean with narrow eyes. Ignoring him for now, Helena grinned, moving forward to hug her fellow Gryffindor.

When they pulled back, he asked, “It’s been such a long time! I haven’t seen you since the ceremony!”

“What ceremony?” John asked quietly, looking cluelessly between Helena and Private Bainbridge, whose name – apparently, was Dean.

“I always miss something!” Dismayed, Sherlock hissed before muttering, “The ceremony where she was awarded Order of Merlin First Class for acts of outstanding bravery or distinction in magic after she defeated Voldemort.”

They were ignored as the two Gryffindors continued chatting.

“Well, Kingsley offered me a job and I didn’t see any point of returning.” Helena informed, before asking, “What about you? What’re you doing these days?”

“Yes, hard to miss as it was all over the Prophet.” Dean jibed good-naturedly and responded self-consciously, “Couldn’t get a decent job as I didn’t do too good in the N.E.W.T.s and as a muggle-born, didn’t have much choice. Though, I’m a private in the army. Mum was proud.”

“That’s brilliant.” She smiled.

“Yeah. I’m taking the exam. Reckon I could go for officer training.” Dean shrugged.

Helena nodded. “So, do you talk to anyone…?”

“Just Seamus. He had a son last month.” He informed and added slowly, “…and I saw Ginny during the last game.”

Her smirk grew. “Really?”

“Err… yeah.” Embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his neck before changing the topic. “What about you?”

Deciding to let it go, she replied, “Only the Weasleys and Neville.”

“I met him a few years back at Parvati’s wedding. How is he?” he asked.

“Oh, he proposed to Hannah recently.” She told him excitedly.

“Good for him!” Dean said. Then, suddenly he straightened and tattled, “Speaking of, have you heard anything about Malfoy? Last I heard, he left Britain to live in America.”

“No. He’s married to Astoria Greengrass and had a son.” She rolled her eyes at the inane gossip and informed, “Though, he is working as a healer in muggle London.”

“No way!” His dark eyes widened. “Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

“I’ve met him once or twice. Even healed me.” She whispered as if she still couldn’t believe it.

“Wow…” Dean whispered looking stunned, equally wide-eyed.

“You two know each other then?” John asked unnecessarily, breaking into the conversation.

“What?” Helena’s head snapped to him. Apparently, she’d forgotten there were other people in the room. “Oh, yes. Dean and I were in the same house at Hogwarts.”

“Technically, Potter, we lived together for six years.” He chuckled before a thought occurred to him and he asked with a frown, “I forgot to ask. What are you doing here?”

Sherlock, who had been watching the proceedings with mild irritation, rolled his eyes and remarked, “It’s obvious. We live together.”

“Together?” Looking from her to Sherlock, Dean asked confused, “But the Prophet reported that you have been selected as Britain's most-eligible bachelorette in Witch Weekly's yearly poll?”

“Really? They still do that?” Helena asked, feeling equal parts amused, perturbed and thankful that she’d cancelled her subscription years ago.

But before he could reply, Sherlock stated languidly from his sofa, “She isn’t because we’re in a monogamous relationship. Which, if you can’t tell means that we’ve been shagging like enthusiastic, kinky rabbits for years now.”

She whirled on him and shouted, “SHERLOCK!”

John grimaced; Dean’s eyes widened. Sherlock shrugged unrepentantly.

“What the hell was that?” she yelled once Dean was out of the door.

“He wanted to shag you.” He shouted right back.

Newly outraged, she protested, “He did not!”

“Yes, he did!” Sherlock snapped, irritated. “He was going to ask you out because he found out that he had no chance with Ginny Weasley, seeing as she is dating some woman from her team!”

Helena gaped at him before throwing her hands in the air and storming down to her flat, but not before snapping, “You’re impossible!”

“I am the impossible one?!” He yelled after her and threw himself onto the sofa, preparing for the biggest sulk.

John meanwhile had snuck out of the door, not that anyone noticed.

May 18^th 2015

221B

Mrs Hudson smiled as soon as she opened the door. A recording was playing in the background and Sherlock was waltzing in the living room with an imaginary partner. She was glad to see him happy and that he had someone like Helena to take care of him. With the amount of domestic Sherlock and John used to have, she had believed that the two would end up together someday… and had been worried when Helena got Sherlock’s attention, but ah… it ended well, so she wasn’t complaining.

“Shut up, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock said when he saw her.

“I haven't said a word.” She replied.

You're formulating a question. It is physically painful watching you thinking.” He told her before sighing.’

“I thought it was you playing.” His landlady said.

“It was me playing.” He stopped dancing, picked up a remote control and turned off the music. He picked a pen to add something to his sheet before adding, “I'm composing.”

“You were dancing.” Mrs Hudson sang enthusiastically, setting the tray down on the table next to John's or Helena’s armchair. 

Sherlock put down his pen and demanded, “Why are you here?"

“I'm bringing you your morning tea.” Mrs Hudson stated as she poured some milk into the cup. “You're not usually awake.”

He settled onto his chair and asked with a frown, “I thought Helena prepared the morning tea?”

“Where do you think it comes from when she’s not home?” she asked curiously.

“I don't know. I thought it sort of appeared.” Sherlock waved his hand offhandedly.

“Your mother has a lot to answer for.” Mrs Hudson said, handing him a teacup and saucer.

“Hmm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file.” He informed, taking a sip.

Mrs Hudson laughed like he had cracked a joke and sat down in John's chair. She said excitedly, “So, it's the big day, then!”

“What big day?” He asked.

“The wedding!" Mrs Hudson said. ‘Duh!’ was implied in her tone. Then, she informed him as if he had no idea. “John and Mary are getting married.”

“Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together.” He mused nonchalantly. “What's big about that?"

“It changes people, marriage.” She informed.

“No, it doesn't.” He responded, lifting his cup to take another sip.

“Well, you'll understand soon enough. You’ll be getting married to Helena soon.” She ploughed on.

Sherlock nearly spat his tea, coughing when it went down the wrong pipe. He and Helena were already married and he even had the papers to prove it. Not that Mrs Hudson knew, of course, but they didn’t need to plan a tiresome event and invite a hundred people… only to continue as they already were!

He ignored his landlady’s concerned expression and said, “We’re already living together and will continue to do so.”

"Marriage changes you as a person, in ways you can't imagine.” Mrs Hudson said, continuing their conversation.

“Mmm, no, it doesn't.” He told her confidently.

She shook her head and gave him a pitying look. “Well, you wouldn't understand.”

“Currently, I am in a relationship.” He told her pointedly. "Your husband was executed for double murder. I'd say I'm in a better position to judge.”

“I always thought with you and John...” She sighed sadly as if he hadn’t spoken.

"Mrs Hudson!” He protested before changing the subject to no avail. “Aren't there usually biscuits?”

“I've run out. My point is...” Mrs Hudson carried on.

May 18^th 2015

St Mary's Church in Sutton Mallet

"The famous Mr Holmes!" Janine said as the photographer finished taking their photo. “I'm very pleased to meet you. But no sex, okay?”

Startled, Sherlock looked at her and asked, “Um, sorry?”

“You don't have to look so scared. I'm only messing.” Janine laughed. “Bridesmaid, best man… it's a bit traditional.”

She punched his arm in what he assumed was a friendly gesture, but he wrinkled his nose with distaste before her words registered and he asked curiously, “Is it?”

“…but not obligatory!” Janine responded awkwardly.

“If that is the thing you are looking for...” Sherlock turned his head to one of the wedding guests and uttered pointedly, “...the man over there in blue is your best bet. Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Reviewing that information, possibly not your best bet.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Janine grimaced before taking his arm and said, “Mr Holmes, you're going to be incredibly useful.”

Sherlock looked down at her and frowned.

Mary reached out to hug David, but he jumped away as if on fire before laughing nervously.

“Mary. Congratulations. You look, um, very nice.” He said without looking her way and moved to greet John.

The bride looked puzzled at his behaviour, but Helena smothered a laugh when David informed John that he’d met Sherlock.

April 2015

221B

“We – we’re just good friends now.” David stammered unconvincingly.

 Sherlock pursed his lips, looking down at the notes before saying, “Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes regardless of time or current location, suggesting you have her on text alert. In all your Facebook photographs of the happy couple, Mary takes centre frame whereas John is always partly or entirely excluded.”

The man let out another uncomfortable laugh and said, “You can’t assume from that I’ve still got some kind of interest in Mary.”

“You volunteered to be a shoulder to cry on no less than three separate occasions. Do you have anything to say in your defence?” Sherlock kept his eyes trained on the man, who looked at the third person present for some kind of help.

Helena shrugged, curiously observing the way Sherlock was intimidating a man with a crush on John’s fiancée.

David opens his mouth but is unable to speak, but was cut off when the detective ordered, “I think from now on we’ll downgrade you to ‘casual acquaintance.’ No more than three planned social encounters a year, and always in John’s presence.”

Putting his pen down, Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin. Staring at David intensely, he threatened, “I have your contact details. I will be monitoring.”

David’s eyes widened as he looked from Sherlock to Helena and mumbled, “They’re right about you. You’re a bloody psychopath.”

“High-functioning sociopath.” Helena chimed cheerfully.

“...with your number,” Sherlock added, grinning manically, baring his teeth like a dog before dropping the smile entirely.

May 18^th 2015

St Mary's Church

John looked at Sherlock curiously, but before he could question his doubts, a young boy slammed into Sherlock, hugging the detective with all his might. He turned his head to wave at Helena happily before looking up at Sherlock.

“Mm… yes, um, well done in the service, Archie,” Sherlock said awkwardly.

“He’s really come out of his shell. I don’t know how you did it.” Archie’s mother asked with a smile.

“Um...” Sherlock threw a dark look at Helena, remembering ‘the day’ clearly.

April 2015

221B

Mrs Hudson usually looked after the boy when his parents had something urgent to do. But today, their landlady had gone out to buy groceries, leaving the boy behind. Helena had graciously agreed, much to Sherlock’s dismay.  It had been two days since Private Bainbridge’s visit, but she hadn’t talked to him since. He didn’t need John to explain that what he did was a bit not good, but ‘Dean’ clearly liked Helena and would’ve asked her out if Sherlock hadn’t intervened.

“What's all the stuff in his eye?” Archie asked curiously.

“Maggots,” Sherlock answered, immersed in his laptop.

“Cool.”

Sherlock looked at the boy approving before his eyes fell on Helena, flipping the channels and a thought occurred. He smirked before asking conspiratorially, "Can you keep a secret?”

The boy looked suspicious before nodding.

“Do you know Helena is a witch?” He whispered, loud enough for Helena to hear.

Her head snapped to him as she gaped and Sherlock smiled innocently.

Archie looked at her and asked sceptically, “Are you really a witch?”

Helena smiled, even as she glared at the detective dangerously.

Unaware of the murder that was about to take place in 221B, the boy asked, “Can you do magic?”

“She wouldn’t be a witch if she couldn’t do magic.” Sherlock supplied helpfully.

Now, his eyes widened and he asked, eagerly “Can I see?”

“Of course.” The witch gave him a beaming smile before waving her wand in the direction of Sherlock’s laptop. The screen fluctuated before the device flew into the air, causing the detective to let out a shriek of rage.

Archie laughed hysterically and pleaded, “More!”

“Promise you'll wear the outfit?” she asked, earning an earnest nod from the kid.

Before Sherlock could jump away, Helena waved her wand in his direction and muttered, “Levicorpus.”

There was another shriek, louder this time, downed by Archie’s laugh as Sherlock was hoisted into the air by his ankle.

May 18^th 2015

St Mary's Church

“He said that you had some pictures for him, as a treat.” Archie's mother continued.

“Er, yes... if he's good,” Sherlock said, patting his head while trying to pry away the kid, who was still hugging Sherlock.

“Beheadings.” Archie beamed up.

“Lovely little village,” Helena interjected before his mother could question them more and gently pushed the young boy towards the entrance.

May 18^th 2015

Reception

Sherlock walked over to Helena and Mary and spoke, “So that’s him. Major Sholto.”

“Uh-huh.” Mary nodded.

With hands behind his back, he stared at the two men with narrow eyes and mused, “If they're such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?”

“He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him.” Mary commented, unaware of the disapproval in Sherlock’s tone.

“About HIM?” He asked grumpily, eyes fixated on John.

“Mm-huh.” Mary took a sip of wine and shuddered with disgust. Looking down at it, she grumbled, “Ugh, I chose this wine. It's bloody awful.”

“Yes, but it’s definitely HIM that he talks about?” Sherlock asked again as if it would change her reply.

“Mm-hmm.”

Peeved, he muttered, “I've never heard him say his name.”

“Well, he's almost a recluse. I didn't think he'd show up at all. John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met.” Mary told them.

“He is? He's the most unsociable?” Sherlock stumbled across words in his fit of jealously.

Mary gave a nod.

“Ah, that’s why he’s bouncing round him like a puppy!” he mumbled grouchily, looking like a kicked puppy himself.

Mary looked at Helena amused, who had chosen to stay quiet throughout the exchange before grinning at him and said, “Oh, Sherlock, none of us were the first, you know.”

“Stop smiling.” He demanded sourly.

“It’s my wedding day!” She told him indignantly, smiling sunnily.

Sherlock threw a glare and walked away sullenly. Mary took another sip from the glass and made another face. Helena stared at him as the dots connected and her eyes widened.

“What?” Mary asked self-consciously.

“Er… nothing. I’m just gonna…” She pointed in Sherlock’s direction and high-tailed.

May 18^th 2015

Reception

Everyone exchanged glances as Sherlock skimmed through the telegrams. "Special day, very special day, love, love, love…”

Sounding annoyed, he dropped them all and said, “Bit of a theme- you get the general gist. People are basically fond.”

John took Mary’s hand in his; Janine frowned at the best man; while Mrs Hudson, Greg and Molly looked at Helena uncomfortably. The witch meanwhile was staring at Sherlock because even though he had frozen, she knew he could do it. No other person would work on a speech for months for his best friend’s wedding, which was why she wasn’t concerned like the others.

“John Watson. My friend, John Watson.” Sherlock gestured towards John. “When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused.”

Flashback

221B

Sherlock and Teddy standing in his kitchen wearing matching safety glasses. Teddy would be returning to Hogwarts within a week, so he was spending all his time with Sherlock, observing everything he could. Helena didn’t understand what the two were discussing, but she was happily gazing at her two favourite people. The detective was holding an eyeball with tweezers in one hand and a blowtorch with the other when John entered, smiling at the three of them and asked unnecessarily, “Busy?”

“Teddy and I are experimenting,” Sherlock informed and accidentally dropped the eye into his mug of tea. Looking into the mug, he mumbled, “Oh.”

Teddy blinked before sharing a look with Helena.

“Mind if I interrupt?” John asked.

“Be my guest.” Sherlock gestured to the only empty chair end of the table, turned the blowtorch off and placed it on the table. He offered his mug to John and asked, “Tea?”

“Er, no thanks.” John leaned away, making Teddy giggle.

Sherlock shrugged and took off his glasses as Helena rolled her eyes before turning towards John and asking, “So, how’s the preparation going?”

“Good. Good.” He shifted in his seat before turning to look at Sherlock and said, “Actually, I’m here to ask the big question.”

When three pairs of eyes blinked at him, he said, “The best man.”

“The best man?” Teddy asked confused.

“Yes.” John nodded before asking, “What do you think?”

“Billy Kincaid,” Sherlock stated instantly.

“Sorry, what?” John frowned.

“Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter. Best man I ever knew. Vast contributions to charity, never disclosed.” Sherlock fired in rapid succession.

John looked at Helena with a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Misunderstanding his reaction, Sherlock added with a grimace, “Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure and ran the best and safest children's homes in north England. Yes, every now and again there'd be some garrotings, but stacking up the lives saved against the garrotings, on balance, I'd say...”

“For my wedding!" John interrupted loudly. “For me. I need a best man.”

Sherlock nodded before suggesting, “Gavin?"

"Who?" John asked, confused.

“Greg.” Helena corrected.

“Well… he's not my best friend,” John said.

Sherlock looked at the window and said, “Oh, Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he's nice, though I'm not sure how well he'd cope with all...”

John interrupted before stating pointedly, “No, Mike's great, but HE'S not my best friend.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to think of another friend. He looked at Helena for help, who bit her lip, so she wouldn’t end up laughing, insulting the detective and sending him into a long sulk.

"Look, Sherlock… this is the biggest and most important day of my life.” John started, but Sherlock made a face before uttering dubiously, “Well...”

“No, it is! It is.” John stopped him, pointing a finger sternly and said, “...and I want to be up there with the people that I love and care about most in the word.”

Sherlock nodded, still oblivious and waited for him to continue.

“So, Mary Morstan...” John began to list.

"Yes.”

“Helena, Teddy and...” John added the kid’s name deliberately.

Still oblivious, Sherlock waited patiently for further information, making John sigh as he said slowly, “...you.”

Sherlock didn’t react, staying frozen and blinked down at John rapidly.

May 18^th 2015

Reception

“I confess at first I didn’t realise he was asking me. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and... Surprised. I explained to him that I’d never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was – for me – as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he’d placed in me... and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being... moved by it.” Sherlock said.

John frowned and looked at Helena, silently asking – ‘Do you remember this conversation?’

“Of course, he said none of this out loud,” Helena stated loudly, making everyone laugh, while Sherlock scowled.

January 2015

221B

Flashback

John exchanged a concerned glance with Helena. Even Teddy looked worried as he waited for Sherlock to react, but there was absolutely no movement from the man.

“Sherlock?” Helena called.

Sherlock didn’t respond and kept staring in John’s direction blankly.

“That's getting a bit scary now,” John said finally, trying to get some reaction out of his friend.

Sherlock swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to refocus on John. Taking a deep breath, he asked slowly, “So, you – you mean…”

“Yes.” John waited patiently.

“I'm your... best...” Sherlock searched for the correct word.

“...man,” John spoke at the same time Sherlock did. “...friend?”

The two stared at each other silently before John nodded. “Yeah, ’course you are. Of course, you’re my best friend.”

The three occupants watched with barely hidden disgust as Sherlock absently picked the mug and took a long sip.

John didn’t look at Sherlock as he said, “So, you’ll have to make a speech, of course.”

Sherlock froze again, with the mug halfway to his mouth.