A/N: Thank you again to all who have followed my story and supported me through writing this. I hope you enjoy the finished product as much as I do. Perhaps more stories will be written in the future, but for now, enjoy this final chapter of 'Little Things.'

~underthewillows

It's been twenty years since you left us, my darling. Time has only dulled the pain of your loss. There are still days that I pass sitting alone in my chair, lost in the memories I have of you and your wonderful life.

I hope you enjoy the compositions I have created for you. As I stand near to the willow tree next to where you sleep and play for you, I imagine those nights where I watched you and your sister twirl and dance to my songs and all the times I lulled you to sleep with music. It is somewhat of a comfort to me, knowing that you can still hear me play.

It is lonely without you or your sister here. River visits when she can, but her shifts at the hospital often keep her late. Papa and I still work some cases for Scotland Yard and from our website, but Papa's knees and shoulder ache him and I must confess that my body is betraying me in the same way. Retirement seems close for us, and I can't say I'm disappointed. Lestrade has already stepped down from the force and working cases isn't as satisfying anymore. He and Molly visit us nearly every week, along with their daughter Abigail, who's nearly 15 now and looks just like her mother.

Your Uncle Mycroft is still manning the British government and continues to be a thorn in my side. He just recently donated money to the new children's oncology wing at Great Ormond Street. He visited us this morning to ask our permission to name the new wing after you, my darling. So now, children will be cared for in the Indigo Rose Wing, where sunflowers will bloom and lives will be saved. Your sister is especially excited for that is where she will be working now as the brilliant physician that she is. Her husband will be working in the children's ICU downstairs. I will never admit it to your Papa or to him, but he is a good man. He is still not good enough for your darling sister, but he is tolerable.

Dear Mrs. Hudson has been in and out of hospital with pneumonia since Christmas. She still insists on making us lunch and dinner, although your Papa has been making more meals for all of us as of late. Throughout the night, she'll tell her favorite stories about you and River. "Seeing those girls was my favorite part of the day," she always says. I am worried about your Nana Hudson. She has begun to speak of seeing you again. She's been with me since the beginning of my adventures on Baker Street and I cannot bear the thought of losing her.

Papa and I are considering getting another little pug soon. Five years have come and gone since we lost our dear Jack. I know that he is with you now and can imagine him lounging on your feet, keeping them warm as he did when you were here. I see you both frolicking through warm fields of flowers and grass and I am content that you both have each other again.

I miss you, my Indigo Rose. I often wonder what you would be doing now, something amazing and brilliant I have no doubt. Papa and I have kept your pictures up, although our hearts are always broken when someone asks where you are, why your graduation picture isn't next to your sister's, why are you are seemingly frozen at six years old. Then we explain to them and I see the pity and shock cross their face and I can already hear the "oh, I'm so sorry," coming from their mouths. I always push these clients out faster, earning a disapproving look from your Papa, but it does not matter to me. I cannot tolerate their pity and their sorrow, it is too little for how great of a loss you were to us.

I think that is all for now, sweetheart. Give Jack a pat on the head for me and tell him that he is a good boy. I'll be by tomorrow to play you your song and to put down fresh flowers.

Happy 27th birthday, my darling Sunshine.

I love you, always and forever,

Daddy

Sherlock folded the paper and placed it in an envelope, writing Indigo's name on the front in his delicate script. He tucked in the drawer and sat back with a sigh.

"Sherlock? Get dressed please, River and Michael will be over soon," John said tiredly as he came into the room.

He glanced over at the picture that sat in the middle of the mantle, a radiant River standing at the altar in a white, sparkling ballgown, her raven hair pulled up into an elegant bun, a white, jeweled veil draping behind her.

"Why is he coming?" Sherlock complained.

"Because he is her husband, Sherlock, he's part of our family now," John said, exasperated.

Sherlock grumbled to himself, his knees cracking as he stood up from the chair. He ran his hand through his greying curls and went into their bedroom.

The front door opened as River called out, "Papa, Daddy! I'm here!"

John secretly loved that River never lost the habit of calling him Papa or Sherlock Daddy. It was one thing that hasn't changed since she was a little girl, the days that he missed so terribly.

She and Michael came through the front door, River walking over to her father for a hug. Michael stood in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

"River, love, how are you? You look well, how has the hospital been?" John said, smiling from ear to ear, "come in Michael, have a seat. Tea anyone?"

"Papa, I'm just fine, work has been hectic. There's a little girl there now who I'm about to send home on hospice, she's the most beautiful girl, little brown curls and big brown eyes…" she trailed off. "But, she's a fighter, maybe she'll surprise us and pull through," she finished, a sad smile on her face, eyes distant.

Michael took her hand and kissed her temple.

"Where's Daddy?" She asked.

"Oh, he's getting dressed now, finally. We haven't had a case in days, you know how he gets." John said.

"Mopey? Whiny?" River laughed.

"Precisely, my love."

All three laughed and sat making small talk until Sherlock appeared in his classic Oxford and tailored slacks.

"River Grace, my darling, it's so lovely to see you," Sherlock said, coming to his daughter and hugging her tightly.

"Daddy, how are you? How did the PCR run?" River asked, giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek.

"Brilliant results, I've isolated the necessary sequence and now can begin my analyses!"

"Oh, fantastic, let me know if you need any help, I could brush up on my biochemistry."

"You are welcome anytime, my little scientist." Sherlock said warmly, a soft smile crossing his face.

"Dinner should be ready in another 20 minutes, I'll get your Nana Hudson. She'll be so happy to see you both." John said, getting up and going downstairs.

"I have to run to the loo, I'll be right back," River said, leaving Sherlock alone with her husband.

Sherlock and Michael sat in silence. Sherlock's ice blue eyes boring into Michael, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

"So, sir, have you been down at the Yard recently?" Michael ventured.

"No."

"Oh, no cases then?"

"Obviously."

Thankfully for Michael, John and Mrs. Hudson came teetering into the room just at that moment.

"Michael, my dear, so lovely to see you!" Mrs. Hudson said, walking over to him with her cane and sitting on the sofa next to him.

"I'm happy to see you too, Nana Hudson, how is that hip of yours?" he asked.

"Oh, it's giving me a bit of trouble, but nothing I haven't managed before."

River came into the room then, running to Mrs. Hudson when she saw her sitting next to her husband.

"Nana Hudson!" She said, enveloping the frail woman in a hug.

"My sweet girl, how are you, how are those precious babies you're seeing?"

River sat and told her about the children in the ward, those who were recovering and those who were not.

"Damn it to Hell, that terrible disease. So much suffering, so many babies suffering." Mrs. Hudson quietly mused, her eyes staring at the little blonde girl in the decades old photo hanging on the wall.

They sat in silence then, nodding their heads.

The oven buzzed, making Sherlock and John jump in their seats.

"Dinner's ready, everyone. Come, let's tuck in." John said, his voice suddenly years older.

The atmosphere of dinner, however, was much more cheerful. They ate in between laughter and talked about the happy memories they had in this flat. Even Sherlock's lips quirked after a joke that Michael made.

Soon, the table was cleared and everyone was back in the front room, sipping on tea that John had made.

"Oh! Papa, Daddy, I have something for you. I saw it and just had to grab it for you both." River said.

She pulled a small box from her bag and handed it to John.

"Go ahead, open it."

"Darling, it's your birthday tomorrow, you shouldn't have gotten us anything," Sherlock said.

"It's a bit of a present for me too. Go ahead, Papa, open it, please?" River said, visibly excited.

John opened the package and pulled out small white baby shoes.

His eyebrows shot up and a shout came from him.

"River Grace!"

"What is it, John? Why would you give us small shoes?" Sherlock said, confusion apparent in his voice.

"They're baby shoes, you dunce. Oh, lovebug, oh this is so wonderful." John said, hugging his daughter.

"Baby shoes?" Sherlock whispered to himself, his face visibly paling.

"She's having a baby, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson laughed, "my dear, how wonderful!"

"A baby?" Sherlock whispered, his eyes fixed on the small white shoes he held in his hand.

"Yes, Daddy, a baby. Aren't you happy?" River said, her smile wide.

Sherlock sat there in silence, a blank look on his face.

"Daddy?"

"My darling…" Sherlock said, getting up and wrapping River in a hug, tears forming in his eyes. He pulled away and kissed her on the forehead, tears beginning to stream down her face.

"I am the happiest man in the world right now. My baby is having a baby," he said, placing his hand on her stomach.

"How far along are you, my dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"About 11 weeks"

"A November baby! How lovely!"

As they continued to chat, a new mood enveloped the flat, a feeling of hope and joy for this so welcome arrival. Sherlock and John spent the next 6 months redecorating River's old room as a nursery, leaving the walls purple for their new granddaughter. Sherlock played Mozart and Bach, along with his own works for River's growing belly and both men stood in awe as they felt the baby kick.

River delivered a healthy baby girl on a bitterly cold late November day. Michael came out of the room, shouting that he had a perfect daughter. Sherlock and John smiled, remembering their own shouts of joy when their girls were born. They held their new granddaughter later that day, her deep baby blue eyes wandering all over the room. They whispered to her, telling her how loved she was.

Sherlock and John watched the little girl when her parents were at work or just needed some time to themselves. They relished in the feeling of a baby in their arms again, the smells of baby shampoo and powder, and the high-pitched giggles of a happy baby.

The years flew by, a toddling little girl soon standing in place of that newborn baby. She had inherited her mother's raven curls and high cheekbones. She had her father's nose and slim build. Her eyes, however, were a different matter entirely.

They were a bright hazel, just the same shade as Indigo had. "The most beautiful eyes in the world," Sherlock would say about his granddaughter, scooping her up into his arms and snuggling her next to him as he went through a case or his newest experiment. John took her on his outings, making sure she was well-bundled against the cold winds of London.

She was a delightful child, bringing light and life back to 221B, brightening the walls with her colorful drawings and her brilliant smile.

One morning, John found himself at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the door that he hadn't gone into for years. He crept up the stairs and opened the door, its hinges squeaking loudly.

And then he was twenty years younger, watching his two little girls run around the room in tutus and sparkling dresses, the sunshine bright on the yellow walls.

He walked quietly into the room, beds still neatly made, Indie's side still full of the trinkets and toys she had held most dear. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Greg kept the room tidy all of these years, knowing that it was too much for John or Sherlock.

John went to the bed covered in pink roses and sat down, taking the teddy bear that sat on the pillows. He held it in his hands and rubbed the soft fur, remembering the rainy day he had picked out this bear for Indie. It was a random gift, no special occasion, but she loved this bear more than the others, always carrying it with her and sleeping with one arm protectively over the stuffed animal.

He sighed and got up, straightening the comforter before he left the room behind, bear in hand. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, hands steepled, eyes intent on the blazing fire.

"Our princess will love that bear very much, John," he said, his eyes never moving.

"Yeah, I don't know why I thought of it today," he quietly said, sitting in his chair and flipping open the paper, placing the bear protectively against his side.

About an hour later, a frazzled River walked through the door, carrying her daughter in one arm and a bag in the other. The little girl squirmed out of her arms and ran to John, squealing 'Grandpapa! Grandpapa!'

"Good morning, my love! Are we going to have a fun day today?" John said, kissing his granddaughter on her cheek.

"The best day! Can we go to the park, Grandpapa?" she giggled.

"Anything you want, my sweetheart."

"Dada, will you come too?" she said, turning with a smile to Sherlock.

"Of course, princess," he said, holding out his arms to her.

She climbed into his lap and waved goodbye to her mother, chattering to John and Sherlock about her morning.

"Is that your bear, Grandpapa?" she said, pointing at the little brown bear sitting next to John.

"No, my love, it's yours," John said, holding out the bear to his granddaughter.

She laughed and jumped out of Sherlock's lap, running over to John and taking the bear from him, hugging it against her chest.

"Thank you, Grandpapa!"

"It's a very special bear, it was your Auntie's." John said, brushing back her hair.

"Auntie Indie? Mummy told me about her. She loved to go to the park too!"

"Yes she did. She loved so many things, including this little bear. Now, can you promise me something?" John said.

She nodded and stared wide-eyed at John.

"Promise me you'll take the very best care of this bear and love him very much."

"I promise!" She shouted, tucking the bear inside of her denim jacket.

"That's my girl. Go sit with Dada until I get breakfast ready."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and bounded over to Sherlock, snuggling into his lap and turning on the telly.

After they ate, Sherlock put her raincoat on and helped her into her boots. The two men took her hands and were walking down the stairs when she began to shout that she had forgotten her beloved blanket.

"I'll get it, my darling, just wait here with Grandpapa," Sherlock said, bounding back up the stairs.

He returned to 221B and saw the pink and grey blanket draped on John's chair. He picked up the corner embroidered with 'Charlotte Indigo' and went back down to his husband and granddaughter.

"Here you are," he said, handing the blanket to the tearful girl.

"Thank you, Dada," she said with a hiccup.

"You're most welcome, princess. Don't cry, it's alright now," Sherlock said, wiping away the little girl's tears.

She nodded and took Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Ready, Charlotte?" John said.

"Let's go!" she yelled.

They set off down a blossoming Baker Street, the two men and their Charlotte Indigo laughing and smiling the whole way to the park.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Sherlock?" John said as they watched Charlotte play on the swings.

"A marvelous day, John."

John leaned his head onto Sherlock's shoulder. The two men sat contentedly hand in hand, a gentle breeze blowing, the sun shining softly down on them.

Peace had finally been found in these happy days.