Author's note: Here we are, the last chapter. More later.

I don't own anything, please review. I am only a few reviews short of a hundred, and it would make my day if I had two stories with a hundred reviews.

They were quiet during the ride, but it wasn't the tense silence it had been in the past days. They were relieved, they were happy, and the usual post-case euphoria had set in, even though it was still a little tampered by the fact that they didn't know how Harry would react to the news – she might be freed, but her ex-lover was the killer, and she'd only done it to get back at her.

Sherlock could imagine, even from his limited personal experience – and he had no desire to see John's sister more often – that she'd not be happy. And maybe accuse them of having worked sloppy or not fast enough. Which, in turn, would make John angry. He bit his lip and glanced at John, who was looking out the window, out of the corner of his eye. His blogger, despite feeling immensely relieved, was obviously nervous. He kept drumming the fingers of his right hand on his thigh, and his posture was stiff.

"John?"

The doctor turned his head to look at him.

"I could explain it to Harry, if you want..."

He stopped talking because John started laughing.

"Don't get me wrong, Sherlock, but Harry is angry at herself and the world... And, I don't know if you've noticed, she doesn't like you."

Sherlock snorted. "The thought may have crossed my mind".

His blogger grew serious, though he seemed less tense than before. "Thank you, Sherlock, but I will do it. I have to do it. And it would probably be better if I did it alone."

Sherlock nodded, then looked out the window while saying, "You don't have to keep thanking me".

"Then stop being so considerate. I might get used to it".

Sherlock looked at him again, and John winced as he saw the hurt the consulting detective was trying to hide in those eyes. He shouldn't have said that; he was aware that his best friend was trying to act more human, to show more emotions, even though it was difficult for him after having hidden them for so long and three lonely years spent without one real conversation with another person.

He shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that. I know you are considerate, in your own way". Sherlock smiled, and John smiled back, relieved. "I think, however" he added, "that nobody who's seen you in the last few days will ever believe you're a sociopath again – not even Donavan".

"Anderson will, though".

"Anderson's an idiot".

They laughed again, and John, despite dreading the conversation he was about to have with his sister, considered himself for this moment to be a very lucky man indeed.

When they arrived at the Yard, Sherlock made a point of thanking the PC, who was too shocked to answer and John bit back a laugh.

"Could you please take me to my sister?" he asked instead. The PC nodded, still staring at Sherlock.

"I'll just wait in Greg's office" the consulting detective announced, turning around with a dramatic swish of his coat, and John was strangely comforted by the thought that, no matter what the next half hour might bring, there would still be body parts in their fridge.

The PC brought him to the visiting room without delay and told him he wouldn't explain to Harry what happened, making John suspect that Greg had told him exactly what to do. They would definitely have to take their DI out to Angelo's again – maybe with Molly.

Harry was brought in by the PC, still looking angry.

"So, what happened? What about your mysterious lead? Are you just here out of a sense of duty, or did anything turn up?"

John swallowed, deciding to be nice to her, if only because he still felt slightly guilty and he had to give her bad news.

"We caught the murderer".

Her eyes widened. "Great! Why am I still here, then? Let's go!"

She turned around without waiting for an answer, and John cleared his throat.

"Harry... there is something you should know".

She turned around, obviously annoyed at having to stay longer at Scotland Yard than she had to.

"What?"

"The murderer. It was Violet Hunter".

He had expected her to be angry, to lash out. He hadn't expected her to grow quiet and seem to shrink.

"What?" she repeated in an unusually quiet voice. Then she shook her head, and an angry expression crossed her face. "Is this a joke? Or, because he couldn't get me, your live-in amateur decides to – " John didn't want to hear the end of this sentence, mainly because he wouldn't be able to hold his temper if she did finish it.

So he repeated in a voice that brooked no argument, "Violet Hunter. She was the killer." That made Harry go quiet again.

"But... she... why?"

There was no easy way to say this, so he didn't try to (Sherlock must really have influenced him). "She wanted to get back at you. She was... looking for you. The victim... she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. But Hunter cut herself with the knife she used to – she cut herself, so she couldn't plant that anywhere near you. Sherlock found out where it was hidden. When we arrived, she was already there. She tried to shoot Sherlock, but I managed to hit her in the shoulder... She'll make a full recovery, but she's under arrest. And will go to jail". He'd kept on his jacket so he wouldn't have to explain the bandage.

Harry swallowed and looked anywhere but at her brother. "So she... confessed?"

"Yes" John simply answered.

She nodded. "So I guess that's... that, then" she said, quietly, and he didn't know what she was talking about, but decided to bring her home first and deal with her shock later.

He took a deep breath. "You can, of course, go. I'll ask the OC to drive us to your flat, and we can..."

"No" she interrupted him, looking him straight in the eyes, an expression on her face that he'd never seen there before.

"No?" he asked, confused.

"No. I'll go home, yes, but you will be where you belong. With your friends."

"But Harry, I really think you need..."

She interrupted him again.

"No, John, please. I'm trying – for once – to do the selfless thing here." She laughed bitterly. "If this whole story has shown us something, it's that we just can't do family. So let me be. Let it be. Nothing lost, nothing gained, Johnny."

When she saw he was about to protest, she added, slowly, "Come on, be honest. You love me because I am your sister, but do you actually like me? As in, you would want to see me if we weren't related?"

He didn't know what to say. It was true, at the prospect of leaving Harry alone, he felt – sorry for her, but not as one would feel sorry for one's sister, more like one would feel sorry for an acquaintance. And then he realized that all guilt he'd been feeling had evaporated. Maybe when she'd started complaining about Sherlock's role in this case just now. Or when she'd been angry with him, even though it wasn't his fault. Or maybe he'd just deluded himself into thinking he felt guilty, because he ought to feel guilty, if he didn't feel anything else at the prospect of his sister going to jail.

Harry was right. There was nothing that tied the two of them together. So he nodded.

"It would maybe be for the best."

She smiled – a sad smile – and walked over to him. Squeezed his hand. "I'll call, from time to time. And maybe, now and then, we can meet for coffee. But let's not try to be a family. You have found yourself a family. Let me find one of my own".

Then, she was gone, without looking back, and he had to stay in the room for another few minutes before he could join Sherlock in Greg's office.

Harry was right. He'd found a family; a strange family, certainly – Sherlock, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mike, even Mycroft. But it was his family, nonetheless. He loved all of them more than he loved Harry – more than he'd ever loved Harry, maybe. He drew in a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face to get rid of a few tears that had escaped.

The end of one story, the beginning of another.

He walked slowly towards Greg's office.

Sherlock looked up when he came in, and knew everything, of course.

"Tell me what to say and I will say it" he said, looking for clues what to do in John's face.

John just smiled. "You just did, Sherlock, you just did. Let's go home."

Sherlock smiled back and the two made their way out and caught a cab.

The forensic techs had just about finished, and Violet Hunter was under constant supervision at the hospital. Greg, utterly relieved that the case was at an end, and happy that Sherlock's and John's friendship had proved to be even stronger than he would have thought, looked at his watch and saw that it was shortly after five pm.

He took out his phone and waited with a quickly beating heart for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Hello, Greg?" Molly answered, and he smiled.

"We have Violet Hunter. She's in hospital, but there'll be no lasting damage. John has a grazing shot on his left arm – nothing too serious. He and Sherlock are on their way to free Harry. I was just wondering... Would it be too early to go out for dinner?"

She laughed, a happy, relieved laugh, and his heart swelled. "That's wonderful news! I'll text John immediately." Then there was a pause, and he was just about to lose hope when she said, "No, it's not too late."

He grinned broadly and asked, "Should I pick you up at Bart's in, say half an hour?"

"That would be nice".

They said goodbye, he hung up and walked over to Sally. "Sally, can you finish her? There's – something I need to do."

"Sure, sir" she answered, and he started walking away when a thought occurred to him.

"By the way" he said, turning back around, "did Anderson find the bullet?"

"I'm afraid not, sir" she replied, such a strange mischievous light in his eyes that he started to suspect that the last few days had truly changed her thoughts about Sherlock – and that maybe she had... but that was a conversation for another day. So he just said "Never mind" accompanied by a wave of his hand, and went to his car to pick up Molly.

During the cab ride, John got two text messages. One was from Molly.

Greg just called. I'm happy it's over. Give my love to Sherlock.
Molly

The other one was from Mike.

Molly texted me. Congratulations to you both. Davey is going to be okay. He just has an ear infection.
Mike

John told Sherlock, who shook his head and muttered "Sentiment" but was smiling while doing it.

When Sherlock and John arrived at 221B, Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them. "There you are!" she said happily. "Is everything alright again? Did you catch the killer?"

"Yes" John answered, smiling at Sherlock, "we did. I need a new shirt, though".

"What?" Mrs. Hudson asked, and John took off his jacket so she could see the bandage, because he knew she wouldn't let it go.

She shook her head. "You boys will be the death of me". Then her face lit up. "Oh, Sherlock, there is something waiting for you upstairs – a delivery man just brought it. Why don't you go up, and I'll make us tea?"

They knew that resistance was futile, so they went up, Sherlock fro once not knowing what to except and John being rather sure what it was.

As soon as Sherlock saw the box, his eyes started to sparkle. "John, Mycroft has actually already bought me a new violin!" He didn't pause to think why Mycroft knew he needed one; the fact that his old one wasn't there anymore – John wouldn't have thrown it away, and neither would Mrs. Hudson – was enough of an answer.

"That's great" John answered, going up to his room to changed, not wanting to let Sherlock know he was aware of it.

However, his best friend hadn't yet opened the box when he returned.

"Something wrong?"

Sherlock looked at him. "I wanted you to be there".

John smiled, and even he couldn't help but stare when Sherlock took out the instrument, although he didn't know a thing about violins. But it was beautiful. Shiny, polished, dark wood.

Sherlock smiled and drew the equally breathtaking bow over it. It sounded wonderful. Then he proceeded to examine the violin closely. When he turned it around to look at the back, his breath hitched.

"What is it?" John asked concerned.

Sherlock showed it to him without a word, but his eyes spoke volumes. John took it, very carefully, which made his friend smile, and saw the engraving Mycroft had had put on the back immediately.

To Sherlock Holmes, from all his friends

Sherlock looked at John. "Did you know?"

"I knew Mycroft would probably buy you a new one, so I told him to take a bit of money from my account – Greg later told me that he'd had the same idea, and that a few people had given him money, which he'd passed on to your brother."

"Who?" Sherlock asked, honestly curious. There were several people who could have given money, but he wasn't sure.

John smiled. "Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mike and Donavan. I think it's safe to say your brother paid the rest, though".

"Yes, I suppose it is" Sherlock answered, looking away, his voice suddenly a little croaky, and John grinned.

His best friend cleared his throat. "I'll try it, then?"

John beamed at him. "Yes, please. There's nothing I'd rather listen to right now".

Sherlock smiled, stood up and started playing one of his own compositions. As John looked at him, he knew there were things to come.

Soon, they would tease Molly and Greg about their relationship; they would bicker about body parts in the fridge and experiments on the kitchen table; they would solve cases; they would run right into danger because of it; Sherlock would thank Mycroft through a text; he would insist on playing a song for everyone who had helped buy the new violin, Sally Donavan included, and they would never forget Anderson's face when he saw Sherlock play a piece of Beethoven's for her in the Yard; maybe John would slowly become friends with Harry; in a few minutes, they would have tea with Mrs. Hudson, who was, unbeknownst to them, already standing outside their flat, tea-tray in hand because she didn't want to interrupt Sherlock.

But right now, nothing of that mattered. This moment was perfect.

A moment of trust, a moment of friendship, a moment of happiness.

A moment just for the two of them.

Author's note: When I wrote my first two multi-chapters, I uploaded the last chapter on the same day as the one before it, and I'm glad I managed to do that with this story too.

Please tell me what you think. Every single one of my stories teaches me something, and this was mainly about style and composition, although it did turn out to be about friendship and family, too. Especially tell me if the different POVs worked for you.

There will be more stories coming – especially oneshots, because I have to do something for university now and then.

For now, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

Hekate