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

I don't own anything.

Sherlock kept working on the Choice Portal, occasionally berating Trevelyan that he should have been more careful with his experiment.

John was at his side, trying to make him rest and eat occasionally, although without much success. The doctor knew why Sherlock was so desperate, of course; despite all his protestations to the contrary, he truly cared about his brother. And John would do everything to help him get him back.

Although John still had trouble believing that Mycroft had been transported into a parallel universe and the Mycroft that was currently living in his house, making polite small talk to Greg and him and asking Sherlock about his day when they came back every evening to check on him, was not the brother Sherlock had grown up with.

After a few talks with this Mycroft, he was ready to reconsider. The elder Holmes had never been so – pleasant, for lack of another word, and it was not only worrying Sherlock, but John too at this point.

Not to mention Greg. John had not known that he and Mycroft had become friends while Sherlock had been gone, but he couldn't deny that it made sense. They had both tried to protect Sherlock, and had both thought they'd failed. And, he admitted to himself, feeling ashamed, he had not been nice to Greg after Sherlock's disappearance; he had shut the door in his face and refused to talk to him. So, naturally, Greg had turned to the only connection he had with Sherlock – Mycroft.

And now his friend didn't recognize him. It must be difficult; John couldn't even imagine Sherlock not recognizing him. The three years without him had been enough; but to think about Sherlock asking him who he was, why he was there...

He helped Greg out as much as he could. Her made tea for both him and Mycroft, talked to the later, made sure the DI could slip out of the house for a few minutes to smoke. He might not want to assist Greg's addiction – not when he had been trying to make Sherlock give it up once and for all for years – but under the present circumstances, he figured he could allow him a few cigarettes.

All their lives were made easier by Mrs. Hudson, who, at the beginning of the second day, could John to hear what was going on and showed up an hour later, claiming she "was the only adult here anyway" and proceeding to take over the kitchen. She brought his violin with her, too, since it "calmed him down". Sherlock tried to make her comfortable in a guest room that hadn't been used for years, which she declined because she preferred to sleep in her own bed; she did come by every day, though, and Sherlock promised that he would try not to shoot at her wall the next time he was bored; she simply pated his arm and said, "Of course, dear". When John tried to tell her what a relief it was not to have to worry about Greg and Mycroft while he was keeping Sherlock company, she waved him off. He still tried to be in the house as often as he could, though.

Greg appreciated what John was doing, even if he neither expected nor wished for any thanks, and told his as often as he could that he was fine, that he should go back to the lab and look after Sherlock.

Sherlock...

That was another matter entirely. Greg at least accepted the situation, spoke about what he was going through (even if only in a few sentences late at night). Sherlock, on the other hand...

He was focused on getting his brother back. He kept himself away from the "other Mycroft", as John had dubbed him in his head; the doctor could see this hurt the elder Holmes, but he didn't know what to do about it. Most of the time, Sherlock was in the lab, working on the Portal, barking orders at Trevelyan, ignoring John, who nonetheless was not far away most of the time, occasionally urging him to have some tea or a snack.

But he didn't speak to anyone, not even John, until the doctor forced him to. He cornered him one night when Sherlock was returning from the lab and simply asked, "How are you?"

Normally, Sherlock would have shrugged the question off, but he saw that his blogger was determined to have an answer, he sighed.

"I'm fine".

"Of course. Your brother is not himself, you work on a machine day and night, and you don't talk to anyone. You are completely fine".

Sherlock managed to half-smile and continued quietly, "I will be once we get him back".

John put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed before retiring.

Sherlock didn't sleep, but this was not surprising. He hadn't slept since Mycroft had been – exchanged for this nicer version. He still hadn't told him about his theory of parallel universes; he would do that once he could send him back and, hopefully, his brother would return.

He knew that John and Greg and Mrs. Hudson were concerned about him; even without John cornering him tonight. But he simply didn't see why he had to talk about what had happened; he would repair the machine, send this Mycroft on his way, and that would be it.

He realized that he was thirsty and tried to remember when he had last had something to drink. He recalled that John had forced a bottle on mineral water on him in the afternoon, but a look on his watch proved that it was past 2am. Knowing that everyone must have retired long ago, he made his way to the kitchen.

He opened the door and hesitated when he found Mycroft making tea.

The elder Holmes turned to look at him and smiled. "You can't sleep then, either? Care for a cuppa?"

"Sure" Sherlock replied before he could stop himself. He really wanted the tea, and he could very well spend half an hour in this Mycroft's company.

They were silent while Mycroft was busy preparing the tea, and Sherlock took the time to observe him. He looked like his brother, except that he seemed to prefer casual wear when at home. But there was something... different about his expressions, his voice. They were so open, friendly, trusting; while his brother had indeed been an "Ice Man" for most of his life, this one let his feelings and thoughts show. It was disquieting.

After he'd put the tea in front of Sherlock, he sat down next to him and asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Sorry?" Sherlock answered, confused, and Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I know you, Sherlock. I can tell there is something you are hiding from me".

He should have known. Confused or not, from another universe or not, Mycroft was still one of the most intelligent man on the planet.

Sherlock sighed. He had to tell him the truth. He would have to know eventually anyway.

So he did. Mycroft kept his focus on him, just like the brother he remembered, but bit his lip and frowned occasionally.

After he'd finished, he finally asked, slowly, "And you think you can... send me back?"

"Yes, I believe so" Sherlock replied, slightly taken aback. His brother wouldn't have believed such a story so quickly; but this Mycroft trusted him. "I should be able to make the Portal work".

Mycroft nodded and wanted to know, "And you think your real brother will appear once I leave?"

It was a much more difficult question and certainly would have kept Sherlock awake, even if he'd tried to sleep.

Because, somehow, although he refused to think about it, he had the suspicion that if Mycroft could choose, if he'd be able to figure out what happened and have someone repair the Portal...

He would probably elect to stay where he was. The world this Mycroft came from sounded like everything his brother had ever wanted – friends, a successful brother who lived with him, a more comfortable house...

Sherlock swallowed and was startled out of his thoughts when suddenly a hand grabbed his and squeezed.

He looked up to find Mycroft looking at him with concern in his eyes.

"I'm sure he'll want to come back, Sherlock" he said quietly. "This is his life, and he'll be just as desperate to return to you as I am to see my brother again."

Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he nodded.

Mycroft smiled and squeezed one last time before taking his hand away. They drank the rest of their tea in silence. Mycroft was the first to stand up.

"Time to get to bed. Goodnight".

"Goodnight".

"I suppose I can't tell you to go to bed?"

"You can, but I won't".

They smiled at each other and Mycroft left the kitchen. Sherlock uncharacteristically put the two mugs in the sink and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

Talking with this Mycroft was – strange, but in a good way, he admitted. They hadn't really talked like this since Sherlock had been eleven.

And yet –

He still preferred his Mycroft, the one he knew. He simply wasn't the right Sherlock for the other Mycroft, he had seen too much, done too much.

He spent the rest of the night in his room, pacing up and down and left for the lab the next morning before anyone else was awake.

John found him and Trevelyan working on the Portal two hours later.

"You could at least tell us when you leave, you know" he said, although he didn't sound angry, and Sherlock nodded absently.

Then, out of the blue he announced, "I had tea with Mycroft yesterday".

"He told me. Or, rather, he told Greg, who texted me while I was on my way here." John fell silent, patiently waiting for Sherlock to elaborate.

Sherlock answered eventually, frowning at the Portal, telling Trevelyan to get something so he and John could talk in peace.

"I told him the truth".

"I heard. Why?"

"Because he asked". John laughed and Sherlock looked up. "Sherlock, that's hardly a reason for you".

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know. He was just so – understanding".

Probably like Mycroft before he'd left him, John decided. Before all the resentments and mistrust had come between them. He nodded, to make Sherlock see that he understood and the consulting detective gave a half-smile before he resumed working on the Portal. After a few minutes, he threw his hands up in frustration.

"I'm missing something, I know it! It should work, but for some reason it doesn't do anything..."

"What about the settings?" John suggested, not because he thought he might be right, but because he figured it would do Sherlock good to be distracted for a moment.

Sherlock stared at him, then back at the Portal. "Settings..." he mumbled.

"Yes. I mean, don't machines like that have settings?"

Suddenly, Sherlock clapped his hands and a grin appeared on his face. "John, you are indeed a conductor of light! Of course! I should have checked the settings ages ago, but – "

"There's always something" John finished and they smiled at one another.

When Trevelyan returned, Sherlock instructed him to put the settings just like they had been when Mycroft had tried out the machine, and soon enough the lights blinked, indicating that the Portal worked again.

John thought Trevelyan might faint with relief, and he couldn't bale him. If there was one thing he didn't want to encounter, it was the wrath of a Holmes.

He sent Greg a text, telling him to get Mycroft to the lab immediately, while Sherlock went through everything once again before asking or rather ordering Trevelyan to leave because "they could very well do without him".

John decided not to scold him this time. There were more important matters at hand.

When Greg told Mycroft, the elder Holmes was delighted.

They sent Mrs. Hudson home, promising to call, took Greg's car and drove to the lab, Mycroft only speaking once.

"Greg..."

"Yes?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I hope he realizes what a good friend he has in you. I hope both of them do".

Greg swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

"Maybe you exist in my world too" Mycroft continued.

Greg laughed. "I bet this is going to an interesting conversation". Mycroft joined in his laughter and they spent the rest of the way in a companionable silence.

When they arrived, Sherlock and John were waiting for them.

"You think this is going to work?" Greg asked, eyeing the machine suspiciously, and Sherlock nodded, although not with as much conviction as he would have liked; still, the DI would take what he could get.

It was good enough for Mycroft apparently, who turned to John. "Goodbye, John. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Goodbye, Mycroft" John said simply but politely, and he turned to Greg, smiling slightly.

"Goodbye, Greg. Thanks for everything".

Greg nodded and shook his head. "See you" he joked, and Mycroft chuckled.

Sherlock and John looked slightly confused, but didn't ask.

Greg caught John's eyes. They understood one another and left them alone, both claiming to "need a breath of fresh air".

Mycroft looked at Sherlock after the door had closed and smiled. "I like your friends".

Sherlock didn't know what to answer, but didn't have to as Mycroft continued, "Sherlock... can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course" he replied, wondering what Mycroft could want.

"Speak to your brother. I'm sure he wants to make up."

Sherlock doubted that, and it must have shown on his face, because he added, "Trust me. I can imagine many things, but not that he doesn't care about you".

Sherlock's face softened against his will. He cared about Mycroft, he had to admit – and it was possible, considering the surveillance and kidnappings, that his brother cared to.

"Alright" he said. "I will".

Mycroft hugged him and Sherlock, surprised, hugged him back.

Mycroft pulled back first and said, "Thank you. For everything".

Sherlock nodded, trying to understand why there was a lump in his throat all of a sudden.

"Goodbye, Mycroft" he answered, finally, the elder Holmes understanding everything he couldn't say.

He smiled and answered softly "Goodbye" before putting his hand on the panel and closing his eyes, remembering taking Sherlock with him.

Despite having expected it, seeing his brother collapse was not easy. Sherlock ran to him as soon as it happened, and heard the door open behind him. Naturally, John and Greg had only stood in the corridor.

John quickly checked the unconscious British Government before announcing "He should be fine".

"Do you think it worked?" Greg asked, and Sherlock shrugged. They would know when Mycroft woke up.

Mycroft opened his eyes; the first person he saw was Sherlock. He blinked, trying to will himself to move, when a hand was put on his shoulder and a voice told him to "keep still for a few more moments".

John.

He could have cried with relief.

He could see the doctor, now, and Greg's anxious face over his shoulder.

He managed a smile.

"Sherlock" he croaked out, "John, Greg".

Sherlock couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. Mycroft had recognized Greg and John, he could tell.

Still, he had to ask.

"Mycroft, when I was eleven – "

"I left you behind".

"Oh, thank God" John breathed.

They helped Mycroft to get up; he demanded to go home, and John saw no problems with it. He and Greg, however, decided to go to a pub; they figured the brothers needed some time alone. Mycroft told them to "take care" as they left with much more feeling than John had ever heard from him, and Greg promised to call the next day.

Sherlock and Mycroft said nothing until they were sitting in the living room – his living room, thank God – and both of them had a brandy before them.

Then, Sherlock asked, almost gently, "Where were you?"

And Mycroft told him everything.

At the end, Sherlock said, slowly, "You killed Moriarty".

Mycroft nodded.

Sherlock smirked. "Now that's something I would have liked to see".

"Your counterpart didn't"

"My counterpart didn't know you".

There was nothing Mycroft could say to that, so he didn't.

Then, Sherlock added, "And – I didn't know yours, either. I – It's good to have you back. Resentments and all. And don't make me say that again."

Mycroft laughed, he couldn't help it, and Sherlock joined in.

Then, the elder Holmes said, "Sherlock, I'm – sorry. For everything."

He didn't want to say "leaving you behind" and "Betraying you to Moriarty" but he would have if he had to.

He didn't, because Sherlock looked at him and saw that he was sincere, and it was enough. So he simply answered "I know" and fell silent for a few moments before adding, "Maybe it was for the best. Without you leaving me – I wouldn't have met John. Or Mrs. Hudson. Or Greg".

Mycroft had thought the same thing, so he said nothing, instead hesitantly putting his hand over Sherlock's and squeezing. The consulting detective's eyes widened for a moment, then he squeezed back.

"So where does this leave us?" Mycroft finally wondered aloud, and Sherlock immediately replied, "A fresh start".

Mycroft liked the sound of that. He suspected their counterparts had had quite a tearful reunion, and the other Mycroft was now trying to comprehend everything that happened in his absence, but this, just this, was more than enough for them.

They didn't talk much after that, eventually retiring.

But, a short time later, just as Mycroft was lying awake and wondering if this change, this wonderful change was going to last and if it meant they would suddenly be able to talk to one another and, perhaps, become as close as they had been when they were children, Sherlock started to play his violin.

Mycroft smiled and allowed himself to drift off to the comforting sounds, knowing that it would last, and that they had all the time in the world to right things between them.

He was thankful for Trevelyan's experiment after all.

True, it would take time, and now and then they would still be annoyed and angry and Sherlock would insult his weight and he would slip back into his "Ice Man" persona.

But they had a chance and all the time they needed.

And, as he had already noted, that was quite enough.

Author's note. Later update, but the longest chapter to make up for it.

I can't say how much this story means to me. Somehow, everything came out just the way I wanted it, and I have lived with it for over a month now, updating almost every day.

So it would mean a lot to me if you would leave a review – just what you think of this story overall – and I will answer all the reviews for the last chapter, promise.

I'm going to take a break for a few days, but don't worry. I already have new ideas.

Until then, I wish you all the best of days,

Hekate.