Before I get into an emotional Author's Note, I want to address The Wolf's two comments about the rules of the Doctor: I imagine that the Doctor would have a different set of rules for each companion. In this case…Rule One: The Doctor lies. Yes, he does. But it's usually only to protect them. Rule Two: Bowties are cool. So are fezzes, Stetsons, powdered wigs, and wooden swords. Rule Three: Sherlock and Mycroft need to listen to the Doctor, trust the Doctor, run when he says run, hide when he says hide, and not go into rooms with highly-advanced computers when he says not to. Rule Four: No dating. (Mycroft only broke that one three times.) Rule Five: Don't leave. Don't ever leave…a rule that's meant for both the Doctor and the companions…Rule Six: No high buildings. Sherlock breaks that one. Rule Seven: Try not to wander off. The keyword here is try. Rule Eight: If possible, try not to destroy the entire universe. Mycroft was faced with the choice of breaking this rule. Rule Nine: Stay alive. Sherlock nearly broke this one. Rule Ten: Have fun. Rule Eleven: No killing Jack. They all break this one a few times. It's a great way to pass time. Rule Twelve: No pushing buttons on the console unless the Doctor's in the room. The list goes on and on…

Okay. Onto the emotional Author's Note.

Author's Note: Hello dear readers and here we are. You and me on the last page. This story would not have gotten very far without you and it means so much to me that you are reading this final chapter. As I'm writing this, the story has 118 reviews—118 times that I've excitedly gasped and quickly clicked on the number to read the review. I have read and appreciated every single one. It is bittersweet to be posting this chapter because, although I have tried my best to make it heartwarming and a genuinely wonderful chapter, it is the last chapter of the story. The last chapter. I've worked on this story since May—I have literally poured my heart into it. I've lain awake at night, thinking of new adventures for the brothers and the Doctor. I cried when Sherlock got hurt, I wept when Mycroft screamed at the Doctor, and I could barely speak to anyone for a few hours after they left. These characters were as real to me as if they were sitting right next to me on the couch. And now we're here. We're all stories in the end. And now it's time for this story to end. So I want to take one last moment to thank you, wonderful reader, for staying with me…until the end of time. Geronimo.

It's all about your cries and kisses, those first steps that I can't calculate…I need some more of you to take me over…

Chapter Forty

"I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but your brother has committed suicide."

Mycroft could not stop unhearing the cold woman's voice. He shakily brought the cup of tea to his lips but didn't take a sip. He kept trying to tell himself that Sherlock was simply performing a complicated scheme. And…hadn't told him about it.

Sherlock couldn't be dead. Mycroft knew that he was stubbornly stuck in the stage of denial but he was adamantly going to stay in that stage. Because his brother wasn't dead.

Mycroft rubbed his brow and softly said, "Doctor…where are you?"

There was a sharp knock at the door, causing him to jump and spill tea across his suit. He quickly wiped it off and lamely called, "Doctor?"

"No."

The door opened and a quiet voice said, "It's just me."

"Sherlock!"

Mycroft leapt up, caught between being relieved, aghast, and angry, "You…you're…"

"Did you have any doubt, brother dear?" Sherlock asked with a wry smile.

For a moment Mycroft wanted to embrace him—for a moment he wanted it to be like old times. He wanted to let Sherlock know how much he cared. He wanted to let Sherlock know that he had never stopped caring. But he didn't. He adjusted his tie, frowning at the stain, and watched his brother calmly put his hands behind his back.

Mycroft held his head high and coolly said, "Well, naturally you took the fall to prevent Moriarty from calling his triggers on John and Lestrade."

"And Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock sharply said, "Don't forget Mrs. Hudson. She is just as important as the others."

"No, I won't," Mycroft assured him, "I'm not about to go toppling out the window. I don't suppose that there was one on me?"

"Silence, Mycroft," Sherlock said, his eyes shining, "Silence was his key. He wanted to do it as silently as possible. He couldn't have done so with a sniper in Buckingham Palace."

"I suppose not," Mycroft agreed, "Still, I would have appreciated the thought."

Sherlock chuckled but it didn't reach his eyes. For a moment he looked immensely troubled. The expression passed but still crept into his voice as he asked, "John?"

Mycroft didn't know what to tell him. Eventually he stuck to habit and protected his brother by merely saying, "You're not the only one who fell that day, Sherlock."

There was a pause before Mycroft said, "Sherlock, you have to tell him that you're…"

"No."

The reply was delivered with such little hesitation that Mycroft closed his eyes. He was beginning to get a headache. Still, even through the pulsing pain, he could see how it would be risky to tell John. Mycroft rubbed his temple and could see exactly why his brother had to take the fall…and just how scared his brother must have been to take the fall. To say goodbye…and to not go back…It was hard…and Sherlock had to do it. And now so did Mycroft.

"Alright," Mycroft begrudgingly said, "So…a fixed point in time."

"I don't see why it would be," Sherlock admitted, "I just fell off a building."

Mycroft looked thoughtful as he said, "Well, you planned it, obviously. I expect that the universe wanted to make sure that no outside factors or changes caused it to go haywire."

Sherlock suddenly looked quite proud of himself as he cried, "A fixed point in time."

"River and Jack kept trying to warn us," Mycroft said with a grim smile, "When I think back to all of the hints they gave…I suppose you're staying here then?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to Baker Street," Sherlock said with a scoff.

"Of course not," Mycroft agreed, reopening his eyes and grimacing, "Well, you know where everything is."

It was as good of an invitation as any.

Sherlock set off, looking around to see what changes Mycroft had made. The honest truth was that he hadn't made much. He had been too busy in the past few years to redecorate.

Sherlock climbed the steps, a single destination in mind. The door was locked but he managed to kick it open. He grimaced, reminding himself to pay Mycroft back for the now broken hinge. He then swallowed and slowly entered the musty room. Not much had changed, other than the piles of dust and clusters of cobwebs. Tender sheets had been thrown across the furniture, hiding it out of sight and out of mind. But beneath the age and exhaustion, it was still the same nursery.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Mycroft had appeared in the doorway. He refused to go any farther, as though the mere thought of entering the nursery repulsed him.

"You don't have to stay in here, of course," Mycroft pointed out, "You can stay in the guest bedroom. And what have you done to the door?"

Sherlock didn't answer and was slowly looking around. Without warning, he whisked the sheet away from the toy chest.

"Watch it," Mycroft said, coughing as a cloud of dust rose into the air. His headache was turning into a full migraine. He brushed the dust off of his stained tie and cried, "You can't just come in here and…"

"My nursery," Sherlock said, smugly.

"My house!"

"Father's house."

"Father's not here."

"My nursery," Sherlock repeated.

"My house!" Mycroft roared, his ears reddening with frustration, "I don't have to let you stay here, you know. As far as I'm concerned, I just had to go through the process of accepting my brother's death. I can still stand by that."

Sherlock didn't so much as grunt. Irritated, Mycroft snapped, "Christ, Sherlock! Why couldn't you just have gotten a regular job? Like a temp or a bloody window-washer?"

"Both still have the possibility of falling off a high building," Sherlock said, distractedly.

"How does a temp…?" Mycroft started before realizing that he didn't want to know. He took a deep breath before angrily saying, "You know, most brothers don't have to put up with this! Most brothers have to put up with feuding over whose flat is bigger or where to spend the holiday or borrowing money from one another. Most people don't get calls in the middle of a conference to let them know that their brother leapt from a roof! Then again, most people have brothers who are ordinary!"

Sherlock straightened up at this. He turned around and gave Mycroft a dark look. It was enough to cause Mycroft to stop talking and even look regretful.

"I never wanted to be ordinary," Sherlock said, quietly. It was then that Mycroft realized what he was holding—a worn-out wooden sword. Sherlock was silent for a moment before solemnly whispering, "I wanted to be extraordinary."

"Sherlock…"

And suddenly the barrier was broken. Mycroft came into the nursery and put an arm around his brother. At first, Sherlock shied away. But he eventually gave in and leaned against his brother. And though Sherlock would never admit it, it felt nice to have Mycroft hold him. Because nothing else really mattered. His frantic thoughts diminished. The horrid memories of the morning were gone. Because Mycroft was there and Sherlock somehow knew that, even though there was no logical explanation, everything was going to be alright.

Then again…

Mycroft soon realized that having his brother for a roommate might not always be a good idea. The next morning, the eldest Holmes brother awoke to the sound of an explosion. He raced into the kitchen and found his brother sitting on the barstool, perfectly at ease despite the billow of smoke that was coming from the stove.

"What happened?" Mycroft curtly asked.

"I wanted to cook waffles."

"And?"

"I got distracted."

"And?"

"I found your chemistry set."

"And?"

"Well the rest is plainly obvious, Mycroft," Sherlock pointed out, sipping from Mycroft's favorite mug, "You might want to tend to those flames."

He walked out, leaving Mycroft to frantically dive for the fire extinguisher.

Mycroft then retreated to the study to work on several important documents that might prevent a third world war. He was able to spend a good five minutes on them before his brother timidly knocked on the door. Mycroft snickered and opened the door as he pointed out, "You don't have to knock, you know."

"Force of habit," Sherlock admitted, "Years of never being allowed to enter…"

"Well, come on in," Mycroft reluctantly replied.

Sherlock looked as though he had been invited to a secret organization. He entered, appreciatively glanced around, and immediately muttered, "Well this is boring."

"What did you expect?" Mycroft snorted, "It's a study."

Sherlock glanced at the papers on the desk but Mycroft quickly covered them and sharply cried, "Classified!"

"You're going to appease…?"

"Classified!" Mycroft barked.

"Since when do you appease?" Sherlock asked, giving a derogatory snort.

Mycroft blinked before coldly saying, "You're kidding? I think that I know a thing or two about appeasement, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave him a blank stare and Mycroft quickly said, "Never mind. What did you need, anyway?"

"You need to go to the store."

"Why?" Mycroft sighed.

"Because I can't," Sherlock pointed out, as though it was obvious, "I'm not about to go strutting down the streets and have the wrong person see. But I need some."

"No," Mycroft sharply said, "You're not smoking in my house."

"Our house," Sherlock corrected.

Mycroft rolled his eyes though he had to admit that he enjoyed the small improvement from yesterday, when his brother had declared that it was their father's house.

Sherlock sighed and said, "Please?"

Mycroft hesitated before saying, "I could use a smoke myself. Alright. One box."

"Three."

"One!"

"Two."

"No."

"Yes."

"Forget it. I'm not buying any."

Sherlock angrily stomped out and slammed the door. Once again, Mycroft rolled his eyes as his brother slammed things around, acting like a tot instead of a highly-intellectual man of his mid-thirties. Mycroft walked out into the hallway and smirked as Sherlock slammed the door to the nursery. He walked over and called, "Fine. Two boxes. But that's it."

There was a pause.

Then, "Thank you."

Mycroft's smirk deepened and he muttered, "Don't tell me that I don't appease."

() () ()

Once again, Sherlock was bored.

Once again, he was in trouble.

Once again, he found himself sitting in the stiff chair, swinging his legs back and forth.

"Bored," Sherlock muttered.

One of the Royal Guards glared at him before snapping, "You can enter in just a few minutes. We're still waiting for your brother to arrive."

Sherlock indignantly stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes. It had been two weeks since his fall. In those two weeks, he hadn't dared to leave the house, save for when Mycroft dragged him to Buckingham Palace, out of fear of leaving him alone.

"I wasn't really aiming to jump," Sherlock had snapped, "It was all part of the plan."

"It's not that," Mycroft had remarked, "I just don't want you anywhere near the chemistry set or my study."

So Sherlock had gotten into as much trouble as possible at the palace. This one topped it all and he knew that Mycroft was going to be furious. Sure enough, the furious sound of stomping feet announced Mycroft's arrival. Upon opening his eyes, Sherlock was slightly amused to see that that Mycroft's knuckles were white as he clenched his umbrella.

"Percy," Mycroft curtly said before sitting next to Sherlock.

He leaned over and hissed, "What did you do this time?"

"Flowers don't smile."

"What?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and shrugged, "Force of habit."

"Not funny," Mycroft remarked, "Sherlock, for God's sake! We're sitting outside the bloody Queen's chambers!"

"Then shouldn't you be in there?" Sherlock teased.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft!"

Mycroft glared at him and Sherlock mumbled, "I stole the corgis."

"You…what?"

"I stole the corgis," Sherlock begrudgingly admitted, "Well, borrowed. I borrowed the corgis. I gave them back."

Mycroft stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before angrily exclaiming, "You stole the Queen's corgis!?"

"Borrowed."

"Why!?"

"It's been a year since John and I went to Baskerville," Sherlock calmly explained, "I wanted to do a few follow-up experiments. And since you refused to drive me to the pet-shop, and I can't access my bank account, I had to improvise."

"Ex…experiments?" Mycroft repeated, "Please tell me that they're still alive?"

"Oh, they are," Sherlock assured him, "With a few minor modifications."

As if on cue, one of the corgis scampered towards them. Sherlock affectionately stroked its head before calmly calling, "Percy? Would you mind?"

The Royal Guard glared daggers before flipping the switch. Sherlock beamed with satisfaction as the dog glowed in the dark.

"Really?" Mycroft hissed as the lights turned back on, "You were so bored that you decided to make the Queen's dogs glow in the dark?"

"Yes."

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock who glanced right back.

"If you'll excuse me," Mycroft abruptly said.

"Where are you going?" Percy demanded, "Aren't you going to make sure that your brother doesn't face the gallows."

He snickered at his own joke and Mycroft ignored him. The eldest Holmes brother managed to make it around the corner and down the next corridor before cracking up.

When he looked up, he was dismayed to see that Sherlock was calmly standing before him, smirking from ear to ear.

"Alright," Mycroft reluctantly admitted, twirling the umbrella, "That is brilliant!"

Sherlock proudly jutted his chin.

"It is still inexcusable," Mycroft reprimanded.

"You laughed."

"Inexcusable."

"You laughed."

"So?"

"So why do you always have to be formal?" Sherlock heatedly asked, "Not allowed to let any of the Royal Guards know that you are, in fact, human?"

"I need to maintain a professional appearance," Mycroft snapped, "Unlike you, my job doesn't allow me to run around as I please, kidnapping corgis and redefining death."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and coolly replied, "Well, that's boring."

"Come along," Mycroft grunted, "Let's go see the queen."

"There we are," Sherlock said, pointing to a mirror. Mycroft fell for it, glancing at his reflection before glaring at his smug brother.

"For God's sake," Mycroft hissed, "I occupy a minor government position. I'm not the bloody Queen of England."

"Keep telling yourself that," Sherlock remarked as they entered the Queen's chambers.

"Your Majesty," Mycroft graciously said.

Sherlock suddenly started snickering.

"Sherlock, behave," Mycroft hissed, his eyes wide and commanding.

"Sorry," Sherlock apologized before continuing to snicker.

"What's so funny?"

"Old Liz the First is still waiting for the Doctor," Sherlock chuckled.

Mycroft glared at him and Sherlock immediately quieted, looking rather guilty.

Mycroft softened and murmured, "I wonder how far the Doctor actually went…think about it…we could be staring at the first cousin-inlaw fourteen times removed, of the Doctor."

Both brothers started cracking up and Sherlock added, "The Doctor was responsible for most of the Royal family. Yeah, that sounds about right!"

"Sorry, River," Mycroft wheezed.

"If you please!" Queen Elizabeth II snapped.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Mycroft politely replied as they took their seats, "It's good to see you, again. Have you finished that embroidery?"

She merely frowned and Sherlock muttered, "Are you not amused?"

Mycroft hid a laugh behind a cough and nudged him.

"Well, Mister Holmes," the Queen said, "I am glad that you showed up to my palace wearing clothes—"

"Mycroft was very insistent."

"—but what would ever make you think that it was okay to steal my corgis!?"

"Well…" Sherlock quietly mused, "Mycroft's my brother so I knew that I wouldn't be arrested, I also downloaded the photograph that the Woman took…"

"The Woman?" Queen Elizabeth interjected.

"Don't ask," Mycroft groaned.

Sherlock arrogantly continued, "Besides, I knew that I would be able to get them out. The palace security is a joke…don't give me that look! If Moriarty can sneak in and wear the crown jewels, I can sneak a few corgis out! And I was bored."

"Sherlock," Mycroft pressingly said, practically ripping the handle from the umbrella.

Sherlock paused and Mycroft whispered, "Just apologize and get it over with."

Sherlock looked incredulous and cried, "I'm not apologizing!"

Mycroft groaned and cried, "Sherlock!"

"Mycroft!"

"Oh, knock it off," Mycroft snapped, "Your Majesty, I'm so sorry. I will gladly pay for all damages and of course this will be kept in complete secrecy."

Queen Elizabeth frowned and asked, "Hiding behind your big brother, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock merely raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Mycroft," Queen Elizabeth continued, "You must have other things to do than to bail your brother out all the time. Why don't you tend to them?"

Mycroft hesitated before saying, "I'm not leaving him."

Sherlock's smile widened and he even looked slightly touched.

Queen Elizabeth sighed, exasperated, before muttering, "Okay, Mister Holmes. Just apologize and then get out."

"No," Sherlock simply said.

"What is wrong with you?" Queen Elizabeth burst out, "You daft man!"

The smile quickly left Sherlock's face. The triumph had left his eyes and was replaced by a cold sadness. He swallowed and glanced away, clearly upset but not wanting to show it. He put the tips of his fingers together, mentally building up the wall that had been let down in the past day. Mycroft glanced from his brother to the Queen before throwing away everything as he muttered, "With all due respect, ma'am…go to hell."

Well, that did it.

Sherlock's head snapped up and his face broke out into a grin. Unfortunately, as expected, Queen Elizabeth's reaction was less than pleasant. Mycroft flinched as she began to yell. Several royal guards raced in and began to yell in a desperate attempt to figure out why she was yelling. Yelling, yelling, YELLING!

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to sort through the sounds.

And then a new sound. A wonderful, glorious, sound. One that he hadn't heard in decades. Sherlock's eyes flew open and he gasped. Mycroft wasn't paying attention, still cringing as he was harshly fired. Sherlock slowly stood up and crossed over to the window, staring out at the luscious gardens.

"Sherlock," Mycroft grunted, "What are you doing?"

A blue police box sat against a large tree, basking in the sunlight. Sherlock licked his lips and swallowed, suddenly feeling quite emotional.

"M…Mycroft," Sherlock whispered, "He's back."

Mycroft practically flew across the room to stand at Sherlock's side. His jaw dropped and his mouth curved into a childish smile as he and his brother longingly gazed at the box.

"What are you waiting for?" Mycroft burst out, "Let's go!"

"GO?" Queen Elizabeth shrieked, horrified, "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry," Mycroft exclaimed, "We'll be back in five minutes."

"Or five hours," Sherlock coyly added, "It's all the same, really."

Snickering, the two brothers raced out of the chambers and pelted through the palace.

They burst outside and slowed down as they excitedly approached the Tardis.

"Hello," Sherlock shyly said.

"I'm certainly glad to see you again," Mycroft greeted with a smile.

The Tardis happily hummed.

Sherlock pulled something out from his coat pocket. The old key. His brother stared at with amazement and whispered, "You kept it? All these years?"

"I knew that he was going to come back," Sherlock softly explained, placing the key in the keyhole.

The door flew open and they were immediately pulled into the tightest hug of their lives.

The Doctor beamed and whispered, "Miss me?"

"More than you can ever imagine," Mycroft replied as he and his brother warmly returned the hug.

The Doctor finally pulled back, his eyes sparkling as he cried, "Look at you both!"

And just for the heck of it, he pulled them into a second hug.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock reprimanded.

The Doctor pulled back a second time and softly said, "I never left."

The brothers stared at him for a moment and Mycroft whispered, "What do you mean?"

"I was always there," the Doctor gently explained, "Always watching over you. And you two have been absolutely brilliant."

Mycroft had to swallow a lump in his throat in order to ask, "You spent decades looking after us…even after we left?"

"Of course I did," the Doctor tenderly said, "You two are my boys…the brightest boys in the universe."

He pulled them into a third hug and the brothers euphorically returned it.

"And by the way," the Doctor amusedly continued, turning to Mycroft, "Nothing happened between me and old Liz. Not yet, anyway."

The brothers laughed and suddenly they heard someone cry, "Now, don't be modest, Doctor. You've told me some pretty good stories. Stories that I can finally repeat in front of these guys! And about time, too!"

Jack grinned, emerging from the Tardis and pulling them into a hug of his own The Doctor flushed, looking slightly guilty, before saying, "Well…nothing…major happened."

River came out, snickering as she cried, "I haven't seen Jack look this happy since he realized that the Sonic Screwdriver makes a perfect innuendo."

"River!"

River smiled at the brothers' excited cry but barked, "Don't expect a hug from me!"

Too late. Sherlock hugged her first and Mycroft was right behind. River tenderly eturned the hugs before briskly saying, "Right, I have a few questions but first…Mycroft, why the hell are you carrying an umbrella?"

Mycroft hesitated before calmly saying, "Umbrellas are cool."

The Doctor grinned and said, "Good enough for me."

Mycroft smiled before crying out as River blasted the umbrella from his hand.

"Oi!"

The Doctor laughed and cried, "Welcome to my world, Mycroft."

"By the way," Jack urgently said, "Sherlock, you're going to fall off a building."

"Yeah," Sherlock muttered, "Thanks, Jack."

"We did try to give you every possible hint," River pointed out.

"They just fell short," Jack admitted and the Doctor grinned at the pun.

"How did you do it, anyway?" River questioned.

Sherlock merely grinned and said, "Spoilers."

"HOLMES!"

Both brothers calmly turned and saw that Queen Elizabeth was standing in the archway, looking furious. A line of Royal Guards stood behind her, ready to serve and protect.

"Is she addressing you or me?" Sherlock casually asked.

"You stole her corgis," Mycroft pointed out.

"Borrowed. I borrowed the corgis," Sherlock corrected, "You told her to go to hell."

"You what?" River cried, looking amused.

Mycroft hung his head and ashamedly mumbled, "She…she called Sherlock daft."

"She what?"

"Don't blast the Queen of England," Mycroft quickly said.

River slowly took her hand off her blaster and snapped, "Fine."

The Doctor hesitated before cheerfully saying, "As much as I love talking to the Queen of England—"

"Yeah, you do," Jack snickered.

"—I think that it's time for us to get back to the universe."

The Time Lord, River, and Jack quickly entered the Tardis and closed the door.

Sherlock and Mycroft remained standing where they were, their hearts sinking.

The Doctor abruptly wrenched the door back open and enthusiastically cried, "Well come along!"

"Really?" Sherlock excitedly asked.

"We get to come?" Mycroft clarified.

"If you want to," the Doctor modestly said, "I understand if…"

The brothers raced past him and beamed as they stared around the console room. The Doctor gently closed the door and happily said, "Once a companion, always a companion."

Sherlock fervently wiped his eyes before realizing that Mycroft was staring. He swallowed before suddenly barking, "Do we have our heading?"

"Ay-ay," the Time Lord growled.

"Then take us over the horizon!"

The Doctor beamed and roared, "Geronimo!"

"Geronimo," Sherlock enthusiastically repeated.

Mycroft smiled and whispered, "Geronimo."

It's all about your cries and kisses, those first steps that I can't calculate…I need some more of you to take me over…I know I because I can't calculate how to start again…how to start again…how to start again…it's all about you.