Disclaimer: Oh I wish... I wish SO much! If they were mine... the things I'd do ^_^.

A/N: The last chapter! More of an epilogue than anything else, but last chapter nonetheless. And, oh, what a ride it's been. I'm certainly going to miss the characters. I have a follow-up one-shot already written up, which I will post probably this weekend, and I'd love to revisit this universe in the future. I love holiday fics, so I may try my hand at them using this timeline. I will also be re-uploading the whole thing with revisions in the next couple of weeks or earlier, with the different changes and suggestions people have made. But for the time being, this will be it. Hope you enjoy the last chapter ^_^!

Chapter 13

Sherlock was awake, something had woken him up but he wasn't certain what it was. Just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep once more he heard it again – sounds coming from John's room, and they were becoming louder by the second. Pretty soon, Sherlock was certain, everyone on the building would be hearing John, including Cathy on the room across.

Sighing, the detective swung his long legs off the bed and made his way up to the doctor's room. The flat was dark and quiet, and as Sherlock climbed the steps to his friend's room, he could hear his mumblings and intermittent cries increasing in volume. Sherlock paused on the doorway and gently pushed the door open merely a crack so that he could peer into John's room.

There he saw the doctor in the throes of a dream. Small jerks ran through his body at random intervals, and his head swayed from side to side, but the most distressing factor was the almost pained moaning sounds coming from John.

'Mary…'

Sherlock froze like a dear before headlights and he felt his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. The last thing he wanted to see was John having an intimate dream about his deceased wife. Not that there was anything wrong with it, for Sherlock knew how much John missed her. If he was able to see her and be with her in his dreams, then Sherlock wouldn't deny the man that comfort. He was, however, worried that John's noisy dream might wake up the smaller members of their household. Loath as he was to disturb John from pleasant dreams, he knew he had to wake the man up.

However, the more he watched John the more he noticed that John's movements and reactions didn't seem like those of someone engaged in happier dreams. John's hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically on his duvet, and as Sherlock's eyes adapted to the dark gloom he finally noticed the tear tracks on John's cheeks.

Without a second thought, the detective crossed the room and was at John's bedside in an instant.

"Mary,… please…"

The doctor's moans and groans, Sherlock now realized, were closer to pleas and sobs. Damn! Sherlock thought, We spent the entire evening discussing his wife, of course that would stir up nightmares.

"Don't.. don't leave me… please… Mary…"

Sherlock wracked his brains for what to do. Should he simply shake John awake? Should he call out to him?

Another chocked sob resounded through the room. John was becoming more and more restless, the sheets had tangled around his legs, and his head jerked from side to side so often Sherlock was worried he would seriously hurt himself.

"No… please.. please stay… Mary, Mary… I love you, please… don't leave me…'

What could Sherlock tell him? That it was going to be alright? It wasn't, his wife was dead. It wasn't like when he had to wake John up from nightmares of the war he wasn't part of anymore; here he was a widower. Sherlock wanted to be angry at Mary Watson then; angry at her for making John fall in love with her and then dying on him. He knew that wasn't fair, but he needed to be angry at someone. John was hurting and he couldn't fix it, and the person whose fault it was, was gone.

"John? John, wake up."

John's tear-filled cries increased tenfold. "No! Mary! Please! Please! No!"

Sherlock had to wake John and he had to do it now. Grabbing John's good shoulder, Sherlock shook him gently but firmly. "John you must wake up right now! Wake up!"

With a loud cry, John woke up, sitting up suddenly as he surfaced from his nightmare. He was panting, clearly out of breath, and without realizing it his hands had clamped around Sherlock's arms as he sought some anchor to reality. The detective noted he would probably have finger-shaped bruises in the morning.

"Sherlock!" gasped John, his red rimmed eyes staring wildly at Sherlock as though barely recognizing him. For a moment he wondered whether John remembered the last two days at all. The doctor seemed incredibly shaken, so Sherlock replied gently,

"I'm here."

John stared hard into Sherlock's eyes, looking at him in confusion. "What are you doing here?" he was still gasping and panting.

"Waking you up." Sherlock thought that should be obvious.

John's eyes widened as he recalled his nightmare; Mary, his dear, sweet Mary, had been dying again and again and he had been pleading with her not to die, not to leave him behind. It had been a while since he'd had a dream like that, yet the images were as fresh as they were a year before.

"Was, - John tried swallowing the lump that had risen to his throat, "was I too loud?"

Sherlock was just about to answer when he was interrupted from outside the room.

"Daddy?"

"Oh, no, oh crap,- whispered John, instantly releasing his death grip on Sherlock's arms, and moving to get up from the bed.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Sherlock rose from the bed, opened the door slightly and crouched down, just enough so that he could see outside, but John's little girl couldn't see inside.

"Catherine dearest, are you alright?" he whispered softly. The two year old looked half-asleep, her red-golden curls were splayed all over the place, and her left cheek still bore the crease-marks from where her head had been pressed against her pillow. In her arms she held the plush animal Sherlock had seen on her bed earlier that day when the Watsons moved in.

The child nodded sleepily and stifled a yawn, "Is daddy ok?" she whispered.

"Yes, your father is alright." Sherlock regarded her, realizing that he had never known anyone who could melt his heart faster than Catherine Helena Watson. He wondered if it had been because she was John's daughter, or if it was some quality all of her own. Or perhaps she had inherited it from her mother. If she did, Sherlock realized with a pang, he understood why John missed Mary so much.

"Did he have a dream about mummy?" whispered Cathy.

She really is too perceptive. While Sherlock felt oddly proud that she was so perceptive, somehow he felt saddened that she was so attuned to her father's grief. Her words meant that John had had such dreams before, and that Catherine had seen him have them; not surprisingly, Sherlock realized, given that they slept on the same bed together. Sherlock now had to decide whether to lie to the child, saying everything was ok, or tell her the truth. Somehow he knew that if he were to lie to her, it would diminish her opinion of him; she would know he'd lied to her.

"Yes, he did." Cathy nodded knowingly.

"Is he very sad?"

How many times had this child seen her father break down? How many times had John managed to fool her? Too perceptive indeed.

"He is, but I'm going to help him now, ok?"

"Ok. Thanks, uncle Sh'rlock." The sleepy child rubbed her tired eyes as she swayed lightly in place. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at John, seeing him sitting on his bed running a hand through his ruffled hair.

"I'll be right back, John." whispered Sherlock, realizing that they were all doing an awful amount of whispering considering they were all awake anyways. He exited the room, and silently closed the door behind him. Cathy didn't need to see her father in this condition, no matter how many times she had seen him like that in the past.

"Come, my sweet." Sherlock didn't know where the endearment came from, but somehow, in the stillness of the night, it felt natural. He picked her up easily and held her against his chest as he padded over to her bedroom. "Back to bed. I think this is enough excitement for one night."

Depositing the child gently on her bed, Sherlock tenderly pulled the covers around her. He was truly fascinated by his own reactions toward this tiny person; never had he felt the need to care for someone so deeply, even counting John. "Sleep" he commanded with a slight smile.

"Thank you for helping daddy, he's just sad 'cause he misses mummy."

"I know child, but he will be alright. We'll see to it, won't we" he said teasingly.

"Mmmhmm." Cathy was almost asleep once again.

Driven by a sudden impulse, Sherlock bent down to place a soft kiss on the top of her head before leaving the room and returning to John's.

John was still sitting on his bed cross-legged, his head resting on his hands.

"Is she ok?" Sherlock didn't know whether his question was slightly muffled by his hands or by the fact that he had been crying while he'd been away.

"She's fine John, sleeping soundly. She's worried about you."

"I know."

"It's not the first time she's heard you, is it?"

John shook his head, a grimace on his face, "No, I was able to hide it in the beginning, she was too young after all, and I can still hide it most days, but she tends to notice. She's got the sweetest heart. You know what she told me one time? I was very upset, it what would have been our second anniversary, but I was trying to control it for her sake, and she said 'Don't worry, daddy, I know you're sad.' and then she hugged me." John sighed and shook his head. "Actually, you know today, you have her to thank, partly."

Sherlock sat on the bed next to John.

"How do you mean?"

Thinking back to that morning, and John could barely believe that it had been that only that morning, John thought about what Cathy told him as he held her at the crime scene.

"I was ready to take her away Sherlock. Even after you and Greg cornered me, I was so ready to bolt. I could feel my entire body shaking, and Cathy…"

"She whispered something in your ear."

"She.. she asked me 'Daddy, are you sad?'" John smiled forlornly, trying to maintain his composure.

"You said 'yes'."

John nodded. "Then she told me, 'I think uncle Sherlock can help."

"To which you said 'maybe'."

John nodded again. "I don't know how she understands so well. She's so like her mother." The words almost turned into a sob, as fresh tears filled John's eyes.

"Ohh Sherlock, I miss her so much." John took a deep tired breath. "It's been a year, but I still miss her so much. Don't get me wrong, it's better than in the beginning, but still…" A couple of stubborn tears fell from John's eyelashes. "I miss her smile.. and her voice. I miss the way her hair shone in the sunlight, and… I miss.. the feel of her skin under my fingers… and I miss her." John covered his face with his hands, trying to hide from Sherlock. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, only to choke down another sob, "I just..I just.."

John's hands still hid his face, but Sherlock saw how his shoulders shook, and heard the ragged breaths John took every few seconds. Sherlock's own hands trembled at seeing John trying to control so much pain. He wasn't used to seeing someone breaking like this, it was all so foreign and frightening, but Sherlock moved closer to John and slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

At the moment of contact it was like a dam broke; all the stress and tension of the past two days, all the grief he had bottled up for the past year for the benefit of his child, everything overwhelmed John and his hands fisted in Sherlock's dressing gown, holding on for dear life, as silent sobs wrenched through his body. Sherlock simply held him tightly, awkwardly rubbing a hand in circles on John's back as the doctor trembled and shook in his arms.

"I'm sorry…" John mumbled in between sobs.

Sherlock's arms tightened even more around John, and he rested his chin atop the doctor's head as he wondered how he could possibly explain to John that he had nothing, absolutely nothing to apologize for.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I don't mean to break down like this.."

"It is more than understandable, John. It's actually not surprising at all."

Sherlock immediately sensed that his choice of word wasn't the best one, as John's body doubled more on itself, ashamed of his perceived weakness.

"No, I suppose not… I'm such a mess.." John's words caught on his throat once more.

Speaking carefully and hesitantly, Sherlock Holmes sought for the first time in his life to offer comfort to another human being.

"John, I.. I didn't mean it that way. I meant that.. you've been through a lot. Any other man would have been utterly useless by now, but you've held on so long. How.. how could I not expect you not to grieve for your wife? How would you not? Even I realize that, and I've been assured I'm heartless. You've tried to suppress everything, and you can't. I know this is rich coming from me, but sometimes… I don't think caring is a disadvantage, or avoidable.

"And this.. well, you've been under an unbelievable about of stress, not only from grieving but from your job, your child, and your living arrangements. And my coming back probably didn't help matters."

John's head snapped up from its place buried in Sherlock's chest to look at the man in the face. His eyes were puffy and red, and tears still continued pouring down his cheeks, making the younger man suddenly wonder whether John had cried for Mary before at all. He remembered that Mycroft had hinted at what happened that day, but he hadn't offered any details. Now John was staring at him with so much pain written on his face.

"Don't say that. I'm happy you've retuned Sherlock, alright. You'd best believe that."

"I know, John. But it's given you unnecessary stress; it's dredged up feelings you've tried to keep hidden, emotions you try hard not to acknowledge."

John's face started to crumble again, and Sherlock brought his hands to either side, lightly brushing John's tears with his thumbs.

"You should know it's alright to cry. You shouldn't be ashamed of it, not here, not now. Put up your brave front for Catherine if you must; protect her from it, that's fine. And keep it for the rest of the world too if it pleases you, but don't be under the impression that you must maintain it here."

John trembled slightly. "When did you become so insightful?" John voice was thick with emotion.

"I.. I've learned what loss is. I never experienced it before. When I died.. I felt like I lost you.. everyone… I couldn't stand it. The thought that you could be gone for good… I don't think I could handle it. I've.. gained too much from you… too much that I could lose. I understand it now… so I understand why you are sad. I would be sad too… for a long time." Sherlock's whispered words stumbled over each other, as he tried to explain his feelings to John.

"I'm only… regretful that although you have me back, and I have you, you still lost someone. I am very sorry for that." And he was; he was sad for John because he knew how horrible it felt to lose someone. If it had felt terrible for him, and he knew John was still alive, only inaccessible, how much worse was it for John?

The doctor leaned closer to Sherlock, burying his face in the detective's chest once more. They remained in that position for a couple of minutes before Sherlock heard the doctor speak again.

"The worst part-" John said, his voice full of tears and hiccupping slightly, "is that I'm afraid." he admitted softly, his tears still falling, drenching Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock frowned, "Afraid John? Of what?"

"That I'll forget… to miss her. That one day.. she.. her memory, will leave me completely." A few more tears escaped John's eyes, and he moved closer against Sherlock, his face buried against the younger man's chest.

"This is why you keep wearing your ring." Sherlock had wondered whether John kept wearing his wedding band out of some custom he wasn't familiar with, or because he couldn't bring himself to part with it. John burrowing deeper against him, another shiver running through him answered that question for him. Sherlock tightened his grip.

"John, I don't think the people who matter can ever leave our memories truly." He whispered softly. True, John's grief would fade, and his memories of her voice and presence would become difficult to recall, but the love he felt for her wouldn't diminish. Even if John fell in love again, Sherlock didn't think he would ever forget his love for Mary Watson, especially given the fact that Catherine was a constant reminder. Was it possible to let go eventually? Sherlock didn't know. He didn't think he could do it if he lost John, so he wouldn't ask it of the doctor either. But neither would he allow John to feel bad for overcoming his sorrow. It didn't undermine his love, and if he considered everything he'd come to learn about Mary, Sherlock knew she wouldn't want John to continue in endless misery either.

"Thank you Sherlock." John sniffed and whispered softly. His arms remained wrapped around Sherlock's thin torso, his head resting on the detective's shoulder. Any other day, before or after, he would never have gotten this close to the younger man. Even after all they had been through, even after their close almost family-like bonds, they would likely feel awkward embracing like this at any other moment. But here, in the quiet of the night, free to properly cry for his wife for the first time in a year, John couldn't imagine wanting anyone else but Sherlock with him.

"Back to bed, I think." Sherlock said finally, mimicking the words he said to Cathy earlier. He could feel John's body falling asleep from exhaustion, utterly spent emotionally. The doctor nodded tiredly against his shoulder, and Sherlock gently laid him down on the mattress.

"Thank you." John grasped Sherlock's hand firmly in his own, squeezing it briefly before letting go.

"Sleep well John, see you tomorrow." Sherlock answered, seeing the smaller man already falling back asleep, before exiting and returning to his own room.

As he laid back on his own bed, Sherlock thought about Mary Watson. John would always miss her though the pain would fade away in time. He knew there would always be moments when John felt a sudden longing for her, but hopefully they would hurt less and less as time went by. However, as Sherlock told him, the people who matter never leave entirely, and Mary Watson would not be forgotten. Sherlock vowed this to himself and silently to John.

Despite the fact that he wanted to blame her for John's current pain, Sherlock felt he owed a debt of gratitude to the woman for having rescued John from his depression after Sherlock's 'death', for loving him so very deeply and for giving him their beautiful daughter, Sherlock's niece. They had never met, and yet somehow, without meaning to, she had bound them all together into a family.

The End

A/N: The end indeed; it almost made me cry to see it end. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and favorited; when I started I never thought I'd make it this far. Cheers to all my fellow Sherlockians! All the best, AR