Well, here we are at the last chapter. I cant believe how popular you guys made this story and I thank each and everyone of you that read it. It started out as a little idea and just grew and grew and I'm glad you shared it with me :) After nine months of publishing it, it feels like saying goodbye to an old friend. But here is the end...hope you enjoy it :)

Eighteen Months Later

"So…..you're not going to help me?" the twenty something student muttered in desperation as Sherlock pushed him down the steps. His back pack slipped of his shoulder and he struggled to put it back on.

"Obviously" Sherlock said pompously, rolling his eyes and tossing the man's papers down the stairs before slamming the door in his face. "Idiot" he muttered under his breath as if annoyed, though John got the distinct impression that he was actually rather enjoying this.

"You're never going to get a client that way" John said, suppressing a smile behind

his tea cup as he began to take a sip from it. Sherlock walked over to his chair and plopped down heavily across from John.

"His case was exceedingly dull" Sherlock said, drawing the words out. "I lost brain cells just listening to the horrible accent "

John smiled at the churning fire in the fireplace before glancing back at Sherlock. "That's the fifth one you've turned down this week…..at this rate you'll never get a case" John said responsibly.

"I refuse to bother with anything less than a 7" Sherlock said. "When these mindless idiots give me a worthwhile problem, I will solve it."

John couldn't stop grinning, finishing off his tea as he watched the swirling snowstorm through the window behind Sherlock. In all honesty, Sherlock and his detective business were doing tremendously well even after having turned down so many clients. It had taken awhile to get things going, but Sherlock's work preceded him well. They had never worked to get clients but word of mouth of former clients seemed to be enough to keep their doorbell ringing. Even with Sherlock turning down at least half of the people who came to his door, they were busy men these days. And for them, that was a very good thing.

John still couldn't believe sometimes that they were at this point. He thought of the months of worry that he had had, the sleepless nights that he had worried about the man in front of him. As he saw him now, it was hard to believe he'd even had those worries. It had been more than a year and half since Sherlock had reached bottom after Garret's death. There were nights after it had happened, as he'd held him through terrible flashbacks or nightmares that he genuinely thought Sherlock might never recover. And it had taken a great long while; with hurts that had gone back his entire life, it wasn't easy to heal them. John hadn't wanted to admit it, but after several weeks of Sherlock's crushing depression and nightmares, he had come to the realization that Sherlock had needed professional help. Sherlock had, of course, been resistant. Eventually, much to John's relief, he had agreed to speak to the psychologist he'd met at the mental hospital who had a shared history of sexual abuse. John had never had the pleasure of meeting the man, but he had saved Sherlock; having someone to talk to who had shared his experience had helped him a great deal. Sherlock still met with him every now and then but his meetings were becoming less and less frequent. John knew that as things were getting better and better for him he needed help less. John knew it was likely something that Sherlock would struggle with for his entire life, but he was getting beyond the point of coping; now he was healing.

"Well, how many 7's do you really get, though?" John asked Sherlock in jest.

Sherlock huffed as if John was stupid. "I get enough to keep me occupied. You might fill your mind with drivel, John, but I don't chose to. I only focus on the most challenging problems and they are more than enough for me. If I want the distraction of trivial problems, I always have Lestrade for that. He's always begging for my help" His lips turned in a slight smile as he finished before quickly looking away to hide his smile.

John smiled as he shook his head; though Sherlock gave Greg a hard time, his respect and care for him had greatly increased over the past year. Though he never voiced it, John knew that it meant a very great deal to Sherlock that Greg had helped to find him after Garret had kidnapped him. It had shown Sherlock in a very real way that he was not alone and he did have people that cared enough about him to look for him. Greg had even taken the very unpopular opinion of trying to get the Yard to accept Sherlock back after he had gotten out of the hospital. They had not agreed, nor had John expected them to, but it said a lot about Greg that he had put his own reputation on the line for Sherlock. Their days working actively for Scotland Yard might have been over forever, but Greg still was a frequent visitor to 221b. Though Sherlock would say that Greg was a bother with his constant visits and asking for advice on cases, Sherlock never turned him away.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock sighed heavily. "I bet that's another one" he said tiredly as if he couldn't be bothered. He waved his hand toward the door. "John, you get it"

John gave Sherlock an exaggerated eye roll before pulling himself up from the chair and walking to the door. When he opened it, he smiled at the shivering and snow covered man at the door.

"Bit cold out there, Jackson?" John asked, stepping aside so he could come in.

"I wouldn't be shivering otherwise" Jackson said sarcastically with an eye roll as he stepped into the room. John had to laugh under his breath; Jackson and Sherlock were so similar sometimes it was frightening.

"Well, we've got a nice fire going" John said, shutting the door and gesturing to the sitting room. "Sherlock…..Jackson's here"

Sherlock's face beamed for a moment as he sought the other man out before he caught himself and put a more acceptable smile on his face. "Good…..I was hoping it might be another idiot at the door"

"Having a lot of those today?" Jackson asked, taking off his long trench coat and hat and tossing them carelessly on the floor as he plopped into John's armchair and smoothed the snow out of his hair.

"It's been constant" Sherlock said in mock pain. "I haven't gotten more than a three all day. John here seems to think I should lower my standards and accept these trivial problems"

Jackson turned around in his chair and gave John a look as if he might question his sanity. "And why ever would he do something stupid like that?" Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion as he straightened his bowtie figitily.

"I don't know…..suppose I lost my mind" John said sarcastically. One could really hate Jackson; in fact John was sure that he did. But he couldn't dislike him; what he did for Sherlock was enough for even John to be grateful for the man. Even if he could hardly stand him some time.

Jackson quickly turned his attention away from John and back to Sherlock. They began to discuss the current case they'd been working on and Jackson pulled out a file he'd been working on, bringing it over for Sherlock to look at. Jackson looked uncertainly around in the nervous manner he so often used before perching himself on the arm of Sherlock's chair as Sherlock looked over the file. John was more than certain he saw Sherlock turn a deeper shade of red at the sudden proximity. John smiled and shook his head at the sight of Jackson's nervous hand twitching and Sherlock's redden face; perfect for each other. John walked to his own room to leave Sherlock and Jackson alone to discuss the case and act anxious around each other.

Though John often wanted to strangle Jackson for his completely lack of human etiquette and awareness that rived even Sherlock's, he was so thankful for him. He was rude but brilliant and exactly what Sherlock needed. They had met through Sherlock's new work; Jackson had showed up on their doorstep one day, asking to become a partner in his business. Sherlock had been skeptical and had thrown him out in his typical rude fashion. When Jackson had showed up on his doorstep the next day with the case Sherlock was working solved, Sherlock had for once been completely speechless. John still laughed when he thought about the look on Sherlock's face as Jackson had presented the flawless proof of his work. Even Sherlock couldn't say no; he and Jackson worked actively together on many cases along with John's help when he wasn't working at the hospital. It was an odd work arrangement, John had to admit, but it made Sherlock happy, genuinely happy and that was something that John had never seen Sherlock ever get to have.

What Sherlock and Jackson were to each other, John still didn't know. Colleges? Yes…friends? No, John knew better than that. Something more? Very possibly. Sherlock was a unique person and not many people could get along with him. Even fewer were like him. But from Jackson's eccentric fashion and choice of hobbies to his brilliant mind and his lack of social skills he was in every way like Sherlock and the two fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. John couldn't deny the way that Sherlock got genuinely excited when Jackson was coming over or how they jittered around each other, blushing if heaven forbid they ever touched. John was just waiting for it to turn into something more; it didn't make him sad at all. He was happy; it was a sign of Sherlock's true healing. John had thought he might not be able to ever cultivate a normal relationship with anyone ever again after the heartache he had suffered with Garret. But he was not only managing this relationship but moving ahead at a slow, but reasonable pace. He had found someone who might have been as broken as he was and somehow they were healing each other.

John was sitting on the bed and reading a book, listening to the suspicious sounds of Sherlock and Jackson puttering around the kitchen (he shuddered to think of what he might find in the refrigerator tonight) when his phone rang. He picked it up and instantly felt more tired when he heard the voice on the other end.

"Hello John" came Mycroft's voice, sounding tired and disgruntled as he always did these days.

"Wanting to meet, I suppose?" John asked, used to routine these days.

"Sherlock is rather occupied now…..so I would think it would be a good time" Mycroft said.

"Usual place?" John asked, not really relishing the idea.

"See you there shortly" Mycroft said before hanging up. John sighed, placing his phone in his pocket and his book back on the bed. He never enjoyed these meetings, especially when he was going to have to go into a snowstorm for it. But it was the least that he could do.

John walked from his room and into the sitting room, grabbing his coat from the couch where he had laid it last. Sherlock and Jackson were in the kitchen, hunched over something under the microscope that John couldn't see. Jackson was leaning in, whispering something to Sherlock, who was laughing loudly. Really, really laughing. That was what John liked about Jackson.

Neither noticed John as he put on his coat, bundling up for the cold outside. He slipped out the door and felt the frigid cold hit his skin instantly, stinging him as it pelted his skin with icy snow. At one time, John despised the cars that Mycroft always sent to him. Now that he was walking in the cold he actually kind of missed them; but it was too dangerous to make Sherlock suspicious so he never sent the cars anymore.

It was a short walk to the small, dingy coffee shop but he was completely numb by the time he reached it. He walked into the door, happy for the burst of warm air that hit him as he walked into the coffee shop, locating Mycroft at the back table that had become their usual spot for these meetings. He walked back quickly, shedding his snow covered coat as he sat across from Mycroft.

Mycroft sat back, giving John a forced smile. "Hello, John. How's things going?" he asked.

He looked older; every time that John saw him, he looked older. Even though he would never admit it, John knew the emotional toll all of this was taking on him. Mycroft had done the necessary thing, the thing that had had to be done. To save his little brother, he had killed the monster that always terrorized him. And he had paid the ultimate price for it; since that day, Sherlock had not spoken a word to Mycroft. He hated him for what he had done; though John had been optimism that Sherlock would eventually forgive his brother for killing Garret, he had not done so yet. In fact, he resented him so much now that John couldn't even be seen with Mycroft. When they met, John had to do it when Sherlock was otherwise engaged or out of the flat because he would be extremely angry at John for even talking to Mycroft. He still cringed when he remembered the first time he had tried to meet with Mycroft after Garrett's death; Sherlock had been furious. He'd punched John and had not spoken to him for days. Since that time, John and Mycroft had had to sneak off to this dilapidated café when Sherlock was not around to notice and pick up on John's reason for absence; recently, these meetings had always occurred when Sherlock was meeting with Jackson. He seemed to notice very little else going on at these times.

"Very well…..business is booming. Sherlock denies a lot of business but he still has more than enough to keep his attention." John said. The small talk was almost painful. He hated having these meetings with Mycroft; they were always so uncomfortable. But Mycroft had saved his life and Sherlock's life. He owed a lot to him; had Mycroft not killed Garrett, leaving it up to John, it would be John that Sherlock now hated.

"And he and his…new colleague" Mycroft said with an eyebrow raise. "How is that new development going?"

John smiled despite himself; Mycroft knew the importance of Sherlock's newfound colleague, friend….whatever it was Sherlock considered Jackson. Formulating new relationships was something neither of them thought Sherlock would be able to do after how damaged he had been in the aftermath of Garrett's abuse.

"You know just as much as I do about that" John said with a grin. "They skirt around each other like two schoolgirls…it's definitely a sight to see coming from Sherlock."

"Jealous?" Mycroft asked, giving John a curious stare.

John huffed. "Mycroft…how many times have I told you it's not like that…..it never was like that" he said, giving Mycroft a knowing look.

"I was just making a casual observation" Mycroft said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"Well, don't" John said. "I am happy for Sherlock…really I am. I never saw Sherlock that way. He has been and always will be my friend. After the hell he went through I never expected him to ever be able to relate to people normally…..much less have anything that might even be close to a romantic relationship."

And it was the truth; John was not jealous of Jackson at all. John wanted, more than anything else, for Sherlock to be happy. Sherlock and he had become closer than he had ever imagined possible through what Sherlock had gone through. He'd gone from thinking Sherlock merely saw him as a slightly useful flat mate to knowing that Sherlock cared for him and deeply desired a closer relationship to him. He would have never imagined that hugs and sleeping in the same bed would become a commonplace thing in their relationship. And he certainly hadn't expected to be a little sad when that was no longer the case; he'd come to find Sherlock's presence very comforting beside him at night, being there for him when he had nightmares and, on rare occasion, having Sherlock be there for him when he had a nightmare. Though he selfishly missed having Sherlock around, he was glad when Sherlock started sleeping in his own bed. It meant the nights were not as scary as they had once been and that was a very good thing.

"Well, I don't believe those two will ever have a normal relationship" Mycroft said. "But I suppose this might be as close as he could get"

John smiled slightly. "I suppose you're right" he said. "Nothing with Sherlock will ever be normal. But if he's happy…..that's what matters."

Mycroft had a sad glint in his eye, the one he often did during these meetings. John thought about ignoring it; these meetings were uncomfortable enough. But something compelled him to reach out to comfort the man that had given him so much, the one who had given Sherlock his life back. "This is a good thing, you know?" John asked. "The more Sherlock grows toward someone else, the less he will feel for Garrett. It'll always be there….but the more his feelings turn away from him, the more he'll be able to forgive you"

There was an uncomfortable silence that passed and John almost wished he hadn't said it. Mycroft stared down at the table, his face stoic but his eyes gloomy. John thought the silence was never going to end when Mycroft finally spoke. "That is kind of you John, but I think we both know how Sherlock is" Mycroft said, looking up to meet John's eyes, his own once again expressionless. "This is not something that he'll change his mind on. Once my brother has made up his mind on something, he stays firm in it."

John knew that Mycroft had a point; Sherlock didn't often change his mind, especially when his mind was so firmly made up. But John hoped when Sherlock's feelings for Garrett were mostly gone he would be able to forgive Mycroft for what he had done. But John also realized as much as Sherlock healed, as much as he put the abuse behind him, he would never completely get over it and it would always inspire strong feelings within him. Sherlock and Mycroft had never had that great of a relationship to begin with especially when it came to Garrett's presence in his life. Sherlock, even now, didn't see Mycroft's killing Garrett as an act of defense. He didn't look at it like Mycroft had killed Garrett when he had threatened their lives; he just saw it as revenge.

"I hope that, at least this time, you're wrong" John said, though knowing Mycroft, it wasn't likely that he was wrong.

Mycroft gave John a small smile; it was the kind that you gave someone when you tried to cover up what emotions you were really feeling. "When am I ever wrong, John?" he asked.

John paused a long time before speaking; feeling a huge wave of awkwardness he finally managed to open his mouth. "I know I've said this before…but thank you" John said, beginning to sweat under the uncomfortableness of the situation. "Not only for saving Sherlock's life…..but for saving mine too"

"Sentiment?" Mycroft asked with a raise of his eyebrow. Most people would identify his tone and look as indifferent but as much as John had, surprisingly, gotten to know Mycroft, he knew he was secretly grateful for the gratitude.

….

The wind was even more bitter as John walked back home than it had been as he had left, the snow having picked up speed and becoming a full blown blizzard. He trudged on through the snow, eyes squinting through the harsh air, his mind once more on the events that changed his and Sherlock's lives forever. Most days now it was easy to forget about Garrett and the abuse that he had inspired in Sherlock. These days, Sherlock was doing so well, even better than he had before Garrett had come back into his life, that it was almost easy to forget that he had once been completely damaged. John had thought then that Sherlock might have been beyond repair; he was so relieved to see that he had been so wrong. Now, it was a memory, not something that wreaked havoc on their daily lives.

Occasionally, John would still have nightmares about the night the three people who cared about Sherlock most came together to save his life. He would see Garrett and relieve his fear in that moment; he'd wake in a cold sweat but quickly recovered when he realized that there was nothing close to that horror that he needed to relive. Sherlock and he were alive and well. He had not always thought it would be so. In the weeks that had immediately followed Garrett's death, John not only feared for Sherlock's mental health, but he feared the legal ramifications of Sherlock's actions the night he had attacked the others from the Yard. He was glad to see that he fears here were quickly unfounded; after Garrett's death, John and Greg had convinced Sherlock to make a formal statement about what had happened to him. It had taken awhile and it hadn't been easy, but with Garrett gone and Sherlock's statement no longer able to affect him, Sherlock had opened up. Greg had made it as easy as he could, making sure he was the one to do all of Sherlock's questioning. With Sherlock's statements, the doctor's reports from the asylum and the fact that everyone Sherlock had attacked had now completely healed, Sherlock had not been charged criminally. He had been referred back to the asylum but at the time, it was what he had really needed. He had spent eight months in the asylum before he had been released with a clean bill of health. When he had returned home, he was almost the same man John had known before. During the day he solved cases and had a twinkle back in his eyes again. At night, however, he still shared John's bed and tossed and turned in terror. It took another several months before this, too, dissipated.

John was relieved when he saw 221B dimly through the snow. He stepped into the door, feeling immediate relief from the wind. He shook the snow off himself as he took off his coat and scarf. He hung them on the hook and walked up the stairs. The door of the flat was closed and as John poked his head into the sitting room he fully expected to see Sherlock and Jackson in the kitchen engaged in another gruesome experiment. He wasn't expecting, however, what he did see. The sitting room was dim, the only light coming from the fireplace. Sherlock's chair was pushed over to where John's sat, Jackson occupying it. They were both facing the fire, leaning in and whispering in hushed tones. John couldn't hear what they were saying and he was glad; the intimacy of it was not something he wanted to intrude upon. Not wanting to interrupt them and glad that they hadn't noticed him, John quietly slipped back out the door and made his way down to Mrs. Hudson's. It was early in the evening; perhaps he could have some tea with her. He descended the stairs with a smile on his face, his insides warmed by the sight he had just seen. Sherlock was going to be perfectly alright.

….

John pulled his coat closer as he walked along the snow covered ground in the park beside Sherlock, the wind cutting through him. It was warmer than it had been yesterday but the snowstorm had left several inches of snow on the ground and the temperature cold but Sherlock had insisted on going for a walk, something he never wanted to do. A walk for the sake of a walk was dull and not something that Sherlock would ever want to do, especially in such harsh conditions. But he had insisted and since he seemed in such good spirits, John was intrigued as to the reason. Everything with Sherlock was done for a reason and he was sure that this was the same for this.

They walked in the park until they came to a bridge that crossed over a small stream that was half froze over. Sherlock paused in the middle and leaned on the side rail, a contemplative look on his face. He had been silent the entire walk, a smile on his face but now he looked more solemn. John leaned on the railing beside Sherlock, wanting to ask Sherlock what he was thinking and the reason they were here but he thought better of it; he'd let Sherlock speak first. He looked down at the stream, watching the artic temperature water slowly move under the bridge before he saw Sherlock move out of the corner of his eye.

John turned slightly so that he was facing Sherlock as he pulled something from his coat pocket. John felt his stomach give a small lurch when he saw the silver and green fob watch in Sherlock's hands. John hadn't seen the watch since the night that Sherlock had broken it in anger. He hadn't given it any thought since though if he had it would not have surprised him to know Sherlock had it. Sherlock opened the watch and stared at its face, his own face speaking a thousand emotions, ones John hadn't seen on his face in a long time.

"In case you were wondering…..I didn't just ask you to take a walk in the dreadful weather for fun" Sherlock said, his gaze still on the watch.

"I didn't figure you did" John said, his own eyes falling on it. He wondered what Sherlock had up his sleeve. There had been days in the past that they spoke Garrett and the attack often but it had been a long time since that characterized their daily conversations. Now, they hardly ever spoke of it. "So…..what's up?"

Sherlock let the chain of the watch fall, the watch hanging and catching the light as it swung. "This is the one thing I kept…the only thing I have left. From him"

John nodded slightly; these days, when Sherlock spoke of Garrett, he didn't use his name. He was simply "he" or "him" but his tone always made it clear exactly who he was referring to. It would be nearly impossible to miss the sadness and loss, the hurt and pain in his voice when he spoke about the man who had abused him for decades. The man that, though he hurt him extensively, Sherlock loved, the one he was still upset was gone. John didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent and let Sherlock continue.

"I've kept it all this time…..I was afraid of getting rid of it…..now I'm afraid of not getting rid of it" Sherlock said, looking at John with honesty and vulnerability in his eyes.

"Why is that?" John asked, eager to listen. If there was one thing that he had learned from all of this it was that Sherlock needed someone who was always there for him, one who was willing to listen and never turn him away no matter what he had said. Through all they had been through, John had established himself as that person.

"Because as long as I hold onto this….I'm holding on to a part of him" Sherlock said, looking back down at the watch. "I'm doing better but I still hold onto him. I want to let go, I just want to forget about this…and I've done that mostly. But until I get rid of this…..that's never going to happen"

"So….you're going to throw it in?" John asked, watching Sherlock's gaze go to the stream.

"Yes" Sherlock said, swinging the watch so that moved from side to side. "It's the only way I'll completely get rid of everything. And for the first time…I want to get rid of it all. I'm in a good place"

"So…..why did you want me to come?" John asked curiously. "Why did I need to be here for you to get rid of it?"

"You didn't need to be here…..I wanted you to be here" Sherlock said, his cheeks turning slightly pinker than they already were from the cold. "I needed support…..someone to make me do it"

"Why didn't you ask Jackson?" John asked. There was a slight defensive to his tone though he had no intentions for it to be there.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked, confusion making his brow crinkle.

John gave a nervous laugh. "Well, you know…..because you two are…..well, whatever you are" he said. He was glad when he saw Sherlock give him a small smile back and his cheeks turn a definite redder.

"Yes…..well…..well….." Sherlock said, at a loss for words which was always funny to see "Well…I wanted you here because I knew you would make me do it…..Jackson might not because he…" Sherlock turned a positively deep shade of crimson. "The point is…..you were there in the worst of times and I know you'll make me do it."

John knew there was truth to that; while Jackson might know what had happened to Sherlock, he hadn't been there. John had and he had every desire to see Sherlock completely get rid of any trace of Garrett from his life.

"But that's not the only reason I wanted you here" Sherlock said, tumbling on ahead before John could speak. "I wanted you to be here because…you were there for me, John" he appeared uncomfortable saying it but he kept going. "you saw me at my absolute worse and you didn't leave me. Not once…..no matter how ugly I got. You saved my life"

John felt a deep red color his own cheeks. "I had to Sherlock" John said honestly. "You had already saved me so many times. I was losing you…..to him. And I couldn't let that happen"

Sherlock looked up from the watch and to John. "Thank you" he said, a phrase that he did not use often.

John saw the sincerity in his eyes and gave Sherlock a smile. "It….it was nothing" he said. Really, what choice did he have? He had been losing Sherlock and saving him was the only option available.

"No, John…..really" Sherlock said urgently. "You didn't have to do everything you did. And I don't mean saving me at the museum…..I mean all the everyday things you did for me. When everyone believed I was just a monster, even when I couldn't even remember myself what I had done, you believed in me. Believed I was the victim when I looked like the criminal. You…..you showed me that someone could care about me. That's what really saved my life"

John couldn't believe it; even after frank talks like this had become much more commonplace, he still never expected them. "You believed no one cared about you…and I couldn't let you believe such a lie" John said honestly and shyly.

"That's why I wanted you here" Sherlock said with a grin. "Somewhere along the line…you became my family. My brother"

John smiled; he was at loss for words. As much as Sherlock considered John his family, the same went for John doubly. Sherlock was an irreplaceable part of his life in a way that he couldn't explain and he only wanted what was best for him. Since he couldn't think of anything to say, he reached out and gave Sherlock a hug. He could tell that he surprised the other man, his arms held out for a moment before he hugged John back. He didn't care that other people were around; it didn't matter.

John didn't let go for a long time and Sherlock didn't try to either. When he did finally pull back, John looked away quickly, breaking the awkwardness of the situation. "Ready?" he asked, looking down at the watch still clutched in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock's face was a mixture of nerves and excitement as he stared down at the watch. He knew that it wouldn't be an instant fix; he'd never completely forget about Garrett but letting go of the one part he had left of him was an excellent place to start.

"I am very ready" Sherlock said with a smile. He gave John once last glance before he turned toward the stream, his fingers loosening on the watch. It slipped from Sherlock's hands and plummeted toward the stream. It hit the water with a small but significant crash, disappearing into the artic blue. It happened in a mere second but John felt like the moment was frozen in time.

It was important, it was significant. The last physical trace of Garrett's hold in Sherlock's life was now gone and with it John felt a weight off his shoulders. Already Sherlock had done so well, had healed so much. Finally, the future was something to anticipate and look forward to. Finally, the future held promise.

John felt a wide smile spreading across his lips as he thought of all that could be and all that already had turned out so well. He was glad when, a moment later, he looked over to Sherlock to see his own smile mirrored on the one he considered his brother, not by blood but by the bond of all they had together.