Deduce Me

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Three Returns

(A/N: I am warning you right now, these last few chapters are going to be complete and utter shit.)

John

Sherlock leaped out of bed. If he was still in any pain, he didn't show it as he bounded around the room to get dressed. I, on the other hand, was still very sore, although I could still move around pretty easily. I carefully threw my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my feet touched the ground.

"Here, John, throw this on-- it's yours," he tossed a shirt in my direction. I slid it over my head carefully, but didn't bother changing out of my pajama bottoms.

"Go ahead, love... I'll be down in a bit. I think it'll take me a while to get up and around."

Sherlock paused at the door. "...Are you sure? Do you need any help?"

I waved my hand at him. "Nah, I'm fine. Just slow-moving." I flashed him a little smile as he winked at me, rushing down the stairs.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Mycroft, who I hadn't realized was still here, spoke up from the doorway. "You put on a brave face for him. You don't have to."

I glanced up at Mycroft. "I put on a brave face for myself," I admitted. "Being strong for him also means being strong for me. I suppose it's a sort of coping mechanism." Hesitantly, I stood and made my way out. Mycroft didn't say anything else as he followed me down the stairs.

>>>>>

{We're going to skip a lot here and there. I'm just trying to finish this fucking thing.

So there will probably be a few loose ends that I've dropped, but I'm going to ask you to just preted they don't exist.

So just imagine that as the summer went on, John and Sherlock slowly got back into case solving, please forget I mentioned anything about John walking with a cane, and I'd appreciate it if you could just roll with this hasty ending. Y'all can do that, right? Thank you.}

>>>>>

"Welcome home," Sherlock announced as we burst through the door of dorm 221B.

"God, it feels that way, doesn't it?" I said as I hauled my bags to my side of the room.

"Which side are we putting the beds?"

"I don't care, love. You pick. I'm going to put the kettle on." As the water started angrily hissing as it warmed up, I started unpacking the rest of our kitchen stuff. I heard Sherlock shuffling stuff around, also. Finally, the kettle was done, and I poured two cups and added sugar.

"John?" Sherlock called.

"Yeah, just a second, Sherlock."

"Well, I wanted to tell you about a case I've solved."

"A case? I didn't know you had one open. What was it?"

"A thief." I rolled my eyes at him. Always so dramatic- he can't just come out and tell me what it is.

"Well, what did he steal?" Carefully, I rounded the corner holding two nearly-too-full mugs in each of my hands.

And then I dropped them.

"I guess you could say... He stole my heart." Sherlock was in the middle of the room, on one knee. In his hand, a box. And in that box was a gold engagement band. "Which is saying something, because that is a feat not easily accomplished."

"Sherlock, what are you--" my voice was quivering. Is this actually happening? Is this real? I walked over to him.

"John, you should know that I love you extremely much-- more than I ever thought love could ever feel like. I don't know what I would ever do without you; I know this sounds stupidly cliche, but my days would turn dark and grey. You bring color and light to my life. When I'm near you, I get butterflies. When you hold my hand, it feels like my heart is going to explode. And when you tell me you love me-- God, my head goes dizzy. It's like nothing I've ever even remotely felt before, and I know that I will never feel it again for anyone else."

"Sherlock..." I could feel tears building behind my eyelids. I tried my best to blink them away.

"I know this is all sudden, and I'm not saying we should rush into this right now. We can wait. You can get your doctorate degree, I can be a consulting detective. We'll get a flat in central london, or a house in Sussex-- we can go wherever we want! And who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks, because I love you. John, I love you so so so much... Will you marry me?"

I thought my heart was going to grow wings and burst out of my chest. Honestly, I sort of expected it to. "Damn it, Sherlock, of course. Of course I'll marry you."

A wide grin spread across his face as he stood up and hugged me tightly. Somewhere, his phone chimed his text alert. "It's my brother. We're going to ignore him."

I laughed against his shoulder and held him a little tighter. "I love you, Sherlock. I love you so, so much." The phone chimed again. "Can I see the ring?"

He pulled it out of the box as I offered my hand to him. We both admired the way it shined against my skin and laughed. This is real. This is happening.

His phone started ringing. "Go ahead and answer it, love. He won't stop."

Sherloc pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched the accept button. "What the fuck, Mycroft? I'm busy!"

I rolled my eyes and pulled out a towel for the tea I spilled. Way to go, John. You've made a huge mess. I didn't really care, though. I was still smiling over the ring on my finger. I suppose I'll have to find one for Sherlock soon...

"No, we haven't..." I heard Sherlock say behind me. "We'll go look. Yes, I will call you back. Fine." He hung up.

"What's going on now?"

Apparently, there's something we need to see on the television. Where is the nearest one, anyway?"

"Uh... The common room, I suppose. Downstairs."

Sherlock was out the door before I could even finish my sentence. I raced after him, trying to kee up with his long legs as they took the stairs two at a time. Finally, I reached the bottom and met him in the side room that held the tvs. Sherlock was flicking through the channels with the remote.

"Jesus. What's the hurry? What's happening?" He kept scrolling.

But each channel was the same. And each channel held the face of the man I never thought I'd see again.

Jim Moriarty.

An animated picture of his face was plastered over every chanel, his chin wagging up and down. An audio loop had been added: "Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

Sherlock's phone produced a Snapchat notification. The name read "Unknown." There was no other account information.

Slowly, he swiped to open it.

There was Jim, facing away from the camera. Slowly, he turned towards it and offered his signature reptilian smile: a smile that had haunted my nightmares almost every night for the past few months. "Did you miss me?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his mouth. The screen went black.