"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret," a video screen began to sow four different perspectives of the patio at Appledore when Sherlock shot Magnussen, "Is that quite clear? Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it. A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room – code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love – will ever know the whole truth."

(Y/n) looked over at Sherlock and noticed him rapidly typing away on his phone. She rolled her eyes, holding back the urge to smack it out of his hands. On the drive over there Mycroft had given each of them the newest phone as a wedding present. She was starting to wish he hadn't.

"As far as everyone else is concerned, going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus- Are you tweeting?"

Sherlock looked up, covering his phone even as the sounds of a tweet being sent was heard.

"No," he lied.

"Well, that's what it looks like," Mycroft frowned.

"Of course I'm not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?"

"Give me that," Mycroft walked across the room and reached for the phone.

"What? No. Get off. What are you doing?"

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and took the phone out of Sherlock's hands, "You two are worse than Sam and Dean, honestly," she began reading out what he just tweeted, "'Back on terra firma', 'Just married to the one woman I've ever found myself attached to'. Cute, but not the right time."

"Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked angrily.

"I am taking it seriously. What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously? Not so long ago I was on a mission that meant certain death and now I'm back, in a nice warm office with my big brother, my wife, and are those ginger nuts?"

Sherlock sprung to his feet and walked over to to the table, "Love ginger nuts."

"Our doctor said you were clean," Lady Smallwood said in confusion.

"I am, utterly. No need for stimulants now, remember? I have work to do," Sherlock took a bite from one of the cookies.

"You're high as a kite!" Sir Edwin exclaimed.

"Natural high, I assure you. Totally natural. I'm just glad to be alive," Sherlock sang, "What shall we do next? Any ideas darling?"

"Honeymoon," (Y/n) said plainly.

"Ah yes, of course. The question is, where will we be going? Surely Mycroft will fund wherever we wish to go, and if he doesn't I still have money from pretending to be a psychic-"

"Mr Holmes!" Lady Smallwood nearly yelled, "We do need to get on."

"Yes of course," Mycroft used his remote to restart the video footage. On the video it was shown that Sherlock never raised his gun, only dropped it when Magnussen was shot.

"Who killed Magnussen if Sherlock didn't then?" (Y/n) questioned.

"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who. We have some very talented people working here. If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to, er, doctor a bit of security footage. That is now the official version, the version anyone we want to will see."

"No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon. You're off the hook, Mr Holmes. You're home and dry."

"Okay, cheers," Sherlock stood and reached for his coat.

"Obviously there's unfinished business. Moriarty-"

"Moriarty has fled London, while he may return he wouldn't now, not when there was already chaos. This is something else- someone else," (Y/n) corrected herself. She was too used to referring to unknowns as things, years of hunting drilled that into her head.

"You say he filmed that video message before he left London, and he's not going to return?"

"Yes."

"You also say you know what he's going to do next. What does that mean?"

"He's planned something; something long-term; something that would take effect if he wouldn't be able to return."

"We brought you back to deal with this. What are you going to do?"

"Wait," Sherlock said simply.

"Wait?" Lady Smallwood asked in shock.

"We're the targets, whatever's coming, we'll know when it begins."

"Tuscany," (Y/n) said suddenly, "That's where I want to go."

Sherlock nodded, grabbing (Y/n)'s hand as they walked towards the door. (Y/n) turned and looked at the four people staring at them.

"We always know when the game is on. Know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we love it," (Y/n) smirked before allowing Sherlock to pull her out of the room and to the car waiting for them.

You're lucky you have my favor brother mine, everything will be handled

Sherlock showed (Y/n) the text, smirking.

"Awesome," (Y/n) grinned, "Knowing Mycroft everything will be amazing."

"Yes, the perfect honeymoon," Sherlock nodded, kissing (Y/n)'s cheek, "I never thought I'd be going on one of those."

"Seriously?"

"Even as a child I knew most people were too annoying to be interested in them," Sherlock said dismissively, "And then I found you, and you were annoying in a way I could handle."

"Thanks," (Y/n) rolled her eyes with a smile.

"It's a high honor," Sherlock defended.

(Y/n) snorted, "I'm sure it is in your book."

~*~

(Y/n) looked up from her computer as Sherlock stabbed his tool knife into a large pile of letters on the mantelpiece.

"If this gets any better I'm gonna get two knives," Sherlock said excitedly.

"It pays to advertise," John stated.

"That's still weird to me," (Y/n) said, "Hunting is something you keep as far away from the public as possible. Now I'm working a job that's being advertised."

"So, what about Moriarty, then?" Mary asked.

"Ooh, I have a plan," Sherlock grinned, "I'm going to monitor the underworld – every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move."

"Basically your 'plan' is just to sit there solving crimes like you always do."

"But now I'm married," Sherlock smirked, ripping the top letter off of the pile.

~*~

Dusty Death, The Wrong Thumb, The Duplicate Man, The Circus Torso, The Canary Trainer, The Cardiac Arrest. Six cases over the course of the next month. Each of them taking up the time of Sherlock and (Y/n) waiting for Moriarty to shown his face.

"Boys!" (Y/n) screamed from the top of the landing, "Where have you been? Have you looked at your phones at all?" (Y/n) glared at Sherlock, "Have your eyes ever left your phone?"

"Fifty-nine missed calls from Mary," John mumbled, wide-eyed.

"Yea, she's gone into labor, and instead of being able to go help her I had to wait for you idjits!"

"Sorry love-"

"Save it Sherlock," (Y/n) basically flew down the stairs, "We have to go."

Not long afterwards, Mary, Sherlock, and (Y/n) were crammed into the back of a car while John was driving. Based on how close together her contractions were and how much pain she was in, Mary was in the second stage of labor.

"Ow! Oh my God. Oh my God!"

"Just remember to breath when each contraction is over Mary," (Y/n) reminded, "The worst thing you can do is over stress yourself."

"I'm a nurse dear I know- Ow!" Mary slammed her hand against the roof.

"You're doing great-"

"Don't you start!" Mary screamed at John, "I think you have to pull over."

"Mary pulling over won't do any-"

"Pull over!" Mary screamed.

"John do not stop until we are at the hospital she's in the final stage," (Y/n) argued, "Sherlock, avert your eyes."

"Why would I- Oh my God!" Sherlock's mouth fell open in shock as he glanced at Mary.

"I'm the only sane one here," (Y/n) sighed, "Why is this weirder than hunting supernatural creatures?"

~*~

Click

"Has that come out?" Mrs Hudson made a noise of annoyance as she looked at the third picture she had taken of John and Mary holding their baby, "They never come out when I take them!"

"Let's have a look," Molly set down her glass of champagne, adjusting a few things before handing it back.

"Do you know what you want to name her yet?" (Y/n) asked, grinning at the cooing baby.

"Catherine," John stated.

"We've gone off that," Mary shook her head.

"Well, you know what I think," Sherlock didn't look up from his phone.

"It's not a girl's name," John, Mary, and (Y/n) said together.

"(Y/n), we wanted you to be the godmother," Mary stated.

"Really? That's be awesome," (Y/n) grinned.

John stood from the couch, walking over to Sherlock. (Y/n) knew he was going to ask him to be the godfather.

"Do you want to hold her?" Mary asked (Y/n).

"I'd love to," (Y/n) held out her arms.

"Be sure to support the head," Mary prompted. She smiled when the two were settled, glancing over at Sherlock, "Do you two want kids?"

"Oh, um, we haven't really talked about having kids," (Y/n) smiled awkwardly, "I grew up not wanting any because I'd be raising them into hunting. But now that I'm doing this, I'd like to."

"Bring her over to Sherlock and see how he reacts then," Mary prompted, "You've already proven he can love someone."

(Y/n) carefully stood with the baby, walking over to Sherlock as he finished his conversation with John.

"Look at her Sherlock," (Y/n) whispered, "Isn't she beautiful?"

"Well she's...a baby," Sherlock said.

"What do you think about having kids someday?" (Y/n) asked.

Sherlock's expression became thoughtful as he looked down at the baby, "I suppose having a child to spread my knowledge onto would be smart."

"Well that's the best I'm going to get," (Y/n) mumbled to herself.

"I've come a long way love."

"Yeah, I gotta agree with you there. You changing doesn't mean Dean hasn't stopped wanting to shoot you though."

~*~

A few weeks later the small unit stood at the front of a church. (Y/n) was glaring at Sherlock as he was on his phone, trying to subtly take it from his hands to no avail.

"Father, we ask you to send your blessings on this water and sanctify it for our use this day, in Christ's name."

(Y/n) couldn't help but smirk. Knowing what she did about angels and God made all of this more comical to her. She couldn't imagine Chuck doing something like this, or Cas for that matter.

"Now, what name have you given your daughter?"

"Rosamund Mary."

"Rosamund?" Sherlock looked up from his phone briefly.

"Rosie for short," (Y/n) whispered, "I'd assumed you'd gotten John's text considering you haven't put your phone down since you got it."

"No. I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins, 'Hi.'" Sherlock stated like it was obvious.

"Sherlock put the phone down," (Y/n)'s voice became deadly and low.

Sherlock moved his hand behind his back. It was better than before so (Y/n) left it alone.

"And now, godparents," the Vicar turned to Sherlock and (Y/n), "Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"

"We are," (Y/n) said, nudging Sherlock to do the same.

From before Sherlock a male Siri spoke from his phone.

"Sorry, didn't catch that." (Y/n) sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She thought the embarrassment was over until the Siri spoke again, "Please repeat the question."

~*~

A few months later (Y/n) was texting Dean and Sam about a case in their Team Free Will groupchat when Sherlock turned away from the fireplace dramatically.

"As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe," Sherlock looked at John's chair, "To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time if you want to keep the rattle do not throw the rattle, hm?"

(Y/n) let out a quiet giggle, setting down her phone and standing. She bent down next to Sherlock, shaking Rosie's rattle as the girl almost threw it again. The small girl reared her head back and let out a small sneeze.

"She's so cute," (Y/n) gushed.

"Yes, I suppose she's on the better spectrum when it comes to babies," Sherlock agreed.

(Y/n) felt something hit her stomach and she looked down, sighing, "Again with the rattle, really?"

Rosie just giggled in response.

~*~

"Yeah, no I know that, well look at family heirlooms I don't know what to tell you," (Y/n) looked up from her phone call with Dean, seeing John entering the apartment.

"John's here, gotta go Dean, bye."

(Y/n) ended the call, smiling brightly at John. Greg had been waiting in the doorway for the past ten minutes with a case, but Sherlock refused to start without John. They resembled the Winchester Family perfectly, not leaving each other behind.

"Afternoon. He says you've got a good one, Greg," John stated.

"Oh yeah," Lestrade nodded, clearing his throat before he got into the story, "It was David Welsborough's fiftieth birthday. He got a call from his son saying he was in Tibet, they talked for a few moments before his son stopped answering. A week later, something really weird happened.

"A drunk driver, totally smashed, the cops are chasing him, and he turns into the drive of the Wellsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately he ran into Charlie- the sons- car. The drunk guy survived; they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car...There was a body."

"Whose body?" John questioned.

"The sons," Lestrade explained, "The one who was in was in Tibet. DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead boy's found at the wheel."

(Y/n) leaned back on the couch, thinking over the case.

"Tell me about the seats," Sherlock ordered.

Lestrade pulled out a file and held it out to Sherlock.

"Made of vinyl... two different types of vinyl present. Was it his own car?"

"Yeah. Not flash, he was student."

"Well that's suggestive," (Y/n) stated, "Vinyl is cheaper than leather. When Dean fixed up the Impala he used Vinyl because leather would bring attention to his fake card."

(Y/n) noticed that everyone was staring at her. Lestrade seemed appalled by the insinuation that they used fake credit cards.

"When you can't stay in one place for long it makes it hard for jobs," (Y/n) shrugged.

"There's something else," John looked over the file, "According to this, Charlie had already been dead for a week.

Sherlock grinned, "Oh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday?

Lestrade shook his head, "No, but I need your help."

"I have one condition," Sherlock held up his hand, "Take all the credit. It gets boring if we just solve them all."

"Yeah, you say that, but then John blogs about it and you get all the credit anyway," Lestrade grumbled.

John laughed, handing the file back to Lestrade, "He's got a point."

"That would make me look like some kind of prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do. Like I'm some kind of credit junkie. So you take all the glory, thanks. Just solve the bloody thing, will you? It's driving me nuts."

"Anything you say, Giles," Sherlock said, making (Y/n) snort, "Just kidding." Sherlock leaned down to (Y/n), "What is it?"

"Greg," She whispered back. Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment.

"Well then, let's help you solve your little problem, Greg."

Lestrade gave a shocked look to John and (Y/n) as Sherlock disappeared into the landing.

"You hear that?" Lestrade seemed more excited than (Y/n) had ever seen him.

(Y/n) left the living room, joining Sherlock in the landing. After Sherlock had pulled on his coat (Y/n) stepped forward and flipped up his collar, kissing his cheek once she was finished. The two began to walk down the stairs, but paused when they heard John and Lestrade talking.

"You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby, woken up at all hours to obey his every whim. Must feel very different."

(Y/n) snorted, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her grin. Sherlock gave her a confused look and she shrugged in response, continuing her descent down the stairs.

~*~

As the group of four approached the large home, Lestrade looked to Sherlock, "Charlie's family are pretty cut up about it, as you'd expect, so go easy on them, yeah?"

John looked down at his phone as it began to ring, answering the Skype call from Mary. As he was talking to her, Sherlock, Lestrade, and (Y/n) approached the remains of the car.

"Wo types of vinyl," Mary's voice rang clearly over the phone.

"How do you know about that?" Sherlock snatched Mary's phone from her hands.

"Oh, you'd be amazed at what a receptionists picks up. They know everything."

"Solved it, then?"

"I'm working on it."

"Motherhood's slowing you down," Sherlock teased goodnaturedly, handing the phone back to John.

"Bizarre enough, though, isn't it, to be him?" Lestrade led the trio into the house, where the Welsboroughs were waiting, "I mean, it's right up your strasse."

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, greeting the parents with a sympathetic smile. Sherlock kept his mouth shut, a smart thing to do, simply shaking the couple's hands.

"Thank you very much for coming. We've heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you."

"Well I believe that I," Sherlock trailed off, his eyes concentrating on a spot across the room, "Can."

"Charlie was our whole world Mr and Mrs Holmes," Mr Welsborough seemed unaware of Sherlock's wandering eyes, "We just want to know what happened to him."

"Sherlock," (Y/n) brought her husband back down to Earth.

"So sorry. Will you excuse me a moment?" Sherlock walked towards a table in the corner of the room. On it was a few items relating to Margaret Thatcher, but something in the center was missing.

"What's wrong?" John trailed behind Sherlock.

"Not sure," Sherlock stared down the table, "However, intuitions are not to be ignored. They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend. What is this?"

"It's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really. Bit of a fan of Mrs T. Big hero of mine when I was getting started."

"Who is this?"

"Are you serious?"

"Sherlock, I'm an American and I know who that is," (Y/n) facepalmed, disappointed in her husband's disability to recognize names.

"It's...It's Margaret Thatcher, the first female prime minister of this country."

"Right...Prime minister?"

"Leader of the country? God Sherlock," (Y/n) crossed her arms, shaking her head. How did she fall for him?

"Look at the gap, it's wrong. Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed. Something's missing from here, but only recently. A plaster bust."

"Oh, for God's sake. It got broken. What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?" Mrs Welsborough seemed extremely exasperated.

"Well, how could it get broken? The only place for it to fall is the floor, and there is a big thick rug."

"Look, no, we had a break-in. Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch. How anybody could hate her so much, they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness."

"Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity, and look at that one," Sherlock motioned to one of the photos, "She's smiling in that one"

(Y/n) gasped in realization. While Sherlock had been going on about the bust, she had been thinking over the case, "I know what happened to your son. You were disappointed that your son couldn't make it back. But he did. The first part of your conversation was pre-recorded, and when it cut out, he was actually speaking. Two types of vinyl in the car, a costume. Charlie was hiding in the car as a surprise. But before that could happen, Charlie likely suffered from some sort of seizure. He died, and no one had any reason to go look in his car. So he remained there until the accident. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, God!" Mrs Wellsborough sobbed out, covering her face with her hands.

"Really, I'm so sorry. Mr Welsborough, Mrs Welsborough," After his insincere apology, Sherlock left the room and examined the concrete on the porch with his magnifier, "This is where it was smashed."

"That was amazing," Lestrade complimented (Y/n), "The car, the kid."

"Giovanni, stop flirting with my wife," Sherlock, despite his statement, was completely unbothered.

"Giovanni," Lestrade spat out, shaking his head, "I wasn't flirting with- I wasn't flirting with you (Y/n).

"I know," (Y/n) smiled reassuringly, "Sherlock can be jealous. Will you drop the bust mystery Sherlock? Things like this happen!"

"Not to us," Sherlock stood, "There's a loose string in the world. And I have the strangest feeling."

"Yes, well perhaps it was Charlie's ghost. He always felt off about his father worshipping Thatcher and he smashed the bust," John suggested a solution.

"Why just the bust? Why not anything else in the shrine," Sherlock argued, "Besides, (Y/n) hasn't felt any energy along those lines. Have you?"

(Y/n) shook her head in response. None of her 'angel-human' powers were telling her anything was off. Sherlock took her hand and led her out of the gates and to the street. Noticing a black cab, he pointed at it.

"That's ours. You two take a bus."

"Why?" John laughed, thinking it was a joke.

"I need to concentrate, and I don't want to hit you," Sherlock got into the cab, "The mall, please."

~*~

"I met her once. Rather arrogant, I thought," Mycroft looked down at the phone in his hand, "Why am I looking at this?"

"That's her. John and Mary's baby."

"Oh, I see. Yes, looks very...Fully functioning."

(Y/n) snorted, "Fully functioning That's how you compliment children?"

"Sorry. I've never been very good with them," Mycroft gave Sherlock his phone back,.

"Babies?"

"Humans."

"If I didn't know you, I'd think you were a demon," (Y/n) muttered to herself.

"Moriarty. Did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her?"

"Before he went underground, James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations, over seventy assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea, and had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias- which is still missing, by the way, in case you feel like applying yourself to something practical."

"There's something important about this. Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But something's coming."

"Oh, ow," (Y/n) held her hand against her head, wincing, "Ow, ow."

"(Y/n)?" Sherlock took a step towards his wife, helping her sit down, "What's happening?"

"It's a-" (Y/n) cut herself off when her vision shifted.

She heard a gunshot, screaming, crying. John, he looked devastated. Then there was another woman. Her face was blurry, stopping (Y/n) from fully identifying her, but her general physique seemed familiar. There was something familiar about her. But what?

"Oh God," (Y/n) jerked back into reality, "That was, that was a vision. I haven't had one in so long I thought that the thing with Moriarty stopped them..."

"Yes, and what exactly came from your unnatural sight into the future?"

"Pain," I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Interesting," Mycroft leaned back in his chair, "The world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics. Appointment in Samarra."

"I'm sorry?"

"The merchant who can't outrun Death. You always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then."

"I'm not sure I like it now, no offense (Y/n)." Sherlock picked up his coat and began to put it on.

"None taken," (Y/n) shrugged, "I hate it too."

"You wrote your own version, as I remember," Mycroft continued, "Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine."

"Goodnight Mycroft."

"Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason."

Sherlock seemed to bristle at that, "Keep us informed Mycroft."

~*~

A few days later, Sherlock was working on another case. One he didn't seem to need any help on- not that Sherlock would ever admit he needed help- so (Y/n) was making some coffee in the kitchen.

She heard some mumbling outside the door, placing it as Lestrade and Detective Inspector Hopkins, who came around sometimes like Lestrade did.

"(Y/n) can you tell them to shut up?" Sherlock called over to his wife.

(Y/n) sighed, taking a long chug from her cup of coffee as she walked to the door. John and her shared an eye roll as she opened it up for the two detectives.

"Sherlock would like me to tell you two to shut up. Would you like some coffee?"

"No."

"No."

"Alright, I'll be back in a minute," (Y/n) closed the door again, sitting back down and slamming her head against the table. She felt awful; sick and feverish and her stomach was destroying itself from the inside out. That morning she had thrown up, but moved on because Winchesters didn't get sick. She was realizing the lies behind that.

"John?" Sherlock called out after telling the man several things about himself.

"Moved out," (Y/n) called back to him, "Balloon John is his replacement."

"Actually I'm right here," John poked his head out of the kitchen, "Just making some toast for (Y/n)."

"What is that?" Sherlock started, wide eyed at the balloon.

"Balloon John," John shrugged, "It's my substitute while I take care of your sick wife."

"You know I value your little contributions," the fact that (Y/n) was sick seemed to float right over Sherlock's head.

"It's been there since nine this morning," John deadpanned.

Sherlock hummed, and turned back to his client, quickfire about his theories. Moriarty was somehow wrapped into all of it, with some large plan to initiate World War Three.

"He's lost his mind," (Y/n) whispered, looking up when John set a plate down in front of her, "Thanks."

"You should probably take a step back from all of this case work," John advised (Y/n), "In fact it would be best if you lied down and rested."

"Like Hell! Dean and Sam work souless or hellbound, I'll do the same."

"My God your family has damaged you. Sherlock are you serious about all that Moriarty stuff?"

"No of course no. His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie." (Y/n) snorted at that, lifting her head up from the table. Sherlock walked over to the front door, "Get out."

"So, what's all this about then?" (Y/n) asked when Sherlock shut the door in the inspectors faces again.

"Having fun," Sherlock shrugged, taking my coffee away from her, "You should be drinking something herbal. Caffeine does not help in the bodies healing process."

"I thought you didn't care," (Y/n) quirked a brow.

"Well I am legally bound to you for life, for better or worse as we said, so I should probably be concerned for your wellbeing."

"Ignore him (Y/n). He does care he's just being an arse about it," John chuckled.

A knock sounded from the door and Hopkins opened it, stepping inside.

"Sherlock-"

"Borgia Pearl, boring, go." Sherlock pushed her out the door, shutting it after Greg entered.

"You alright (Y/n)?"

"Just slowly dying where I'll end up in Heaven where half of the angels hate my guts," (Y/n) groaned out.

"Right...Anyways, I have something I think you'll like," Lestrade held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was shattered pieces of white plaster. Some of the larger pieces told us that it was a Thatcher bust, "Different owner, different part of town."

"The game is on."

Sherlock opened up the bag and put a few pieces under his microscope. (Y/n) moved to sit next to him, pulling out what little information she could without the microscope.

"Another two have been smashed since the Wellsborough one. Three in total. God knows who'd wanna do something like this."

"Ooh," Sherlock picked up a small piece with tweezers, "Blood, quite a bit of it too. Was there any injury at the crime scene?"

"Nah," Lestrade checked his watch.

"Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust. Let's go to Lambeth, to see Toby."

"Oh I've always wanted to meet Toby!" (Y/n) stood up excitedly, nearly falling over when her vision blacked out temporarily.

"No, no, no," John grabbed the woman's arm , "You're on bed rest. I don't care what you say, or what you threaten. Actually I'm scared you might actually do your threats but it doesn't matter."

"I hate England," (Y/n) whined, "Dean and Sam would never make me stay home from a hunt if I was sick."

"And how many times has that caused problems?"

There was a tense silence, a stare down between her and John, before (Y/n) sighed in defeat. She may have been a hunter, but John was in the army. As far as she was concerned they were on the same level when it came to sheer force of will.

"Fine, I'll go lie down. Good luck you three, love you Sherlock."

"I'm well aware."

"Jerk," (Y/n) muttered under her breath, smiling all the same.

When she got to the bedroom, she pulled out her phone, sending a quick text to Mary to let her know that Sherlock and John were going to see Toby. If (Y/n) couldn't work with them, Mary could. A woman had to be there to make sure they didn't die after all.

After (Y/n) texted Mary she stared at the ceiling for a while. She wanted food. Good food, not just toast. But she wasn't entirely sure if she would be able to keep down anything besides the most simple essentials.

Flipping over to my side, (Y/n) sighed, already bored. Closing her eyes, she figured she could try to sleep off her illness.

~*~

Later that night, (Y/n) woke up when the flat door opened. She lifted her head from the pillow, squinting when the hallway light flooded into the room.

"(Y/n), Lestrade just called me. Another Thatcher was destroyed, along with a murder this time. Are you interested in tagging along?"

"What happened to John and Mary?"

"They seem to think sleep is an important aspect of health, so they went home. Now, I know Winchesters run on four hours, so I thought you'd like to tag along."

"I'm in," (Y/n) chuckled, rolling out of bed, "I feel better too. I guess sleeping it off worked pretty well."

(Y/n) grabbed a jacket, slipped on some shoes, and followed Sherlock out the door. In the cab on the way to the crime scene, she noticed Sherlock looking up information about the Black Pearl.

"Thinking about taking the case?" (Y/n) asked teasingly, nuding his side.

"On the contrary, I'm continuously reminding myself that it is ever so boring."

"Sherlock, I've been thinking about why exactly someone would be smashing those busts. I don't think it's just because they hate Margaret Thatcher, and this murder proves that."

"What do you have in mind about something for?"

"What if the person who if doing al this is looking for something on the inside?"

Sherlock hummed in thought, nodding in agreement with his wife's theory. Before they could discuss it more, the cab stopped in front of their crime scene. Sherlock paid, and the pair got out, meeting Lestrade out front.

"You feeling better (Y/n)?" Lestrade questioned, leading the two towards the back garden.

"Quite a bit actually, I slept it off."

"Grant what have I told you about flirting with my wife?" Sherlock wrapped an arm around (Y/n)'s waist. She gaped up at him. He despised PDA, said that relationships we meant to be between two people, not the whole word. Although that latter statement was shocking as well considering he used to think love was a chemical default on the losing side.

"Is the murder getting you all riled up?" (Y/n) deadpanned, still appreciating the affection.

"It's Christmas," Sherlock beamed.

"Defensive wounds on her face and hands," Lestrade motioned to the deceased woman, "Throat cut, sharp blade."

"And the bust?"

"Two this time."

"Interesting. That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago, limited edition of six. (Y/n), I think you're onto something with your theory."

"We should get to Jack Sandeford and set up a plan. At this rate, our culprit will be there tonight."

"Excellent idea, Lestrade, you're about to solve a big one."

"Yeah, until John publishes his blog."

~*~

Later that night, Sherlock and (Y/n) had worked out a plan with Sandeford to catch their culprit. The pair was hidden away in the shadows, with Sandeford ordered to act natural.

Their suspicions were correct when a dark shadow loomed over the table holding the bust. Sherlock waved his hand over the light sensor on the wall, turning them on.

"Wouldn't it be much simpler to take out your grievances at the polling station?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

The intruder whipped out a pistol and spun around towards the two. (Y/n) reacted out of instinct, slapping the weapon out of his hand. The man swung the bag in his hand up, and towards the woman's head, but Sherlock intervened. He grabbed it and threw it out of reach before punching the man in the face. The man returned the punch and the fight continued.

Two against one didn't make it any easier. (Y/n) noted that it seemed like he was experienced, and well trained. The man h stool at Sherlock, giving him little to no time to dodge. (Y/n) jumped forward and slammed his head against the bar counter twice. While he was disoriented, (Y/n) gripped his balaclava and pulled it off.

"You were on the run; nowhere to hide your precious cargo," Sherlock recovered from the previous hit from the barstool, circling the intruder like a predator, "You find yourself in a workshop. Plaster busts of The Iron Lady drying. It's clever, very clever. But now you've met me, and you're not so clever, are you?"

"Who are you?" The man growled out.

"Sherlock and (Y/n) Holmes."

"Goodbye, Sherlock and (Y/n) Holmes."

The man roared in rage, throwing himself straight at them. The force all three of them through the glass windows behind them and straight into the pool outside. (Y/n) swam towards the man as he strangled Sherlock, gripping his hands and trying to pull them off of her husband's throat. The man kicked her in the chest. The man lugged Sherlock out of the water and dunked his head in the jacuzzi. (Y/n) struggled to swim over to the side of the pool so she could get out and help her husband. She was already exhausted from their short fight. (Y/n) growled in frustration, treading water. Her stamina was better than this. It must have been the last leg of her earlier illness.

"Shit," (Y/n) swore, finally pulling herself out of the pools. Her clothes were heavy, and she was slower than she would have liked to be, but she still managed to hit her hand against the sensor that turned on the large water dispensers over the jacuzzi.

Water poured down over Sherlock and the man. The shock from the harsh downpour of water allowed Sherlock to get the upper hand.

"The bust!" Sherlock yelled out towards (Y/n).

(Y/n) nodded in understanding, scrambling to get back inside through the broken window and to the kitchen. She reached inside the bag the man passed the plaster in, pulling it out. Footsteps sounded from behind her, and trusting the twist in her gut, she spun around and threw the bust at the intruder's face.

"You're out of time," Sherlock slowly walked into the kitchen, panting, "Tell me about your boss, Moriarty."

"Who?"

"Sherlock," (Y/n) sent her husband a warning look, "This isn't the time."

"You don't understand," the intruder muttered bitterly, "You understand nothing."

"Well, before the police come in and spoil things, why don't we just enjoy the moment? Let us present Interpol's number one case. Too tough for them; too boring for me. (Y/n), would you do the honors?"

(Y/n) lifted the bust over her head, throwing it to the ground. The plaster shattered into pieces, revealing what was inside.

"The Black Pearl of Borgias."

But there wasn't a pearl inside. Instead, it was a large silver memory stick. Written on the side in dark letters was the initials A.G.R.A. (Y/n) let out a small gasp. Mary.

"It's not possible," Sherlock whispered, sinking to his knees, "How could she..."

"John threw it into the fire," (Y/n) leaned down and picked up the stick, turning it over in her hands,"This isn't witch craft. I's real Sherlock. She never told us there was more than one."

"'She',"the man got up to his knees, reaching out for his gun and pointing it at me, "You know her. You do, don't you? You know the bitch. She betrayed me; betrayed us all."

Police sirens sounded from around the house. Sherlock tapped his fingers on the ground a few times. The man didn't see it, but (Y/n) did. He was telling her to distract him until they got inside.

"Mary. This is about Mary," Sherlock drew in the man's attention.

"Is that what she's calling herself now, eh?"

"Armed police! You're surrounded!"

The intruder glanced in the direction of the sound but looked back to us soon after,"Give it to me."

"Come out slowly. I wanna see your hands above your head."

"Nobody shoots me! Anyone shoots, I kill them! I'm leaving this place. If no-one follows me, no-one dies."

"Sherlock," (Y/n) sent a nervous look to her husband. Cas would be able to pull them out of Heaven- or Hell, but it wouldn't be easy.

"Tell her she's a dead woman. She's a dead woman walking."

"She's our friend, and she's under our protection. Who are you?"

The man didn't answer, instead he shifted his aim and fired at the sensor beside the door to the pool room. It exploded, and nearly all of the light went out. The man ran for the door. We looked him go, our eyes travelling back to the memory stick in my hand.

~*~

"This is quite dramatic, you realize that don't you?"

"I'm well aware," Sherlock looked up from his phone and at Mary, who had just entered the run room with a couch, desk, and a few plastic chairs. (Y/n) had no idea how Sherlock knew about it and she wasn't very keen to, "I am an idiot. I know nothing."

"Well, I've been telling you that for ages! That was quite a text you sent me. What's going on, Sherlock?" Mary asked, smiling like she had no idea how severe the situation was.

"I was so convinced it was Moriarty, I couldn't see what was right under our noses. I expected a pearl," Sherlock held up the A.G.R.A. memory stick, "It's like the one you gave to John, except it belongs to someone else. Who?"

"I don't know. We all had one, but the others...Haven't you looked at it yet?"

"Just little bit," (Y/n) spoke up, "But we want to hear it from you. We know you were an agent for a company that didn't belong to any one country, but that's pretty much it."

Mary sighed, pacing a bit before turning to face us, "There were four of us. Agents. Alex; Gabriel; me; and Ajay. There was absolute trust between us. The memory sticks guaranteed it. We all had one, each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed because we had everything we needed to destroy the other."

"Who employed you?"

"Anyone who paid well. I mean, we were at the top of our game for years, and then it all ended. There was a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over; lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a change of plans, a last-minute adjustment. Just from another voice on the phone, and a code word, 'Ammo.' We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong. That was six years ago. Feels like forever. I was the only one that made it out."

"We don't think so," (Y/n) took the harddrive from Sherlock, plugging it into the computer on the desk, "We met someone tonight, the man who's looking for the sixth Thatcher."

(Y/n) typed a few key words into the drives files, turning the laptop to face Mary when she found the three pictures she needed.

"Oh my God. That's Ajay. That's him. I don't believe it! This is amazing! I thought I was the only one. I thought I was the only one who got out. Where is he? I need to see him now!"

Sherlock held out a hand to slow her down, "Before you gave it to John, did you keep your memory stick safe?"

"Yeah, of course. It was our insurance. Above all, they mustn't fall into enemy hands."

"So Ajay survived as well, and now he's looking for the memory stick he managed to hide with all of AGRA's old aliases on it. Tbilisi was six years ago. Where's he been?"

Sherlock and (Y/n) shared a look, debating on who should speak next. (Y/n) sighed, cutting her losses.

"Mary, he wants you dead. He wanted us to tell you that you were a dead woman. The memory stick is the easiest way to track you down. He said you betrayed him."

Mary sighed, wiping under her eyes, "I suppose I was always afraid this might happen; that something in my past would come back to haunt me one day."

"Ghosts don't fight like he does," (Y/n) muttered bitterly under her breath.

Mary pulled out a piece of paper, "There's something I think you should read."

Mary motioned for the pair to hold out their hands. Not suspecting anything, they did as she asked. Mary shoved the paper into both of their hands. (Y/n)'s vision began to blur. She looked down at the paper, and at Mary, then Sherlock. Was every spinning or was it just her?

"Mary," (Y/n) whispered, stumbling into the plastic chair behind her.

"You just look after them 'til I get back. I'm sorry," Mary took the harddrive out of the computer, "I'm so sorry."

~*~

"Agra? A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is three hundred and seventy-eight kilometres west of the state capital, Lucknow-"

"No," (Y/n) groaned, rubbing her temples. Ever since Mary had drugged her and Sherlock, her head had been pounding. They woke up, cold and alone in the vault, left with nothing but themselves and a useless laptop, "It's not a place it's an acronym. Team of agents. Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team."

"He's already killed looking for the memory stick. AGRA always worked for the highest bitter. I thought that might mean you. Well, I mean the British government or whatever government you're currently propping up."

Mycroft nodded in understanding, "AGRA were very reliable; then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that. We stopped using freelancers."

"And there was a codeword," I added, "Ammo."

"Ammo?"

"Could you do some digging, as a favor?" Sherlock asked.

"You don't have many favors left," Mycroft smiled.

"Then I'm calling them all in," Sherlock deadpanned.

"And if you can find who's after her and neutralise them, what then? You think you can go on saving her forever?"

"Of course."

Mycroft hummed, glancing over at (Y/n), "Marriage has made you soft."

"Love makes you stronger in ways you wouldn't understand," I frowned, "We've saved the world based on love a few times."

"All right. I'll see what I can do. But remember this, brother, sister mine: agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way."

"Not on our watch."

~*~

"I win boys, that completes the set," I set down my cards in front of Sherlock and Karim.

"No it does not," Mr. Baker laughed in disbelief.

Sherlock and (Y/n) looked to the door where Mary stepped inside, shock written obviously over her face. Sherlock regarded Mary almost casually, when him and (Y/n) had, in fact, been looking for her for almost a week.

"Oh, hi, Mary. Nice trip?"

"How did you get in here?" Mary nearly yelled.

"Karim let us in," Sherlock shrugged.

"Hello," Karim waved, getting up to leave, "I'll go fetch some tea."

"How did you two find me?"

"We're the Holmes," Sherlock frowned, shrugging.

"No, really, though, how? Every movement I made was entirely random; every new personality just on the roll of a dice!"

"Mary, no human action is ever truly random. An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably. I myself know of at least fifty-eight techniques to refine this seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables. "

"But they're really difficult," (Y/n) cut in, chuckling, "So eventually we just asked Cas to track you down and teleport us here."

"Oh, you bastards!" Mary laughed joyously, "The mathematics of probability?"

"You believed that," Sherlock chuckled, "That angels is worth more than I gave him credit for."

"Yeah, it was my idea," John stepped into the room, straight faced. Mary's smile fell from her face.

"Maybe we should leave them alone for a few minutes," (Y/n) tugged on Sherlock's hand, leading him out of the room and to where Karim was preparing them tea.

"Here you two are," Karim held out two cups.

Sherlock and (Y/n) sat and drank out tea in silence, silently waiting for some sign of distress in the other room. Whether it was John yelling at Mary or Mary yelling back. But, for the most part, it was silent. The most they heard was a loud unintelligible mumble.

"Ow," (Y/n) held a hand up to her head, jumping up, "Something's wrong. Really wrong."

At that notion, (Y/n) and Sherlock ran from the room. They entered just in time to see the red dot of a laser appearing on the side of John's head.

"Get down!" Sherlock shouted.

Time seemed to slow down. Mary grabbed John and pulled him to the floor. Sherlock flipped the table, tugging (Y/n) over next to him to keep her safe. (Y/n) reached into her jacket, pulling out a handgun. Ajay kicked the lattice door down, an assault rifle in his hands. Mary and (Y/n) each fired shots from their respective guns.

"Hello again," Ajay greeted after ducking for cover, "I've been looking forward to this for longer than you can imagine."

"I swear to you, I thought you were dead. I thought I was the only one who got out." Ajay shot a round through the table, near John.

Sherlock took Mary's gun, "How did you find us?"

"By listening in, Sherlock Holmes. You're clever, you found her, but I found you. And now, here we are at last."

"Listen, whatever you think you know, we can talk about this. We can work it out," John tried to make peace.

"D'you know how long they kept me prisoner; what they did to me? They tortured Alex to death. I can still hear the sound of his back breaking. But you, you where were you?"

"That day at the embassy, I escaped. But I lost sight of you too, so you explain: where were you?"

"I got out, for a while. Long enough to hide my memory stick. I didn't want that to fall into their hands. I was loyal, you see; loyal to my friends. But they took me, tortured me. Not for information. Not for anything except fun. They thought I'd give in, die, but I didn't. I lived, and they forgot about me just rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there, until one day I saw my chance. All the time I was there, I just kept picking up things. Little whispers, laughter, gossip, how the clever agents had been betrayed. Brought down by you."

"Me?"

The four shared a round of nods, each one taking a different position to aim their guns at Ajay.

"You know I'll kill you too. You know I will, Ajay," Mary's voice didn't shake or quiver at the morbid statement.

"What? You think I care if I die? I've dreamed of killing you every night for six years," he slowly walked forward until his head was pressed against the barrel of Mary's gun, "Of squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat."

"What did you hear?" (Y/n) asked cautiously, "When you were prisoner, what did you hear?"

"What did I hear? Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo. We were betrayed! They said it was the English woman."

A Moroccan policeman ran into the room, firing two shots into Ajay's back. Mary screamed as he dropped. Everyone holding a weapon dropped it to the floor, raising their hands into the air.

John put his hands to Ajay's neck. All was silent until John shook his head. That was when Mary began crying.

"Sherlock," (Y/n) leaned over, putting her lips next to her husband's ear, "You need to make a call to Mycroft. I have a hunch, and he can confirm it."

~*~

Lady Smallwood. The same woman who called upon us to take down Charles Magnussen months ago. The woman who seemed so weary, too experienced, too knowledgeable. The woman who (Y/n) believed was somehow connected to the takedown of AGRA.

"This is absolutely ridiculous and you know it. How many more times?"

"Six years ago you held the brief for foreign operations, code name Love."

"And you're basing all this on a code name? On a whispered voice on the telephone? Come on, Mycroft."

Mycroft ignored her pleading and continued, "You were the conduit for AGRA. Every assignment, every detail, they got from you. Then there was the Tbilisi incident. AGRA went in. And they were betrayed."

"Not by me." Lady Smallwood stated firmly.

"Mycroft, we've known each other a long time. I promise you, I haven't the foggiest idea what all this is about. You wound up AGRA and all the other freelancers. I haven't done any of the things you're accusing me of. Not one."

"Something's wrong," (Y/n) stated the obvious. Ammo menat love in latin. She had gone through enough spells with her brothers to know that much, "She's related to it somehow, someway. We just need to pull on that loose string."

"I'm going for a walk," Sherlock sighed, kissing his wife on the cheek before leaving the small observation room.

(Y/n) sighed, stepping out to meet Mycroft. The pair exchanged their own thoughts, and a vague plan for the future and what they could do. After that, (Y/n) hailed a cab and went back to the flat.

"This has been an awful week," she said to no one in particular.

Before they left on a flight to find Mary, she threw up again, and hid it from the others so they wouldn't make her stay home. She was fine, just in a perpetual state of exhaustion and nausea.

Eating some of the food they had in the cupboards, (Y/n) made a mental note that she needed to go get groceries soon. She then took a small nap on the couch, not wanting to have to go all the way to the bedroom. When she woke up, a text was waiting for her.

You did a wonderful job with the edges

But I've filled in the rest of the puzzle

London Aquarium. Come immediately. SH

(Y/n) jumped up, shoving her gun into her belt and shrugging on her jacket. She sprinted down the stairs, onto the London street. The woman hailed a cab, ordering them to take her to the London Aquarium.

When the cab pulled up to the aquarium (Y/n) threw a few random bills at him, thanking him before jumping out of the car. She sprinted through the halls, checking different rooms and exhibits along the way.

"Sherlock?" (Y/n) called out in hopes that her husband could hear her, "Sher-"

"I'm right here," Sherlock put a hand over (Y/n)'s mouth, silencing her, "Our true culprit is here. Vivian Norbury."

"The secretary," (Y/n) realized, removing Sherlock's hand from her mouth, "It makes so much sense!"

"I thought so as well. Now, let's go take down our invisible enemy once and for all."

Sherlock and (Y/n) stepped into the exhibit based around sharks. Vivian herself was sitting on one of the benches, staring blankly at the moving animals in front of her.

"This was always my favourite spot for agents to meet. We're like them, ghostly, living in the shadows."

"Predatory," Sherlock added, "Nice location for the final act. Couldn't have chosen it better myself. But then I never could resist a touch of the dramatic."

Vivian shrugged, moving closer to the tank, "I just come here to look at the fish. I knew this would happen one day. It's like that old story. There was once a merchant in a famous market in Baghdad."

(Y/n) almost laughed. If the situation was better, she would have. The irony in the criminal they were chasing knowing the same story Sherlock was so desperate to change as a child.

"I really have never liked this story."

"I'm just like the merchant in the story. I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I've always been looking over my shoulder; always expecting to see the grim figure of-"

"Death," Mary stepped into the room.

"Hi Mary," (Y/n) waved at the woman with a smile, "Where's John?"

"On is way."

"Good. Let us introduce Amo. She used AGRA as her private assassination unit."

"Why did you betray us?" Mary finally faced the woman who had caused her so much pain.

"Selling secrets," Vivian sighed wistfully, "It would be churlish to refuse. Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I'd had it. Then she was taken hostage in that coup. I couldn't believe my luck! That bought me a little time."

"But then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in," Sherlock continued.

"And you tipped off the hostage-takers."

Vivian sat back down, "Lady Smallwood gave the order, but I sent another one to the terrorists with a little clue about her code name should anyone have an enquiring mind. Seemed to do the trick. I was tired, tired of the mess of it all. I just wanted some peace. The hostages were killed, AGRA too. Or so I thought. That's what you wanted too, right? Peace? A home? So just let me get out of here. Let me walk away. I'll go forever. What d'you say?"

"After what you did?" Mary yelled, starting towards the other woman.

Vivian pulled a pistol from her handbag, aiming it at Mary who stopped and back away. (Y/n)'s hand went to her own gun, ready to draw.

"I was never a field agent. I always thought I'd be rather good."

"Well you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well... for a secretary."

"What?" Vivian was appalled at the later statement, "I didn't do this out of jealousy!"

"No? Same old drudge, day in, day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street. They've taken up the pavement outside the Post Office there. The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive."

"How do you know?" Vivian questioned.

"Well, on your salary it would have to be modest and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn't you, and what are you, widowed or divorced? Wedding ring's at least thirty years old and you've moved it to another finger. That means you're sentimentally attached to it but not still married. I favour widowed, given the number of cats. A divorcees more likely to look for a new partner; a widow to fill the void left by her dead husband."

"Sherlock, don't," Mary warned, sending Vivian a weary look.

"Pets do that, or so I'm told, and there's clearly no-one new in your life, otherwise you wouldn't be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. That probably accounts for the drink problem, too. The slight tremor in your hand the red wine stain ghosting your top lip. So yes. I say jealousy was your motive after all. To prove how good you are to make up for the inadequacies of your little life."

Greg rushed in with three police officers and Mycroft just behind him.

"Well, Mrs Norbury. I must admit this is unexpected," Mycroft stated boredly.

"Vivian Norbury, who outsmarted them all," Sherlock stated sarcastically, "All except Sherlock and (Y/n) Holmes. There's no way out."

"So it would seem. You've seen right through me, but maybe I can still surprise you," Vivian swiftly raised her gun, aimed at Sherlock. She smiled, before firing.

The world seemed to slow down. (Y/n)'s head pounded. This was it. Vivian was the woman from her vision, this was the gunshot. Was John going to cry over Sherlock? Would he end up using his fake grave for real?

Mary hurled herself sideways and in front of Sherlock. The bullet hit her lower chest. Almost immediately blood pooled over her shirt. (Y/n) drew the gun from her jacket, shooting Vivian in the shoulder before falling to her knees next to Mary.

"It's okay. I can call Cas, he can heal you," (Y/n) assured Mary, looking up to the ceiling, "Cas! Cas come on, whatever you're doing this is more important."

"Mary!" John ran in at the worst possible time. He jammed his hands against the wound, applying pressure, "Mary? Stay with me."

"Oh come on," Mary smiled, tears pooling in her eyes, "Doctor, you can do better than that. God, John, I think this is it."

"Cas," (Y/n) whispered, sobbing into her hands. Sherlock sought her out, pulling her into his chest.

"You made me so happy. You gave me everything I could ever... ever want."

"Mary-"

"Look after Rosie. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Sherlock? (Y/n)?"

"Yes?" The two looked to their dying friend.

"I so like you two. I'm sorry for shooting you that time, Sherlock. I'm really sorry. (Y/n), don't get caught up in another ritual, alright?"

(Y/n) sobbed again, nodding. She could force out the words she wanted to say. The thanks, the I'm sorrys. None of them would change what was going on. All she wanted to do was murder Cas for not being here. But even then, healing was such a flowing thing. Uncertain, unchained.

Mary sobbed, "You were my whole world. Being Mary Watson was the only life worth living. Thank you."

Mary's head dropped. John drew in a breath. "Mary... Castiel! Castiel!"

"John," (Y/n)'s voice shook with emotion, "John he-"

"I apologize for the delay. There was a rift in between di-" Cas appeared in front of all of us, stopping short when he saw the bloody scene, "Oh my God."

"Bring her back. Bring her back!" John growled out animalistically.

"Her soul has already ascended to Heaven," Cas kneeled down next to Mary's body, "To pull her back down from her peace, would be to fight against the angels that are on our side, and the angels that hate us. She is at peace-"

John swung, hitting Cas square in the jaw. Sherlock moved forward, (Y/n) following. John turned to Sherlock now, murder in his eyes.

"Don't you dare. You made a vow. You swore it."

Cas stood, looking a bit awkward. Things like grief would never sit well with him, but Mary was a good person despite her past. She didn't deserve to leave so soon, but she deserved to rest in peace.

"Would she have died even if you came sooner?" (Y/n) looked to Cas.

Cas hesitated, "Either her wounds would be too far along to fix, or the rift I was controlling would have opened up and sucked our universe into a non-existence."

(Y/n) nodded. It was good enough for her. It had to be. Because looking at the woman she considered to be her sister's body, it made her think that the universe was worth sacrificing if it meant a few more moments together.

~*~

"How are the sessions going?" (Y/n) looked out the window, observing rainy London in all of its glory.

"Dim. I think you should give her a try. She understands better than I wish to give her credit for."

(Y/n) chuckled, sarcastically. She hadn't genuinely laughed since Mary died.

"Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?" Mrs. Hudson spoke up, tissue in her hands. Balloon John was next to her, hanging limply, sadly.

"I'm afraid it won't."

"We'll have to rally round, I expect. Do our bit. Look after little Rosie," Mrs. Hudson broke down. (Y/n) sat on the coffee table next to her, rubbing her back. Even if Mary's death destroyed her, she had been through awful things before. These people, they didn't truly understand the meaning of loss. Not until now.

"Just going to um," Sherlock awkwardly stood, pointing at a small pile of letters next to his open laptop, "Look through these. There might be a case."

"A case? You're not up to it, are you?"

Sherlock's head dropped, "Work is the best antidote to sorrow, Mrs Hudson."

"Yes, yes, I expect you're right. I'll make some tea, shall I?"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," (Y/n) watched the woman scurry off to take care of the two adults who couldn't seem to do so themselves.

"What's this?" Sherlock muttered to himself, pulling out a manilla envelope. Inside, was a DVD, with the words MISS ME on the front.

"No way," (Y/n) pulled up a chair, sitting next to Sherlock as he put the disc into his computer.

Once the disc loaded, the two were surprised to find not Moriarty, but Mary. She smiled at the camera, rolling her eyes.

"Thought that would get your attention. So this is in case... in case the day comes. If you are watching this, I'm probably dead. I hope I can have an ordinary life, but who knows? Nothing's certain, nothing's written. My old life was full of consequences. The danger was the fun part, but you can't outrun that forever. You need to remember that, so Sherlock, (Y/n), I'm giving you a case. When I'm gone, if I'm gone, I need you to do something for me."

The two leaned forward in their seats, screening to hear what Mary was going to tell them to do.

"I'm giving you a case, one only the two of you can do... Save John Watson. Save him you two. Save him," Mary grinned at the camera, "Go to Hell, Sherlock. So your wife can drag your ass back."

The DVD shut off. (Y/n) leaned back in her seat, wiping under her eyes. She laughed, for real. It felt weird, inappropriate even, but she couldn't stop it from bubbling up and escaping her throat.

"I need to go home, to America Sherlock," (Y/n) said to her husband when her laughter died down, "I need to see my family. I need to get away."

"I know," Sherlock smiled sadly, "But don't be gone too long. You'll need to drag me out of Hell."

(Y/n) chuckled, looking out the window again. All those people, buildings. One of them was their case.

"Anything for John Watson."