It had been two months since their capture by Moriarty, and yet it could have been two years for all they thought about it.

The rescue wasn't anything particularly amazing; the elf who had been sent to give Lyra "justice" had apparently been spying on Moriarty for quite some time, and even an idiot could have gathered that what had happened was not… entirely her fault. They had killed Moriarty, though, and that scared him more than anything else. The elves had an odd justice system.

For example, after a painfully long interrogation session, they were both simply released to go home. Sherlock had been glad, at first. He hadn't known how much longer he could have stood that boring, metallic room.

Probably not nearly as long if it hadn't been for Lyra.

Nevertheless, he nearly ran to the doorway when the elf said they were free to leave. Then he realized that if Lyra was free to go home, Baker Street wouldn't be where she was headed.

He was surprised, then, when she also popped out of her chair and hooked her arm in his. She cocked her head at his unmoving hand resting on the doorknob and back to his face.

'You alright?' A soft voice echoed in his head. He smiled the tiniest bit and nodded and audible words, this time, followed. "Well, to Baker street it is, then." Lyra's smile was deep and genuine. Well, then. He would cherish what time they had left before she decided to go home to her family. It would be inevitable, of course, but that was a conversation for a later time.

And that was how life continued for a good long while; until one day, when Sherlock was in the living room, working on an experiment, he the living daylights were scared out of him. Sobs were escaping his bedroom. Lyra's sobs.

Jolting himself out of his seat, he rushed over to the door and yanked it open. "Lyra, what in the world happened?" He asked, more or less slamming the door shut and walking over to put a hand on the side of her tear- streaked face.

She smiled through her tears, confusing him all the more. She was subconsciously rubbing her fingers and an open laptop lay open in front of her. Had she been doing a lot of typing?

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm fine, honestly." She said, her voice a little breathless from her recent weeping. Sherlock didn't look in the least convinced.

Lyra laughed. "No, really Sherlock, it's alright." She took her hand and grasped his, pulling it gently away from her face. Instead, she placed it on top of the computer. His gaze flickered down to it. "Just a bit of writing."

Sherlock spun the laptop around and raised an eyebrow at the text; it wasn't in a language he could read. "For fun?" He asked while trying to identify the language.

She nodded and hummed her affirmative as she reached up with her hand to wipe her tears away. "It reminds me of home," Lyra said with another smile, "Where storytelling was the best skill you could have."

It occurred to Sherlock that he hadn't ever asked where, in fact, was her home. And yet another question struck him out of the blue. "Why did you ever leave?"

She raised her eyes to meet his. "I was curious to see what this relm was all about. People had told such wonderful stories... some false, of course, but some were true." Her smile deepend. "Someday I shall take you there."

Sherlock's eyes shined, and for once his thoughts were not entirely occupied with all the experiments he could preform. "Where?"

"It's called... Alfheim. Land of the light elves." Her eyes were proud. Sherlock sat down next to her and rubbed her shoulder.

"Someday," He said quietly. "Yes, that would be wonderful."

"Yes, but not today." Lyra said, her sparkling green eyes looking out the window and her head moving to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. "Today is too wonderful to part with."

*tips hat* Thank you, wonderful person. You are my new best friend. :) Leave a review, if you'd like; they're helpful for me to improve.

=^..^= TruffleHead