Disclaimer: not mine

Note: oh, my gosh, I am so ashamed of myself… I have become what I hate, which is, basically, an author who doesn't update. I do have an excuse, albeit a bad one… my computer here at home is ancient… I'm pretty sure it was the computer that Marco Polo used when he mapquested his way to China, that is, if he had used mapquest… and I couldn't make the blasted thing upload chapters to this site, and my laptop, which I use at school, has no internet connection at home. Please forgive me!

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mycroft listened intently as Sian and Sherlock explained their narrative. He nodded and shook his head at different points of the tale, but never did he interrupt.

"So," Sherlock said. "What do you think?"

"I think that insanity must run in the family," Mycroft said dryly.


"Well, the way I see it, either you're insane for telling such a story, or I'm insane for believing it."

"So you do believe me?"

"Yes," Mycroft said. He glanced over Sian, whose hand was currently rested "casually" on Sherlock's knee. "But I must say, I doubt I'd believe a word of it if it wasn't for Aun—I mean, Miss Fairfax."

"Sian," Sian reminded him.

"Right. So, when are you two getting married?"


"Tomorrow?" Mycroft echoed. "That's rather short notice, don't you think?"

"Quite the contrary," Sherlock quipped. "We've known each other for 152 years."

Mycroft ignored Sherlock's lame attempt at humor; instead, he turned to Sian. "My dear," he said, "Since you weren't truly a member of the Holmes family thirty-one years ago, I am happy that you are going to be."

"Thank you, Mycroft," Sian said, still with a hint of auntly affection.


Sherlock and Sian were married the next day, with the only guests being Mycroft and Dr. Watson.

Sherlock carried Sian through the threshold (Watson had considerably made plans to stay elsewhere for the night). Sherlock set his wife – his wife – down on the bed.

"Are you happy?" Sherlock asked, kissing Sian on the cheek. Sian smiled.

"Of course," she said, throwing her arms around his neck. Sherlock pulled his head back.

"And you don't regret staying here?" he asked earnestly.


"Not at all?"

"Not at all," she affirmed.

"And you don't want to go back to the twenty-first century?"

"Sherlock! No! I'm happy here in the nineteenth century!"

"Good," Sherlock said decidedly, wrapping his arms around Sian's waist. "Because I'm not going to let you go."

"Good, because I'm not leaving. You're stuck with me forever," Sian bantered.

"I wonder how this all will affect those blasted books?" Sherlock wondered aloud. Sian rolled her eyes.

"Shut up and kiss me," she commanded. Sherlock was happy to comply.