Epilogue

Bored. -SH Lestrade smiled a little at the message, vaguely wondering if Sherlock would appreciate a little jest in his stormy mood. He leaned against the cemetery gate and typed out a response.

Not much I can do to help a dead man. -Lestrade He sighed and slipped his phone into his jacket pocket when he heard footsteps approaching him. He looked up. "Mrs. Hudson." he nodded.

Mrs. Hudson was clutching a handkerchief to her face. "Oh, hello dear. Sorry for all this..." She gestured to her dishevled state and sniffed into her handkercheif.

Lestrade shook his head. "Don't worry about it. If there's something I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask." he told her kindly.

They turned to see John limping toward them looking miserable but no worse for wear. The ex-army doctor and temporarily-ex-DI exchanged grim, tense nods of aknowledgement. John had not spoken to Lestrade and Mycroft since Sherlock's death and didn't seem to even want to. Understandable, considering the circumstances of his limited knowledge of the case.

"Sorry for making you wait." The lone tenant of 221b Baker Street said to his landlady. Mrs. Hudson patted his arm comfortingly and the two walked out of the cemetery together, consoling each other.

Lestrade's pocket chimed. Sherlock? -MH

Lestrade sighed. Cemetery. I'll hunt him down. -Lestrade

Sherlock's train is leaving in ten minutes. -MH

Be right there. -Lestrade

Lestrade looked up to see Sherlock stroll slowly out of the cemetery to meet him. "Come on, Sherlock, your train to Switzerland is almost due." he barked out gruffly, masking how upset he was about the whole situation but knowing he could do nothing about it.

"Bloody Mycroft." Sherlock huffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Switzerland! Nothing goes on in Switzerland!"

"His objective precisely." Lestrade snorted. "Well, we better get on before anyone thinks I'm talking to a ghost." He turned and clambered into his car, motioning for Sherlock to enter the other side.

They drove to the station in silence.

Sherlock sighed almost reluctantly as he dismounted but turned back and leaned over to speak to Lestrade. "Look after John and Mrs. Hudson." he said earnestly.

Lestrade nodded. "Only until you get back, okay?" John was still a fair bit upset at Mycroft and him and the world in general but Lestrade sincerely hoped he'd forgive them soon. One thing's for sure, they would probably never tell him about Lestrade's involvement with Moriarty, he'd brutally slaughter them before they could even make out the words 'Sherlock's alive'.

Sherlock nodded soberly and turned to leave. "Sherlock." Lestrade called after him, Sherlock turned back. "Thanks." Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion as to why Lestrade was thanking him. "For not using the recall code, I know you're not daft enough to have missed it." Sherlock just gave a cocky little smile, preening, and disappeared into the station with a swish of his coat.

Lestrade shifted gears and prepared to pull out into the traffic when his pocket buzzed. He pulled out his phone. Hello sexy. -M

Lestrade's breath hitched and his head jumped up swiveling. He barely caught sight of a Westwood suit melting into the crowds with a blonde trailing after him protectively. Sherlock is alive. Clever boy. -M

Lestrade stared for a minute or two but the texts stopped coming. Oh, no. He briefly wondered how he was going to explain this one to Mycroft.

He sighed and shifted gears again and pulled off the curb, he agreed to be at Mycroft's flat in an hour for their 'official reunion' as Mycroft had called it. A splash of yellow paint on brick wall caught his eye and he pulled over, clambering out of the car.

"Oi!" he barked, ever the copper. "Oi you!" The graffiti artist jumped guiltily at being caught in the act of defacing public property and pulled his cap lower over his face as he dashed away, dropping his can of paint. Lestrade broke out into a run, chasing him, until he saw the graffiti.

He skidded to a sudden stop, mouth falling open in shock.

I believe in Sherlock.

Was spray painted boldly on the wall.

Moriarty was rea

About half an 'L' was missing from when Lestrade interrupted but the message was crystal clear. Lestrade stood staring at the drying paint for a moment or two before he peered down both ends of the ally to ensure his solitude. He picked up the fallen spray can.

Moriarty IS real

He proclaimed confidentally underneath the previous writings, capitalizing the 'IS', present participle.

Moriarty is NOT gone

Lestrade bit his lip, lowering his arm an inch before hardening his gaze and continuing writing his message.

Moriarty is merely waiting.

Satisfied at his own handiwork, Lestrade dropped the spray can and walked away.

The End


A/N: I hold the adamant belief that 'A story is only as good as its best villain'. BBC Sherlock cannot continue without our favorite, mad, criminal consultant! This last little bit of the story is just my contribution supporting many fans' same desperate hopes that Moriarty will make a comeback in the next season.