Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Epilogue

CHAPTER FIFTY: EPILOGUE

~One year later~

Sherlock watched Amelia play her violin from outside 221B Baker Street. She had changed a lot since his “death” to the point where he almost didn’t recognise her. She’d grown her hair out so it fell to just above her waist, and she kept it tied in a braid most of the time.

She had lost a considerable amount of weight since Sherlock had faked his death, and her clothes hung loosely on her, a few sizes too big. One of Sherlock’s old blazers was draped around her shoulders, way too large for her but she didn’t seem to care, the top of her tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice poking out of the pocket.

She danced around as she played the violin, her eyes closed as she immersed herself in the music. Sherlock could hear the music playing through the windows—identifying it as the song, the song Sherlock had composed for Amelia.

It seemed liked ages ago when he had written it—the two short years feeling more like two decades to the detective. Perhaps, he should—no, he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. It was too soon; Moriarty’s network wasn’t completely dismantled, and Amelia wouldn’t be safe until it was.

He had to protect her—that’s what this was all about. Protecting her, protecting Amelia. Protecting Amelia from the dangers of the people who wanted to kill her—and she had a lot of people trying to kill her.

But it was worth it, and it was always going to be worth it. Sherlock would give up anything for her, even if she didn’t know he was alive.

Well, that certainly is a complication. Sherlock thought with a small smile.

He ran a hand through his dark curls—a significant one inch longer than it had been last year. He stepped back into the shadows as he saw Amelia walk up to the window. She furrowed her brow, and for one short moment, Sherlock started to panic, thinking she had seen him.

Upon closer examination, he saw that she was on the phone—presumably with her brother by her exasperated eye rolls and her heavy sighs. She let out a laugh that was silenced by the window, a blush splattering across her cheeks.

How much Sherlock had missed that blush.

He had memorised the way it spread across her nose and up to her ears. The way even the few freckles she had turned red. The way she’d hide her face behind a curtain of hair as if she were embarrassed of her reddening cheeks. The way she would giggle immediately after, realising she had done it again.

Sherlock couldn’t fight the smile creeping up his face.

Another year and a half—that was how long Mycroft estimated it would be until Moriarty’s network was down, and Sherlock could reveal himself to Amelia.

A year and a half seemed like an eternity away to Sherlock, but it’d be worth it in the end, because that was what love was about; putting the other person’s needs before your own despite how much it pained you to do so.

Sherlock took out his new phone—the last one had been destroyed in the fall—and stared down at the screen. Sherlock dialled Amelia’s number, holding his phone to his ear as it rang.

“Hello?” Amelia answered, her voice crackling over the speaker. “Who is this?”

Sherlck remained silent, desperately wanting to say something—anything but unable to. He bit down on his lip to keep his words from bursting out. The taste of iron filled his mouth, Sherlock realising he must have cut himself on his teeth.

Amelia sighed heavily, “This isn’t funny.” She said, then hung up.

Sherlock listened to the dial tone for a moment longer before he lowered his phone and tucked it back into his pocket. He pursed his lips tightly, kicking the ground with his foot. A pebble skittered into the street and fell into the gutter.

He turned on his heel, his coat flapping out behind him as he walked down the street, his hands in his pockets. His face remained cold, masking his sadness in indifference.

 Another year and half and Amelia would get the miracle she had wished for.