"Don't thank me," Sherlock said, completely seriously, "Thank John."

He never was good at taking gratitude - at least not when it wasn't a case. Gratitude from a case was only natural. Gratitude for saving the life of a boy that you didn't particularly like from the clutches of a woman you hated? No. That was basic. Maybe, though, just maybe it might go a little ways to having John forgive him, in the end. Not everything I do is for myself. I can do things for the good of others, it just rarely looks that way.

None of which he spoke aloud.

They finally reached the base of the Gingerbread cliffs and Sherlock's eyes scanned relentlessly across them until he caught the dark outline of a figure.

He hoped to hell it was the man they were looking for.