Author's note: SHERLOCK SEASON 4 SPOILERS AHEAD.

The story takes place after The Final Problem. John, Sherlock and Rosie have recently settled back into 221B Baker Street. (They haven't found Mary's "Baker Street Boys" CD yet)

As John and Sherlock try to deal with their inner conflicts and the aftermath of their 'adventures' with Eurus, fate brings them across an old friend and a new mystery. A man's house is broken into by his dead wife, and the crime sets into motion a series of events that no one - not even Sherlock Holmes - could have anticipated.

(Contains Johnlock)

The crying woke him up.

Sherlock slipped out of bed, yawning. He made his way to the sitting room to find John sprawled on the sofa, snoring and fidgeting, while Rosie whimpered in her crib. Before she could throw a full-on tantrum, Sherlock quickly made his way over to her, trying not to trip over the toys that littered the floor. John's bedroom was still being restored. Sherlock had, of course, offered his to Rosie and John, but they couldn't get the crib through his bedroom door. So for now, the sitting room had been converted into the babysitting room.

Sherlock carefully picked her up, trying to do it the way John had taught him. She shushed a little then, and John opened his eyes. "Yes, look after her this once, will you, Mary?" he mumbled. Sherlock's heart gave a painful pang, and then John turned over and went back to sleep.

"What's the problem, now?" Sherlock whispered to Rosie, "Do you need some fresh air?"

He crossed over to the kitchen and opened the window. Perhaps holding a baby next to an open window in the middle of a crisp London night wasn't the best idea, but Rosie hushed immediately, sucking her thumb and staring up at Sherlock. Yes, she hated the confinement. He absentmindedly stroked her hair and looked out of the window. For once, he was seeing and not observing, for his thoughts were far away, on a guarded island in the middle of a lonely sea.

He wondered what Eurus was up to. He had visited her a few times already. At first, she wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't even acknowledge their presence. But when he started playing the violin to her, her face would light up, and recently, she had even started playing with him. He wished that he had had more time to get to know her. Psychotic or not, she was his sister, and he really felt for her. He couldn't believe that Mycroft had kept her locked away all this time, and couldn't help but think that the confinement had probably made her worse. She was smart, no doubt; she couldn't channel her intellect the right way was the only problem.

Sherlock had tried to reason with Mycroft, but he was convinced that Eurus had to be confined in the strictest of prisons.

"I know what she's capable of!" the elder brother had yelled.

"So do I! She played those stupid games with me too, remember? She killed Victor!"

"Those games were a mere sample of her true abilities, brother mine. She murdered three innocent men - alright, one of them was guilty. She killed the Governor and his wife solely for the purpose of her barbaric experiments. She almost made you shoot me - although I confess, she can't take full credit for that." Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but Mycroft cut him off. "In case you've forgotten, she almost killed John Watson."

This was the one argument which always made Sherlock shut up, and Mycroft knew it. He knew the lengths that Sherlock was prepared to go to to keep John safe. Mycroft had known, before Sherlock did, that Sherlock's love for John was more than just 'friendly'. And so Mycroft walked out, twirling his umbrella, leaving Sherlock to fume with frustration and deal with his internal conflict.

Sherlock peered through the open kitchen door to John's sleeping frame on the sofa, pangs of longing in his stomach. How he wanted to go over there and shift John's head to his lap, stroke his hair softly, and just watch him sleep. But he knew it wasn't possible. The living, breathing proof was now snoring in his arms. He wound a lock of Rosie's hair around his finger and thought of Mary and her lingering presence. John still missed her, obviously, but his initial stages of grief had passed. Sherlock missed her, too, but he could deal with it as long as he had John.

He thought about the letter he had received earlier that day. Typical Mary, with her posthumous gifts and messages. The contents of the letter disturbed him more than its author did. I can't think about it right now, he reminded himself. There are more important matters to deal with.

Rosie was finally sound asleep. Locking the window securely behind him - he did not fancy another flying grenade in his apartment - he made his way to the living room and settled her comfortably in the crib. He allowed himself another look at John, who somehow looked even more tempting now, although his hair was messy and he drooled slightly. Then he sighed, cast a cursory glance around the living room, and walked back to his bedroom.

"Would you like a cuppa, Rosie?" asked John, enthusiastically waving the teapot around.

Sherlock came out of his bedroom and rolled his eyes. "Pretty sure tea's not good for babies, John."

"And who made you the expert on babies?"

"Rosie did. Look! She likes me." Rosie had spotted Sherlock and was now enthusiastically thrashing about. He smiled, tweaked her nose, and started buttoning his quintessential black coat. John eyed him suspiciously.

"You going out?" he asked.

"Yea, Lestrade needs me to solve a robbery."

"Already?" asked John. He hesitated. "I thought you might want to take some time off. You know...with everything that's been happening -"

Sherlock stuffed his muffler into his collar. "Yes, John, I just found out that I have a crazy sister who almost killed all of us, get over it. But I don't know why that means that I have to stay locked up all day and brood about it. I'm not grieving and I'm not scared, and even if I was, the criminals wouldn't care. Eurus is in Sherrinford and the cases are here. Now, are you coming or not?" He peered expectantly at John.

"Not today. I'm going back to work today, so I'm gonna drop Rosie off at Molly's. Speaking of Molly -" - Sherlock was already halfway through the door, but John completed the question anyway - "- have you spoken to her at all?" The only answer he got was Sherlock cheerfully waving Mrs Hudson goodbye.

Sherlock got into the cab, gave the driver some directions, and watched Baker Street fade away. Not having John on a case with him felt...odd. "I really am lost without my blogger." he muttered to himself. When he drew up at the crime scene - a large, imposing bungalow with a neat garden - Lestrade was already waiting for him.

"Mrs Ferrier's necklace has been stolen." Lestrade informed him, before he could ask, "An hour ago. She puts it in a cabinet, leaves for a few minutes, and when she comes back, it's gone."

"You called me out of my apartment for a stolen necklace?" asked Sherlock in disbelief.

"Wha- it's the famous Ferrier necklace! It's worth thousands!" protested Lestrade. Sherlock just sighed. "Any suspects?"

Lestrade gestured to the cluster of policemen standing in the garden, a small, mousy-looking girl crying hysterically in their midst. "The help, Lucy, was cleaning that part of the house at the time."

"You wouldn't have called me if it was that simple." said Sherlock, staring long and hard at Lucy.

"Right. We searched every inch of her, as well as her possessions, but we can't find the necklace anywhere. She couldn't have disposed of it so quickly, it's barely been an hour since the robbery."

"Could she perhaps have given it to an accomplice?"

"Nobody's seen her since the robbery occurred, except for Mrs Ferrier and the policemen."

Sherlock frowned. "How did you find out about this? Did Mrs Ferrier call?"

"No, when Mrs Ferrier realized that the necklace was gone, she screamed bloody murder. That policeman - right there - his name's Wilkins, he heard her and came running."

"Arrest Wilkins and Lucy." said Sherlock.

"Wha-"

"Search him, he has the necklace."

"But-"

Sherlock sighed. "He was right there when Mrs Ferrier screamed, what are the odds of that? Obviously, he's in cahoots with Lucy. She stole the necklace and he took it from her when no one was looking."

"Maybe he was just working this circuit. You know. Had his rounds here." said Lestrade weakly.

Sherlock fixed him with an unblinking stare. "Idiots. The whole lot of you." He paused. "Look at his shoes, Lestrade. They're muddy. Posh neighborhood like this, and it hasn't rained in about a week. I didn't see any signs of mud anywhere around. He was patrolling another part of town, someplace more down-market, and casually walked by here at the time he'd chosen with Lucy. Do you understand now, or shall I fix up a powerpoint presentation?"

Lestrade was silent for a while. "I like you a lot more when Dr Watson's around." he remarked. Sherlock silently agreed.

Wilkins broke down as soon as Lestrade confronted him, and was soon taken away. Sherlock accepted Mrs Ferrier's tearful thanks and had barely settled into his cab when his phone rang. He sat up straight. "Molly? Why have you been avoiding me? I-"

Molly cut him off. "Sherlock, there's been an accident. You need to come to St Bart's right now."

"Who is it?"

"Dr Watson and Rosie."