A/N: This is a sequel of The Sitter. However, you can probably get by not reading the first one in order to understand this. Alex is John and Mary's five year old son (my own creation)

Warnings: This is rated M because it contains character deaths, descriptions of violence, harm to children, Moriarty being creepy and disgusting. Will put warnings on other chapters if I think of any other questionable content.

I'll go ahead and say upfront that there won't be smut in this story. Some suggestive content, but if you want smut stop reading. This is a piece with a mix of angst/suspense and fluff and action and family relationships etc... It is not your typical Parentlock fluff piece as it contains a lot of unhappiness and horrible things. There you have it.

Sherlock couldn't stop staring at the screen. His mind had somehow come to a complete stop. What he had just witnessed seemed the material of some outlandish nightmare. And yet it somehow was a reality.

Moriarty's sneering face glared out at him from the laptop screen, words flashing across in quick succession.

"You"

"Lost"

"Sherlock"

Moriarty winked at him from the screen.

"Told"

"You"

"I'd"

"Burn"

Moriarty gave a cheeky grin.

"The"

"HEART"

"Out"

"Of"

Moriarty blew a kiss.

"You"

And then it flashed to a shot of the fire still burning, though thankfully the two forms engulfed in it had long since gone still and the screaming had stopped.

Sherlock's entire body felt tight, he was frozen in place still staring at the disgusting video he'd just been sent. Surely this wasn't real. Surely this had to be some kind of trick. Would Moriarty really play his hand so quickly? Why not use John and Mary to bargain with like he'd done last time? No, instead it was all over in a brief flash of fire.

His phone rang and he involuntarily jumped. Glancing at the number he sighed. Normally this wouldn't be something he'd do, but tonight was the exception to every rule. Sherlock picked up.

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock." A pause. "Moriarty has sent you something, hasn't he?"

"Yes," he could barely make out that one word. His throat felt too tight, like he'd tied his scarf on with far too little slack. How was he supposed to go on. Was this was normal people felt like? God, was this what John had felt like when he'd seen him splashed out on the pavement supposedly dead? John and Mary. Gone.

"So you know then?" Mycroft asked.

"Have you found the bodies?" Sherlock managed to whisper.

"I'm afraid so," Mycroft sighed. "John and Mary, there's no doubt."

"And their unborn child," Sherlock added.

It seemed so unreal. Moriarty's decision to finally strike five years later. Then again, it was like him in some ways. His attempts to be utterly unpredictable. He'd taken Sherlock by surprise somehow. And the consulting detective was determined not to let that happen again.

After a long moment Sherlock at last came to an important realization.

"What about Alex?"

"There's no sign of him at the scene," Mycroft sighed. "I fear Moriarty may have kept him for future leverage over you."

Sherlock let his mind roll through the possibilities. Without another word to his brother he rose and reached for his coat.

"You're going to look for him?" Mycroft apparently deduced.

Sherlock sighed. "Yes." And he snapped the phone shut without another word, heading off towards the door, determined.

Even if Alex was gone he would find him before Moriarty could do something to him. First place to start, the family's apartment. It seemed unlikely Moriarty would just have left him sitting there, but even so it was worth a check.

At the apartment Sherlock began his journey through, trying to pull his emotions back even as reminders of both John and Mary flashed past him. He busied himself making deductions, looking at the evidence before him and letting information filter through. There'd been a struggle. Lamp knocked over. Glass shattered across the floor. Mary had been grabbed first. John had tried to put up a fight, gone complacent when a gun had been put to her head (or something of the like he assumed). His eyes traced the area for any sign of Alex. None. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

Brain working frantically, Sherlock examined every detail he could. Alex's schedule…would he have been at school while this was occurring? No, the clock had been knocked off that coffee table and had broken at precisely 6:12. Considering he'd had a call from John at 9:00 that morning Sherlock could conclude it had to have been the evening instead. Alex would have been home by that point.

"Alex," Sherlock called. He had to be here. Part of him was unwilling to accept the idea of Moriarty having him in his clutches.

He wandered down to Alex's room, though on the way down the hall he remembered a conversation with the boy last time he'd babysat. Alex had mentioned a hiding place. "I always stump my dad when he plays hide-and-seek with me."

Sherlock had hmmed at the time and gone back to looking at his laptop. Thank heavens he'd heard the first part though. There was a place in this apartment, but it had to be somewhere that would stump even Moriarty…no not stump…trump…

A spot in which only a child could fit.

His foot sounded against a different texture in the floor and Sherlock paused. A crawlspace! Yes! He reached down and yanked the covering board with fabric on it off of the hole, staring down into the small space.

"Alex?" he called. "Alex, it's Sherlock."

After just a short pause a little voice echoed from the space.

"Sherlock?"

He breathed a sigh as he tried to stick more of his head inside.

"Alex, come out of there. It's safe now," Sherlock said.

In the gloom he could just barely make out the boy's small form huddled in the tiny space. Sherlock pulled his head back from the crawlspace, allowing Alex enough room to begin working his way out. Sherlock managed to think to stick out a hand in time to help the boy back out. He wasn't really surprised when Alex launched himself forward and suddenly his arms were full of boy. Sherlock held him in a loose embrace.

He felt numb. Patting the boy and comforting him. He'd done this before, but it hadn't been quite the same. There'd been the knowledge that if he didn't calm Alex down John or Mary could do so when they returned from their date or whatever they were out doing.

"They're dead aren't they, Uncle Sherlock?" Alex whispered.

Sherlock thought about everything John had told him of timing, of talking to children, of being too honest…and he decided to ignore it.

"Yes," he admitted. It would do no good for Alex to live on a false hope. Better to get things over with now.

The boy let out a muffled sob and burrowed closer. Still, the heartbreak had to come at some point. Though perhaps he would have preferred not having to deal with it directly.

There was a knock at the door and Sherlock rose to his feet, still holding the boy. Alex squirmed a bit, but he held him tightly, refusing to let him go as the door opened and in stepped—

Mycroft.

Sherlock breathed yet another sigh.

"You've found him." Mycroft's nose wrinkled at the sight of the crying boy. "Well, best to take him away from here for now. Likely to only continue bringing up traumatic memories."

"For god's sake, Mycroft. He's right here," Sherlock snapped. "Don't talk about him like that."

"Nonetheless, brother dear, he shouldn't stay in this place tonight. Come, we'll take him to child services until they work out legal guardianship details."

Sherlock froze. "Child services? Surely there's a better alternative?"

"I will ensure he's well cared for and that surveillance is kept on him for a time. If Moriarty makes any moves around him we'll know. In the meantime, it's the best solution."

Logic. Perhaps that was true. If this was any other child Sherlock never would have disputed Mycroft's thinking.

Sherlock eased Alex off of him and onto his own feet. Alex sniffled a bit but didn't argue as Sherlock pointed to Mycroft and told him everything would be alright.

However, before Mycroft could lead Alex towards the door, Sherlock remembered something and dashed back into the boy's room, snatching up the stuffed dinosaur toy, a picture book, and a photo of John and Mary on the boy's nightstand, shoving all three into the boy's school backpack.

Mycroft arched a brow but nonetheless allowed Alex to come over and take the things.

Sherlock watched from the doorway of the newly vacated apartment as Alex slipped into the backseat of the car with Mycroft. And though he tried, Sherlock couldn't keep a single tear from leaking out and running down a cheek at the thought of the ends of his friends and the fate to which they'd left their child.