Okay, this is my FIRST Sherlock fanfiction. I don't own anybody (darn it! I wish I did!). But enough with the usual disclaimers...hope you enjoy! :)
Chapter 1
Dong! Dong! The old cuckoo clock that Molly had insisted Sherlock put in the flat went off loudly, right in the detective's ear.
He groaned and rolled over, only to have Molly poking him in the ribs.
"Wake up, sleepyhead! I made breakfast!" She chirped, holding out a steaming tray resplendent with coffee, bacon and scrambled eggs. She tugged on her messy auburn braid.
Sherlock gave his wife a grateful smile. Mrs. Hudson had been right, marriage did change a person. For the better in his case. "Thanks." He murmured, taking a quick sip of coffee.
"Has John called with any new cases, or where you just pretending to sleep and checking your website on your phone under the covers?" Molly called from the kitchen, as she fixed a plate for herself.
Sherlock shoved his empty plate aside, slipped his feet into his slippers and shuffled into the kitchen to refill his cup. "Of course, why not? Anything to keep my mind off of shooting up the wall and raising the rent. Do you have any objections?"
Molly bit her lower lip. "Just as long as you get in a full night's sleep, Sherlock." She glanced up, as their sixteen year-old son, Ian shuffled into the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Good morning Ian! Slept well?" She queried.
Ian shook his head. Unlike his younger sister Anthea, he was the spitting-image of his father. "Nothing to report. Slept as well as could be expected." He mumbled, smiling at his mother as he accepted the plate of food she was proffering.
He glanced at his dad's iPhone as it gave a resounding chirp, and glanced at his father curiously. "Is it Uncle John, again? I hope he has a case this time, dad."
Sherlock shook his head, as he headed towards his bedroom to dress. "And it wouldn't be too soon, either." He called out, closing the bedroom door behind him.
xxx
-Later that Morning-
Sherlock glanced at the battered door of 221B and heaved a deep sigh. Twenty years ago, there had still been a Mrs. Hudson and a Lestrade. But Lestrade had retired, and Mrs. Hudson had gone off to Italy for her retirement, since she'd fallen into a bit of a fortune later on.
"Middle-age, brother mine, comes to us all." Sherlock found himself remembering what his older brother had told him. He'd scoffed at it at the time, but since he had married Molly, everything had happened far too quickly.
Since both Sherlock and John had had to move, to accommodate their growing families, they had both moved out of 221B. But Mrs. Hudson had given Sherlock the deed when she left for Italy, telling him to take good care of it, and not shoot up her walls. Sherlock was grateful for that, and tried to show it, although he still wasn't used to doing that sort of thing.
"Sherlock!" John's voice called excitedly as he opened the door, he scanned his best friend. It had been a few months, since they had seen each other. Sherlock hadn't been busy, and the new Inspector, Inspector Chavender was nothing like what Lestrade had been. But John decided that he didn't look any worse for wear.
Sherlock gave his friend the usual cold smile. "I heard you found a case? I was checking the website half the night, trying to keep myself from running over to Bart's morgue again. That new Pathologist there is hardly agreeable. Been camping?"
John blinked a moment, before realizing that his friend was deducing. "Oh, uh yeah. With the kids you know." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Ms. Moran is the client. Seems that she's having some problems with her son…she wasn't quite clear on it over the phone."
Sherlock settled himself into his usual pose in his armchair, and steepled his fingers together. "Well, we'll just have to see, John. I haven't told Molly this, but London is slowly becoming more boring than it used to be twenty years ago. This Ms. Moran might make a welcome change." He paused as the doorbell buzzed. "And that would be her, if I'm any judge. Let her in, will you?"
John gave his friend a relieved smile. Ever since Sherlock had married Molly, he had changed. It was nice to have the real Sherlock Holmes back again.
He glanced at the middle-aged woman with the care-worn face. Her trusting, chocolate brown eyes went shiny as she recognized John's face. "Ms. Moran?" John asked shortly. "Sherlock will see you now…"
She hurried past him, and into the living room, gasping at the plainness of it. "M-Mr. Holmes?" She mumbled, turning nervously towards the detective. "I heard that you could help me with my problem."
Sherlock cracked one eye open. "Middle-aged, wears Clair-de-lune, has a missing son who has been gone about two days." He muttered, as he sniffed the air. "Boring!" He announced, rising from his chair, and sitting down before his desk, typing furiously on his laptop.
Ms. Moran held in the feeling of wanting to scream in frustration and tried to make herself look more pleading. "But Mr. Holmes, you haven't even been listening to me! My son has been acting extremely strangely, and I'm afraid that someone might have been stalking him. I came to you because Scotland Yard thought that I was mad. Jamie hasn't been a very open boy, since his father and I…well, since his father isn't around anymore. I'm so worried about my baby. He's the only thing I've got in this whole world; you have to help me!" She pleaded, wiping the tears out of her eyes before anyone could notice.
Sherlock gave a deep sigh. He hated dealing with grieving mothers. He stood up resolutely and moved towards the door, pulling his coat onto his slim figure. "Fine. John, come with me, the game is on!"