Hearts on fire

Chapter one – Prologue

Sequel to Burning Hearts. Three years after his return, Sherlock is balancing his detective world with being an attentive boyfriend and father. Quite happily, I might add. What force is strong enough to break up the domestic bliss?

A/N: Welcome back – was on a roll after the last chapter of BH, so I thought I'd get started. Henry is about 5 and three quarters in the beginning of this story.

Molly stretched her hands above her head, pressing them against the headboard and extending her toes. A groan left her as her back snapped. It was Saturday, the day of the Hooper-Holmes family lie in, where no one would leave their beds until it was necessary.

Running her hand down the other side of her bed, however, she realised that this morning that was not the case. Sherlock's side was empty and cool; he had been gone for a while.

It was not unexpected. At least four mornings a week she awoke to an empty bed, with Sherlock having run off to solve a crime, or more than likely, having never come to bed the night before.

The household dynamic was unusual to say the least. Molly had heard of families having rules, but she knew that her family rules were a little unusual. No talk of gruesome murders at the dinner table. No experiments on the carpet. Dad had to be home, on average, 4 nights a week, to at least tuck in Henry.

When she had added that one to the list, she had expected him to dismiss it as sentiment. The idea of Sherlock tucking in their son had been laughable at first, but he had been working hard to adapt to Sherlock the father as well as the consulting detective. He had ensured that he was home most nights of the week (unless the case was an 8 or above) to tuck Henry in. Some nights he stayed. Other nights he tucked Molly in too and then left again, searching the city for something to do.

Domesticating Sherlock Holmes had been a challenge that molly had succeeded in early on. Sure, she would still sometimes catch him storing petri dishes in the pantry or making Henry bring him his phone that is only an inch away, but overall, he was progressing.

And as far as she knew, domestic bliss made him happy.

Molly stretched again and swung her legs over the side of the bed, retrieving one of Sherlock's old bathrobes she slipped it on and made her way into the kitchen.

Henry's bedroom door was open. His room had changed a little over the last 3 years, covered now in posters of his favourite sport. For his fifth birthday Mary had given him a football jersey. Since then, he had been obsessed with football, watching every game with Aunt Mary and insisting they go to the park to kick the ball around. Uncle John had been heartbroken that his wife had gotten in first with a sport that wasn't rugby, but was willing to support his nephew's choice. Sherlock had conceded to let him play, acknowledging that as long as he also had a healthy interest in science, he didn't really mind.

She continued down the hallway, hearing the television on. Henry often woke himself up and turned the TV on so that he could watch cartoons. Molly and Sherlock had been trying to monitor his television watching, but it was difficult now that he was tall enough to reach the on switch.

Molly paused at the end of the hallway when she heard her son give an exasperated sigh. She peeked around the corner, and was a little surprised at what she saw. The curly dark head of her son was barely visible, sitting beside an identical, albeit taller, version of himself.

Sherlock let out a matching sigh. "I just don't understand Henry."

"Dad!" henry sighed. Even from her eavesdropping position in the hall, she could picture the miniature Sherlock rolling his eyes. Henry had started taking on his father's mannerisms when he was about 4 and a half. Sometimes it was amusing, other times it was annoying. Especially when Sherlock and Henry both hit her with the puppy-dog eyes at exactly the same time. "Do I really have to explain it all again?"

"Maybe just once more" Sherlock replied in a soft tone. Molly had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing and giving away her position. She could tell the tone was fake. He understood exactly what they were talking about. It was Sherlock Holmes, he understood almost everything.

"Right, listen carefully Dada" Henry began, in a tone that reminded her so much to Sherlock. Usually when he was explaining something obvious to Anderson. "The yellow one is SpongeBob"

"And he's a sponge?" Sherlock confirmed.

"Obviously" again, a tone that mirrored his father's left his mouth. "The pink one is Patrick; they are best friends, like you and Uncle John."

"And he lives in a pineapple?" Sherlock asked, this time letting a tone of bafflement enter his voice. "Under the sea"

"Yes Da" Henry smiled. "They work together."

"Oh, I remember this" Sherlock grinned, looking down at Henry in an attempt to impress him with his knowledge on the subject. "He works at the crunchy crab"

"Krusty Krab" he corrected softly. "They work for that funny looking fella there, which is Squid ward"

"Squidward. Right" Sherlock laughed. "I think what I really don't get is why there is a squirrel. And how they can have a campfire under water?"

Molly thought this was a moment for her to enter. Sherlock looked over the back of the sofa when he heard her approach. Molly bent to place a kiss in his curls, and then did the same to the curly head of her son. "Good morning men"

Engrossed in his television show, Henry did not respond. Sherlock nudged him, bringing his attention back "your mother said good morning"

Henry looked up, smiled apologetically and said "Morning ma" before going back to his television show.

Molly turned towards the kitchen to make them breakfast. Sherlock stood and followed. "I am going to start monitoring his TV usage a bit better. His favourite show is about a sponge that lives in water."

Molly laughed as she took the ingredients for French toast out of the fridge. "Yours is a talk show about women who don't know the fathers of their children. You can't exactly talk about quality television"

Five minutes later, after some talented multitasking from Molly, a cup of coffee, just the way he liked it, was placed beside him. Sherlock, as a thank you, pulled Molly into his lap and kissed her cheek. "Thank you"

Molly pulled him in for an actual kiss which soon began to grow in passion. The pair only broke apart when a giggle separated them. Henry had ventured into the kitchen to find out where his breakfast was and discovered a scene that he saw often. He liked that his mum and dad loved each other so much. Henry had been too young to remember, but he was pretty sure that there had been a time when his dad and mum had not been together.

Henry sat across from Sherlock, who poured him a glass of juice.

"Thanks Da" he smiled, taking the glass in two hands and lifting it to his mouth. He drained the whole thing in one go, despite his dad's warning to slow down. When he placed the empty glass on the table, he smiled brightly as though remembering something. "Hey, am I an uncle yet?"

"Uncle?"

Henry took a second to realise what he had done and then shook his head, smiling at his own silliness. He often confused his words, but it was fine, because according to uncle Mycroft, his dad used to do that when he was little too. It was something about his mouth and brain working at different speeds. "Cousin. Has Aunt Mary had the baby yet?"

"Not yet" Molly grinned, putting the first batch of toast on the table. Henry waited patiently as his dad first put a slice on a plate for his mum, and then put a piece on Henry's plate. "Any day now though."

Henry took a small bight, and thought as he chewed. "I hope it's a boy, so I can teach it all about football"

"You can teach a girl how to play football too" Molly said, glancing over her shoulder at her two men as they enjoyed their breakfast. "I used to play football you know"

Sherlock and Henry both looked at Molly in awe. That was a fact even the grand consulting detective didn't know. "When?"

"In high school. And through university" she returned, flipping the toast in the pan with a flourish. "I was on the St. Bart's social mixed side for a season just after Henry was born too"

She turned to see her son staring at her with a 'wow, you're so cool' look on his face. Molly fluffed his hair just as someone knocked politely on the door, and then entered without being let in.

"Sherlock, we have a case, I need you…"Detective inspector Greg Lestrade paused in the doorway to the kitchen, looking around the room. "Sorry Molls didn't mean to interrupt family breakfast. Hi Henry"

Henry quickly swallowed another mouthful of his toast before saying "Hi Uncle Greg"

"This case, what is it?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

"It's an 8" was all he said in response, dismissing Molly with a smile as she offered him a piece of toast. Sherlock's face brightened. "You'll want to be in on it"

"Call John!" Sherlock yelled as he ran down the hall to change out of his pyjamas. Henry laughed at his father's exciting antics.

"Oh no you don't" Molly added, loud enough to be heard from their bedroom at the other end of the hall. "Mary could go into labour any minute now, you are not dragging John away…"

"So, that's not that important" Sherlock replied, having dressed in record time, pulling his suit jacket over his purple shirt. "It's just a baby, their first; they want heaps so he'll have plenty of opportunity…"

Lestrade let his jaw drop while Molly rolled her eyes. It had been three years since his return, but there were still some elements of sentiment that Sherlock was not familiar with. Sherlock had his 'Bit not good' face on while he looked from Greg, to Molly, and then stared at Henry. "I mean, well… I wasn't present when Henry was born, and …"

Luckily, Sherlock had to good grace to stop speaking. Henry, who over the last few years had become accustomed to his mother glaring at his dad when he said the wrong thing, just giggled. It seemed his father was always saying silly things.

"Well, Lestrade, you'll just have to be my assistant today" Sherlock replied.

"No!" Lestrade barked. "Contrary to your belief, I am a very important person at a crime scene"

"And yet, here you are, asking me for help" Sherlock smiled.

Henry jumped up from his breakfast plate "I'll go Dad! I'll be your assistant! Can't be too hard, Uncle John does it…"

Sherlock smirked at the fact that his son had just insulted John. Molly, on the other hand simply cried "You are not going anywhere Henry J!"

"But Mumma, Da's been teaching me all about ded...du…" he struggled with the word before looking up at Sherlock.

"Deductions" Sherlock reminded him.

"Deductions… its fun. I could be really helpful, couldn't I Da?" he looked up at Sherlock pleadingly. Sherlock was smart enough to recognise this as a volatile situation and knelt down.

"Not this time Henry" he began as democratically as possible. "I don't think that you are ready for crime scenes"

"But…"

"Crime scenes are tough. They are scary and dangerous" Sherlock replied, then looked over his shoulder at Lestrade, who nodded with his strong 'I am a police officer, don't mess with me' look on his face.

"I'll be brave Da!" Henry replied, puffing out his chest.

"This isn't about that mate, I know you're brave" Sherlock replied. Henry had proven himself brave years before during the kidnapping. Sherlock decided to change his tact "I can't let you come on crime scenes with me until you have completely finished your training in the science of deduction. We need to be trained up so that you…we, don't get hurt. How would mum feel if something was to happen to both of us?"

Henry found himself nodding. In one of their many father-son chats, they had discussed how important it was to always look after Mumma.

"Mum works today" Henry began, looking up at Molly. "Who is going to look after me if you're off on a case?"

Lestrade jumped in here. "Hey, it's Saturday… Doesn't Ali babysit you on a Saturday?"

Ali Lestrade, Greg's 20 year old daughter, was Henry's favourite babysitter. A month previous, Sherlock had been putting Henry to bed when he had told his dad a massive secret. He was in love with Ali. She was nice and pretty and smelled a bit like mum, she had a SpongeBob Squarepants phone case and like drawing pictures. Ali also worked in a bakery so always brought him cakes and pies and according to the 6 year old, that was the truest type of love. Henry had told his dad that night that he was going to marry Ali.

All thoughts of following his father to a crime scene were gone when he realised that she would be seeing his beloved that afternoon. He broke into a massive smile, cocked his head to the side, and said "Can I go watch more TV?"

Molly smiled and nodded at him, wishing she knew more about Sherlock's mind palace technique so that she could store that memory forever and ever. Sherlock crossed to her, kissed his pathologist on the cheek.

"Crime scenes are tough. They are scary and dangerous" she muttered, looking up at Sherlock, who smiled down at her.

After a soft kiss on her lips, he muttered "Don't worry, I'll be brave"

Seconds later, he was out the door and on to his next big adventure.