There were boys. Several boys in fact, after the dance. Waltzing in and out of her life and their kitchen at her leisure.
A new one a week, until she met Alec.
He didn't like Alec.
But, Molly had asked him to keep his distance and his mouth shut until and unless it was necessary.
So, he held his tongue and forced himself to be patient until,finally, it became necessary.
She came home after curfew with a look in her eyes in he had become familiar with; having seen it in his own… through blurry, blood shot vision.
"Jo…" Sherlock was certain his daughter could hear his heart breaking as he spoke. "we need to talk."
"Talk about what?" She spat from the doorway.
"You know what." he approached her, sighing.
"You're wrong." A bit unstable in her steps, she still managed to turn her back and make it to the stairs.
"No, I'm not and you know it."
"Leave me alone." She demanded, pounding up the stairs, more of a result of her altered state then her anger.
He'd stayed up that whole night, sitting on the steps outside her door,allowing her to sleep off the high. When she finally emerged, sober and well rested, she didn't seem too surprised to find him in the hallway.
"No more Alec." He spoke. It was matter-of-fact, not demanding, not demeaning, not angry, just plain and clear that this was not a request or a punishment. He took great care to make sure it expressed no emotion; no anger, no judgement, except maybe love.
And she had cried, again.
—
"Mom, I don't want that in my hair." Jo argued. Her tone was fairly polite, considering her words.
"Please, I wore it to my wedding and since you're not wearing my dress—"
"Fine." She chuckled and took the tiara from Molly, who beamed.
"These shoes are going to kill my feet." Henrietta Holmes groaned.
"Its for your sister." Their mother hissed at her other daughter.
"Jo, why'd you make us wear blue, its not our color." Hamish, the only boy and middle child inquired, trying desperately not to sound like he was whining.
"Now, stop it." Molly glared at the young man.
"Oh, the brazier I had to buy for this dress!" Henrietta continued, jokingly.
"Ugh, and these bow ties, who wears bow ties?" Their brother laughed.
"Children." Sherlock warned, glancing around at his family, trying not to smile too big.
Jo was 24, Hamish, 22, and Henrietta was barely 15. Much like her oldest sister, she was a shock and always a surprise.
—
"Daddy," the little 8 year old crawled up on his lap.
Though, he'd been trying to think, he released any frustration he felt in a single sigh and opened his eyes.
"Yes, Hen."
"Is Jojo ok?" She whispered.
"She'll be alright." Gingerly, he kissed her forehead.
"She's just going through a rough patch."
"Maybe she needs a case." Her voice was small and delicate.
"Why would you say that?"
"Well, sometimes you get upset when you don't have a case. Mommy has to take us out so you can be upset." He was shocked at how observant she was. He and Molly had done a lot of work hiding when he had a bad day. Sherlock would lock himself in their room, leave or go bother John until Molly had taken the kids out or he had calmed down.
"Thats a really good idea." He smiled down at her and gave Henrietta another kiss. Almost as if on cue, his cell phone chimed with a message from Lestrade. He didn't bring John with him on that case.
—
Much like him, Jo didn't have many friends, but she was very close to a giggly red head named Marge.
"I'm so excited for you, Jo." She chimed and the woman in question responded with a laugh.
"Why? I don't much like going to church." Sherlock passed his wife a knowing look, as she tried to work with their daughters curls, and Molly returned it with a small smile.
"You are just as excited as the rest of us." Marge argued.
"Yeah, she is." The youngest Holmes gave Jo a nudge and the elder tried to disguise her smile.
—
"Dad," Jo whined. "why are you dragging me with you to work?"
"Its— bring your daughter to work day." He offered.
"That's what John said a few months ago when we all—" She cut herself off and sighed. "I'm just not—"
"Well, it doesn't matter. We're here now, and I need your help."
"Why my help?" She seemed to pled.
"Because I said I do." He spoke gently and reached over to rub her shoulder as the cab came to a stop. Jo gave a small smile in return and followed her father out after he paid the fare.
"Jo" Greg greeted her excitedly and warmly.
"Hello, detective." She smiled… Sherlock tried not to pay much mind to the fact that that was a smile he often used while working; a fake one.
"Gosh! You look more like your parents everyday!" Lestrade had noticed it, too, without really observing it.
"Shall we?" Sherlock requested, gesturing toward the building that appeared to hold the crime scene.
"Uh,… yeah, yeah. Of course." Nervously, the D.I. glanced at Joanna before turning to lead them into the house. "He's—uh— about Jo's age." He leaned in to whisper to Sherlock, who nodded and looked back at his daughter. Before he could speak, she answered.
"I'm not deaf, and I can handle it. Whatever it is."
"As long as you're sure." Sherlock stopped them before they entered and read her expression.
"Of course I am." This smile wasn't fake, she'd gotten it from her mother, it was an acknowledgement of the care he was extending to her. He returned it and guided her into the crime scene.
"Anyway, teenager, brutally beaten and stabbed, can't find an I.D. on him…"
"Dan." She interrupted Greg. "Thats Dan Allister. He goes to my school."Jo turned to her father. "You should call uncle John and have him make sure.. make sure that Sheryl's ok. We'll need to talk to her… He should tell her if she doesn't know." Oddly professionally for a teenager, she turned, snapped on a pair of gloves and began examining the body of her classmate.