"Is it going to be dangerous for our Wills, you being in his life?"

"Grace!" Molly hissed, mortified, but Sherlock seemed utterly unfazed by her sister's rudeness as he responded to her blunt question.

"He'll be in no more danger with me as a father as he would be if I were a policeman, a firefighter or in the military," he replied calmly. "The only 'nemesis' I've ever laid claim to is my older brother Mycroft, and that is strictly in jest."

Molly wondered about the truth of that statement, remembering uneasily how she'd sensed a strain in their relationship when Sherlock had described his elder brother, but she could certainly understand sibling rivalry. Sometimes – like now, for instance – Grace drove her absolutely spare.

Dinner was less than halfway done and already her younger sister had demonstrated exactly how ill-suited her given name was to her personality by virtually attacking Sherlock about his career as a consulting detective. On the other hand, Molly could understand her unease; she had reservations of her own, although she'd mostly set them aside until she better understood Sherlock's life. To hear him describe it so calmly as being equivalent to the life of others who put themselves in harm's way actually helped. And once she met his family, as he was now meeting hers, she hoped to have any lingering concerns utterly quelled.

If, of course, she wasn't sent to prison for murdering her younger sister first.

"Sherlock works with the police, and he has a medical doctor for an assistant, so I don't think it's necessary to give him so much difficulty about his career, Grace," Karen interjected with a warning look at her younger daughter. Grace, whose mouth had opened as if to ask another loaded question, sullenly subsided into her seat, taking a forkful of roast but glowering at Sherlock suspiciously even as her husband asked him how he'd come to work with the Met in the first place.

That led to an entertaining series of stories that included Sherlock's first meeting with DI Lestrade, a man who sounded utterly fascinating to Molly. But then, she suspected anyone Sherlock talked about would sound utterly fascinating to her; she found she could listen to his voice no matter what he was talking about.

She caught herself briefly sinking into a bit of a daydream where he was whispering some rather filthy things to her in that rich, velvety voice, but was jolted out of it when she heard Wills asking if he could ever go along on a case with his father.

"Um, perhaps we'll leave that sort of thing for when you're a bit older," she told her son, who gave her the same glower he'd learned from Aunt Grace. She returned the look with the same quelling expression she and Grace had both mastered from years of watching their mother use it on them. "When you're a bit older, William," she repeated, stressing the use of his full name so he'd understand how not-kidding she was.

By the dinner was over it was clear that not only was Wills enthralled with his newly-discovered father, but his cousin Louisa was as well. Grace, in fact, was the only one who still seemed visibly uncertain about him, but over coffee and Karen's lemon bars, she thawed out a bit. Especially when Sherlock demonstrated some of his deductive skills on the two children – but not, Molly noted, on any of the adults. She wondered if it was out of deference to her or her son, but either way she was relieved that he appeared to be on his best behavior. Not that she had anything to measure by, but she'd read some of his blogs, which were fascinating, and then some of the more lurid case blogs posted by his friend John Watson. And in those more informal postings, the picture was painted of a man who didn't normally give a fig about anyone's opinion of him.

It would be interesting to see how long it would take the 'real' Sherlock Holmes to make an appearance.

oOo

"My parents would like you and Wills to come for dinner next Friday, if it's convenient."

Molly had walked Sherlock out to his car after he'd said his good-byes to everyone else; he'd seen and admired Wills' old bedroom, where he still slept on nights when Molly had to work an overnight shift, solemnly promised to show both children his preferred limbering up exercises on the violin – and committed to putting on a violin trio at some undisclosed time in the future. When he'd reached out as if to shake Wills' hand, however, Molly had seen the decision in her son's eyes right before he launched himself at his father, throwing his arms around his waist and squeezing.

Sherlock had looked stunned, but had quickly moved to return the embrace when Wills looked up at him with a brilliant smile on his face.

That was when Molly had decided it was time to give both father and son a few moments to collect themselves, and offered to walk Sherlock to his car while Wills and Louisa were set to their usual task of washing up whatever dishes their grandmother hadn't already cleaned. And although Sherlock had remained on his best behavior the entire time, Molly couldn't help worrying that he'd let her relatives know what he really felt about them.

"Oh, um, dinner, yes, that sounds lovely!" Molly said in response to Sherlock's statement. "I know Wills is looking forward to meeting everyone."

"Yes, and the same is certainly true of the reverse," Sherlock said with a brief smile. The smile turned into something of a grimace as he muttered, "Well, mostly true." At Molly's uncertain glance, he explained, "My brother Mycroft can be a bit anti-social at times. Well, so can I," he added with a shrug, "but I pride myself on the fact that I've gotten a bit better at it over the years. He prides himself on not feeling it necessary outside diplomatic circles. Certainly not at family gatherings."

That, Molly presumed, was something in the nature of a warning for her to expect a less than warm welcome from Mycroft Holmes; she bristled a bit, but on Wills' behalf rather than her own. Therefore she felt compelled to give out a warning of her own: "He can be as rude to me as he likes, Sherlock, but if he says one thing to hurt our son's feelings…"

"You can be assured that not only will he find himself facing your wrath, but my own and, more importantly, that of my parents," Sherlock replied, with a glint in his eyes that told Molly he was rather looking forward to the idea.

"I'm sorry about Grace," Molly said, not quite changing the subject but certainly adjusting it a bit; she was already nervous about meeting Sherlock's family and didn't want to think about it until she'd at least gotten this first meeting with her own family behind them. "She can be a bit…"

"Blunt? Honest?"

Molly stifled a small giggle at Sherlock's suggestions. "I was going to say 'rude', actually," she confessed. "She calls it 'speaking her mind' but Mum and I both think she just likes stirring up drama."

"Ah, no wonder I like her," Sherlock replied. Molly hoped he meant it; he sounded sincere but it was hard to tell without being able to see his expression.

"I think she likes you too," Molly said warmly, deciding to take his words at face value. "And I know everyone else does, especially my mum. And she's definitely the only one you needed to worry about."

"Hmm, so I needed to worry, did I?"

He sounded teasing and Molly gave another little giggle as she shrugged. "Of course; you don't know them, they don't know anything about you except what Wills and I told them, it's only natural to be nervous."

"I wasn't," he replied swiftly, so swiftly that Molly's inner voice cried 'liar!' although she kept her thoughts to herself. She was certainly nervous at the prospect of meeting Sherlock's family, even if she doubted she'd have much interaction with them after the initial getting-to-know-one-another stage; after all, she wasn't the one becoming part of their family, only Wills. And she firmly believed they would love him as soon as they met him, although she felt a stab of quickly-quashed jealousy at the thought that, to them, she'd be nothing more than a means to an end.

Trying to avoid falling into a ridiculous bout of self-pity, Molly mumbled something about getting back to the house and turned to go, but stopped her with a hand on her wrist as she turned back toward the house. Molly froze at that touch and he swiftly withdrew his hand with a slight cough. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," she replied, shaking her head and tucking her trembling hands into her pockets. "I, uh, just didn't want to keep you. Make you late or anything." She was glad the darkness would hide the sudden rush of color in her cheeks; she'd felt a flush of heat pour over her at his touch, just the way she had the first time he'd touched her, all those years ago. Well, technically she'd done the touching then, but when their lips had met that night…she felt that same tingle, that same sense of reckless anticipation. Her hands weren't simply in her pockets to keep Sherlock from seeing how his touch had affected her, but to keep herself from giving in to the temptation to throw her arms around his neck and snog him senseless.

"I've no further plans for the evening. You're not keeping me from anything." Was Sherlock as inclined to linger as she was? And if he was, then why?

Molly thought about asking him, just straight out asking him, when the front door opened, spilling light into the yard. "Molly? Is everything all right?"

"Just fine, Mum!" she called back, knowing that Grace must have prodded their mother into intervening. All the adults probably wanted their chance to dissect the evening in detail, even Mark; he was almost as bad a gossip as her mum. With an apologetic murmur, Molly said good-bye and trudged back to the house, resisting the urge to watch him drive away, instead bracing herself for the deluge of uncensored commentary she was undoubtedly about to be met with.

A/N: Thanks everyone, so glad you're still enjoying this. Just a reminder: I will update pretty quickly till I get caught up with the M rated version, which is currently (March 2018) up to 19 chapters. I love all your reviews!