A/N: Sorry this took so long, kids. I'm going to blame S3E3 Flu. Thanks to the reviews, comments and reads. I'm all snuggly whenever I read them. I hope you enjoy. This chapter is so fluffy its crazy. It is possible that there are some trigger-ish things going on at the end. So be warned.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Catastrophe.

It wasn't until Gabe surprised Molly in the shower that night that she decided to take matters into her own hands. She blew down the stairs in her dressing gown like an angry cyclone and into the lounge where Sherlock, Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson were playing cards. "Okay, that's it."

All three regarded her with a slight nod. "Hello, Molly, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, discarding. "I thought you were in the bath."

"I was," Molly replied through gritted teeth. "I was… interrupted." She stood there for another minute, waiting for Sherlock to acknowledge her presence. This wasn't exactly something she wanted to talk to him about in front of the others. "Ahem…Sherlock?"

"Yes?" he asked, picking up another card, then looking around the room, examining the others. She could tell he was deducing their hands. Hence why she had refused to play an hour ago when they started.

"Can I talk to you for a second, please?" she asked, her voice taking on that sweeter than honey timbre.

"Go ahead. I'm listening," he said, giving Mycroft an intent stare as he discarded.

"Uhm… no. Alone."

Sherlock sighed. "Can it wait until the game is done? I'm winning."

"Over-confidence, Sherlock," Mycroft mused. He picked up the card Sherlock had discarded and added it to his hand with a smug grin.

Molly leaned over, plucking the cards from his hand and tossing them on the table between them. "No," she said before storming off to the porch and slamming the door behind her.

"Someone's going to the woodshed," Mrs. Hudson said as Sherlock rose, following Molly out the door.

Sherlock closed the door behind him and stared at Molly with an annoyed expression. "Well?"

"You have got to do something about Gabriel," she said. Her fists were balled at her sides and her jaw clenched in a way that forced the words out.

"What do you mean? What did he do now?" His shoulders shrank and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought he was in bed asleep."

"So did I. I remember kissing him goodnight. So I'm lying there in the tub, bubbles up to my chin, glass of wine in hand. I had just finished washing my face and I had a bit of a headache, so I lay back and put the warm flannel over my face. Have you ever had that feeling that someone was watching you?"

"All the time."

"Yeah, so I had that feeling. I sat up and opened my eyes and there was Gabe, practically in the bath with me! He screamed, I screamed… it was awful!" Molly hid her face, hot with embarrassment.

Sherlock laughed. He couldn't stop himself and even Molly had to smile a little at his amusement. "I'm sorry, Molly… I can just picture your face."

"Yeah, laugh it up, baby. But…" she paused, her eyes darting around to make sure no one was listening. "I think he was watching me in the bath."

"Well I wouldn't hold that against him," Sherlock said. "The same thought crossed my mind once or twice."

"Funny, Sherlock. You're going to have to talk to him. It's starting to get out of hand."

"What is?"

"Gabriel and his… questioning. Obviously he's trying to work things out, but that's… a bit of a violation! I mean, he didn't see anything. I don't think. I was pretty well covered with soap suds, but still."

"So what exactly do you think I should do, Molly? Pull out the encyclopedias? Draw a picture? Diagrams?" He gasped and his eyes lit up with inspiration. "You could show him a body at the morgue!"

Molly stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? It would be better than a model."

"I don't think the sexual habits of dead people are what he's asking about!" she exclaimed, grabbing him by the collar. "Look, Holmes. The kid wants to know where babies come from and he's going to find out, one way or another. After all, he's your kid. Now I'm not suggesting that you give him a play by play or anything, but you have to tell him something or pretty soon he's going to be hiding in our closet to find out what all the racket is at night!"

"Fine. I'll talk to him," he said, rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Good," she said. "Just don't lie to him, okay? Those stupid stories that people tell their kids. I mean, my mum was great, but she wasn't forthcoming. I was scared to sit on public toilet seats until I was thirteen! And my grandmother wouldn't let us swim in the river with boys because she thought the sperm could swim long distances."

"Got it," Sherlock sighed, nervously tapping his foot.

"And make sure you don't yell at him or anything. I mean, he's not being bad. He's just curious."

"Right."

"And don't get how… you know… you get. All that technical language and drawing diagrams. He's only five. Be tactful."

"I'm always tactful."

OoOoOo

Sherlock poked his head around the doorframe, peering into the darkness to see if Gabriel was asleep in his bed. If he was, then he could put off talking to him until the morning and that would improve his disposition immensely. Sherlock, who had only recently discovered the joys of sex on the regular, was not particularly jazzed about having to talk about something so private. But Molly was right, he had to tell him something. And it was important to be truthful. He'd asked John earlier what he thought about Gabe's sudden interest. Wasn't it too early to talk about such things? John had explained, in a very clinical, doctor-y sort of way, that Gabriel was normal and that he should just give him an elementary understanding of how things worked. Of course, Sherlock was rarely satisfied with elementary understandings and would have to try very hard not to go overboard. "Gabriel?" he whispered, expecting to be met with a light snore.

"Dad? Is that you?"

Sherlock sighed, defeated. "Yes. Why are you still awake?"

"I couldn't sleep." Gabriel stammered. Sherlock could tell that he was trying to think of some explanation for being in the bath with Molly, fearing that he was about to be destroyed. "Uhm… I had to go to the loo… and I was still kind of asleep… and…"

"Before you go on concocting some odd story, I've already talked to Molly."

"Oh." Gabriel pulled the duvet up under his chin as Sherlock sat at the bedside. "Are you mad?"

"Of course not. For one thing, mad would imply insanity. Angry is the more appropriate word, but I am neither mad nor angry."

"Is Doctor Molly?"

"Not really. But you did scare ten years off of her life."

"Sorry."

"Well, we can discuss the impropriety of spying on people in the bathtub later. But I think you had some questions for me and I didn't really get a chance to answer them. So… fire away."

"Really?"

"Really. Ask whatever you want. But… I reserve the right to decline answering if I think the question is inappropriate for someone your age. Not that I won't ever answer it, but it may have to wait until you're a little older. Deal?"

"Deal." Gabriel sat up in bed and shook his father's hand. "Okay, I know what we have. What do girls have? Do they look like us… you know… there."

"Not at all. Their… equipment?" Sherlock scrunched up his face as if in pain. "Is all pretty much inside their body instead of outside like ours."

"Like the eggs."

"Exactly." Gabriel was silent and for a moment Sherlock actually held out hope that he was going to get away from this conversation without having to use any clinical terms or embarrassing descriptions.

"So they have the eggs, but they don't come out of their bodies like with birds. When do they come out then?"

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh or smile. Gabriel was so sincere in his wonder, that he didn't want to make the child feel silly or embarrassed, but he was so matter of fact in his questioning. "Well the baby grows inside the egg until its ready to be born. And then the baby comes out of its mum."

"Yeah, Katie says the baby comes out the mummy's stomach. Is that what your bellybutton is for? Because I have one and I thought boys couldn't have babies." Taking him by surprise, Gabriel reached forward and pushed Sherlock's shirt aside, poking his bellybutton. "See, you have one too."

"Everyone does. That is not where babies come out. They come out of their mums through their… uhm…" He searched through his mind palace briefly, looking for a word somewhere between "vagina" and "love canal" and coming up horribly blank. "…birth canal?"

"What?"

"Her vagina, okay? Girls have vaginas. Boys have penises. There." Sherlock sighed, glad he'd finally gotten that out of the way. "And it's not in the mum's stomach. She has a special organ inside called a uterus. That's where the baby grows."

"Oh. Well… how does it get in there? Katie said her mum told her about a stork that brings the baby. Does the stork stick the baby in that u-thing you were talking about?"

"No. Storks are birds. They have nothing to do with babies."

"Oh. So Katie's mum is lying?"

"Yes."

"Lying isn't very nice."

"Agreed. Now lie down." Gabriel obeyed and Sherlock pulled the duvet around his shoulders, tucking him in. "It's late." He smoothed the boy's hair away from his forehead, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against his temple.

"But I'm not done!" Gabriel said, his eyelids already heavy. "I have one more question."

"All right. One more, then."

"John said that boys and girls have to get together to make the baby. What does he mean?"

And there it is. Think, genius. Think. "Well I assume by 'getting together' he means that the male and female parties have to be together for it to happen."

"Just together? Like me and Doctor Molly were together when she came in to say good night? Or like when John and Mary were sitting beside each other at dinner? That doesn't seem right."

"Well of course it's more than just… together. Boys make sperm in their bodies and the sperm has to get together with the eggs in the girl's body. So they have to be… uhm… close."

"Close?"

"Really close."

"Oh. So like when you and Doctor Molly kissed earlier on the beach?"

"No… much closer than that." Sherlock could feel his ears burning. Blushing did not even begin to describe the sensation that was currently taking place. Weird. Embarrassment was a very alien concept to him. He didn't really care much for social norms or niceties and therefore the concept of embarrassment was totally lost on him. However, the piercing stare of his son, the sensitive topic of conversation and the unfamiliarity of trying to use tact had combined to create a viscous solution of mortification.

"Oh, so like when you and Doctor Molly are fighting without your clothes on."

Sherlock started to nod in agreement, then paused. "Wait. What?"

"Remember that day that John and Mary took me to the museum. The day before I broke my arm?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, when we were leaving, I forgot my scarf because Doctor Molly came in and we were talking. I didn't remember until after the cab got there, but Mary made me go back up and get it. I went up to my room to get it because it wasn't on the hook by the door, but it wasn't there either and I thought maybe I left it in your room. So I was going into your room to look for it and the door was open a little bit and I saw you and Doctor Molly fighting. She didn't have any clothes on at all and you were—"

"Okay. That's enough. I get the picture."

"So is that how it happens?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose." He thought for a moment. He didn't want Gabriel to think that he and Molly were fighting. For some strange reason, this bothered him. He supposed it had something to do with not wanting Gabriel to associate sex with violence. "But we weren't fighting."

Gabriel giggled. "It looked like it to me."

"Well we weren't," Sherlock replied. "And you shouldn't go spying on people in their rooms like that."

"Well I didn't mean to."

"I know, but for future reference, closed doors are generally closed for a reason. That goes for bathroom doors too. While your body is nothing to be ashamed of, it's also private. It belongs to you and you shouldn't let just anyone see or touch it. And certainly not without your permission."

Gabriel thought this over for a long while. Sherlock could tell he was processing and that more questions were forming in his little brain. "What if they say you have to?"

"Have to what?"

"Have to let them touch you. What are you supposed to do then?"

"It depends on who 'them' is. Letting your family or your doctor is ok." Gabriel seemed troubled. Before the questions had been innocent curiosity and he was amused by the answers. Now his tone was different. He was perplexed by the concept of privacy. He chewed his lip and twirled a fingertip in one of the long curls at the back of his neck. "But Gabe, if anyone, I don't care who they are, touches you in a way that you think is wrong, you have every right to make them stop. And to tell someone."

"Make them?"

"Absolutely."

"What if I'm scared?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes. "Then you tell me and I will make them stop. You'll find that there are very few things in the whole of the world of which I am afraid. However, one of the only things I fear is that someone or something might hurt you. So if anyone ever does, you let me know and I promise that they will not only stop, but they will regret it."

Before Gabriel could respond, Cat bounded into the room, leaping up onto his bed and licking his face. "Cat…" he giggled, pushing the dog away.

"Cat! Get down!" Sherlock commanded. The dog turned, hearing her name, then continued nuzzling under Gabe's chin.

"Can't she stay?" Gabriel begged.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Dogs aren't supposed to sleep in beds…"

"Please? Uncle Mycroft said you used to have a dog that slept with you."

"Fine. Whatever." He tucked the blankets around Gabriel once more. Cat settled down beside him with her head on his leg, staring up at Sherlock with smug brown eyes. "Good night, Gabriel," he said, pressing his lips to the child's brow.

"You have to kiss Cat too."

He shook his head and kissed Cat's nose. She licked him back affectionately.

"Love you, Dad," Gabriel murmured, snuggling under the covers.

"Love you more… child-thing."

OoOoOo

Molly was nodding over yet another tawdry romance novel when Sherlock finally decided to retire. "Hi!" she chirped. "How did it go?" Her smile faded when she noticed that Sherlock looked perplexed. Almost angry, but not quite there yet. There was something praying on that big brain of his. "Uh oh. What's the matter?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe something important. In any case, I may be taking a little trip to St. Christopher's Convent."