A/N: I know! It's been forever! In my defense, FFnet wasn't letting me post it. So anyway, here you are- another episode of Sandwiches. Or, as they say in my neck of the woods- Sammiches.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel.

"As if having to leave the flat for three days isn't enough, now I have to be forced to go to a wedding as well?" Sherlock huffed, refusing to move from the chair by the window as Molly packed their suitcase. "I hate weddings."

Molly shook her head, resisting the urge to chastise him for acting like such a child. "What are you going to do when John gets married?"

Sherlock's breathing literally halted for a good twenty seconds. "What do you mean?"

Molly laughed. "Well don't look so stunned. Do you think John and Mary are going to be content to hold hands and have naughty sleepovers for the rest of their lives? That we're all going to be able to live here in Baker Street forever?"

"Why wouldn't we?" he said. The look on his face was somewhere between lost puppy and Gabriel's poutiest pout. It was so comical that Molly nearly exploded in giggles again.

"Silly man. You think that nothing should ever change."

"Why should it? I like things just the way they are."

Molly turned and walked over, dropping herself in his lap rather unceremoniously. "Darling, most people realize early on that sometimes things don't happen the way we like all the time." She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him affectionately before kissing his cheek. "Welcome to adulthood, Peter Pan."

Sherlock sighed, cutting his eyes at her. "None of this explains why I'm being subjected to a wedding."

"Because Simone is my oldest friend and she wants me to be there."

"That still doesn't explain why I have to go."

"Because you're my boyfriend…" Sherlock shuddered, wrinkling his nose—his classic angry 'no' face. He hated that term. "Well you are, like it or not, and are therefore obligated to be my date. This is the price you pay for sex on the regular."

"Perhaps I should rethink my position."

Molly brushed her fingers through his wild, early morning curls. "I think you'd miss it."

Before Sherlock could reply, Gabriel stomped in, dragging his suitcase behind him. He was still wearing his pajamas and looked as if he were still asleep. "I got my clothes," he said with a yawn.

"Oh Gabe!" Molly laughed, rising from Sherlock's lap and taking the case from him. "You're still in your pajamas."

"All my clothes are in the case," Gabriel explained. "You told me to put them in there." As she opened the bulging suitcase, she realized that he was not exaggerating. Nearly all of the clothes that Gabe could still wear were shoved into the small bag.

"I didn't mean all of them!" Molly exclaimed. "We're only going to Manchester for three days." She looked up at Sherlock as if to say 'look what you did.' "We can't take all of these. And you've wrinkled your shirt for the wedding."

"I don't know why everyone leaves me alone to pack my stuff," Gabriel grumbled. "I'm just a little person." Just then, Cat ran in past them, a pair of Gabriel's underwear in her mouth, and jumped into Sherlock's lap. Despite how much he claimed to be annoyed by the dog (at one time she thought her name was Bugger Off), Sherlock was Cat's second favorite person.

Sherlock grudgingly scratched the dog behind the ears and let her sit down. "You're a little person, not an idiot. You'll need three complete outfits that include socks and underwear." He grabbed said item from Cat's mouth. "Not these. You'll also need your clothes for the wedding and a clean set of pajamas." He emphasized clean, knowing that if left to his own devices, Gabriel would wear the skull pajamas until they were caked with sweat and dead skin cells.

Gabriel sighed. "Do I have to wear the itchy button-up with those trousers I hate?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered. "And even better, you get to wear those shoes you hate too!"

Gabriel groaned and stomped. "I hate those shoes. They make me feel like I have duck feet."

"To be fair," Molly began. "You'd have duck feet anyway. Look how large they are!" Molly and Sherlock giggled.

Gabriel looked affronted. He was not amused by their lack of reverence for his distress. "It isn't funny! Those shoes make me fall down!"

"There is nothing wrong with those shoes," Sherlock said. "You just can't run around like a crazy person in them. Go to your room and find your black leather shoes and a pair of black socks." He shook his head, watching the child amble across the room and down the hall mumbling. "What was that, Gabriel?" he called.

"Nothing."

After another hour of drama when Molly insisted that Gabriel repack his suitcase on his own and a trip to Mary's flat where John and Cat were staying for the three days, they were off. Molly had originally suggested that they take the train to Manchester, but Sherlock didn't think he could stand three hours on a train again. He hired a car: a sleek black Jaguar sedan that would go much faster than Molly was comfortable with. Secretly, he got a lot of pleasure watching her grip the armrest and squeal for him to slow down. She complained only a little, backed up by Mrs. Hudson and her "remember you have a child on board, Sherlock Holmes" protestations as she snapped Gabe into his safety belt. Finally they were on their way. Speeding wasn't an issue for a while, as the traffic in London was atrocious that morning. Of course, that gave Sherlock more opportunities to weave in and out of traffic, a defiant smirk on his face as Molly gasped.

The traffic eased off as they pulled away from the city, leaving the narrow roads and endless stop lights well behind them. Gabriel stared out the window at the trees moving in a green blur on either side of the car. He had a book to read, but after two pages, he felt queasy so he put it aside. He could ask his dad to play with his phone, but he didn't feel much like it. As they pulled on to the main highway, Gabe realized that he'd been here before. This was the way to go to St. Christopher's. Funny how, even though he'd only been at Baker Street for seven months, so much of the time before he came was cloudy now. Of course some things he clearly remembered, mostly the bad things. "How far away is Halifax from Manchester?" he asked.

"About 35 kilometers," Molly replied. "When I was in school we used to go to this little pub in Halifax all the time. It takes about a half hour to get there. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Gabe replied. He wasn't sure how close he wanted to be. But another part of him might like to see it now. Maybe if he went to see it with his dad, it wouldn't seem so daunting. Maybe he could finally get the bad dreams out of his head. After all, his dad was the big fire-breathing dragon that would annihilate any enemy. "How much further is it?"

"We're not even halfway yet, Gabe," Sherlock replied.

Gabriel groaned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm bored."

Molly looked at Sherlock with a raised "that's your child" eyebrow. "Why don't you read the book you brought?"

"It made me feel sick. Besides, it's a really hard book."

"Since when did you give up on hard books?" Sherlock asked, peering at him icily in the rearview mirror.

"I didn't give up. I just need help," he sighed. "I'm just a little person."

"You've been saying that a lot today," Sherlock said. "Do you think we've forgotten or something? You're very smart, Gabriel, and so people expect more of you. You may as well get used to it."

"Are you going to fuss at me because I can't read as good as you?"

"As well," Sherlock corrected. "And of course not. Have I ever scolded because you needed help with something?"

"What about that time with my violin piece."

"That was different. You weren't trying your best."

"How do you know?"

"Gabe, you weren't even holding the bow correctly. And when I tried to help, you rolled your eyes at me. That's why I got angry."

"Well it doesn't matter because reading in the car makes me sick."

Molly sighed. "You could nap. I used to always fall asleep in the car when I was a child."

"You still fall asleep in the car," Sherlock remarked.

Gabriel threw himself dramatically against his pillow, tugging at the safety belt in an attempt to get comfortable. "I don't like riding in the car." He sat there for a while, listening to the sleepy music that came from the stereo and the low conversation of his father and Doctor Molly. It was evidently something they didn't want him to hear, given their hushed tone. Gabriel groaned. He hated when adults did that. Why shouldn't he be allowed to listen to what they were talking about? Especially if he was expected to ride in the car with them. He stared out the window, hoping that his eyelids would get heavy, but they didn't. He was wide awake and sighed heavily. "Dad. I can't sleep."

"Gabriel, I'm sorry that you're bored but there isn't much I can do about that right now. You seem to have decided that all of our options are unacceptable so I'm afraid you'll have to amuse yourself." Sherlock shifted in his seat. Truthfully, Sherlock was probably just as bored as Gabriel. He had a difficult time sitting still unless he was wandering through his mind palace and even then he fidgeted. And driving a car required some concentration, so he couldn't just tune it out. Needless to say, long trips in the car had never been his favorite thing. As children, he and Mycroft had been subjected to many road trips: to see their grandparents, to Ambergris, off on miserable vacations where his parents would fight and Mycroft would boss him around for a week. "We'll stop for lunch in a while."

Gabriel slithered out of his safety belt to lean forward between them. "I'm thirsty."

Sherlock handed Gabriel the lidded cup Molly had prepared with his tea. "Here. You can have a sip of my tea."

Gabriel took it and sipped, immediately making a face. "Eeww… I think that tea has gone bad."

Molly giggled at his 'yucky face.' "What's wrong with it?"

"It tastes bitter."

"It doesn't have a whole bowl of sugar in it," Sherlock grumbled.

"Blech… how do you drink it like that?"

"I like it that way. And if you don't like it, then don't drink it."

"But I'm thirsty!" Gabriel whined.

"Then you should have brought your own drink!"

"Boys!" Molly exclaimed. "If you're going to bicker the whole way then please just let me out now!" She reached down into the space under her feet and pulled open her ridiculously large shoulderbag. She grabbed a bottle of water and a plastic bag full of goldfish crackers and handed it to Gabriel. "There. Live long and prosper."

Gabriel smiled, wrinkling his nose tauntingly at his father. "Thanks, Doctor Molly." She always thought of everything. He settled back into the seat with his snack and munched away, staring up at the sky as they drove on. The sun was bright and glistening through the trees. It made him wish they were going to Ambergris instead. It would certainly be warm there. The sun would be so warm on his cheeks and the wind would blow his hair back. His dad promised that they would go back in the summer and stay for a month. Summertime seemed so far away, but at least now there was sun that offered the reassurance that it would eventually come.

The armrest on the Jaguar had a most inviting button. Gabriel pressed it and was pleased to find out that it would let the window down. They were speeding down the highway and this made for the most excellent draft of wind. Gabriel stuck his arm out of the window and felt the force of it pushing his arm back.

"It's all fun and games until you smack your arm on a stray tree," Sherlock commented.

"Dad, I think I can see a tree coming," Gabriel said.

Sherlock didn't reply, but drove on in silence for another five minutes until finally… "Gabriel."

"Yes?"

"Put your window up."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Why?"

"Because it's bothering me."

"Why?

"Because the noise is loud and it's cold."

Before Gabriel could ask why once more, he caught sight of Sherlock's eyes in the rearview mirror and thought better of it. He slinked down into his seat and did as he was told. He finally managed to fall asleep for a short while, only to be awakened by his nearly six-year-old bladder an hour later. He woke up and stretched, gazing out the window to see where they were. It looked vaguely familiar. "Dad, I have to go to the loo."

Sherlock sighed again and glared at Molly. "You just had to give him a bottle of water didn't you?"

"He was thirsty!" she defended. "Besides, it's time to eat something anyway."

It took them another fifteen minutes to get into Halifax and by that time, Gabriel was bouncing. "Dad… I have to goooo…" he whined.

"Well your choices are to wait, ruin the inside of an expensive rented car, or perhaps you'd prefer if I pull over in one of these delightful open fields." His voice was beginning to take on that terse, slow simmering psychotic tone. "I'd vote for choice number one as choice number two might get you into trouble and out of university and choice number three has the possibility of bugs." Before Gabriel could answer, they came into town, stopping at a small café.

Gabriel was the first through the doors, running up to the first waitress he saw and asking where the toilets were. She giggled and pointed the way. Gabriel took off, not waiting for Sherlock. "Think he'll be all right?" Molly asked as Sherlock ushered her toward a table.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. I pity the unfortunate who might ever try to give him any trouble. Especially right now." The waitress came over and took their orders.

Molly continued with her story from the car. "Anyway, we all just assumed that Simone would never get married. She's too wild for that sort of thing, but then she met this American guy on a business trip last year and ever since she's been completely in love." Sherlock was trying to pretend to be listening. He really was. It took effort, but he had been informed by John that when your friends spoke, it was impolite not to at least appear that you're interested. Molly could usually tell when he was filtering, but today she just babbled on. "Of course, none of them ever thought I'd be married, or even part of a couple. Mousey Molly. That's what they always called me. Affectionately, of course. But you understand what I mean. Sometimes I'd rather just be around corpses and dismembered body parts than people. Science just made more sense."

Ah! Something he could latch on to. "Science always makes more sense than people. People have brains, most of them addled and stupid, that seem to fuck up everything. They can't get past the other extraneous bullshit that doesn't mean anything. Nature… processes. They make sense because they're unaffected. Unchanged."

"Exactly. They can't just turn on a dime."

"But at the same time unpredictable."

Molly smiled. "We're such nerds," she said, leaning in to kiss him gently.

Just as they broke the kiss, Gabriel came back to the table and sat down. He looked pale and puzzled. He didn't say anything, didn't even bother to look at his menu.

"Gabriel?" Molly asked, the creases around her eyes deepening with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he replied, his fingers playing idly with the paper menu in front of him.

Molly elbowed Sherlock and nodded toward the boy, trying to look inconspicuous. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she said. "You sure you're okay?"

He sighed and nodded. "Can we go? I'm not hungry."

"But I thought…" Molly started.

"We thought you were desperate to get out of the car," Sherlock finished. His gaze was fixed upon Gabriel, cataloguing every movement and bit of body language. The boy was troubled and nervous. He'd seen something between the toilets and the table. Something that had obviously frightened him and was still frightening him. His eyes darted around the room as if looking for that threat to emerge once more. Whatever it was still remained in the café.

"Well I'm ready to go now," he said. His expression was desperate and pleading. In another second he would be tugging at Sherlock's sleeve. "I don't like this place."

"How do you know?" Molly asked. "You've never been here before."

"I just know. Please? Please, Daddy. I'm ready to leave." He slid out of his chair and cowered against Sherlock's side. Whatever it was, Gabriel was afraid, truly afraid of it. He never said "daddy" unless he was afraid or in pain.

"Okay, Gabriel," he replied, putting a reassuring arm around his son's shoulders. "We can go." Suddenly it hit him. They were in Halifax. St. Christopher's Convent couldn't be more than a few miles from where they sat. Evidently, Gabriel had seen something or someone from his past. And it was not nice.