Author's note: Just a small heads up that this story has a background case which, while in no way graphic, involves a disturbing situation. This story, in a sense, is also a tribute to the strength and dedication of law enforcement officers all over the world. I can only begin to imagine some of the things they see and experience every single day in the course of their duties, but I am always grateful for their dedication and to their strength of character and resolve "To Serve and to Protect". To these men and women in uniform and in plain-clothes, I salute you, and I thank you.

Easier Said than Done

Genre: Angst, Family

Pairings: Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally

Main characters: Ensemble

Greg sat quietly in the nursery with Greer resting comfortably in his arms. He said nothing to her as she finished her bottle, simply gazing down at her with eyes roiling with emotion that he was too exhausted to keep reined in any longer, and only whispered "Sorry, Little Love," as an errant tear fell and landed on her cheek. Gently, he brushed it away apologetically.

When he held her to burp her, he had to stop himself from holding her too tightly.

It had been a bad day at work.

A very, VERY bad day.

When Sherlock had arrived at the door to 221C, Greg hadn't questioned why Rosie needed a random play date with Johnnie and Scott at 9:30 pm. He had simply smiled, knowing full well the real reasons for the evening visit. He had smiled at Sherlock, grateful that his friend was finally developing the ability to notice emotional needs in his loved ones. Greg knew full well that it wasn't Rosie who needed to borrow the twins – it was Sherlock, and most of all, Sally.

Just as he was settling Greer down to sleep in her cot, he heard the door open. He finished what he was doing, then quietly padded out into the living room. Molly stood, looking at him with an expression of pure anguish and emotional exhaustion, clearly standing on the edge of falling apart with precarious footing indeed.

Greg looked at her with eyes still rimmed red from cathartic tears only just stopped, and without a word, opened his arms to Molly. With a few long strides, she was in his embrace and he was catching her as she fell into emotional abyss.

All Molly really wanted – all she needed – that night was to be held, and all Greg wanted – needed – was to hold her.

Upstairs in 221B, John and Sherlock had arrived home with Sally following through the door only ten minutes later.

John had gone straight to Rosie, who lay awake still, restless. The young girl was keenly tuned in to her father's emotions, and some intuition had told her that her daddy was going to need her when he got home, so she had waited, comfortable and safe in her princess pajamas, for him to appear in her doorway. She said nothing to him as she crawled out from under her covers, picking up her favourite blanket.

John didn't know how his daughter managed to always know what her old dad needed after a hard day out with Uncle Sherlock, but he was grateful for it. Rosie reached up to take John's hand, and led him out to the living room. When he sank gratefully down into his chair, she crawled into his lap and smiled up at him, now more than big enough to reach his face while she sat with him. As she went to give him a kiss on the cheek, she managed to catch the first of many tears that were beginning to fall. "It's alright," she whispered softly, "sometimes daddies need to cry too."

Sherlock had said nothing, merely leaving the flat to head downstairs. Within a few minutes, he had returned with the Lestrade boys. As he settled them into the cot in Rosie's room, he heard Sally come in, and just as Greg had done with Molly, he went out to greet her in a strong, silent embrace. Pulling back from him, she glanced towards the nursery with furrowed brows, and Sherlock merely smiled at her sadly. "You always know what I need, Git," she said, her voice still thick from the emotion she had finally allowed release to on her way home.

"We all need the same thing tonight, my beautiful Old Plod," he said. Taking her hand, he led her to the nursery, and when they emerged, Sherlock holding Johnnie, and Sally holding Scott, they settled on the couch, grateful for the love and protection of family and friends.

In 221A, Mrs. Hudson sat quietly with her book, and when she heard the movements in the flat above her stop, she silently set it down, and with a heavy sigh burdened with concern, she quietly made her way upstairs.

Mrs. Hudson knew nothing of the day they had all endured – of the case that had settled a dark cloud over not only Greg's CID team, but the whole of New Scotland Yard; over Molly's stricken, breaking heart in her mortuary at St. Bart's as she performed post-mortems that only her determined resolve to remain professional allowed her to do that day; over Sherlock and John, who had shown up not so much to solve the case, but to hasten its conclusion with as little adieu as possible and to loan much needed emotional support to Greg and Sally.

The day in which Mrs. Hudson's loved ones had had to track down two missing children, around Rosie's age, and their missing mother.

They had all finally been found, dead of gunshot wounds, and the hunt for their killer had quickly ensued. Before long, Greg's team with Sherlock and John's assistance, had located him – presumably the mother's domestic partner, and most likely the father of the two dead children judging by the family resemblance. But before an arrest could be made, the man had raised the gun he held to himself, and closed their case for them on the spot.

Indeed, Mrs. Hudson knew none of these details, but nor did she need to. She carefully opened the door to 221B, peeking in. She saw Rosie, asleep in her father's arms while John himself slept. She saw Sherlock and Sally, reclined together on the couch with Greg and Molly's sons, Sherlock's free hand draped protectively over Sally's baby bump. Mrs. Hudson nodded silently and sadly to herself, closing the door carefully. Making her way downstairs to 221C, she repeated her little ritual, looking in quietly and seeing Greg and Molly slumbering in each other's arms on their couch.

Mrs. Hudson knew that most of the time, her Baker Street brood managed to do what was necessary to keep their work from following them home. It was a difficult, but necessary evil in order to be able to sleep at night and continue to do what they did, every single day.

But she also knew that sometimes, "leaving it at the office" was far, far easier said, than done.