Toby's Encore

Genre: Family, angst, humour

Pairings: Greg and Molly

Main characters: Ensemble

Greg looked at his children soberly. Their morning routine before leaving their flat for work and for school had taken on a melancholy, somber tone the past week or so, since Toby had somehow gotten out and had vanished without a trace.

"Daddy," Johnnie asked quietly, his voice tinged with the sad sort of hope that only a child could manage, "Do you think Toby might come home today?"

Greg sighed as Scott approached them, waiting his turn for his dad to help with his coat.

"I wonder what he's doing out there, if he's okay," Scott said, his voice small and worried.

"Oh Little Lads," he said, kneeling down and drawing his sons into his arms, "I don't know if Toby will come home today. I hope he does, I hope he's just out on some sort've grand adventure."

Scott gazed at his dad as his lip began to quiver. "But Daddy, you always know everything, and everything is always alright in the end. You always make SURE of it."

"Just for US," Johnnie added, his own eyes beginning to fill with tears. "And Greer is SO SAD, she misses Toby so," he added quietly, as the tears began to fall.

Greg didn't have a response for this, so instead he settled for sitting down on the bench by the door and drawing his sons close, kissing each of them in turn on their flushed and tear streaked little six year old cheeks.

The day proceeded as normally as any other day after that. Greg, Sally, and Kieran attended a scene, Sherlock and John being called in for a second opinion, which only served to confirm what Sally and Kieran had already theorized, and as usual, brought to light a few finer details that had been missed initially.

"Any sign of Toby yet?" Kieran asked quietly. "Even Julian is asking about him. He said that Rosie hasn't been herself this past week since he went missing. Usually he can cheer her up no matter what's wrong, but not this time. He's at a loss what to do to help her. My boy really hates it when he can't help her."

"The whole of 221 is inconsolable, truth be told," Greg replied, sighing. "That bloody cat has broken my childrens' hearts. And Molly's too."

"And YOURS, Sir," Kieran said quietly. "Oh, don't look so surprised," he smiled sadly at his boss, as Greg gave him a mildly perplexed expression. "I'm learning from the best how to read a person like a book. You may be able to fool your kids, but you can't fool me, Sir. Not anymore, and you've only yourself to thank for that." He reached out and gave his boss and off-duty friend a brief comforting squeeze to his shoulder.

Greg didn't deny it, indeed, he couldn't. When he and Molly had gotten together, Toby had been part of the deal. He liked cats, so he didn't mind in the least, and when they had married and started their family, Johnnie, Scott, and Greer had never known life without Toby. That fact alone had him missing the old ginger tomcat, but the simple truth was, he had grown rather attached to him, even before Molly had moved in with him years ago.

"Everyone's hearts, really," John said, as he approached from his spot with Sherlock a few feet away. "Anyway, Sherlock has finished his initial observations. I have a few of my own too, whenever you're ready."

Greg nodded. "Right, then. Let's get on with it, shall we? I rather think I'd like to wrap this up so I can go home. What've you got for us then, John?"

Back at his office, Greg sat back with the file, expecting to be able to start his reports soon enough. His focus on the task at hand had just taken hold when his phone toned.

We've found him. Not good. ~SH

Oh no. Are you sure it's him? ~GL

Afraid so. Looks like a fox got him. ~SH

You're positive it's Toby? ~GL

Ginger tabby with a green collar and one white toe on his front foot. Not much else left of him. ~SH

SHIT. Don't tell any of the kids yet. ~GL

Understood. We'll wait for you to return from shift. ~SH

Thank you Sherlock. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. ~GL

You're welcome Greg. ~SH

Sally, standing in the doorway of Greg's office, watched her boss as he texted, and she knew by the look on his face that the mobile exchange had been with Sherlock. Her hand came up to wipe away tears as she thought of Michael and Grace, and wondered if Sherlock had told them yet, as he had texted her before Greg to give her a heads up. Later, she would find that he had respected Greg's wishes, that they may all gather their little ones together to break the news at the same time.

Greg looked up, a sad relief in his dark brown eyes. Sally approached his desk and shrugged. "At least we know now," she said quietly. "I had hoped our kids wouldn't have to learn about death for a few more years, though. I'm going to miss that furry little sod."

Greg studied her a moment, then reached into his desk to pull out a packet of tissues. "Yeah," he said, snatching one out of the box for himself as he handed it to her.

"Daddy, can we have a funeral for Toby?" Greer asked as she cuddled close Greg on the couch. The young girl had planted herself squarely on her father's lap, happily sharing him with her brothers, who curled up on either side of him, as closely as they could manage. Greg's arms enveloped his boys, who had managed to wrap themselves around the sides of his chest and make themselves compact enough for Greg to actually embrace all three of them, while the twin boys each draped a protective free arm over their sister.

"I think that'd be a good idea," Greg replied, as his thumbs absently stroked the boys' arms. "A proper goodbye."

"Yes," Molly said, as she came into the room. "I think we should have a proper goodbye for him. You know children," she said, as she took a place on the couch next to Johnnie, curling herself around him, "I got Toby long before your daddy and I ever got together. He's been my cat for a very long time."

"Are you as sad as we are, Mummy?" Johnnie asked as he flipped himself over and rolled into Molly's embrace, his voice beginning to quiver slightly.

Molly regarded her oldest twin and nodded quietly. "Yes, son. I'm very, very sad," she sighed.

"I think he definitely needs a proper goodbye then Mummy," Scott said solemnly.

The next day, the residents at 221 Baker Street held their little funeral for Toby, and buried him with solemn, tearful reverence. The old feline friend had had a "closed casket", in the form of a special box made up by the children, and he had been carefully concealed from them on Sherlock's recommendation.

Scott, who decided he wished to be next to Uncle Sherlock, reached up to take his hand. If Sherlock had any notions that a funeral for a cat was a ridiculous waste of time and sentiment, he wisely kept the thoughts to himself.

"Uncle Sherlock," Scott asked quietly. "Did you look VERY carefully at Toby when you… I mean… before you put him in…" Scott trailed off, feeling tears begin to threaten again.

"Enough to know that it was your Toby, yes. Why, Scott?" Sherlock replied quietly, as he crouched down to his nephew's level.

"Well it's just that Toby has… I mean he HAD… special markings. Did you ever notice he had a black whisker? Daddy says it was hidden in plain sight and if you knew it was there you could see it, plain as day. And he had a freckle in his eye, just like you do, Uncle." Sherlock listened as the young boy coughed lightly and sniffed. "And his tail had a little kink in it. Mummy says he got it caught in a cupboard door when he was a very small kitten."

Sherlock paused at this, thinking. He honestly hadn't studied the poor ravaged lifeless creature that closely or carefully. He may not have been much for cats, but he had no desire to see one in that state. He knew enough of Toby to make a passing judgement that day, though admittedly his collar, which, given the close proximity of a pet supply shop, might point towards mere circumstantial evidence towards a proper identification.

Sherlock squeezed the small hand that held his, wishing for all the world that the damnable creature were there right now, weaving about his ankles, depositing yellow and white cat hair on his trousers, and being the general pain in the arse nuisance of himself that Toby seemed to delight in being.

And so, when Toby Hooper had been put to rest, with a small grave marker made by seven bereaved children – for Julian had joined them to offer a brand of comfort only he could provide to his bereaved Rosa – life at that humble address seemed to carry on as normally as one might expect.

The children adjusted to Toby's loss, had gotten used to him no longer being there, and had accepted that he had died. Their parents pained at the fact that their first experience with death and loss had finally come, but at the same time, were somewhat relieved to have it over with.

Molly took comfort in Morrie's presence, accepting the extra attentions that the silken black cat offered. Morrie, as a rule, was already somewhat shameless in his expressions of affection. Truthfully, the ebony feline seemed to favour Greg somewhat, but with Toby gone, Morrie somehow sensed that there was someone missing, and wasted no time taking advantage of his exclusive access to Molly.

Indeed, life had returned to a new normal at 221 Baker Street, until one Sunday afternoon, two weeks later.

Greg sat quietly busy at the dining table, reviewing a file before a routine court appearance scheduled for the next day, while Molly sat on the couch with their boys, reading a book. Greer, knowing how important it was for Daddy to be left alone this afternoon, occupied herself with a jigsaw puzzle on the floor.

So focused on their own activities were they, that nobody noticed at first, as a small, unobtrusive being made their way through the door, left, as always, ajar for Maisie and Morrie.

The aloof creature sauntered in, casual as a Sunday afternoon stroll in the park, and made his way over to his food dish.

He sniffed it before deciding he was, in fact, hungry enough to bother, and sitting on his haunches, proceeded to take his meal. When he had finished, he sniffed again at the water dish, and decided to refresh himself.

That preliminary ritual completed, he sat on the floor next to Greg, still fully engrossed in the files before him, and began to wash his face. Still, nobody noticed a paw sporting a single pristine white toe amongst its ginger furred neighbours, brushing over a face that wore a single black whisker amongst its white companions.

Greer, the first to catch the newcomer in her peripheral vision, blinked several times before abandoning her puzzle.

She rose from the floor and made her way softly into the kitchen where Daddy sat, still unaware of the creature in their midst, grooming himself as though he owned the place.

"Daddy," she whispered, as she tugged at Greg's arm, barely able to take her eyes off of the ginger tabby sitting in the kitchen.

"Hmmm?" Greg said, absently. "What is it Greer?"

"Toby's home," she said casually.

"That's good, Little Love," Greg said, still not quite paying attention.

Suddenly, his head snapped up. "What did you say, Greer?"

"Toby's home, Daddy," she said, walking back into the living room to fetch Mummy and her brothers. Greg's eyebrows flew up his forehead as he looked down, scowling briefly at the aloof creature before his face lit up with a delighted grin.

"What the… you furry little bastard," he muttered, as he reached down and scooped up his old buddy.

"YOU," he whispered, as Toby snuggled down and started to purr, "are a world class deluxe edition all inclusive asshole. Where the BLOODY HELL have you been?"

He looked up as Molly stepped into the kitchen, Johnnie and Scott on either side of her. Molly shrieked in delight as her hands flew to her mouth. Toby still in Greg's arms, looked around at her as she dashed towards him, scooping him into her arms with a mighty squeeze.

Greg opened his arms as his sons flew towards him.

"You were RIGHT, Daddy!" Johnnie declared happily, wrapping his arms around Greg's waist and holding tight. "He really WAS just out on a grand adventure!"

Greg regarded his small twin dopplegangers, gazing up at him with adoring brown eyes, and found his breath catching as he realized that he had just witnessed a monumental renewal of innocent childhood faith.

Toby sat perched on Molly's arm, one front foot on her shoulder. He glanced around curiously, at the suddenly excited family.

"What?" the old tomcat's expression seemed to say. "You've never seen a cat before?"

When word quickly spread around 221 Baker Street, Sherlock had only one question.

If that wasn't Toby, whose the bloody hell cat did we bury? ~SH

Buggered if I know. ~GL

That creature is officially a bigger asshole than even I could aspire to be. I bow to his skill at gracefully returning from the dead.~SH

What about his skill at being an asshole? ~GL

Indeed, that too. ~SH

Two days later, Toby the prodigal cat had settled back in as if he'd never been gone in the first place. By then, he had made his rounds to make sure everyone still knew where his food dish was supposed to be set in each of the three flats, and had long since greeted Maisie by bumping noses and rubbing up against her side, marking her as his own once again. When Morrie had returned later that first day back, he and Toby shared a good old fashioned wrestle.

"You, sir, are a git for leaving ALL of the mousing duties to me," Morrie seemed to say with his dark, green eyed expression, right before launching himself at his fellow feline. Before the quarter hour was passed, they had settled into their favourite spot in the landing of the house, sharing their usual sunbeam and sleeping like only a cat can.

Towards the end of the week, Rosie shared an idea brought forth to her by Julian.

Julian, for his part, was just happy that Rosie was happy again. If there was one thing Julian Bailey hated, it was seeing his Rosa inconsolably sad, knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it, or even cheer her up a little.

As the Lestrades, Holmeses, and Watsons gathered with Mrs. Hudson and the Baileys, the former burial site of Toby Hooper had its small grave marker replaced.

No longer did it mark the final resting place of their beloved feline companion Toby.

Now, it solemnly and respectfully marked the spot of "The Tomb of the Unknown Mouser."