It was nearing midnight and Sherlock stood at the window looking down at Bakerstreet while absentmindedly playing a slow, slightly melancholy melody on his violin he made up as he went. It was a clear night, the stars for once shining brightly on the usually cloudy London sky. John had gone to bed early suffering from a headache after a patient earlier in the day had struck him an, albite accidental but true right hook, when he'd wussed out of his tetanus shot in the last possible moment and had acted out of reflex. Knowing John to be stubborn enough to refuse taking any pain medication unless it he was more or less in agony, Sherlock had picked up his violin and started playing in the hopes it would lull his lover faster into a calmful sleep. He knew it'd worked by now, but still kept playing, his mind wandering aimlessly around in an almost meditative manner. He'd found he'd started to enjoy these quiet nights in more and more. More than he'd ever thought he would. Of course he'd always love the thrill of a good case and the ecstasy of a truly compelling puzzle, but since John and he had evolved their relationship to include the romantic sense he'd also learned to enjoy the soothing aspects of domesticity. Small things he'd always taken for granted while he'd been alone. Things like coming home to be greeted with a soft smile and a kiss, making tea for John only to hear the appreciative hum his doctor always made when taking the first sip, the lovely feeling when John would absentmindedly start to trace soft patterns on his back when the detective lay sprawled over the couch and resting his head in the other's lap, while watching crap telly. Or like now, helping his love find rest by playing the violin softly late into the night if needed.

Not so many years ago, Sherlock would have berated the idea of anyone telling him this would be his life in the future. Back then the only shadow of happiness he could find would be on the rare occasions Lestrade could let him in on a good case or when he'd shot his veins full of cocaine. Back when he still believed in his 'alone protects me' mindset. And it hadn't been easy to change his way of life. Mycroft had tried in a way as well as his parents, but none of them had been very adapt at handling his troubles. It'd taken Lestrade years to even gain a modicum of trust from the detective despite never faltering in his want to help him, something Sherlock had taken for granted for far too long, but was working on changing.

All his childhood and teenage years he'd lived through so many failures to fit into a society, that left little room for any forms of eccentricities or the slightest abnormality. At every point in his life when he'd made efforts to be accepted socially by his peers he'd either been humiliated, used, mocked or on more than one occasion literally beaten down. The pain of repeatedly rejection and breakdowns had caused Sherlock deciding to start building his tall walls of emotionlessness and indifference in his late teens. He'd then labelled himself as a high functioning sociopath to shield himself for further let-downs. His walls had only grown thicker and more impenetrable as the years went by. With no levelminded associates to offer any forms of support or means of outlet he'd found himself turning to drugs to settle his racing mind and tendencies to selfloathing. It didn't take long for his habit to turn into a fullblown addiction.

And while it was mostly Lestrade's accomplishment that he'd gotten clean in the first place, Sherlock had never known true peace or happiness.. Not until John Watson had entered his life. John had managed to crack his carefully crafted, fortified walls within the first 24 hours of knowing him. In that time the doctor had praised him more than anyone had ever done in his entire life, called him brilliant and amazing and not out of some misguided impression or false social dictation, but really meaning it. He'd even gone as far as kill a man for him when his life had been threatened and not feeling a shadow of regret afterwards. So deep was his conviction of how much Sherlock's life was worth within hours of knowing him.

The melody had turned into a beautiful sonnet, portraying the detective's mood. He still had a hard time believing John had actually chosen him to be his. And thinking back on it know, Sherlock had decided that all that pain and heartache had been worth it all for leading him to John Watson.

The detective ended the long piece with one final drawnout note and carefully placed his instrument back into its' protective casing. His head always felt clearer after playing his heart out. His musings had now resulted in a sudden urge to join his doctor in bed. However, he didn't get the chance to proceed on his want as a soft, but determined knock sounded at the door. He hadn't heard the ascending steps on account of being so thoroughly engulfed in his playing, but at once his mind started deducing;

5ft 6in person judging by the placement of the knock, most likely male.

Approximately 5 seconds pause between first to second knock, indication apprehension at coming so late but determined enough to not falter in the decision to do so, so the errand is important and urgent.

Mrs. Hudson had retired hours ago and therefor couldn't have answered the door, so whoever it was is familiar with the secret location of the unmarked key Sherlock had hidden in the ally at Porter street. The only people to know about said key being John and selected individuals from his homeless network to use in emergencies.

All these deductions went through Sherlock's head in seconds. As he moved quickly to answer the door he already knew who was on the other side.

"Dexter, come in." Sherlock said as he opened the door for the thin teen standing on the staircase landing.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm so sorry to disturb you this late at night but I didn't know where else to go." The boy rattled off quickly. He was shivering from the London chill, his eyes were large and vivid and his dark black hair a dishevelled mess on top of his head.

"Don't be. I told you my door is always open. Now quickly, get inside and get warm you're shivering, are you sick? Do I need to fetch John?" Sherlock asked, scanning the boy from top to bottom in an attempt to figure out the boy's distress.

Dexter weaved off the detective's concerns. "No, no.. Just a bit chilled is all. I'm not here for me."

Sherlock huffed in consternation. "Handed over your jacket to someone else again I see? You promised John you'd stop doing that." Sherlock berated slightly, but already knew it was no use to lecture the boy further. Dexter always did this, handing out his scarfs, jacket or gloves to others in the network he felt needed them more.

Dexter was one of his main informants on the streets, the boy had been part of the network since he was 20 and now having just turned 28. He knew practically everybody and had wide connections throughout the city. He was a good lad, everybody on the street trusted him and confided in him. That's why Sherlock had chosen him as a sort of union representative for his homeless network and trusted him with the knowledge of the emergency key to Bakerstreet, so both he and John could be reached in emergencies. John was luckily very supportive of Sherlock's effort to offer the homeless a sort of security with their 'open door offer' and Bakerstreet had often opened up as a free clinic for the homeless in need. Often John also brought his carryon med-kit, like the one he'd used in the army, and patrolled through the streets of London together with Sherlock offering medical treatment and basic necessities to various homeless. They did it more often during the winter months. occasionally resulting in the expansion of their network and some very grateful people.

But the boy shook off the comment quickly. "I know Mr. Holmes, but that's not important right now. It's Charlie."

Sherlock immediately focused. Charlie was a relatively new addition in the network. A very troubled young 14 year old boy. He wasn't strictly speaking homeless, but had been placed in his fourth foster care home in London 5 months ago. When Charlie's biological parents hadn't simply neglected and ignored his existence they'd been both physically and mentally abusive. When authorities had finally stepped in the poor lad had been so affected that he'd acquired deep and profound trust issues to all other parental and authoritative figures, which often resulted in him lashing out either verbally or physically. Most foster homes simply gave up on him and sent him back into the system. Finding it was hard to control or deal with a forceful 14 year old boy.

Charlie had started taken to the streets a lot since arriving to London. Dexter had taken him in in his neighbourhood and kept an eye on the boy, simultaneously bringing him into the network. Sherlock and John had met him a few times. Charlie did not connect well with John at all. The doctor's military stand and natural authoritarian aura immediately set off the boy's alarm bells and had him refuse to talk to John or let the doctor examine some bruised knuckles he'd gotten from a fight in his school. Sherlock however had been able to connect with the boy better. Sherlock knew how it felt to be unwanted, discarded, be a misfit and to be the outcast. It didn't take a consulting detective too see how bad Charlie was struggling. He'd take on a tough exterior, but was in reality fighting to keep himself going every day. Sherlock knew because he'd been just the same at that age and he'd needed to turn to drugs to dwell those demons.

Sherlock was already pulling on his Belstaf before throwing one of John's older Parka jackets at Dexter to put on. "Where is he?" He asked determined as they started a rapid decent down the stairs.

"He's at the at the old Millennium Mills warehouse. He's really out of it. I'm afraid of what he might do this time." Dexter said as he followed down, pulling on the jacket without comment.

"You were right to come get me Dexter." Sherlock said and immediately flagged down a cab as they walked out on the street.

Normally John would have accompanied them, but for one the doctor had been feeling unwell when going to bed and probably wouldn't be up for a midnight exploit through the city in the cold weather. Secondly, having John present while Charlie was having an episode wouldn't be productive in calming the teen down, worst case and more likely it would even have a negative effect on the boy. So Sherlock made the decision that it be best he and Dexter went alone. As they made their way in the cab Sherlock sent off a quick text to John, letting him know where he was and what he was doing. A promise the detective had made his doctor after several hardtaught lessons were. Luckily the streets had little traffic as it was a week night so they reached their destination in little less than 20 minutes.

"This way Mr. Holmes." Dexter eagerly led on, half running towards the old rundown building, clearly worried about his young ward.

Sherlock threw the cab fair and a small tip at the cabbie and quickly followed the lanky teen.

They entered the dark building trying to locate the boy. "Damn, I know he came here, but not where he went. He doesn't know I followed him, but he was so upset I thought I should fetch you sooner rather than later Mr. Holmes, he actually listens to you for most part." Dexter muttered softly.

Sherlock turned on the light on his cell phone to better light their way. "Any idea what set him off?" He asked.

Dexter let out a huff. "Not entirely, but from what I could gather something about a conversation he overheard at home. Whatever it is it's gotten him really upset."

Sherlock only hummed in responds as they continued to search for the boy. After only a few minutes they heard a loud banging noise from above, followed by another and another. Sherlock and Dexter shared a quick look and then marched towards the noise. The sounds grew louder and louder as they ascended a long series of staircases leading to the roof of the building. They finally reached the top and entered onto the rooftop. Sherlock had a brief uncomfortable flashback to the last time he'd been on a rooftop, but quickly pushed the memory aside, this wasn't the time or place for that.

They quickly located Charlie who was busy bashing everything in his way with a steal pipe he must have picked up somewhere. Currently he was working on destroying on of the buildings many titanium chimneys. The boy was heaving and grunting with the effort, swinging with all his might, each hit echoing loudly into the wind. It was obviously an attempt to let out his frustrations and sadness that was etched so clearly in his entire person. Charlie didn't even realise he was no longer alone he just kept on his oneman rampage.

"Charlie." Sherlock called out over the wind.

The boy whipped around, caught by surprise. His look was almost feral, but Sherlock could easily detect the deep anguish and hurt underneath the surface.

"What are you doing here?! Dexter you arsehole! Did you bring him?! Just leave me the hell alone!" Charlie shouted angrily and raised the pipe still in his hand in a half threatening stance.

Dexter took a half step back but Sherlock stood his ground unfaced, convinced Charlie had no real intent in hurting either of them.

"Dexter was right in fetching me Charlie. I'm here to help you. What got you so upset?" Sherlock asked calmly.

The detective observed as Charlies' breathing speed up slightly and his face flamed up at the question. Anger, sadness and a heartbreaking mixture of emotions once again taking over the boy's features.

Charlie grasped the steal pipe with both his hands once again. "They're. Just. Like. The. Others. Fucking. WANKERS!" He grunted out harshly and punctuated each word by striking everything in reach with the pipe. He was gasping for his breath when he finished and frustrated tears had gathered in the boy's eyes.

Sherlock already had a good assumption of who the boy was referring too, but he asked anyway. He needed to get the boy talking. "Who're you talking about Charlie?" He advanced slowly towards Charlie with slightly outstretched arms in an open, non-threatening gesture.

"I'm talking about my fucking family!" Charlie spat the word as if it was poisonous and threw the pipe over the edge of the roof. It jangled loudly in the air as it finally hit the ground down below.

"They're getting rid of me.. Just like all the others have! It's just a matter of days before I have to shuffle all my shit back into a garbage bag and they kick me out so I can be another family's nuisance!" Charlie sprouted the words in a harsh angry voice, but the hurt and insecurity was brewing right under the surface. The teen had his fist clenched hard and he was now trying to glare a hole in the ground, looking anywhere but Sherlock or Dexter, probably realising that his true emotions would be easily visible if he looked up.

"I thought things were finally getting better with your new family Charlie. You told me last week you were finally feeling more at ease at home. That you were willing to start to make more of an effort to stay out of trouble so you could stay." Dexter chimed in, still standing right behind Sherlock.

"I HAVE been making a fucking effort! I haven't been in any fights at school, I've obeyed their stupid 10 pm curfew and I even did the dishes last night to try and be nice but they're STILL throwing me out, I know they are!" Charlie yelled finally facing them. A few tears had started to escape his eyes and rolled slowly down his freckled cheeks.

Sherlock took another small step towards the boy. His own chest constricting as he saw the boy's carefully constructed façade crumble, showing his true self. An insecure 14 year old who wished for little else than to be able to fit into a family, to feel wanted and loved, something he'd never had before at his other foster homes and certainly not from his biological family.

"What makes you think they're going to give up on you Charlie?" Sherlock asked softly, realizing it might be a sore subject for the young boy to approach, but he needed more information in order to help him.

Charlie kept wiping away his tears angrily with his hands, but to little avail as they just kept on coming now that he'd allowed the first ones to escape. "I heard them. They thought I was asleep, but I had snuck down in the kitchen to find a snack when I heard them talking in the livingroom. Maggie said 'maybe we should just tell him now' and Rob said 'we better wait until we have the papers and details settled so we know it'll be final, I have a meeting with his caseworker on Wednesday'. So there it is! They're arranging for my caseworker to find me another family, it's how it is every time!" Suddenly Charlie went completely still except for the tears still rolling now more freely down his face and slowly turned towards the edge of the roof, as if he'd had a sudden realization.

Sherlock froze on the spot, a cold dread sweeping through his body as he could already read what the teen was thinking of. "Charlie.." Sherlock spoke softly and very slowly reached out for the boy, as if he just concentrated hard enough, he could hold him back with telepathy.

No such luck because Charlie was leaping onto the edge of the roof with a lightning speed.

"Charlie no!"

"STOP!"

Sherlock and Dexter exclaimed loudly, both their hearts jumping to their throats.

Charlie didn't jump but stood right there on the edge and looked down on the street below. The wind ruffled his dark brown hair and he looked to be deep in thought.

"There's just no point anymore.." He muttered sadly, still looking down. "No one wants me.. All I ever do is cause misery and trouble. Maybe it'd be better if I just wasn't here anymore."

His voice held a hint of a certain acceptance that Sherlock didn't like one bit. "Charlie listen to me."

Charlie still looked down but still didn't make any move to jump right away so Sherlock continued in as calm a voice he could muster. "Whatever you're going through right now, how much you might believe what you're thinking of doing is the right decision.. It's not. This is not the answer."

Charlie didn't step down but turned halfway towards the detective with a cold stare. "How'd you know? You're a famous detective who got it all, a cool job, a nice place to call home and that twat to John Watson who loves you. I have no one.. No one wants me in their life. No one beliefs in me.. I'm always too intense, or aggressive or weird. No one will miss me if I'm gone anyway!"

Sherlock's heart broke just a bit more hearing such a speech coming from such a young boy. Maybe even more so because, not that long ago, he could have uttered almost the exact same statements and believed them to be true. Also he did not like the reminder this situation brought when he'd been the one standing on the edge of a rooftop and he knew from personal experience how much hurt and anguish it brought to the people around you to make a decision like this. No matter how unloved or un needed Charlie believed himself to be, he'd leave a hole behind for many people around him. The boy just hasn't realized that yet, so Sherlock felt the most important duty in his life this moment, is to make Charlie believe it.

"But I do know Charlie.. I really do.. I know every day you live is a struggle to get through. You don't think you'll ever deserve love or affection, because you know you're different than other children. Because you've had to face greater difficulties than any of your classmates. Children can be mean and merciless, they pick on you because they don't understand or can't relate to you. Of course you try to fight back, but deep down you believe them to be right about you, because it's what you've been told your entire life."

Charlie harsh mask slowly began to peel away as his small sobs began to fill the air and fat, fresh tears started to stream down the boy's face, but he still held his ground still not making any move to take the final step over the edge. Sherlock saw this as a good sign and very slowly approached a little further until he was right next to Charlie, but not touching him. He just kept talking;

"I know you believe that, but it isn't true. If you do this you'll leave behind a lot of people who'll miss you."

Charlie interrupted, his voice wobbly and tearful. "Oh yeah.. Who?"

"Well myself for one and Dexter too." Sherlock said in a matter of fact voice.

Dexter chimed in. "Yeah for real Charlie. Me and the rest of the gang." He said as he referred to the other members in the network. "You always have the best stories about your shenanigans, we never had much reason to laugh until you came along. And you always bring biscuits or treats you bought with your own allowance to give out to everyone when you meet us. You might be misunderstood by your classmates, but we know behind your tough front you're really the most generous and big hearted kid in the world. We'd all be devastated without you."

Charlie returned his gaze to the pavement down below, he didn't acknowledge Dexter's words verbally, but his tears had slowed a bit. Sherlock picked up once again;

"And John would miss you too. I know you don't like him much but he worries about you more than you think. He once told me you'd make a great soldier. He said you're the most courageous child he's ever met, having been through so much and still be able to hold your chin so high. He knows you're going to grow up and do great things in your life."

Charlie huffed a bit in dismay by the mention of John, but looked to be reflecting over this new information.

"And I'm sure your family are very worried about you right now. I'm sure whatever you heard tonight is explainable. You know, a good detective doesn't jump to conclusions without all the data." Sherlock defended coolly, hoping this could be the final straw to get the boy to retreat from the roof edge.

Charlie finally turned his head to look the detective in the eye. Gone were the tough exterior and left were only a sad, hurting and confused kid.

"I don't want to jump.." Was he said, his voice hollow and soft. "But I don't know if I can keep going. I don't want to go back into the system.." his young voice broke. "I just.. Want to belong somewhere."

Sherlock held out his hand, hoping for Charlie to take it. "I know Charlie.. So lets get you home, alright?"

Charlie hesitated for a few moments, but finally took Sherlock's hand and let himself be helped down from the ledge. Sherlock and Dexter both let out a silent sigh of relief. The detective immediately put his arm around the shoulder of the boy and held him close both to comfort Charlie who'd started shaking, but in some way also to comfort himself to make sure he really was safe as all three started to make their way down the stairs of the warehouse to catch a late night cab to deliver Charlie safely back to his foster parents.

Sherlock kept his arm around Charlie for the whole cab ride back to central London. Charlie didn't protest the gesture and even leaned against the detective in his rare vulnerable state. They dropped off Dexter near Hyde Park, but not before he'd reached over to Charlie and held gently on the back of the boy's neck as he whispered something into his ear. Sherlock could not make out the words but he didn't try to either, letting the boys have their moment. He knew Charlie had come to see Dexter as a sort of older brother and whatever he said made the young break into a soft smile and gave him a small nod as answer.

Finally they reached their destination, a small terraced house on Knightsbridge. Even though it was late, almost 1:30pm at night, all lights were still on inside. Sherlock paid the cabbie his fare and exited unto the pavement with Charlie ahead of him. Once the cab was gone Charlie and Sherlock stood still and looked towards the house. Charlie looked pensive and slightly scared and Sherlock watched the young boy, simply waiting for Charlie to gather himself enough to approach the house.

Charlie looked up into Sherlock's eyes. "What if they really don't want me to stay?" Charlie asked softly, his eyes big and glazed.

Sherlock squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure if you tell them how you feel and continue to make an effort to behave they'll never wan't you to leave Charlie." He answered and offered a reassuring smile.

"But.. What if they still don't..?" Charlie asked again, apparently still not willing to believe anyone would want to keep him in their life willingly.

Sherlock held Charlie's gaze and steadily answered. "Tell you what, if that really should be the case, I'll make sure that you can come and live with me and John."

Charlie let out a small grunt of protest. "As if. I'm not going to live with Dr. Twat Watson, thinking he's all that just because he's got a fancy diploma and knows how to boss people around professionally."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh a little at Charlie's description of his lover. "Well I'm sure it's not going to come to that anyway so lets get go knock on the door shall we?"

Charlie rolled his shoulders and swallowed down the lump in his throat before nodding his acceptance. They both made their way up the walkway and Sherlock used the doorknocker three times to announce their presents.

There were a few moments of hurried scuffles on the other side before the door was practically ripped open by both Margareth and Robert Hadley. They hardly acknowledged Sherlock's presents as their eyes quickly fell on Charlie. Both immediately fell to their knees and embraced the boy into their arms, Mrs. Hadley sobbing in relief; "Oh gods Charlie my boy! We've been so worried about you! I went to check on you before bed and you were just gone! Never scare me like that again!"

Mr. Hadley broke the embrace and held Charlie at an arm's length looking the boy over up and down multiple times. "Are you alright? We've been out looking for you, we even called the police! They have a patrol out looking for you. We were so afraid something happened to you."

Charlie stood slightly speechless from all the sudden attention from his foster parents but answered non the less. "N-No.. I'm alright, really. I'm sorry I scared you.. I just.." He looked up to Sherlock who gave him a soft nod in encouragement to go on. "I ran away because.. I heard you talking downstairs. About finding me another family to live with.. And I was so sad because, I really like it here with you and I really want to stay, please?! I will try to do better in the feature just please don't send me back." Charlie pleaded, a few tears once again escaping his eyes as he spoke.

Both Mrs. And Mr. Hadley looked at each other confused before turning back to Charlie. "Sending you back? My poor boy what gave you that idea?" Mrs. Hadley asked.

"You know.. You said that you should just tell me and Rob said he needed to meet with my caseworker to work out the paperwork first.. You're planning to give me up because I've been to difficult to handle. Just like all the other times." Charlie explained sadly and looked to the ground.

Mr. Hadley however took a hold of Charlie's chin and lifted it up so he could look him in the eyes with a serious yet gentle look. "No Charlie of course we're not giving you up, never! On the contrary my boy." Mrs. Hadley cupped her hands around Charlie's face, stroking the thumbs gently across his tearsteaked cheeks as she continued; "We've been arranging for adoption papers Charlie. We want nothing more than for you to become a fully member of our family and Mrs. Clare, your caseworker, has been helping us to get things settled. We didn't want to tell you until everything was in order though." Mr. Hadley spoke again; "That is if you want to of course Charlie, but we'd love to have you as our son."

At those words Charlie broke altogether and threw himself into the arms of his parents while sobbing joyfully; "Yes! Yes I want that! Thank you, yes!"

Sherlock discreetly wiped a single tear from his chin as he witnessed the heartwarming scene before him. He'd never been more grateful to finally make a difference for the living for once in his life.

After a few more minutes of heartfelt crying Mrs. And Mr. Hadley both got up to thank Sherlock warmly for bringing their son safely back home to them. Sherlock accepted their thanks but also informed them that Dexter was the one who'd really been responsible for looking after Charlie and had brought their boy's need for help to his attention in the first place. The couple nodded and said they'd make sure to thank him plentifully when they'd see him again.

It was nearly 3pm in the morning before Sherlock finally made his way into bed next to John, who'd been sleeping blissfully through the whole nights' ordeal. The doctor however awoke slightly as his detective snuggled close and wrapped his tanned, strong arms around his lover. John yawned and spoke softly into soft, brown curls; "You've been up late, do I want to know what you've been doing to have kept me waiting for you so long?"

Sherlock wrapped his own arms tightly around his doctor and placed a small kiss under John's jaw. "Not now, I'll tell you about it in the morning." He answered faintly.

"Alright then, night Sherlock." John yawned tiredly and pulled Sherlock a bit closer to him.

"Goodnight John." Sherlock answered and settled himself comfortably against John's strong chest, his heart light with relief and happiness that Charlie had finally achieved some well deserved love and happiness in his new family as he'd found in John.

Charlie was back in bed at home. Mrs. Hadley had fallen asleep next to him in his bed, reluctant to let go of him after the scare he'd given them that night. She had her arm draped protectively across his body on top of his covers. Up until now he'd never have allowed for such acts of kindness, but he right now he didn't mind. He realized now he'd spent so many years in his past to protect himself from disappointment and hurt, that he'd never let anyone too close to his heart. But Mr. and Mrs. Hadley had treated him differently from the first day he'd been placed into their care. They were patient and loving, even when he'd lashed out. They'd been able to see past his exterior shell, even when he'd refused to acknowledge their act of love and kindness as genuine. Now that Sherlock had opened his eyes he could finally be honest with himself and accept what he'd refused to believe for so long. That he was worthy of love and the Hadleys, mom and dad he should probably get used to caaling them (he smiled at the thought), wanted him to be their legally son! For the first time in his life that he could remember he felt warm and loved and if it hadn't been for Sherlock Holmes, this night would have ended much differently and he'd never stop being grateful to the detective for saving his life to return home to his familily.