Alex was groggy the next day, but he did recover quite well from Moriarty's drugging, much to Sherlock's relief. After a little rest and recovery he was back to his normal self. A little too back to his normal self, unfortunately, when one of Sherlock's biggest fears came true.

Sherlock was in the sitting room sipping some tea Mrs. Hudson had brought up, looking over information about other fires in the area, wondering if this was Moriarty's newest area he should be studying. Everything seemed fine, an average morning to be sure. It was in one long silence in his research that he was interrupted by a crash and a scream from the kitchen.

Sherlock shot out of his seat. He flailed momentarily before looking towards the room the scream had come from, startled to see Alex on the floor with broken glass and liquid surrounding him. Looking up, he quickly noticed what cupboard Alex had been attempting to reach. That meant whatever Alex was sitting in was likely harmful.

"Alex, get up," Sherlock ordered, coming into the room as best he could, trying to avoid glass and contact with the material. "You need to go to the bathroom, and take off your clothes…" He hesitated. Depending on the compound water might not be as effective as another solution. What had been on the top shelf? What was in that bottle? Based on the amount of shards he was able to determine it was a fairly small bottle. He saw a hint of a green label. That narrowed it down. Something water would be better for then.

"Yes, shower," Sherlock said, watching Alex rise to his feet unsteadily. The boy was clearly in shock, face pale, staring not only at his hands that were turning a splotchy shade of red, but at the slight bend in his left arm, an obvious break.

"Sherlock."

There were tears in his eyes. The pain and confusion left him unable to obey the orders, probably not even hearing most of it.

The consulting detective hesitated only a moment before grabbing the kitchen towel, using it to snatch Alex without touching with his bare hands. He rushed Alex through the door to the bathroom, shoving him into the shower and quickly turning it on.

"Take all of your clothes off, Alex. We'll get you some fresh ones before we go to the hospital," Sherlock said.

The boy obeyed, though he grimaced a bit trying to work without his dominant arm. He did eventually manage to strip the rest of his clothing off. To Sherlock's relief it looked as though the worst damage was on his hands.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Sherlock asked.

"I was looking for a good pot to make noodles in," Alex began, voice chocked as he continued to cry, "so I was standing on the counter to reach the cupboard on top and I opened it and tried to look behind your chemicals, but one started to fall, so I tried to grab it, but I ended up knocking it into the wood of the cupboard, and then my hands really hurt…so I lost my balance and fell. And…" he held up his crooked arm, "I landed badly. It hurts so much, Sherlock."

"Flush your eyes as well, just in case any sprayed there," Sherlock ordered. "I'm going to fetch you some clothes before we go to St. Bart's."

Alex nodded, but he was still looking quite pale. Sherlock instructed him to sit in the tub while the shower continued to pour down on him and the pile of clothes.

Sherlock quickly went to find Alex some clothes, calling down to Mrs. Hudson and asking her to sit with Alex for a few minutes.

"Not going to call an ambulance, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked after he explained what had happened.

"Alex isn't in immediate danger, merely some pain. His arm will need to be splinted and his burns treated, possibly some splinters of glass removed. The best thing to do is let him sit in the shower for a bit longer, make sure all of it is washed off before we take him to the hospital. My main concern at the moment is making sure he doesn't pass out. He looks a little peaky, possibly going into shock."

Mrs. Hudson nodded her agreement and went to sit with Alex while Sherlock grabbed for clothes, found his phone to call a cab. He helped Alex pull on a loose t-shirt and football shorts after the shower had gone long enough. After toweling him off, Sherlock began to realize he really was getting into a danger zone. The boy had perspiration dotting his upper lip, and he appeared a bit dazed. This after Moriarty's sick joke on him, Sherlock gritted his teeth as he decided to leave the coat in favor of having one less thing in the doctor's way when they got him to the emergency department.

Mrs. Hudson insisted on coming along. The only benefit in Sherlock's mind was that it made sure she didn't attempt cleaning the kitchen by herself. He'd see to it when he returned home, but in the meantime Alex was more important.

They waited for far too long in that infernal waiting area. Sherlock kept running a hand through Alex's still wet hair, watching as he seemed to continue to sink into the effects of shock. Thankfully, after what felt like hours but was likely less than thirty minutes, the doctors took Alex in to splint his arm and look at his wounds. Sherlock was left pacing the hall until Mrs. Hudson had him sit down, trying to soothe him with some anecdote about an injury in her childhood.

The only thing that eased him at all was when a figure in a lab coat came strolling down the hall. He perked up instantly, hoping it was news on Alex, only to see it was instead a familiar face. Molly came over to where the two of them were sitting.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"Er…I work here?" Molly said with a small smile. "I heard something about acid burns on a little boy, just had a hunch it might be you. Is Alex all right?"

"They insist he'll be fine," Sherlock said with a sigh.

"Poor little dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "Just trying to make some lunch."

"Do shut up, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock muttered, looking at Molly quizzically. "So you just abandoned your work on a hunch that I might be here?"

"Oh well, I asked someone for the name and confirmed it first. Besides, I'm on break. But I had to come see if you were all right. I was worried about you."

"That is very kind of you Molly, but as you can see I'm fine. And I believe Alex will be all right as well, none of the burns looked too serious, but he'll probably have bandages and a cast for a while."

"Oh it's no trouble," Molly said with a bright smile. "I was worried, that's all. Well, if there's nothing I can do I'll go finish some more work. I need to stop by to give Alex his Christmas present sometime. I keep forgetting. Well I'd best go finish up on Mr. Johnson's corpse."

Sherlock found himself relaxing for some reason. It was nice to have support with all the stress of the day. He watched Molly walk off, wondering what had possessed her to give up valuable time of her job.

"She's such a sweet thing," Mrs, Hudson said. "So nice of her looking out for you and Alex."

"Hmm," Sherlock said, not sure what to say to that, though he had to admit it was true. He focused on studying the other people waiting, quickly figuring out what was wrong with them. Not really all that challenging, but something to focus on.

"Mr. Holmes."

He looked up to see a nurse looking around the room until she spotted him. She gave a fake smile.

"Alex is doing just fine," she said. "His arm's been splinted and he'll come back in a week to get a cast put on. His burns are fortunately not too bad. That was very good thinking on your part in putting him in the shower. We made sure to check for glass, though if he sees any signs of any further problems in the future, make sure to have him checked. It's possible we might have missed something. Make sure to change the bandages regularly, keep an eye for infection. But overall, he'll be alright."

"Good, thank you," Sherlock said, deciding not to comment on the fact that she was clearly stealing drugs from the hospital.

"Can we see him?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Oh yes, you'll be able to take him home."

Mrs. Hudson glanced anxiously at Sherlock before following him to the other room where Alex was sitting on a bed, arm wrapped up tight in a sling, hands covered in white bandages.

Alex looked up at them, but he didn't smile. Mrs. Hudson went over to sit next to him, asking him how he was feeling and promising to make a nice dinner for him at home. Sherlock finally came over, looking down at his ward.

"Are your hands still hurting?" he asked, clearing his throat to cover the awkwardness of the semi-forced words.

"A bit," Alex admitted. "Doctors said they might hurt for a while. But it'll be ok."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Let's get you home."

Back at Baker Street it became apparent the trouble was not over. Sherlock picked Alex up and carried him towards the front door, only to notice the police car parked in front, and the fact that someone had straightened the doorknocker. His eyes narrowed.

"Mrs. Hudson, why don't I have Alex sit down in your kitchen while you make him something to eat? Does that work for you?"

"Oh I don't see why he couldn't lie down on the couch until I can bring him something," Mrs. Hudson protested.

"I'm afraid we have visitors. I'd rather not have Alex see this."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson said, glancing fretfully at the police car.

"Indeed."

Sherlock walked through the door towards the kitchen and set Alex down at a chair. He looked him over, a bit concerned to see he looked a bit dazed again. "I'll be back in a bit. Be good for Mrs. Hudson."

"As if he would be anything but," Mrs. Hudson said. "You just sit there, I'll make you something to eat. Why don't we get you some water in the meantime? Something to hydrate you up again."

Sherlock ventured back towards the stairs, walking up them slowly, already aware who and what he'd find, but not wanting to face it. He was unsurprised to see Mycroft in the sitting room, Lestrade chatting with him casually.

"Well, I'd best be off," Lestrade muttered. "Come on, Anderson."

Sherlock shot him a glare before turning it full force on Mycroft.

"Hello, little brother, back from the hospital?"

"I suppose I should have known you'd do something like that," Sherlock sighed. "Still, it seems low even for you, having a note in mine and Alex's medical files to contact you."

Mycroft offered a wry smile. "But of course."

"I didn't clean up the kitchen," Sherlock said.

"Anderson and Lestrade both wore gloves. I wouldn't worry too much about them. They cleaned the area fairly well, though I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will want to double check. But of course, the main issue we should be discussing is this."

He lifted a small bag Sherlock had almost forgotten about. He'd tucked it away ages ago which Mycroft could probably tell based on the dust on it. But of course that didn't matter.

"Drugs. I thought you would have known better, Sherlock, than to leave this lying around as a prospective guardian."

"You said if I used again he'd be taken away, not if I had some in my possession," Sherlock pointed out, though he could feel his heart beginning to race.

"Well, after the boy was splashed with acid and taken to the hospital, I'm not so sure if that's all I can say anymore," Mycroft said. "I warned you that one more checkup was coming. And do be sure I'll be passing on my recommendations to the social worker."

"I won't allow him to be taken away from me," Sherlock growled. "I made a mistake not watching him for a few minutes, but you can hardly fault me for that. I've been clean as long as I've had him, and I don't intend to use anytime soon unless you pull him from my care. Then I will have nothing to live for, Mycroft. He's all I have left of John. I was entrusted with his care and I will keep it."

Mycroft studied him just a moment and then sighed. "I'm confiscating these. I will give what information I see fit to the social worker, who should be here in the next few days. She will make the final decision."

"I swear to you, Mycroft, if she takes him away I'll…"

"You'll what? Don't be melodramatic, Sherlock. I'm sure whatever she decides will be for the best, for both you and Alexander. Consider that why don't you. Not everything is about you, brother dear."

He walked towards the door. Sherlock stood frozen, trying his best to figure out how to proceed. Think, think, think. There had to be a way to ensure Alex stayed with him. And he needed to find it... soon.

The social worker arrived a few days later. Sherlock showed her into the flat, more clean than it had ever been before. Both he and Alex had been dressing nicely for the last few days, and thankfully both looked quite presentable. Sherlock welcomed the woman in, offering her a seat and a cup of tea.

"So, I must ask about the accident last week," she said, eyeing Alex's bandages and splint.

"Yes, so unfortunate. Alex was climbing up in a cabinet looking for a pot for me. I had no idea he was going to go to such lengths to find one…I'd stashed my chemicals up there hoping they would be out of the way, and therefore not be a danger to him. It was my fault, and I take responsibility for it."

He saw her scowl of disapproval. She scribbled something down. After a few more questions she asked if Alex could be sent to his room so they could talk alone.

"Mr. Holmes, if you want my honest opinion," she began, "I'll say that you are not adequate enough as a single parent. Now, I don't deny this was the parent's wish, or that Alex has seemed quite happy here and in general under good health, but I've examined school records and found you've been late to a point where Alex is almost risking suspension. His teachers say he does good work but occasionally comes unprepared. Apparently a few weeks back he didn't have a coat?"

Her scowl was dangerous. Sherlock could sense it, especially as she pushed her glasses up her nose and then crossed her arms.

Sherlock looked at her, took in the small gold cross necklace, the cardigan that had been buttoned all the way up, the long skirt and stockings. He'd seen it before, but it was obvious now to him that this woman was set in her traditional ways, and that the best means of convincing her was to move towards a more…traditional approach. Something appropriate. Something that would put her more at ease. Something that would make up for her disgust at his experiments and his general sloppiness and his lack of punctuality…

Well, a suggestion of change, a suggestion of a sense of reform and repentance. But how to do so convincingly? His track record was standing against him. Could he lie about joining some kind of program or a church or something like that? Would those things please her? His attempts at cleaning up this last week might have helped, but she needed more of a sense of real change coming. His eyes caught on her wedding ring, and a crazy yet plausible idea came to him. Sherlock smiled.

"I know, I know, I've been a bit scatterbrained," Sherlock admitted. "And I agree it's been a problem. But all that will change soon. With everything going on I haven't had time lately to put in the hours I wanted to. I know now being a single parent is the most…challenging occupation a person can have. And I am thankful that I will no longer have to bear this burden alone…considering my fiancée has agreed to move in soon now that we're properly engaged."

He peered at her cautiously, trying to maintain a smile even as he awaited her reaction to his manipulation.

It was possible she might not like that, but marriage was taking it too far so engagement was the best he could do. Sherlock watched her expressions, making out a hint of surprise.

"Really? A fiancée? It's true, that would lessen some of your work. This woman likes Alex too?"

"Oh of course," Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. "She adores him and Alex thinks she's wonderful and won't stop asking about when we're getting married. We're both so excited. We've just been trying to figure out logistics of course, now that we have a proper ring on place I don't feel bad moving in together. We discussed moving into her place, but I couldn't leave Baker Street. So she'll come here…give the bachelor pad a little…woman's touch," Sherlock said, trying and failing to keep away a grimace at the thought.

"Sounds like a lovely idea," the woman said, glancing around the room, eyeing the smiley face and skull in particular. Sherlock could already picture doilies on the table and pink pillows on the couch. He shuddered.

"I'm sure with the extra help things will run much smoother. And I did promise to get rid of my chemicals, especially with what happened to Alex. She wouldn't hear of me having dangerous things around. And I love her enough to compromise."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you didn't strike me as the marrying type, but I'll give you my congratulations. I think this sounds like a nice development. I will likely need to make one more visit, though, to see if this does produce a positive change. When is she moving in?"

Sherlock froze, but he knew this bluff might take a little work. Pulling it off might be tough, but he'd find a way.

"Oh sometime in the next month I believe," Sherlock answered briskly. "I could give you a call if you'd like, after she's settled. I really do believe this will be a turning point for all of us."

"It sounds like it. Marriage does wonderful things for a family," the woman said, beaming at him. "And really no child should be denied a proper mother."

Sherlock did his best to produce a smile, even as he thought about how Alex had gone more than a full year without a mother and had been mostly fine. Mrs. Hudson mothered him enough, honestly, he didn't really see the point.

"Well, I'll give you a call, don't you worry," Sherlock promised. "Now, unless there's anything else, Alex and I were hoping to go to the park this afternoon."

"Fresh air, that will do him some good. Well, I'll check up on the two—soon to be three of you in the next month hopefully."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said, walking her to the door. Once she was gone he heard footsteps on the stairs before Alex came tearing down, jaw dropping as he stared at his guardian.

"What are you doing!" Alex said. "You don't have a fiancée?"

"No," Sherlock admitted. "I don't. But she doesn't know that."

"But what about the next checkup?" Alex asked, staring at him. "What are you going to do?'

"I'm going to…figure something out," Sherlock said, staring off at the wall in thought. "Don't worry about it, I'll make it work."

Alex bit his lip. "You're going to get in trouble for lying, and then they're really going to take me away. You can't do this, Sherlock. Where are you going to find a fiancée in a month?"

"I'll find someone," he said. "Eavesdropper. Now, why don't I get you some lunch so we're in good habits either way," Sherlock said, hoping the subject of food would convince Alex to drop the issue. Based on the way his eyes lit up at the mention, he suspected his guess was correct.

He walked off to the kitchen, mind already reeling on possibilities. Why, the answer was quite obvious. It merely involved a ring, a nice dinner, and a certain lovely woman…one he already had a good hunch on asking.

A/N: Thanks so much to Icecat62 for reviewing.

Little author speech on research so no one can criticize me for not doing it-

On St. Bart's- well…after I wrote this section I thought about looking up the hospital. Turns out there's no emergency department. Whoops. But I didn't want to rewrite it because I liked Molly making an appearance. Anyhow, no scolding me for not knowing my stuff, this just worked better with the story. However, you can laugh at my legal guardianship nonsense because I don't know much about that…but I figure Mycroft is practically the British government, so he's likely pulling a lot of strings on the whole thing.