A/N: Had some serious writer's block on this one, but felt very much like Sherlock in deciding to play some Bach to inspire myself. It worked!
WARNINGS: Brutal crime scene coming. Be warned of violence and general disgustingness from your favorite criminal.
Living with Molly had been wonderful, though Sherlock had to admit it left him feeling like a somewhat irresponsible parent, given that she seemed to be doing most of the work.
She made dinner most often (except the few nights she worked late that Mrs. Hudson gladly took over). She took Alex to school in the morning, though she left the picking up to Sherlock, figuring lateness was more excusable for the latter rather than the former. And best of all she hadn't shown any signs of frustration regarding his need to not sleep some nights, or his desire to experiment (safely of course now) in the kitchen. She was patient with him, loving towards Alex.
Sometimes it seemed a dream, waking up in the morning to find her in her slippers in his kitchen, making herself coffee and offering him some breakfast. If only domestic bliss could last.
Although everything had been running fairly smoothly at home, Sherlock was well aware that a threat loomed over all of them.
He'd been continuing to research fires in London. There had been a good number lately, though he had eliminated over half of the list. He'd been searching for patterns like with the bank robberies, but so far there had been nothing. No sign of signal that the consulting criminal was trying to make any sort of game out of it. Perhaps his only thought was to burn as much of London as he could.
Not sure what else to think about, he resorted to picking up his violin instead. He allowed the steady swell of music to carry him off, wrapped up in the rhythm, counting off each measure, closing his eyes and surrendering for a few minutes.
A beep from his phone drew him out of his concentration. He laid the instrument aside, and picked up the device.
Forgot what day it was?-GL
Sherlock frowned at the confusing message before replying.
Whatever do you mean?- SH
Just come meet me at the crime scene and you'll see. -GL
Sherlock waited until he had the address before heading off. He was certainly intrigued by the mysterious message, though he still hadn't figured out what Greg meant about forgetting the day.
He arrived in front of an average looking building, though as he glanced it over, he was already picking up on the reasons why it was anything but. Besides the police tape and all the racket from Lestrade's department hanging around.
There were tire skid marks that looked to be incredibly fresh. As he got closer, he could see the broken section of the window on the front door. The clever means of reaching inside to undo a lock. The way the doormat had been haphazardly pushed to the side, in a rush out the door. There had been a break in.
"Why are you troubling me with a robbery, Lestrade?" Sherlock sighed as he walked over to the detective inspector.
"Because it's not just a robbery, is it?" Lestrade said. "Seriously, you just forgot what today is then? I guess I shouldn't really be surprised and all, but really."
"Today is…? Don't trouble me with meaningless details, Lestrade. What do you want?"
"Come on upstairs," the man said at long last. "You're going to find this interesting…or well, I'm going to find this interesting seeing your reaction. Now, go on, second floor."
Sherlock made his way up to the second floor to a small flat. Not unlike 221 B really, especially considering the three occupants. Four if you counted a cat.
Sherlock glanced around for a moment. He could see the signs of the struggle that had taken place. Even if some clean up had been done, there was a shard of glass that had been missed, places where a piece of furniture had been put into place wrong. Everything spoke of a violent invasion.
There was a long moment of him standing in the doorway, before he walked over to the small kitchen where the first occupant was sitting.
A young woman dressed in a white labcoat was sitting at the table. Her hands had been nailed to it, likely to keep her in place. Sherlock stared for a moment, taking in the hair done like Molly's, even though he could tell the woman never wore it like that based on the photographs around the flat.
The child was the next person he saw. A little boy wearing a football uniform sitting on the sofa in front of the television. The burn marks on the boy's forearms, the missing fingernails, clear signs of torture. Sherlock simply left him, knowing there was no good in wasting his time pitying what a horrifying death he'd had.
And then in the bedroom was the man. Lying spread out across the mattress. His wrists were bruised from where he'd clearly been tied to the bedposts.
"It's sick isn't it?" Lestrade said from the doorway.
"Indeed," Sherlock murmured.
"So, this is the third year he's done this. My question, why's he added a woman?" Lestrade asked, peering at Sherlock curiously.
"Some strange idea of his, I'm sure," Sherlock muttered, even as he delved deeper into his mind palace, searching for meaning where there didn't seem to be any.
From what he could see this was merely senseless violence. This was merely Moriarty playing his part, trying to cause a reaction, trying to figure out how much he could bother Sherlock before he finally snapped.
"Yeah, sure," Lestrade said. "Here's the thing…she looks kind of like Molly Hooper doesn't she? With the hair done that way and her lab coat on. We already checked, she's not a doctor or anything. Works for a nonprofit. Why'd he go to the trouble of making her look like that?"
Sherlock sighed. "Alright, fine, I admit it. Molly Hooper and I are engaged."
Lestrade's jaw dropped. "What are you…you're having me on. No, not possible. You and Molly Hooper? Cor, that's a good one."
"I'm quite serious. I proposed to her a short while ago, and since then she's taken up residence in 221B with Alex and me."
Lestrade kept staring at him. "Look, I thought it was a good joke or something. Him setting you two up in a little deranged domestic bliss show. But he's serious? You're really with Molly?"
"Quite haven't I already said that? What's so odd about me and her being together?"
"The fact you've never shown a fancy for anyone before," Lestrade suggested. "The way you went on and on about how horrid marriage is at John's wedding. The little part where you've completely ignored Molly up unto this point, never shot her a second glance, never shown the slightest interest. You've got to be bloody joking."
"I'm not," Sherlock said. "It's quite serious. And while I disapprove of marriage, engagement has suited us well. I don't know if we'll ever actually go through a ceremony, but I knew how to convince her to be with me. She's been quite happy."
Lestrade crossed his arms. "Next time I'm at the morgue—which'll probably be quite soon with three new bodies—I'm going to have a good chat with her and see what she says about it. You'd better be treating her well. Molly's a nice girl. She really deserves a lot better than you, you know?"
Sherlock sighed. "Yes, alright. Well, is there anything I can help you with here? If not I'd like to go do some investigating of my own. I can't believe I forgot it was John and Mary's death anniversary. It hardly feels like that was three years ago."
"Yeah. No, I just wanted you to see it so you were aware. I know you prefer visiting to photographs. Think he's got any other plans for you or is this it?" Lestrade asked, looking around the flat.
"Possibly. I really wouldn't put it past him—"
Sherlock broke off as his phone suddenly rang. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, startled to see the number from Alex's school. He excused himself and headed back to the living room answering as he went down the stairs.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello Mr. Holmes," the school's secretary said. "I'm afraid there's been an incident with Alex. We need you to come to the school. He—well it might just be better if you came so we can talk it over."
"Talk what over?" Sherlock snapped. "I need the details, give them to me now, what's happened?"
"I'll see you soon, Mr. Holmes."
She hung up leaving him suddenly feeling numb. Moriarty's plans apparently did include a bit more than leaving corpses for him to find. He ran to hail a cab, deciding to just text Lestrade his apologies on the way to the school. He didn't have a moment to spare. If Alex had been kidnapped or hurt or anything like that, he'd need every minute possible to save him. Time was precious.
The ride comprised mostly of him telling the driver how incompetent he was, suggesting faster routes as they went along, sending texts to Lestrade apologizing and promising to look into the case. Wondering if he should tell Molly before he even reached the school or not.
Once there he threw cash at the driver and then dashed into the building, gasping for breath by the time he reached the main office.
"I was called about my son Alex Watson. Please, tell me what's wrong."
Of course, just around that time, he glanced at the bench next to the door and noticed Alex sitting there. Doing a minor scan of him, Sherlock could see he had a few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise seemed fine.
"Welcome Mr. Holmes. Alex needs to be taken home for the rest of the day. Based on his actions he will be facing a fixed term exclusion," the secretary said.
"Punishment for what?" Sherlock asked. "What's he done?"
"Alex was involved in a fight with two other boys, one of whom was just sent to the hospital. Violence is not tolerated in this school. We are asking you to keep him home for three days before he can come back, not including today of course. We're hoping this will teach him his lesson."
Sherlock glanced back at Alex, taking in the cast still on his arm.
"You're telling me Alex beat up two other boys while still dealing with an injured arm? His dominant arm?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows furrowing.
"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, that's what all of the witnesses we talked to said. Now, if you'd please take him home."
Sherlock sighed and went over to Alex.
"Come on."
Alex followed him to the door, though he was silent, allowing Sherlock time to slip back into his thoughts. So it hadn't been Moriarty, while that was somewhat of a relief, he still had to realize that Alex being given a fixed term exclusion wasn't exactly good news. In fact, it looked rather bad.
"What were you thinking?" Sherlock suddenly asked. "This kind of stunt could cause problems with the adoption. Is that what you want? Do you want Molly and I to have wasted our time so you could get in a petty fight in the school yard?"
Alex stared at him. "I didn't mean to, Sherlock. I wasn't thinking, I just—"
"Of course you weren't thinking!" Sherlock snapped, swinging around, coat flapping wildly at his fast movement as he confronted the boy. "There's a reason you have a brain, use it! I don't care how impressive you think you are taking on two boys while you're in a cast. This is not something to be proud of. You'd better hope that social worker doesn't turn up on our doorstep tomorrow. Then again, maybe this time I'll let her take you if you're going to be such a nuisance."
His words fled from his mouth without his control. All the pent up fear and anger were roiling together inside of him, becoming more and more dangerous with every second. However, he felt justified in what he said in some ways. Alex had been foolish. Alex had made a poor decision that could cost all of them dearly. He deserved to have some sense knocked into him.
What he didn't expect was a retaliation.
"I don't know why you're acting like this is all my fault," Alex suddenly yelled. "You just want to make me look bad since you feel guilty about what happened last month. But it was your fault there was acid for me to spill. It was your fault that I was climbing up there looking for something to make food with. I'm just a kid and you're the one who's supposed to be responsible, but instead you act like a big childish baby and put all the responsibility on me like I'm supposed to somehow be all mature and perfect when I have the worst possible parent in the world who doesn't take care of me and only cares about himself and his stupid cases."
Sherlock was unable to find words. He stared at Alex for a moment, trying to process what the boy had just said.
"You think just because you're a famous detective everything you do is okay," Alex screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Well you know what, it's not. And I don't care if the bloody social worker comes back and takes me out of your bloody flat to go live with someone else. I hate you. I wish you'd died instead of my parents. You were the one that should have died. Moriarty wants you not them. But instead they had to die and now I'm stuck with you. You're the worst parent in the world, and I don't want you anymore."
And without another word Alex turned and took off running. Momentarily caught off guard, Sherlock was at a disadvantage suddenly trying to catch up. Alex had been showing more and more athleticism in his football league, and it showed now as he sprinted several meters ahead of the detective, darting around a corner. Sherlock chased after him, calling his name, begging him to stop. But if Alex heard him, he didn't care.
The boy cut another corner, and this time when Sherlock rounded it, there was no sign of Alex. He was gone. Vanished. Thinking quickly Sherlock made a guess on his path down an alley and quickly made his way towards the other side. But once there, again he caught no signs of a boy running on the busy sidewalks.
Sherlock closed his eyes, muttering to himself, trying to steady his mind and think. Where would Alex go? What was going on with him? Would he be all right? This was the worst possible day for him to be out on his own.
He cursed to himself and decided the best idea would be to head home. That was the most likely place for Alex to go. But Molly should be home for an hour between shifts, and perhaps she'd have a better idea.
She greeted him with a smile when he arrived at the flat. He looked around, but saw no signs that Alex had returned. His bag wasn't in the usual place, nor were his shoes by the front door.
"Is Alex home?" Sherlock asked.
Molly arched an eyebrow. "Alex home? It's barely one o'clock silly. Why would he be home?"
"Because he has been given a temporary exclusion from school for fighting. He took off when I was walking him back. I had hoped he would have come home," Sherlock said.
Molly stood there for a moment eyes wide.
"Hold on, what?"
Sherlock sighed and explained it again, even as he tried to think where Alex might have gone if not home. The park perhaps?
"Did you call the police?"
"Molly, if I call the police it might get back to the social worker, and then we'll be in even more trouble," Sherlock pointed out.
Molly frowned, but did seem to realize he had a point.
"Alright, I tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go walk around the neighborhood a bit. Go to the park. Go see Mrs. Hudson. All that. He can't have gone to a friend's house since most of them are still in school. I'll wait here in case he calls or comes home. And Sherlock, when this is over we're getting him a mobile like I suggested last week."
Sherlock sighed, but had to admit she had a point. Alex probably did need something like that, especially considering his reckless attitude as of late.
However, more than an hour later he still had no leads on Alex's whereabouts. His guess was coming out onto that street he'd hidden somewhere, allowing Sherlock to bypass him and therefore allowing him time to backtrack and get away from the detective. Alex had always had good talent for hiding. But where he'd gone from there was not something he was sure about.
Molly called him after an hour of searching telling him she'd had no luck either, nor had Mrs. Hudson who had apparently also gone out looking. She asked him to come home and said they should call the police. He returned back to 221B feeling resigned to his fate, even as he wondered how a seven year old of all people could elude him.
When he arrived back, he flopped down on the sofa, promising Molly he'd call the police in just a minute. He needed a little longer to think. Maybe Moriarty had Alex. Maybe he'd snatched him. An hour did seem a long time for the boy to be gone. Especially over something so silly.
"What exactly did he say to you?" Molly asked. "Please, Sherlock. Tell me one more time. I just want to make sure we've exhausted all our options."
Sherlock sighed and repeated Alex's rantings as best he could.
"Something about hating me, and me being a terrible parent. Lots of things about me not taking responsibility."
"Again obvious," Molly said with a sigh. "Anything else?"
"Something about wishing I had died instead of his parents. Funny he said that today considering it is the day they died."
Molly froze.
"What did you say?"
"It's the anniversary of John and Mary's death," Sherlock said with a sigh. "What, is that important?"
"You idiot," Molly sighed. She rushed over to grab her coat. "Come on, we're going to find him. I'll tell Mrs. Hudson if he returns back before us to give us a call."
"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked, following her down the stairs.
"Sherlock, most people like to visit people's graves on the day of their death you know," Molly said. "Sometimes more frequently depending on how much they care."
"I used to take him almost once a week the first few months. Stopped after a while though," Sherlock said. "Figured he'd be over it by now."
"Over it?" Molly said, staring at him. "How thick can you be? Sherlock I still visit my parents graves every now and then and they died several decades ago?"
"Hmmm? Oh, I suppose I forget about sentiment and all that."
"Come on, you complete and utter arse, we're finding Alex. I'm certain this is where he's going to be."
A bit later, the cab pulled up in front of the cemetery. Sherlock stepped out and followed behind Molly, though as they drew further into the grounds, it became clear to him that both of them had been somewhat right. Sentiment had been Alex's primary motivation in going to his parent's grave. It was not, however, the reason he was currently there.
Sherlock stared at the two figures near the Watsons' grave. He pushed Molly behind him as they went closer, debating if he should order her back. He had a feeling she wouldn't go even if he told her to. And besides, she was probably better protected with him.
Alex was kneeling directly on his parents' graves with his back facing Sherlock and Molly. Beside him, stood the consulting criminal himself, holding a gun that he pressed back to Alex's temple as Sherlock and Molly approached.
"Leave him be, Moriarty," Sherlock said firmly.
"Oh, he's just having a bit of fun with daddy. Making sure he's being properly looked after. I was a bit concerned when you broke my property, Sherlock. Only I'm supposed to do that," Moriarty chuckled, running his other hand through Alex's hair. Sherlock saw the boy's back and shoulders tense at the touch.
"What do you want?" Sherlock asked.
"Just wanted to say hello. Wish Alex a happy missing your parents day." He chuckled. "Don't worry, love, you're better off without them. I know I was without mine. Mmm but that's a long story and we don't quite have time for that."
He looked up and smiled at Molly.
"Ah, Molly Molly Molly, look at you. Self-conscious and pitiful as ever. Can't believe this poor sod took you in, guess he felt a bit sorry for you. Isn't that right, Sherlypoo?'
"Stop playing your games," Molly said. "Let Alex go."
"Oh but I do so love games. And so does Sherlock for that matter. The game is on, isn't it? That's how you like it," Moriarty purred.
Sherlock scowled and remained silent. They'd been in this position before. This wasn't Moriarty's end gaming. No, he was planning something much more impressive than this pathetic display. Merely killing a child wasn't going to be enough for him.
"Just wanted to check in again," Moriarty said with a bright smile. "Say hello to the little puppy, isn't that right, my sweet?"
Alex twitched minimally, still remaining quiet still as the gun pressed a little harder.
"Well, have a good death day, Sherlock. Enjoy it while you just have one to celebrate. Might give you a few more in the upcoming years."
Moriarty smirked and slowly released Alex. The boy rose to his feet and turned, stumbling over to Sherlock and Molly. Sherlock allowed Molly to scoop him up, deciding it was better to not get involved considering how Alex had spoken to him earlier.
Moriarty walked back into the cemetery, going further and further in amongst the headstones. Towards where, Sherlock had no idea. But he didn't care. He had a lot more work to do before he could possibly catch Moriarty. He needed to start carrying a gun with him always.
Molly was whispering question to Alex, who was answering in sobs. Sherlock patted her shoulder and headed back towards the cab. Better to discuss the rest at home.
"I didn't mean to," Alex said when they'd sat him down on the sofa to discuss later. "I wanted to see my mum and dad. But then he turned up."
"Did he hurt you at all?" Molly asked, still fussing over Alex's injuries from the fight earlier.
"No, just threatened a lot of stuff," he whispered. "And pushed the gun at me a bunch."
"And what was the fight about earlier, sweetheart?" Molly asked. "You can tell me. I won't get angry."
She glanced at Sherlock who was sitting on the other side of the room, listening but not contributing.
"I was really sad today. And Ben asked what was wrong, so I told him about my mum and dad, and then these two older boys made fun of me. And I tried to just ignore them, but then one of them pushed me and…it all goes sort of fuzzy after that. I didn't mean to hurt them so badly."
"Well, you can't do that again," Molly ordered him. "No more fighting for you."
"No," Sherlock interjected.
Molly glanced up at him, shooting him the we-haven't-discussed-this look.
"No. First thing tomorrow I'm enrolling him in Taekwondo classes."
"Sherlock," Molly sighed. "I don't know if you get the point of this, but Alex needs to learn that violence isn't the answer. I mean—"
"No, Alex needs to learn to control his need for violence with self-discipline. He needs to recognize it as a good form of self-defense, but one he must use with precision. A martial arts class would provide that. While I prefer Baritsu, it's not as commonly taught, so Taekwondo should do the trick."
Alex's jaw had dropped open, but he had a certain gleam in his eye. He grinned and shot up, pushing past Molly to come over to Sherlock.
"Thank you!" he said, throwing himself at the man.
Sherlock sighed and let Alex envelop him in a tight hug. The fickleness of children. Ridiculous.
"I promise I'll do better," Alex said. "And I'm sorry."
Sherlock hesitated only a moment before saying, "I'm sorry too."
Alex pulled away quite quickly. He gave a half smile at the words. "Thanks, Sherlock. I'm going to go tell Toby and Mrs. Hudson."
The detective tried his best to not roll his eyes at the idea of telling a cat. He ultimately failed, though it was after Alex's back was turned. Molly was still giving him a look, and once Alex was out of the room she came over to put a hand on the side of his face, forcing him to look at her.
"Are you sure a fighting class is the best thing for Alex?" she asked. "It just seems a bit silly to me, combatting his need to fight by enrolling him in a place that will teach him about fighting. He put a boy in the hospital today. An older boy. While he was wearing a cast."
"If Alex's violence isn't trained, he will continue to use it in fits of passion. Teaching him discipline will help some. He's Mary and John's boy, Molly. And while I hesitate to call Mary's behavior psychopathic…she was willing to go to extremes when needed, she didn't hesitate to use violence if needed. And John wasn't altogether different in some respects…craving the thrill of doing reckless and dangerous things, being willing to use violence if he needed or wanted to."
Sherlock sighed.
"My point is," he said, "we need to help him with this. And for now I think trying something like Taekwondo might help. If it doesn't, we'll remove him from the class and find him an anger management group or something. Personally, I think an outlet for some of the aggression would do him good."
Molly moved in to hug him tightly, squeezing him even when his arms remained at his sides.
"I trust you," she promised. "And I want you to know he doesn't hate you. No matter what he says."
Sherlock gave a half smile, but he wasn't so sure if Molly was right. Alex had a point. He wasn't an ideal parent. John and Mary should never have died leaving him in Sherlock's care. Alex deserved so much more than that.
A/N: Realized I maybe should have put some dates on chapters to give a timeline idea…whoops. I'll see if I can maybe fix that up and make it more clear. I know sometimes transitions become lost in the story. But yes, it has been 3 years, I've skipped a bit here and there, because we have a lot of ground to cover. So Alex is almost eight at this point.
Thanks Icecat62 for reviewing! As a person who's never owned a cat it's affirming to hear others supporting how I write them. I have no idea what I'm doing lol.
Thanks BelieverofManyThings!
Thanks for reviewing again Denethorian! As I said, they never specifically address what she is in the show. They never say "Pathologist Molly Hooper" or "Lab Technician Molly Hooper" The main argument I've heard is that a technician would have had a harder time faking Sherlock's death for him and also would not be allowed to do postmortems (which she does mention doing). No worries though! Also, your cat sounds quite entertaining.
Here's the site I mentioned last time- wellingtongoose . tumblr post/31926026103/semantics4