Sherlock groaned and rubbed his eyes for the seventeenth time since he'd woken up that morning. While he wasn't used to a lot of sleep in general, there was something about being woken up every hour to crying. Especially since the sound of it often sent his thoughts flashing back to that awful night. Often even after he lulled Johann back to sleep, he couldn't rest.

His nerves felt frayed. Every noise seemed to set him off now a days. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't relax. The work with Moriarty's network was slow and not doing as well as he'd thought it might. And though he was doing his best to simply enjoy the time he had with his new little family; he simply couldn't.

Molly was excited, but Sherlock found even her smiles irritating today. If only he'd told her no. Then he wouldn't be dealing with this.

But the knock at the door told him that what had come to pass was already happening, and it was too late for regrets.

"Robert!" Molly cried when she opened the door. "How lovely to see you!"

"Hello Molly," the man in the door replied as Molly opened it wider for him to come in. "Merry belated Christmas. And Happy New Year. I brought presents for the little tikes."

He was pushing brightly wrapped boxes into her hands while Molly beamed at him.

"Oh and something for you of course too. Since I haven't met your man I couldn't figure out what to get him so I settled for promising to take both of you out for food or drinks instead."

Sherlock grimaced and went back to staring at his laptop instead of getting up.

"Sherlock," Molly said. "Robert's here. Just like I said he'd be."

Sherlock sighed and looked up at the man about a foot taller than Molly with the same mousy brown hair and warm eyes. His eyes scanned over the details. Perfectly manicured fingernails. Impeccably unwrinkled clothing, even after a train ride, but the red raw skin on the knuckles said something else entirely. He looked up and saw a chain loosely concealed under his collar then down again to the bag, glancing at the tag on it and remarking the name he saw there.

"You didn't mention your brother was serious about anyone, Molly," Sherlock said.

"What?" Molly spun to face him. "Sherlock we talked about—"

"Oh come, you're not the tiniest bit curious?" Sherlock asked with a smirk, snapping the computer closed. "The tag on your suitcase has a woman's name. As she doesn't bear your last name I know it's not your mother's or your other sister's. So Miss Alice Perreault must be a girlfriend. Or likely the case considering you're using her suitcase. Probably another way to remember her besides the necklace of hers you're wearing as a keepsake. However, all things considered would it be more appropriate for me to call her Dr. Perreault? That is how you met, wasn't it? After all, symbols of an engagement are usually just a ring on the hand, but yours is hidden under you're shirt.

Molly frowned. "Sherlock, Robert would have told me if he was engaged. Stop it would you? It's just a little gift between the two of them probably."

"Oh please, the finery of that piece of jewelry is far too much for a love trinket. Especially considering the lower quality clothes you wear and the suitcase which was a sale buy a few years ago, you can see where they messed up the stitching hence why it was marked down. So why would you hide an engagement symbol? Quite obvious, because you're keeping it a secret." He smiled when Robert squirmed. "So what, is she married already? Or at least having an affair? But I looked at the handwriting on that tag and I could see that the address listed is for an apartment not too far away from Cambridge. So she studied there most likely. Judging by the fading I'd say maybe ten years ago. But of course, I also notice she scribbled a little symbol behind her name probably so someone could find her in her program if need be. But crossed it out and wrote MD instead when she changed her mind. The first, though barely legible appears to be a PhD, so clearly we're talking about someone who began in psychology and decided to go more into a path of psychiatry instead. So a psychiatrist? How does a man like yourself working a desk job meet someone like that? Simple, you're her patient."

Molly gasped. "Sherlock, stop it right now!"

"Your immaculate dressing and attention to your level of personal grooming made me initially think gay, but on a second look I noticed your hands are raw on the back. Not like wear from hard labor, that would be on the front of the palm or the fingers. But this—this is a sign of over washing. Hence showing you have obsessive compulsive disorder. So you're seeing someone for this problem. Therefore Miss Perrault is your psychiatrist and she's violating your professional relationship so that's why she's keeping things secret for now, even though she has apparently been staying at your place for some time, hence the suitcase."

"Sherlock," Molly scolded. "Robert, I'm so sorry."

"No, you warned me," Robert said, though he didn't smile. "And besides, he's absolutely right. Alice is my doctor. We are sneaking around a bit so she doesn't lose her job. I need to transfer to someone else, but we just haven't done it yet. Once that's finished we'll make it official…"

"Still, it wasn't kind," Molly said. "Especially pointing out your OCD."

Robert shrugs. "It is what it is. Well, pleasure to meet you Sherlock."

"Sherlock, go fetch Alex," Molly said.

He rolled his eyes but decided to comply. She was irritated enough that it was probably best to just follow her instructions from here on out. But he had to prove a point. And he still wasn't sure if he liked or trusted Molly's brother. Just because they were family did not mean he was going to be kind to the man.

"Alex, your uncle is here," he called up the stairs. "Please come down."

A head popped down onto the landing. "Wait, my uncle? I thought I only had aunts?"

"Molly's brother," Sherlock said. "Whom I am sure you will be calling Uncle Robert at Molly's insistence."

"Oh, yeah," Alex said. He came down the rest of the stairs, dressed in a button up shirt and black trousers, though both had smears of what looked to be dust on them.

"What have you been doing?" Sherlock said. "Molly will have a fit."

"Sorry," he said, ducking his head. "I dropped my phone under the bed and had to go get it."

"Well, first thing tomorrow I suspect you will be cleaning your room," Sherlock said.

"Aw, you can't tell me to do that!" Alex said. "Or I'll tell Molly that last time she told you to clean you just moved a few things around and wiped a bit of dust under the furniture."

Sherlock frowned but he couldn't argue with it. He sighed.

"Fine, now come on, let's meet Uncle Robert."

Molly had Johann out of his cot by the time they were downstairs and was already showing him to her brother. Alex bounded over so as to not be left out.

"Our boys," Sherlock said. "Both incredible in their own rights.

Molly turned and eyed him, probably liking his use of that particular possessive pronoun. She gave a small smile though her beautiful eyes were glittering.

"Alex, it's nice to meet you at last," Robert said with a smile to the boy. "I brought you a present."

"Really? Where is it?" Alex said, though one look from Molly had him bowing his head slightly. "I mean…thank you. I'll look forward to opening it later."

"No," Robert said, kneeling down and unzipping his suitcase. He pulled out a small soft package wrapped in tissue paper.

Having been properly chastised, Alex took the object patiently, even though Sherlock could see he wanted to rip it open. He pulled back the paper to reveal a football jersey in red and white.

"Aw cool! Like the ones at the World Cup!"

"Your mum—Molly…Molly mentioned you liked football," Robert offered. "Thought you might like one of your own."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "One day Alex might be out playing on that world cup field. Quite the talented athlete. And he's taking up track and field this spring too. Alongside his martial arts where he's nearing his blue belt."

Alex sent him a confused look but shrugged it off in favor of slipping the jersey on over his shirt. He stared down in disappointment as it hung relatively loosely on his skinny frame.

"You'll grow into it," Molly said.

"Of course, you shot up several centimeters in the last few months alone," Sherlock said. "Healthy and growing. Just like your brother. Both of you are changing before my very eyes."

Molly just shook her head, barely hiding a grin. "It's true though. You turn around and Johann has changed so drastically."

"Aw he's a cutie," Robert said, leaning down to peer a little closer at the wiggling bundle in Molly's arms. "Mum and dad would be so proud of you, Molly."

"Of course they would," Sherlock said. "Two perfect children, an amazing career, and still managing to be smart and kind and beautiful all at once.

Molly looked at him again, blinking a few times as though trying to be sure she was actually awake and she'd heard him correctly.

"What is going on with you?" she managed to whisper when Robert went with Alex to fetch his football so he could go try playing in his jersey.

"Just enjoying time with the family. Isn't that what you wanted?" Sherlock asked.

"You're showing off," Molly said. "It's…it's no different than what you were doing earlier with your deduction skills." She let out a little laugh and smiled at him. "Sherlock, you want to show off your family."

"I do not," Sherlock snapped. "I'm simply showing your brother that you are well taken care of and that the children are both doing well and reassuring him since he might have some reservations. Though with his messy relationship I don't know how he could possibly criticize us."

Molly laughed and shook her head. "No, you can pretend all you want but I know the truth. You want to show off. You simply can't help it. Whatever assets you have you're always going to display them to others like they're the best things ever."

She leaned in and pecked his cheek. Sherlock sighed and looked down at a still squirmy Johann.

"How am I supposed to not want to show you off?" he asked.

"So you do admit you were showing off?" Molly clarified.

"Perhaps a bit," Sherlock said. "But can you blame me?"

Molly shook her head and smiled. "I suppose not. But you be nice to my brother for the rest of his stay, you understand? If you want him to feel happy about me here you be nice to him. I'm sure the rest will work itself out."

Sherlock sighed and moved to scoop Johann out of her arms. He looked down into his younger son's face and gave a smile. Johann made a sweet huffing laugh and gave a toothless grin back at him.

"How could I not want to show you off?" he muttered as he walked over to the window. "I may not know much about in-laws. But I know I'm supposed to pride myself in my children and show it."

Johann just stared up at him, as though drinking in every word. Sherlock sighed. He really did have so much to be proud of. So much more than his deductive reasoning that had once been his only true satisfaction.

"Sherlock, I'm going out with Meena. You'll watch the baby, right? He just ate lunch so I put him in his cot thinking he might want to go down for a nap for a bit," Molly said.

"Hmm, yes fine," Sherlock said. He gritted his teeth and stared at the screen, looking at the map he'd assembled of what he assumed to be some of the major parts of the web. So far, the work had been rather hopeless. He just couldn't find out enough to make this work.

"Sherlock," Molly said again. "Look me in the eye and tell me what you just agreed to."

He looked up and stared at her. "I agreed to watch the baby. I said that was fine."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, half the time you say yes without even realizing," she said. "I'll be back in a few hours." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Besides, it will be good practice for when I go back to work in two weeks."

Sherlock sighed. She had a point he supposed, though by now he felt he'd proved himself at being able to take care of their son when Molly was away. After all, he'd raised Alex for more than a year by himself.

He focused back on his work, staring at the map that seemed to be overwhelmed by the color red. He needed to find some new strategies. Moriarty was going to return to England…and Sherlock would still have accomplished nothing. He cursed and started his calculations again.

There was a noise in the other room. Sherlock frowned and stood. Toby was curled up in his bed along the far wall. So it wasn't him.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he called.

Nothing. No response. He listed carefully but didn't hear any further noises. He fumbled in the desk and managed to open up the safe Molly had insisted he get, pulling out the gun and keeping it close at hand as he wandered back towards the bedroom.

He pushed open the door and looked around. There were no signs someone was in the room. No open windows. No places anyone could hide. But that didn't mean he was going to stop his search.

He glanced at Johann's cot and that was when he noticed.

Empty.

The cot was empty. Sherlock stepped forward, raising the gun higher as he did, pulling the one blanket out of the way to confirm. Nothing was there.

His heart started pounding, even as he tried to tell himself to continue breathing. His eyes darted around the room, trying to figure out how anyone could possibly have gotten in and out in that time. Was this Moriarty's next game? He needed to think .He had to think. But he couldn't. His mind was racing, his thoughts incoherent. God he needed—

There was a squeal on the other side of the bed. Sherlock quickly stalked over and found Johann on the ground one hand on the bedspread as he tried to pull himself up.

Sherlock frowned, glancing from the cot and back to his son. How on earth...

There was no one else there to account for it. He glanced at the cot again, trying to ascertain how this could possibly have happened. But the proof was right there in front of him, Johann on the ground instead of where he'd been left.

"You little devil," Sherlock muttered, reaching down and scooping him up. "Is this what we get when we put you down for a nap now? You playing escape? Hmm…clever boy."

He kissed one chubby cheek and then pulled Johann close to cradle to his chest, trying his best to let his breathing steady on its own, wondering how he could possibly have allowed himself to get so worked up. He was careful to balance Johann in one arm and the gun in the other hand, moving back to the sitting room to return it to its safe.

Once at the desk with the gun carefully tucked back away, he sat down and held Johann up to eye level. The boy smiled at him and reached out a hand to touch his nose. Sherlock grimaced but put up with it. After all, the boy needed to learn to use his senses, and touch was certainly one of those.

"So, what are we going to tell mummy when she gets back?" Sherlock asked. "That you're a little escape artist? That you're a clever boy? You've only just started getting on your feet and already you've managed to get out of your cot. Molly was right, you are going to be trouble aren't you?"

Those familiar brown eyes twinkled at him. He sighed and stared a little longer, admiring the pigment that had changed the gray to the warm welcoming eyes he'd come to enjoy seeing every morning when he woke up. It was confirmation that there was Molly in this little boy. That he'd hopefully not be a sociopath…even if he might be a bit troublesome.

The thin white line as always caught his eye. Molly insisted they wait until he was older to even consider covering it up with surgery. Sherlock looked at it and considered. His motivation. He had to continue. If only to not have to panic when he came into a room to find Johann's cot empty.

"You want to stay and help daddy work? Want to help me catch criminals?"

Johann made a cooing noise that Sherlock took for assent.

"All right, now help me look at the map and we'll see if we can find a good solution to this. The web is pretty far reaching, and I've been creating this to see where all the connections are…the problem is I don't know if I'm missing anything and cutting the wrong people out first could bring the whole force down on me."

He slipped Johann into his lap and turned back to the laptop, ruffling one hand through the downy hair atop the baby's head before turning back to his work.

A few weeks later Sherlock was particularly frustrated. Lestrade had called about a case, and he'd gotten his hopes up. Hoped it might be like old times again. A distraction from the stress of all he'd been working on. But instead the case had been idiotically simple. A few seconds at the crime scene and he'd figured it out.

He kept grinding his teeth, as he stared at the television, not even sure what he was watching for other than for a bit of a distraction. Molly was busy setting the table for supper. On any other day he might have offered to lend a hand, but tonight he just didn't have the energy. Besides, he didn't really feel like eating. Not with how much he needed to think. His fingers ghosted over the nicotine patch hidden under his shirt sleeve.

His mind turned over the problems of the case. Everything just seemed more and more impossible the longer he worked at it.

A yell interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock glanced behind him at Molly who looked equally startled.

"Alex," he whispered. God not again.

He was to his feet in a matter of seconds. He didn't even stop to think as he bolted to the stairs. He leapt over the baby gate at the bottom and continued racing up, taking two steps at a time. He could feel the same fear he'd felt a thousand times over. Barely even processing he slammed the door open and found Alex sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing?" he panted. "What's wrong? Where is he? What…"

Black suddenly encroached on his vision. He strained to breathe, to process. Idiot, you can't think when you're in a state of panic. But for whatever reason, it was impossible to calm himself down. Nothing was working.

"Stupid game," Alex muttered staring down at his phone. "I got a game over."

Sherlock did his best to try to understand the words that were being spoken to him, even as they didn't seem to make sense to his brain.

"Game? What do you mean? What…"

"I just lost the game," Alex said, pouting. "It's really stupid anyways I guess."

"Are you an idiot?" Sherlock snarled. "You don't behave that way! You just don't. I thought…" He broke off unwilling to say what he'd thought. No it was unthinkable. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe, even though his lungs continued to feel like they were shrinking in terms of capacity.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked around to see Molly standing there.

"Sherlock, calm down. It was just Alex getting frustrated. You need to relax," she whispered. Glancing between him and the boy that now had a few tears dribbling down his cheek.

"Relax?" he snapped, reeling back to glare at Alex. "You don't scream over a ridiculous game, do you understand?" He stalked over and grabbed the phone out of his hands. "You won't have this for a week for your behavior. That's unacceptable."

Molly's jaw clenched and she stepped forward. "He got upset. It happens. You're being unreasonable. We'll take it away for tonight and give it back tomorrow."

Sherlock shook his head, still trying to get ahold of his body that seemed to suddenly be going haywire. He felt sick.

"No, that's not good enough he can't be screaming up here over something so silly."

Molly grabbed his arm. "We will talk about this downstairs. Come on. Downstairs, now!" She glanced back at Alex once. "Dinner will be late. You stay up here until we call you."

She closed the door and pulled him down the stairs.

"Breathe," she said softly. "Just breathe please. And go sit on the sofa while I get you some tea."

"I don't need any tea," he snapped.

"Yes you do, now go sit down and focus on breathing. I'll be back in a moment."

She went into the kitchen and he could see her in the doorway taking things off the stove. He did as she'd asked and focused on taking deeper breaths. It did actually help some. His head began to clear. It became easier to think again.

When Molly returned he was feeling more normal. He accepted the tea she offered, lifting it up to sip on it only to grimace.

"What is this?"

"Chamomile," she said. "Soothing. You need to relax. I'm surprised Mrs. Hudson hasn't rushed up here to see what all the fuss is about."

"She's off with Mrs. Turner," Sherlock muttered.

"Ah, yes well. Still…you were quite loud," Molly commented. She sat on the coffee table and peered at him. "This seems to be happening more and more often. I've ignored it for a while because I thought you'd start to get over it with more time…but you've only gotten worse."

"Gotten worse? I'm fine," Sherlock muttered, waving a hand dismissively.

"No," Molly said with a shake of her head. "You're not. You're…jumpy…the slightest noise in the apartment sets you off. Your sleep has been awful. You've lost weight. This is the third time this week you've lost your temper with Alex. And you even made him cry this time…I've…I've tried to be nice about it, I really have. But it can't go on any longer."

"So what are you saying?" Sherlock asked. "You just want me to forget that Moriarty is out to destroy our lives?"

She shook her head and sighed, taking his hand that wasn't holding the tea and clasping it in her own.

"You're not okay," Molly said. "You need help. I need you to see a therapist."

His jaw practically dropped open, but he stopped it after a second. "What? That's ridiculous. I'm not crazy." He pursed his lips. "And besides, therapists are absolutely useless."

"That's not what you told Alex," Molly said. "I know the one you saw as a boy was not very helpful, but there are decent ones here in London and they could offer you the help you need. Help you start working on feeling less…afraid."

"Afraid? I'm not afraid," Sherlock snapped. "I just…it was nothing. I'm fine."

"You're not," Molly said. "As I've said, I thought this would work itself out but it's not happening. And I can't do this anymore. I can't have you getting so irritable with me and with Alex and I don't want you to start on Johann when he starts to be able to understand what you're saying. And I can't deal with you flying into a panic every few days. I can't do it, Sherlock. And I won't."

"What are you saying?" Sherlock peered into her eyes, trying to discern the meaning behind her words. She was speaking nonsense.

"I'm saying if you don't go see a therapist I'll move out," Molly said with a sigh. She looked up at him and he caught tears in her eyes. "I want to stay with you, Sherlock. I love you. I love you so much. But I can't live this way. I've put up with it for months now and I can't do it."

"What about our son?" Sherlock said.

"I'd take him with me," she said. "And if you fight me I'd take you to court. You know who they'd award custody to."

"I'd get Mycroft to pull strings if I had to," Sherlock said.

Molly let out a humorless laugh. "Oh god, Sherlock, can't you see he's on my side on this? I know you keep deleting his texts, but he's worried about you too."

"You've been talking with him," Sherlock realized.

"He swings by Bart's sometimes, yes," Molly said. "And for the record, no I didn't take the money he offered me to spy on you. Not this time or the few times before that. But he'd side with me in custody. He knows you need help as much as I do."

"I don't need a shrink," Sherlock said. "I just need to end Moriarty and everything will be fine."

"You've said yourself it could take years," Molly said. "It already has." She sighed again and wiped a hand across her cheek, brushing a few tears aside. "I'm not talking about this anymore. I've stated my case. You get help or you lose me and Johann. Those are your choices. I'm not asking much. Three visits and we talk about how it's going. From there maybe once or twice a month at most. That's all I want. It just depends if you're willing to give it or not, Sherlock."

She stood and stalked off to the bathroom. The door slammed shut and he heard muffled crying. He'd seen the signs of course, but he'd ignored them. Seen how stretched and tired Molly was becoming. Balancing work and a baby and her social life and now him of course too.

He closed his eyes and reached a hand up to rub at his temple. He'd worked too hard to keep this little family together. He couldn't lose it now. None of the options really appealed to him, but he knew there was a lesser of two evils. Sherlock sighed, but resigned himself to what he had to do.

His fingers twitched where they were resting on his knees. He kept letting his fingers move in rhythm with violin pieces that were familiar to him. Anything to distract himself from the situation he was in.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He looked up to see a man in spectacles standing in the doorway. Sherlock stood up and went to the door. He was escorted into a small office space with a few chairs and a couch. He took one of the chairs.

"Welcome, I'm Allen," the man said.

"Sherlock Holmes," he muttered before biting out a slightly sarcastic, "charmed."

"May I call you Sherlock?" the man asked. "I like being on a first name basis. If that's all right with you, of course."

"Last names suit me better actually," Sherlock said, thinking back to the last office he'd been in with a man calling him Sherlock and telling him that his mummy and daddy were concerned about him again. No, better to not call back old memories of therapy. Start fresh.

"So, Mr. Holmes," the man said with a warm smile as he took a seat across from the detective. He adjusted his spectacles and peered at the forms Sherlock had just finished filling out. "What brings you here?"

Sherlock glanced up at the man in front of him, doing his best to not blurt out the obvious facts as he saw them. American. Never married. Short term relationships only. A cat and a dog owner. Nerdy forum user. All quite obvious. But all things he'd be better off not saying. He had to do at least three of these for Molly. And so avoiding being called a psychopath up front was probably a good idea.

"My partner," Sherlock said.

"Ah. Relationship trouble? I don't usually do couples therapy but I could recommend someone if it would be easier to bring him…or her in." He corrected, probably on seeing Sherlock's scowl at the assumption. It was the one problem with the word partner. A bit misleading he supposed.

"No, she…she asked me to get help. She seems to believe I'm…having trouble," he muttered.

"And are you? Having trouble that is?" the man asked.

"Some," he said.

"With what?"

"I wrote everything down on the forms as I was told to," Sherlock muttered. "Why not consult those instead of badgering me?"

Allen smiled. "I'd rather hear it from you."

"It hardly matters. I've apparently just been…irritable lately. And…paranoid. At least that's what she thinks. I would disagree."

He nodded to that. "Well, why don't we just talk about what's bothering you. Try to get down to the bottom of what's causing all this."

Sherlock frowned. "A murderer is after me. And before you jump in trying to diagnose me with a delusion I assure you that you can contact Scotland Yard and they'll inform you it's quite true."

The man scribbled something down. "I believe you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing full well the man had just made a note to himself to check.

"Aren't you supposed to be asking me questions about it?" Sherlock asked.

"I could, but I'd rather just let you talk," Allen said. "That's largely what I like to do for my sessions. Just try to talk. I find it seems to bring some of the best understanding of what's going on. Gets to the heart of the issues if you will."

"A little more than nine months ago a murderous criminal broke into my flat and nearly murdered my newborn son," Sherlock said. "Instead, he decided to cut his face leaving a permanent scar. Since then I've been a bit…jumpy as my partner says."

"That seems understandable," Allen said. "Do you find when you're…jumpy… you think back to those particular moments? You find yourself remembering that original scare?"

Sherlock swallowed. "Sometimes. I experience flashbacks I suppose if that's what you're trying to get at."

Allen nodded and scribbled something. "Go on. Tell me more."

"I don't know what more there is to say," Sherlock said. "Sometimes when there's a noise…I start thinking maybe he's back. Or if my son starts crying…"

"You have triggers," Allen suggested.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

Allen looked at him, probably waiting for him to go on. Sherlock was unsure what he really wanted him to say so he remained quiet.

"How do those triggers make you feel?" Allen asked.

"I feel…afraid," Sherlock said. "And I feel angry."

"Angry?" Allen asked.

"Yes. Anger. It's an emotion," Sherlock said.

"I was looking for clarification on your anger. Could you expand on it?"

"I feel angry with…with myself for being afraid," Shelrock said.

"And why is that?"

"Because fear is illogical," Sherlock said. "There's no reason—"

"Mr. Holmes, correct me if I'm wrong but didn't you study chemistry?" Allen asked, moving to push his glasses up a little more as he stared at Sherlock.

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the man more cautiously now.

"Took a bit myself in college," the man said. "Wrote a few papers…read some of your stuff for one of them. Quite interesting actually. And they still use it today from what I know. So…as a chemist you should know something about epinephrine? Or am I wrong?"

"No," Sherlock said. "You're not wrong. Also known as adrenaline."

"Your body releases that in response to stress. Do you fault your body for doing what it normally should?" Allen asked, cocking his head.

"I'm normally able to block out my emotions," Sherlock said. "I'm normally able to think not respond in panic and…feelings. I…" he sighed and glanced over again. "This is where you tell me I'm a psychopath and you can't treat me I suppose."

Allen laughed at that. "We don't even use the term psychopath anymore, at least in terms of diagnosis. An antisocial personality disorder maybe. But from what I've seen from you I wouldn't call you one so far, Mr. Holmes. Maybe you're afraid of your emotions. But you do seem to have some. After all, why are you here, Mr. Holmes?"

"Because my partner asked me to come," he said.

"And do you always do everything your partner tells you to?"

Sherlock thought about the nicotine patch on his arm that Molly would disapprove of. "No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because she threatened to leave me if I didn't come," Sherlock said.

"And you clearly don't want that to happen. Why?" Allen asked.

"Because…I care about her," Sherlock said.

Allen smiled. "There, not a psychopath. They don't truly care about anyone. Use people to their own advantage, yes. But what you're saying…no. Not their type of behavior. From what I've read of you I'm also aware you work with the police. Most psychopaths have a disregard for the law…you don't appear to at least in major respects. So no, Mr. Holmes, I'm not going to tell you you're a psychopath if that's what makes you so afraid of seeing a therapist."

"I still think this is pointless," Sherlock said. "I'm not insane."

"No," Allen said. "Most people who see me aren't. Most people just need help with their problems.

Sherlock sighed. "Help? I'm probably the smartest man in Britain excluding my brother. And even with him I sometimes might be able to claim I'm smarter than him. I don't need help."

"Even smart people need help sometimes," Allen said. "Or are you trying to tell me there have never been points in your life when you've needed help before?"

Sherlock almost opened his mouth to retort that it was exactly what he meant when he thought of Molly suddenly. He thought about going to her when Moriarty had cornered him last time and asking for help faking his death. Or getting Mycroft to help him with his work destroying Moriarty's ring. Or the countless cases he'd worked with John where some insight from the man had managed to make all the difference… Or even in the last few years when he realized he needed Molly to help him keep everything all together.

"No, I've needed help before," he managed to admit.

"Then this is no different than that," Allen said. "Our sessions can be like this. Casual conversation. Occasionally I'll ask a few questions. But mostly it will just be a chance for you to talk and see if we can figure out how to make things better if at all possible. If nothing else it will be a chance to take a load off. Everyone needs that sometimes. No man is an island. We all have troubles we can't solve by ourselves."

Sherlock paused for a minute and thought about that. We all have troubles we can't solve by ourselves…it was true. Especially with everything happening now. Mycroft and Lestrade had both been trying to help, but neither had been altogether useful. So where did that leave him? A thought struck, and he grabbed ahold of it. Help hmm? He'd get help.

"I suppose we do," he said and smiled for the first time in a long while.

"I can do that myself," Alex protested as Molly packed up his bag.

"I know you can, but I thought I'd help," she said. "Want you saving your energy for the big game this afternoon."

Alex smiled at that and glanced at Sherlock. "Why's he not coming again?"

"He said he had work," Molly said. "I don't know what exactly, but we'll just let him have the time. Plus, that way I can watch you and not be distracted with Johann."

"Yeah guess so." Alex glanced at him with a pout but didn't say anything. Sherlock just watched the window, eyeing the cab that had pulled up. He glanced back at Molly and Alex. He had thought this would come later, but apparently he'd been wrong. Of course the time had to be changed last minute.

"Why don't you two go get some ice cream before the game," Sherlock suggested.

"We do that after," Alex said. "As a treat. If I have something to eat before the game I'll get cramps."

Molly eyed Sherlock, but said nothing.

He sighed and turned back just in time to see the figure disappear into the doorway of Baker street. Well, disaster was upon them.

Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs, "Sherlock, you have a visitor."

Sherlock sighed. "Go ahead and let the visitor come up, Mrs. Hudson."

Molly's brow furrowed. "Are you expecting someone? Client?"

"I'm afraid I'm the client," Sherlock said. "I've hired someone's services to help me with the Moriarty case."

Alex stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me. Now go play in your room or something. And Molly," he looked at her and was met with an even more puzzled look, "why don't you go finish up that book you were reading in the bedroom."

"I'm not going anywhere," Molly said. "Until you explain what's going on."

"And neither am I," Alex said, folding his arms.

Sherlock sighed, he didn't' have time for this. Of course, as he was about to speak and urge them to both leave again, his visitor stepped into the room.

He turned to look; only momentarily caught off guard by the blonde hair. At a glance he wouldn't have recognized her. With the dye job and her slightly different proportions beneath the fancy black skirt she was wearing, she did appear a stranger. But the piercing gray blue eyes and that knowing red smirk both were clearly recognizable.

"Hello Mr. Holmes. To what do I owe this pleasure?" asked Irene Adler.

A/N: Sorry for the horrible stopping spot. Will try to update soon.

Yes, probably pretty unlikely a child Johann's age could get out of a crib, but I did do research and did read about parents who had kids that young escaping. Also, this is a Holmes baby we're talking about, so he's bound to be extraordinary! Anyhow, that's my blurb for anyone who's actually had kids or knows a lot about child development. I am looking up most everything I think I'll need to know, but you know…it's fanfiction and I don't really care that much about being perfectly realistic (same goes for details on psychology, chemistry, or any other subjects I don't know much about). After all, the more research I do, the longer it takes to write a chapter.

Thanks to Jesuslovesmarina, and BelieverofManyThings for commenting!