A/N: Sorry for the delay. Hope the long chapter makes up for it.
Another significant time jump. Don't you folks worry, I'm hoping to take suggestions for some extra oneshots after I've finished this story. So if you feel like you're missing some important parent moments with the boys, I'll have a way to get those in later. For now, I want to keep the plot moving. So here we are 2 years later.
I was going to have this big angsty ending...and then I just couldn't do it. After criticism last time I felt a need to edit myself. So sorry if the ending just feels a bit...off...I'm working to gather this fic up with some of the big changes that have happened. It's well on its way to the ending though!
"Dad, tell Alex he has to finish doing his hair sometime this century."
Sherlock sighed and looked up from his chair to see Johann standing with folded arms glaring in the direction of the bathroom.
"Alex, let your brother have a turn," he said firmly. He glanced down at his phone and took in the time groaning loudly. "You're both going to be late."
"It's not my fault," Johann said. "I'm not a peacock who likes staring in the mirror for hours."
Sherlock sighed and reached up to rub his temple for a moment before standing to go over to the bathroom door. He had to say he missed the days when Johann had trouble talking. Now he hardly ever shut up, at least when it came to something like this.
Glancing into the bathroom, he eyed Alex who was at the sink carefully pushing more product into his already immaculate looking hair.
"You look fine," Sherlock said. "Now let your brother in."
Alex turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god, Sherlock, it's only been a few minutes. I'm almost done," he said, snatching up his comb to run through one last time.
"It will be messy in another hour at least," Sherlock said. "And you have football this afternoon."
Alex grumbled something under his breath as he pushed his hair products aside and moved to the door. "Fine, I'm done. Satisfied?"
"Better. Go grab your things."
Alex shot Johann a look before heading back towards the living room. Sherlock shook his head as Johann just stood there rather than going into the vacated room.
"What, he was taking too much time," Johann said, blinking innocently up at him.
Sherlock sighed and stalked off to find Alex still at the mirror in the living room, toying with the collar on his shirt and turning from side to side. Somehow Sherlock still could not quite reconcile the fact that he'd gone from having a smiling little boy covered in dirt and dust and who knows what else, to this vain creature who spent hours in front of the mirror. He tried to remember if John had ever been like this…
God, the thought of him was almost more painful now than ever. Sherlock eyed the reflection of the boy he'd known for fourteen years now, taking in those familiar blue eyes and that distinctive nose. He could picture the usual crooked grin. And if John was here Sherlock was sure there would be no doubt that the reflection in the mirror was eerily similar.
Alex squared his shoulders, still lithe and slim, a bit less stocky than John's build. But still…from the back. For a moment. Those glimpses sent his heart aching.
"Almost finished?" Sherlock said, clearing his throat.
He caught a look in the mirror. Eyes rolling before Alex sighed and went over to pick up his bag. Johann was sliding on his coat. With any luck, they wouldn't be late.
Of course, just as he was about to turn to the door, Johann froze, eyeing the entryway to the flat. Sherlock glanced back and caught sight of a figure in the doorway.
"Is there a reason you've decided to interrupt our morning?" Sherlock said with a sigh, shooting a glare in the direction of his brother.
Alex had pulled out his phone and was busy texting, but Johann's eyes lit up and he dashed over to Mycroft without a second's pause.
"Hello Uncle," he chirped, smiling widely.
Sherlock's teeth clenched. He had no idea how this had started. Something at Christmas from the little he'd seen. But still, it was surprising to see anyone worming their way into Johann's good graces. And Mycroft being one of the few never ceased to amaze him. For Johann smiles and kindness were reserved for a few. His parents at times. For all his teasing, Alex of course earned quite a bit too. And Ella Watson was the only other one he knew of. But Mycroft…
"When does our flight leave?" Johann suddenly asked.
Sherlock's head shot up to try to quickly glean the signs. Of course, in an instant he caught sight of four passports in Mycroft's hands, and a stack of plane tickets.
"What's the meaning of this?" Sherlock said.
"It's time," Mycroft said calmly.
Sherlock arched an eyebrow, but he eyed both of the boys and nodded, even as Alex gave him a look and Johann a smile.
"Boys, go pack your things. Enough clothes for a week. And whatever else you need to distract yourselves," Sherlock said.
"Warm weather?" Johann asked.
Sherlock nodded first, followed by Mycroft.
Johann was the first to head to the stairs. Alex hesitated a moment, brow furrowed.
"Go," Sherlock said. "We don't have time to waste and I know you'll take a while gathering all your hair products."
There was an indistinguishable grumble from the teen, before he too headed for the stairs. Sherlock waited a moment until he heard the sound of footsteps overhead. He glanced at Mycroft and went to sit in his chair again.
"Sherlock, you need to pack as well," Mycroft said.
"I'm not going," Sherlock said. "I assume you're picking Molly up at Bart's? You may take her and the boys to the airport. But I will not be coming."
Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked over to stand closer to Sherlock.
"You will. I won't have you here. It's too much of a risk, brother dear. I simply can't allow it."
"I need to be here," Sherlock said. "If you're finally ridding England of his network, I will be here to see it fall into place. I've done too much work to simply fly off to hide away while you do everything."
Mycroft sighed. "Your place isn't here, Sherlock. You've made your position quite clear, and for that reason you are not obligated to stay for the process. It is best you are with your partner and children to provide an extra level of protection."
"I won't," Sherlock said, folding his arms. "They'll be safe where you send them. I'm not concerned."
"No?" Mycroft said, eyes narrowing.
There was a clatter on the stairs and then the sound of footsteps racing down. Sherlock sighed as he watched the doorway until his younger son came racing out. He was carrying a small suitcase in one hand, and a knapsack in the other. His smile brightened as he came back over to stand beside Mycroft.
"They'll be safe without you?" Mycroft said, pulling Johann closer and reaching up to trace his cheek carefully. "Are you certain about that, Sherlock?"
Sherlock's jaw clenched, pain shooting through it as he put all of the tension in his body into that one small part. He stared at Mycroft for a moment, not daring to look at the scar. Molly was still upset about it. Wouldn't stop rambling about how they should have had the surgery done when Johann was little and not left him the choice. Sherlock simply kept telling her he'd never expected the boy would say no.
But that was Johann. Stubborn and passionate and utterly confusing to Sherlock in so many ways. And in many ways, perhaps Mycroft had a point. Perhaps that scar did have its uses. Sherlock eyed it and knew. Though he hated to admit it, Mycroft was right.
"What of Molly's things?" Sherlock said. "I'll gather some for her for you."
He wouldn't give up on the game just yet. Though he did indeed worry what Moriarty might do in retaliation, he still could not deny himself the thought of having his hands involved in this actual case.
"Gather your own," Mycroft said. "I'm serious, Sherlock. You're getting on that plane. If I have to use police to escort you there, I will."
He gave a very forced smile.
They were saved from further arguing as there was more noise on the stairs and Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, Sherlock dear, Molly just rang me and asked me to pick out her things," she said.
"I'll do that Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. "No need for you to fret."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "She'll like what I pick out for her better anyway, dear. You focus on your own packing."
"Yes, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Or else I'll take you with nothing. Gather your computer and anything else you'd like for a week or two."
Sherlock still was doing his best to pretend that Mycroft was not in the room. But of course, before he could even get out of his chair, Mrs. Hudson shot him a glare.
"Sherlock Holmes, you let me pack for her or so help me…I'll never babysit for you again. Let you deal with that next time you want to go rush off to a crime scene or you and Molly want a little time to…to have a romp," she said with a huff.
Before he could get a word in she was heading to the bedroom. He sighed and settled back. Johann had a knowing smirk on his face, an even brighter twinkle coming into his eye as he looked back and forth between Mycroft and Sherlock.
"Go pack," Mycroft said. "Now."
Sherlock was saved from having to retort when Alex appeared on the stairs, one hand holding his suitcase, and his other arm wrapped firmly around Toby's middle. His brow furrowed as he looked at Sherlock.
"Where's Toby going to stay?" he asked, setting his suitcase to the side so he could get a better grip on the cat.
Sherlock sighed, before an idea popped into his head. He smiled and looked at his brother.
"Why your uncle will take him of course. Least he can do with all of us out of town."
"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft," Johann said with a smile Sherlock easily could see was not quite genuine. The little boy blinked up at Mycroft with such a look that Sherlock could barely restrain his own smile.
Mycroft's frown deepened, but he did nod to that.
"The boys are both ready, Sherlock. If you would please go gather your things."
"Mrs. Hudson isn't even done with Molly's things yet," Sherlock said. "And she still has her own to gather. Though why she can't just stay here…I really don't see the point in dragging all of us off."
Mycroft sighed. "The last time Moriarty tried to take revenge on you, force your hand if you will whose heads did he point guns at? John Watson, who is dead. Mrs. Hudson, who is therefore going with you on your vacation. And Greg Lestrade, who I will be keeping an extremely close eye on. This is for your own good, Sherlock. We'll handle this. You've done your job. Now let us do ours with you safely out of the way of Moriarty's potential retaliation."
Sherlock stood.
"Where are you going?" Mycroft asked. "Sherlock, please, this is serious."
He turned to shoot his brother a look. "Packing. Or wasn't that what you wanted me to do, Mycroft?"
Johann smiled at him. "Hurry. Don't want to miss our flight. Uncle Mycroft, they don't allow knives on planes, correct?"
Sherlock almost turned back at that, but Mycroft had a point. If he wanted them safe, they needed to remove themselves from Moriarty's path. And time was ticking.
Molly hugged him fiercely when she climbed into the cab.
Mycroft had taken Mrs. Hudson and the children to the airport and told Sherlock to go fetch her himself. There was an unspoken threat in Mycroft's eyes as he drove off. Promise of all kinds of nasty punishments if Sherlock did not arrive at the airport with Molly. He was prepared for that. What he wasn't ready for was Molly grabbing his hand before he could slip out of the cab.
"Please, Sherlock. No. I can't go halfway across the world and leave you here," she whispered. "You can't leave us."
"You'll be safe," he said. "Mycroft has arranged everything. You and the boys and Mrs. H will all be safe. But I have to—"
"What you have to do is keep your promise to me, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said, eyes glinting. "And you swore you wouldn't let anything happen to him. Not ever again. And I should hope the same goes for me and Alex."
"Precisely," Sherlock said. "And you'll be fine off in the safe place. In the meantime, I'll be here to deal with all of the mess of cleaning up the network myself. It's my job, Molly."
"Being a father is also your job," Molly said.
Sherlock sighed. "Molly, I…"
"No, you listen here," she said, hand still clutching his so tightly he wondered if he might lose circulation. "I may not matter to you, but those boys should. And I know well enough that they're going to be scared. That this whole thing will be agonizing enough as it is. And having to know their father is back in England possibly being murdered by that disgusting psychopath is… they can't do that Sherlock. And you can't do that to them. They're just boys. Please. If not for me, do it for them."
He moved back to sit beside her, even as the cabby sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Molly, you've always mattered," he said. "I…I want to help with this. I'd feel better knowing I'm here to help."
"You have helped," Molly said. "You've given them all enough information to destroy all of Moriarty's web." She gave a half-smile. "That's fantastic, Sherlock. You don't need to be here for the actual dismantling. Lestrade wouldn't let you do much anyways. Please. I won't ask again. Please."
He glanced towards the street they were standing on. If he walked two more paces he could easily hail another cab and be off to Lestrade's office in less than twenty-minutes. But those eyes staring at him…
Decisions. God. He was normally so good at them. Quick on his feet. Easily satisfied with jumping into something or with saying no. But for once in his life he was confounded. It took him back to his choice on the rooftop…perhaps the one time he'd faltered in his life. But here and now it was the same. Did he do what was best for himself. Or did he do what was best for Molly? For Alex, for Johann, for Mrs. Hudson.
A moment passed. Molly's gaze didn't leave him. She loosened her grip some, but still didn't quite let go. His eyes stared into hers, admired the deep chocolate brown he'd become quite familiar with in the last few years.
He closed the door to the cab. And sank back in his seat.
Molly stared at him for a moment, but finally smiled as he raised her hand up to his lips and gave her a soft kiss on the knuckles.
"I'll go with you," Sherlock said. "You needn't worry anymore."
"I'm not worrying," Molly said, moving closer and then snuggling lightly against him. "I never worry when you're with me, Sherlock."
He closed his eyes, his only defense against his need to retort with something bitter and angry towards her naïve comment. He simply wrapped his arm tighter around her, and let the cabbie drive them in the direction of the airport. And hoped that no matter what happened he wouldn't let her down.
A few hours later Molly's head was resting on his shoulder as they sat in their row of the airplane. He had trouble sitting still. There was nothing to do on airplanes, honestly. Just sit trapped in a small compartment with hundreds of obnoxious other people.
Alex might have the right idea, he thought. He admired the teenager yet again for managing to somehow curl all the way up in his seat, his hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head and earbuds clearly stuck in his ears. His body lolled from time to time with the small bits of motion.
Johann in the meantime had decided the flight was the best time to possibly start into some kind of whiny phase. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had insisted he could sit in her row and she would deal with it. And from the little Sherlock could see of the two of them, she was doing an admirable job at encouraging the boy to watch some movies and sip his beverage rather than focus on any particulars of the journey.
His knee bounced a little as he wished for the thousandth time he could stand up and pace without one of those obnoxious hovering flight attendants asking him to take a seat. But he had a suspicion that Molly would seriously scold him if he was told to sit down a third time.
"Settle, Sherlock," Molly whispered. "Everything will be fine."
"Oh yes, and you just know that with certainty?" Sherlock said. "That nothing will go at all wrong? I'm stranded on a flight while my brother and friends deal with the web of the most manipulative, clever, destructive, insane villain that has ever roamed this earth. You're telling me that nothing is going to go wrong when Jim Moriarty is in the mix? Because if that is the case then you really ought to know better, Molly. I thought you were more intelligent than that. And for—"
He was cut off by one of the false smiled flight attendants appearing at his row as though he'd pressed the button to call her.
"I'm sorry, is there a problem here?" she asked, red lipsticked smile in place even as her eyes spoke murder.
"No," Molly said. "Sorry. We're just…it's fine. Sorry."
She disappeared off again with a warning glare. From his seat Alex looked up at the commotion, glanced at them and then made somewhat of a harrumph before pulling his hood further down and curling back up again.
"I'm sorry," Molly said. "I shouldn't have told you not to worry. It's…I suppose you have every reason to be concerned."
He nodded and closed his eyes. "I don't particularly like feeling…helpless, Molly."
Her head returned to its place on his shoulder. She sighed and then ran a hand along his arm. After a moment he realized she wasn't going to speak again. Molly, out of words. There was a poor sign if he'd ever seen one.
He settled for closing his own eyes. Molly was right. There was nothing left to do. Perhaps a bit of naïve hope for the best really was his only solution.
No sleep came. He did his best to maintain focus as they drove up to the house. But something about having three other people asleep in the cab with him did nothing to make it any easier.
Only Johann remained awake. Curled into his side and blinking a bit sleepily, but still refusing to shut his eyes in a way that Molly would have said was clearly "like father like son."
His hand tightened on Johann's shoulder.
"Are you ready to meet her?" Johann whispered after a moment.
If he had more energy, he might have smiled. It truly was a good deduction. But in the darkness with the rest of the family asleep around him, Sherlock only felt strong enough to state his answer.
"No."
"I'd imagine that even if she hates you it won't matter to mum," Johann said. "You're more important."
"Hmm. We'll see."
"Besides, you can figure out her most annoying secrets and use those to blackmail her into being nice to you," Johann said. "Honestly I don't see how it could go wrong. And it's only a week."
"Only a week," Sherlock said. "Yes, of course, how silly of me. Staying with relatives for only a week. How delightful and calming that lovely short interval will be."
His son offered a half-smile at the sarcasm.
"I'll help you if I can," he said. "Lex might be too busy playing on his phone and doing his hair. But I'll be here for you."
Sherlock nodded his thanks. His eyes were fixed on the house coming into view. Molly stirred as the car slowed to a stop. She blinked a few times and then smiled.
"We're here," she whispered. After a moment simply enjoying the arrival, she looked around to notice that Alex and Mrs. Hudson were both still asleep.
"I'll wake Mrs. Hudson," she offered. "You get Alex up, please."
Sherlock was about to point out that he'd probably wake up on his own when they started moving around, when Johann reached over and poked a finger into Alex's ear.
"What the hell!"
He sat bolt upright and glared at the younger boy who had started giggling uncontrollably. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, moving to open a door to start letting them out of the van.
"Come on," he said. "You've been sleeping all day but I'd imagine a bed might be nicer for a little rest."
Alex sighed and slid out of the van, groaning and stretching before going to grab his bag, managing to knock into Johann on the way. Sherlock rolled his eyes as glares were exchanged between the boys.
However, before he could speak a word of reprimand towards either of them, the door to the house opened and a woman's figure appeared in the dim light.
"Oh thank heavens you're here! I was beginning to worry!"
There was some shuffling, and Molly grimaced first before putting on a smile. She went first to meet their host.
"Bea," Molly said. "It's good to see you. Been a few years hasn't it?"
"Too long, Molly. Too long," the other woman said, before wrapping her up in a tight hug. "The last time you were here Amber was still in elementary school."
When the two parted, Sherlock finally was able to get a decent look at Mycroft's choice of host for their family. He'd known quite quickly after spotting the tickets of course. The number of people Mycroft would think to contact in California of all places was limited. Moriarty might think of this one, but it was unlikely. And even if he did they were half-way around the world, making it a bit harder for him to actually do anything. Besides, the pretense of a visit made the disappearance from London seem less conspicuous.
But still, confirmation was given to him just in a sweep over the woman's features. That same familiar nose and those warm chocolate eyes were easily distinguished. The close sibling resemblance was only stopped when he began to get a quick sense of Beatrice's personality and how drastically different it was from Molly's.
Even though it was apparent she'd been getting ready for bed due to the silky pajamas and her dressing robe, Bea still had flawless makeup on, though not so flawless that Sherlock didn't recognize it had been freshly applied. Just a smudge on her pajama's showed she'd recently been putting it on.
But alongside the care to just the details of her face, a glance over her body showed Sherlock not only that her proportions were a bit different than Molly's—evidenced by her D to Molly's B—but that she'd played with these things a little too. Personal trainer, of course, but also a few clear signs of plastic surgery. Highlights in her hair. An expensive looking cut. Everything about her shaped up to be some type of person Sherlock would normally not give the time of day to. But for Molly's sake, he knew he needed to behave.
But, as Johann had suggested, he quickly pulled together the pieces he needed to create some blackmail if needed.
A few things were quite obvious. Beatrice's marriage was not doing altogether well. Her ring had been put on the wrong hand, though Sherlock could see the tan line that showed she normal wore it on her left. He could, of course, make out that the wedding ring, though gaudy, was certainly not expensive. It looked to have been picked up at a chain jewelry store. This, was quite contrary to the wealth suggested by the house (that had been custom built and owned longer than their marriage). So why a cheap ring? Rush job most likely. Suggesting there had been a reason.
Amber. Molly had said Amber was eighteen and had just gone off to college. So eighteen years of marriage. Well the math wasn't difficult. He knew the facts. Molly might have the idea of a fairytale romance for her sister with some Hollywood director falling madly in love with the extra on set. But Sherlock could easily see the signs. Director sleeps with extra. Extra demands more time on camera in exchange for the sex. Extra began to get more press, and when she became pregnant the two went for marriage rather than scandal. And now the effects of the shot-gun wedding were showing on their relationship.
Still, with all that information stored away in case it was needed, Sherlock did his best to smile. By the look on Molly's face it was clearly not very sincere, but he had no motivation to try harder. A week here and then they'd be back in England and likely never have to see her again.
"Lovely to meet you," Sherlock said.
"Oh you must be Sherlock," she said. "Molly hasn't said much about you, but it's good we finally get to meet."
He glanced at Molly, curious as to why she hadn't said much. Molly's brother hadn't given any indication either way as to whether he'd heard much about Sherlock beforehand.
"Oh and your son and the adopted one," Beatrice said.
Sherlock stiffened at her words. While he recognized the difficulties in pulling their odd little family together into one group, the reminder was still not appreciated. His only relief was in seeing that Alex had shoved his earbuds back in and was zoning out staring towards the house.
"Johann," Molly said, "meet your Aunt Bea."
"Nice to meet you," Johann said, though he made no movement to go shake her hand or anything else. "And the idiot ignoring us is my brother, Alex."
Sherlock moved to put a hand on Johann's shoulder, glad to hear his son using such a title. They'd explained to Johann just that year that Alex was adopted. That Alex's parents had been some of Moriarty's early victims and that some people might make a point of it, but that to them family was far more than blood. And of course, looking at Mrs. Hudson Sherlock only confirmed it for himself. Family. His lovely partner Molly, no marriage necessary for their bond. His sons, one by blood, one by legal certification. Dear Mrs. Hudson who was probably more motherly to him than his own biological maternal figure.
"And this is Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. "Our landlady and dear friend who we decided could use a little vacation and came with us."
"Nice to meet you," Bea said, even though her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, thank you dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "You have a lovely home."
"Well, come in," Bea said. "I'll show you to your rooms. You must all be tired."
A few minutes later, Sherlock and Molly were tucked away in a guest room that continued to show off Molly's sisters wealth. Sherlock sighed as he glanced around the room that was almost as large as the living room in their flat, complete with a king sized bed and a sofa and television.
"Nice to see your sister again?" Sherlock asked, eyeing Molly as he pulled his laptop from his bag and booted it up.
Molly gave a noncommittal shrug, busy slipping into her pajama shirt.
"It's fine," Molly said.
"You have enough money to visit her often," Sherlock said. "Why don't you?"
There was a shrug and then a sigh. "You're not the only one who doesn't get on with a sibling, Sherlock. I thought you'd have figured that one out by now."
"I suspected," Sherlock said. "But I thought you'd rather confirm it for me than have me assume."
Molly turned around as she continued buttoning up the shirt. "Bea's always been…different. Had different priorities. She never understood how hard it was on dad and me trying to deal with mum dying. Always begged me for more money for clothes and makeup and god knows what else. Sometimes she'd just steal it when I'd say no. And then when she turned sixteen there was a note in her bedroom that said she'd gone off to America to become a movie star. I can only guess how she managed to get the plane ticket."
She sighed. "I worked hard to make sure everything went well for the family. I took the first job I could when I was thirteen helping wash dishes at a local restaurant. I worked and went to school and made sure my dad was ok. Tried to get Robbie help for his OCD. Tried to put food on the table and still save some for me and for school. I sometimes thought I'd never get where I wanted to be. That I wouldn't be able to be a pathologist or anything. But I scrabbled and scraped and saved. Got through school. Did my residencies and everything, all while sending money and support home when I could. And in the meantime Bea just goes and…marries some rich director and makes it big?"
Sherlock sighed and moved over to sit on the bed near where she was standing.
"That must have been difficult for you."
Molly closed her eyes. "Yes. And I still haven't forgiven her for any of it. I don't know if I ever will."
"You're the most forgiving person I know," Sherlock said. "But there are limits to how much someone can simply let go of. You're completely normal in resenting her when you've worked so hard and she's done so little."
She was silent as she settled onto the bed next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I love you so much, Sherlock."
Tucked in next to her later that evening, he used the sound of her breathing to ground himself. He listened to the steady rhythm, pulled it into himself as his own heartbeat sped up at the thought of what was happening back at England.
At three thirty in the morning, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the text, the small illuminated screen making the words so much clearer in the dark. He was relieved to see the codes he'd been hoping for.
34 begins. No sign of Schechem.-MH
He raised a brow, but he was glad to see things were going through.
Text me at 35.-SH
After a moment he set the phone back on the nightstand, settling back against his pillow. Sleep still wouldn't come, but he leaned closer to Molly and reached out to smooth a hand down her side in reassurance that she was there. And safe.
The next day, Sherlock kept an eye on the news. Reports were everywhere on the massive amounts of arrests in London. Most of the coverage chalked it up to the new prime minister's promise to crack down on crime. But anyone with reasonable intelligence would know this was something bigger. The sheer number of police involved spoke to what this operation was.
Mycroft shot a few more texts his way, but Sherlock could tell by his curtness that he was clearly busy. Unharmed, but busy. Good signs.
For the majority of the time, he was able to pretend. Lock away his emotions and put on a mask to be polite in front of Molly's sister and brother-in-law. He did his best to act like nothing was wrong. Like they were simply visiting the family on vacation.
Molly went shopping with her sister leaving him some time to focus on his work. Making sure he was sure there weren't any piece they'd missed, checking through records again. Johann mostly stuck with him, while Alex slept off the rest of the jetlag and worked on some homework.
It wasn't until that night that Sherlock began to have a feeling something might be wrong. It had been too calm. Too simple. And if there was anything he'd learned about Moriarty over the last few years, it was that he was anything but.
They tried to pretend it was a normal vacation. Alex would spend a few hours tanning on the beach, even though Sherlock would grumble at him about cancer and all the risks of what he might be doing to his normally pale skin. And at one point Molly's brother in law offered to show him how to surf, and after that he hardly ever left the water. Johann had Molly forcing sunblock on his face before he went to wander to the seaside, looking for different sea creatures and cataloging them with some minor spelling errors in a notebook and then adding a few wobbly sketches. Mrs. Hudson often went with him, though she had to rest more due to her hip, and often took to sitting on the shore with some knitting.
Molly was clearly hanging on to her wits by a thread dealing with her sister. It somehow made Sherlock more at ease with the whole situation, not entirely sure it would matter if he disappointed or embarrassed Molly all things considered. And besides, it gave him something to hold against her the next time she criticized him for how he was treating Mycroft.
And time passed. They continued pretending. Sherlock allowed himself to absorb the fantasy for once that they were like any other family. Not a sociopath raising his best friend's orphaned child. Not a retired exotic dancer who'd run a drug cartel. Not a pathologist who had dated a psychopath out to kill their entire family. Not a little boy who was turning out to have far too much of his father's potentially disastrous personality… no. For a few days they could just five people on a beach.
But it was late on the sixth night there that the moment Sherlock had been waiting for came.
It started with a knock on the door. He sighed and rolled over in time to see Johann's face peering in.
"What is it?" he asked, with a sigh. It was rare for their younger son to disturb them. He wasn't like Alex at that age, who'd often had nightmares or wanted glasses of water or other silly things. Johann slept poorly, but he generally kept those facts to himself.
"You should come see," Johann whispered. "On the telly. I couldn't sleep so I was watching the news."
He sat up and grabbed for the remote, flicking the television on the far wall on. He asked for the channel and flipped to a news network.
A reporter was talking, but what caught his attention first was the image to the side. His name in flaming letters, large burning letters. And to make matters even worse, they were right below the Hollywood sign. Less than a hundred kilometers away by his estimations.
"As you can see the act of vandalism has some people very concerned," the reporter said. "From what we've heard fire crews have mostly extinguished the burning, and there doesn't appear to be any damage to the actual sign. But people are still wondering what this was about."
The second news anchor spoke up. "For those of you who don't remember, Sherlock Holmes is a famous detective from London. He was most well-known thanks to a blog run by his partner, though many might remember the scandal almost sixteen years back when he became involved in the Moriarty case and was declared to be a fraud resulting in a subsequent suicide on the roof of a local hospital. The suicide was proved to be faked two years later after his name was cleared, as he returned to London to once again take up solving crimes."
"What most people are wondering is if this is in connection with the major crime sweep in London," the first anchor said. "As of right now we've had no confirmation on the issue. Many have speculated that Mr. Holmes might have been behind the recent clean up, but there has been no proof on the issue. Still others are wondering if this is merely a crazed fan, or if this is a sign that further crime is coming. We will return with details as soon as we know them."
But Sherlock of course knew details were meaningless. He knew who had done this. And he knew what this meant.
A/N: I work with children for a living, so please please don't get onto me about Johann not acting like a typical 4-5 year old. He's a Holmes child after all. And he's got Molly's smarts as well.
All right, thanks to Potatoes (your review cracked me up and I really appreciated it), BelieverofManyThings, SammyKatz, and LadydeBalliol for reviewing!
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