A/N: Warnings for a non-graphic death, some mentions of BDSM, discussion of rape. I believe that's it. Let me know if I missed anything.

Something was wrong. That much was evident the moment Alex walked in the door. But whatever it was, Sherlock immediately had a bad feeling he wasn't going to get the answer he wanted just from deductions. Several weeks was enough time for him to easily miss key signs.

Overall everything should have pointed to a good trip. Alex looked tan and had a few postcards tucked into the journal he was carrying in his hands. When he'd called partway through the trip he'd said things were fine, though he'd excused himself within a few minutes of talking to say he had other things to go do.

But there were damning signs. Those dark circles Sherlock remembered from his childhood. And a twitch whenever he heard a noise behind him. And he was exceptionally quiet, even as they asked him questions about how it had been. Molly seemed oblivious to it. But Johann kept eyeing Alex throughout dinner.

It wasn't until after that he finally had a moment alone. Molly rushed Johann off to his piano lesson. And Sherlock cornered Alex in the kitchen.

"So how was it really?" Sherlock asked. "You don't have to lie to me, Alex. I thought we'd talked about this."

"Fine," Alex murmured, eyes still focused down on the sink. "It was fine."

"Something happened," Sherlock pressed. "What was it?"

He saw a muscle in Alex's jaw twitch.

"Nothing."

Sherlock pulled one of Alex's hands out of the soapy water, forcing him to turn around. Alex looked at the ground rather than into his eyes.

"Talk to me."

Alex swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he continued to stare down the floor.

Sherlock noticed Alex was wearing long sleeves for the first time. Without a second's hesitation he rolled one up to reveal a darkening bruise.

"What happened?" he said again, doing his best to keep the frantic fear out of his voice.

"Conner," Alex muttered. "He just..." He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away, jerking the sleeve back down in the process. "We're not really…into the same things."

Sherlock frowned. "You're referring to sexual activities of the more…unusual variety?"

It made sense, but it still was shocking for him to consider.

"He wanted to…tie me up," Alex muttered, flushing. "I let him. I didn't like it. We…we broke up."

He's fifteen, he thought to himself. God, how could this sort of thing had happened.

"Did he assault you?" Sherlock said, voice coming out as a hiss. "Did he force himself on you?"

Alex finally looked up to stare at him. "No," he said incredulously. "It just…it was just unpleasant, that's all." He rubbed at his wrist, most likely unconscious of the fact he was doing so. "I'm fine, I swear…I just…need a few days I guess."

He pulled away when Sherlock tried to reach for him. Though Sherlock was by now much more used to the teenage routine, he was still startled for a few minutes by the novelty of the act. It was different than before. Not because Alex was embarrassed. But because he was uncomfortable.

"Go get some rest," Sherlock said softly. "I am so very sorry for everything that's happened to you. I…hope things will work out for the best. But…I'm proud of you for ending things. That could have been a truly terrible relationship had you allowed it to continue."

Alex shrugged. "Guess so," he said, though his voice sounded hollow. He headed to the stairs, and Sherlock debated saying something more. Was there anything to add to such a conversation? He couldn't think of anything. So he left it at that, just watched the shadow disappear up the stairs, wishing there was something more he could do.

It took Alex a few weeks to settle back down again. And even then, Sherlock wasn't sure anything was entirely normal. The boy asked for periods to go study at the library instead of in the flat. He seemed quieter, less happy. Sherlock suggested therapy at one point, but Alex was adamant that he didn't need it.

Molly commented that Sherlock seemed to be in a mood himself. And though he tried to deny it, after a while it became obvious she was right. He didn't like his family being out of sorts. No, not with everything else that had happened before.

To make his mood all the worse, Sherlock came home one evening to find Mycroft sitting on his sofa, calmly sipping tea while Molly hovered in the kitchen. Alex was sitting in one of the chairs, staring down at a file.

"So you see, it's all there," Mycroft said setting the saucer and cup on the coffee table. "Mostly likely anything you need to know. I'm sure you understand this is classified, you can't share it with anyone."

"Of course," Alex murmured, scanning over the pages with a frown.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked, stalking forward.

Mycroft looked up and gave a forced smile. "So good of you to join us, Sherlock. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you. I just thought I'd drop by to talk with Alexander for a few moments."

Molly glanced at him from the kitchen, eyes wide. He tried to decide what he should do first, punch Mycroft, grab the file from Alex, or simply go demand an explanation from Molly, who had clearly witnessed most everything that had taken place.

"And what is the meaning of this visit?" Sherlock asked. Alex still hadn't looked up from the file.

"I'm sure Molly and Alexander can fill you in as they see fit," Mycroft said with a dismissive wave.

"And what do you think I should do?" Alex asked, finally looking up. "In your opinion that is?"

Mycroft sniffed. "It's a good opportunity. I do believe you are still quite young, however. And I might advise at least waiting. It all depends what you'd like to do with your future, of course. But there are many opportunities in this organization."

Alex nodded, glancing down at the papers with a little bit of hesitation.

"What on earth are you considering?" Sherlock demanded. He decided what option he liked best and stalked over to snatch up the papers.

Looking down at the pages he scanned them over in a matter of seconds. But really, he didn't need much time to figure out what they were about. The first page listed the subject in the header: Agent Alexander. For a moment his heart felt like it might stop, until he quickly realized the agent described was nothing like Alex. She was described as being in her twenties and thirties during missions, a young Caucasian female of American nationality. Amanda Gail Rosemary Alexander was the name listed. Something was familiar. And then it clicked. A.G.R.A.

"This is Mary's file," he whispered softly, glancing up to shoot his brother an incredulous glance.

"I thought Alexander ought to know more about why he's received offers from MI6," Mycroft said calmly.

Sherlock turned his attention to the teenager, still in a state of disbelief.

"It's true. They've been discreet. But they've asked," Alex said.

"You're still….so young," Sherlock protested.

"If you remember I was sixteen when they recruited me," Mycroft said. "Age is a number, Sherlock. You wrote materials about chemistry that are still used in universities to this day when you were younger than Alex. Alex's own mother was asked to join when she was seventeen. It's more common than you'd think actually, pulling young people who show great potential out when they can. At least to begin training them and readying them for a potential career. There won't be any field work yet. And with information about Alex's heritage, I believe they've become all the more interested."

"No one was supposed to know about Mary," Sherlock protested.

Mycroft shrugged. "She's dead. It doesn't matter."

"But her enemies could still come after Alex," Sherlock hissed.

"There are few people who know her real identity," Mycroft said. "And these events are decades ago. Many of her enemies are already gone. In case you hadn't realized, a large amount were in Moriarty's inner circles. They are taken care of, thanks to you."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "He has a few pawns left, though."

Alex looked up at him, frowning. "You mean there's more?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Very little. And no one of real importance. He's coming close to his end. I've made good progress the last few months."

"So, is there anything more I need to add in this little chat?" Mycroft asked with a wry smile. "Or shall we leave it at that?"

"So…this is why they want me?" Alex asked, brow furrowing.

"You're an intelligent athletic young man with a mother and father who both proved themselves in life. Mary, as you can see, was an amazing agent for the CIA and made some unfortunate choices when she was let go. Your father was a loyal part of the army and a skilled doctor. Yes they both have a part of it," Mycroft agreed. "But I've looked over your records, and they're good. You are certainly a suitable candidate given everything."

"How long do I have to decide?"

Sherlock was unable to keep himself from letting out a sigh. Was this really going to be a consideration? He hadn't spent much time thinking about what Alex might do with his future. But working in intelligence really had never been anywhere on his radar.

"A few weeks would likely be suitable," Mycroft advised. "I wouldn't leave them hanging for too long, but taking some time would be understandable…and perhaps wise."

"You never answered my question," Alex said. "Not really. What do you advise?"

Mycroft sighed. "I'd say that you have great skills, Alex. Ones that could be very useful to your country. But…I sense this might not be something you are interested in. And if that is the case, don't consider any further. You should have a passion for the work if you wish to be a part of it. Even someone like me can admit that."

Sherlock pursed his lips, wondering why he hadn't been asked his opinion on the matter yet.

Alex's teeth kept worrying his lip. "I just…haven't thought about it," he said quietly. "I'd thought I'd perhaps pursue something in the medical field."

"There are many possibilities," Mycroft agreed.

Sherlock was about to break in with his own advice, when a voice called out, breaking the silence.

"No, you can't!" Johann yelled as he dashed into the room from the bathroom where he'd clearly been standing listening..

"Johann Charles Arthur Holmes," Molly scolded from the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"You can't do it, Alex," Johann cried, eyes wide.

"I haven't agreed to anything," Alex said.

"You can't," Johann said. "Please. You could be killed. Don't!"

Alex frowned. "God, shut up! I haven't agreed to anything yet. And I can take care of myself, thanks."

Johann turned his attention to Mycroft. "Please, talk him out of it. You know this wouldn't be any good."

"I will give him my advice, but that's the most I can do," Mycroft said, folding his hands. "You should know better, Johann."

Alex sighed and set the file aside. "I'll think about it. But I don't think will. I…there's too much else I want to do."

Mycroft nodded, rising from his seat to scoop up the file and then reach for his umbrella.

"That's fine. Contact me first if you would. I'll clear things for you. Arrange it all."

"You suck," Johann muttered, glowering.

"Give me a call too, Johann," Mycroft said. "It's been a while since you and I had a chat. Perhaps another one would do you some good. For now, good day Alexander, Johann…Sherlock."

He walked to the door, leaving Sherlock to stew over his words. He glanced at Johann.

"You've been talking with him?" he snapped.

Johann shrugged. "Sometimes he's helpful with things. Other times…not so much."

Sherlock let out a sigh. "You would do better not to talk to him. Both of you," he said, glancing at Alex.

"I knew he'd have advice for me," Alex said, folding his arms. "More informed than anything you could have given me. And besides, I…I needed to know more about my mother."

Sherlock frowned. "I could have helped you with either of those things. Are you really going to consider this?"

"I don't see why not," Alex said.

"Because you could be killed," Johann snapped.

Alex huffed. "I could be killed any day, you idiot. Don't you realize that? Every time I cross a street I could be hit by a car. Every time I go on the tube there could be some kind of malfunction. I could be exposed to a deadly disease anywhere in public. Death is a possibility at all times. And if my own death might help keep other people safe, then it would be more worth it than any other death."

Johann shook his head. "You're being an idiot."

Alex glared at him. "Just because you've got a slightly higher IQ than me does not justify you treating me like I'm stupid. If I was, MI6 wouldn't be offering me a position. So take the stick out of your arse and get over yourself."

Sherlock knew he probably should chastise Alex for being rude, but he didn't have the energy. He allowed the teen to storm off, waiting for the door to slam before turning to Johann.

"You need to let your brother be," he said softly. "It's not your life."

"You're going to support him?" Johann demanded. His bottom lip wobbled precariously. "Really? After everything that's happened you're just going to let him go off to his death?"

Sherlock sighed. "I will make my opinion clear. But beyond that, there's very little I can do, Johann. For now, yes I can deny him the right to go off and do anything crazy. But he's a few years away from becoming an adult…and once that happens, he's going to be able to do whatever he wants."

"He's right," Molly said, finally emerging from the kitchen. "We'll let him make his own choices. Just as we'll do with you when you grow up."

"It's stupid," Johann muttered. "You're going to let him get killed and it will be all your fault."

Johann ran off, though Sherlock wasn't really surprised when it ended up going downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's instead of up to his room where Alex was already holed up. Children. What a headache.

"Things will be better in a few days," Molly said soothingly. "Don't you worry about it. They'll both get over it."

He came home a few days ago to discover that things had not in fact become any better. He walked in to find Johann sitting at the table with a small cardboard box. Even from downstairs, Sherlock could hear crying coming from upstairs.

Johann looked up and sighed.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, glancing to the stairwell. "Are you and Alex fighting again?"

The younger boy shook his head. "No. I…it's nothing to do with me. When we got home from school…" he swallowed. "We found Toby…"

"Toby?" Sherlock said, frowning.

"He's dead," Johann said with a small shrug. He looked at the ground with his brow furrowed, mouth kept in a frown. "Alex is really upset."

Sherlock froze. "Dead?" He walked to the windows instantly, looking around for signs of entry. "Where did you find the body? Was it posed?"

Johann stared at him for a moment before seeming to catch on.

"It wasn't Moriarty," he clarified with a shake of his head. "He was old, dad. Really old. I mean, mum had him for years before she even got together with you. He was on his way out, we all knew it. It was only a matter of time."

Sherlock swallowed, doing his best to tune out the sounds coming from the bedroom above. He went to sit at his chair, hands clenching the armrests.

"Well, at least that's one good thing about today," Sherlock murmured. "Natural death…"

"Alex isn't going to get over it easily," Johann pointed out.

"No. I'd imagine it might take some time."

He watched as Johann's fingers trailed over the box.

"We'll wait for Molly to decide what to do with the body," Sherlock said.

"She'll be pretty sad too," Johann pointed out.

"Yes." Sherlock considered for a moment and was about to add something more when Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway.

"Sherlock, have you broken the bell again? There's a young man at the door."

He frowned, and glanced behind the landlady to see a teenager standing in the doorway. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and was clearly nervous based on his shifting posture and the hand he kept running through his already quite ruffled hair.

"Sorry, Alex texted me," he said. "Could you tell me where to find him?"

"Upstairs," Johann said. "I'll show you if you'd like. But it's the first door if you take the stairs up."

"Thank you." And before either of them could say something else, the boy had disappeared up the stairs.

"Do you know him?" Sherlock asked.

Johann shrugged. "You're losing your touch. New boyfriend."

"Already?" Sherlock said, blinking a few times.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Oh, he seems so lovely. I hope he takes good care of our Alex."

"Or at least better care than the last one," Sherlock muttered. "Are you sure they're dating? That seems so…quick?"

Johann ignored him, focusing back on the box. "It's probably good. It means he's gotten over things. And besides, he could use a little comfort right now. I suppose we all could really."

"Yes," Sherlock said, listening for any more sounds from upstairs and failing to hear any. He wasn't sure if he preferred the crying really to the mystery of what Alex and his boyfriend might be getting up to. "I suppose you're right."

He heard another voice call out from downstairs. Mrs. Hudson frowned before heading back down a few steps.

"It's Detective Lestrade," Mrs. Hudson called up, before returning up to the room with the detective behind her.

"Er…bad timing?" Lestrade asked, glancing at Johann's sullen face.

"Death of a beloved pet," Sherlock said, voice suddenly choking before he could stop it.

He couldn't deny he had very little love for Toby. The cat had been a real nuisance as a whole. The amount of damage to the flat and the experiments the animal had ruined had certainly never made him really endearing. And no matter how sweet he was with Molly or the boys, Toby had always remained quite hostile to Sherlock as a whole. But when Sherlock thought of Alex's red-rimmed eyes and the obvious devastation he was feeling…all he could think back to was Redbeard.

"I can come back another time," Lestrade suggested with a frown. "Just had a case I thought you could help me with."

"He'll go, Uncle Greg," Johann said. "Just give him a few minutes."

Sherlock sighed and rose from his chair, still wondering what had possessed Johann to begin using the title Uncle with Lestrade. It always set him on edge because he half expected Mycroft to appear at any moment.

He went over to snatch up his coat and scarf while Lestrade went over to stand next to Johann.

"Haven't seen you in ages, kid. How are you doing? School going well?"

"Yes," Johann said. "School's fine. I'm fine. Other than insane psychopaths running loose trying to kill us and Alex's favorite living thing dying."

Lestrade winced. "Er…right. Sorry. Your mum mentioned you're learning piano though?"

"For now," Johann said. "It's easier than I expected. I might pick something else if I become bored."

"Oh, and I suppose you're becoming a black belt and mastering a million languages like your brother too?" Lestrade said with a smile.

"I'm currently working on Chinese," Johann said. "Alex is still focused on his Russian and French mostly. I'll catch up to him soon. And I have no desire to go kick people around like he does. If mother and father ever force me to take a self-defense class there will be several other methods I'd choose first."

Lestrade stood speechless for a moment before shaking his head. Sherlock just smiled as he put on his scarf.

"Ready to go? Or would you prefer to have more time for my son to make your own little life feel pathetic. He manages to do so with me at least once a week…I'm sure in comparison to you he's going to make the difference seem even worse."

After a moment, Lestrade shook his head. He turned to Sherlock with a baffled expression.

"You're amazing, Sherlock," he said, managing to smile after a moment. "We all thought you'd kill Alex, seriously. But here are your kids…a little odd but definitely amazing. You've done great work. Well probably thanks to Molly of course…"

"Oh do shut up," Sherlock said. "I've done my part too. Now was there a case you wanted me to see? Or are you just looking for some company in your lonely life."

Lestrade huffed, but did head towards the stairs. Sherlock followed behind him. With Molly still at work and Alex being comforted by his boyfriend, he really didn't have a reason to stay. Only Johann lingered at the table.

Sherlock promised to be back in a couple of hours and left before the boy could protest. After all, Johann was more like himself in that regard. He'd be perfectly fine. Keep his emotions all in check without assistance.

A noise woke him midway through the night. Sherlock sat up and glanced at Molly sound asleep beside him, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm of sleep. He looked to the clock she'd set on the nightstand. 3 AM. He groaned and put a hand over his eyes. If only Molly hadn't adjusted him to some normal sort of schedule, it really wouldn't have bothered him.

He rose and slid on his dressing gown before heading out into the living room. There was nothing particularly threatening. Moriarty would likely have done more to disguise his entry. So it couldn't be him.

He heard the creak of the stairs before a figure appeared in the doorway. He froze, wondering if he should have grabbed his gun, only to pause at the size of the person there.

In fact, judging by dimensions, it took him only a matter of seconds to realize the shadow was a child. And after that, it was really just a matter of thinking logically before he determined that the shadowed person was in fact his own son.

"Johann," he said calmly. "What are you doing?"

He reached to flick on a light, taking in his son's stricken face before moving closer.

"I needed a walk," Johann whispered.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

"I…I couldn't sleep."

Sherlock eyed the six year old, looking him over for clues. As far as he could see, the boy was being truthful. He had on a warm jacket and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

"And if you can't sleep, what makes you think going out into the dark by yourself is a good idea?" Sherlock asked.

Johann nibbled on his lip, glancing at the floor. "I just…I didn't…I wanted…" He swallowed.

Sherlock went to sit on the sofa. "Come here," he said, motioning to the spot beside him. "Perhaps it's time you and I had a chat. Now, what's going on?"

After a moment, Johann padded over, moving towards the spot indicated. Hesitating for just a second, he looked at Sherlock before moving to wrap his arms around his father. Johann buried his face in Sherlock's chest, a small noise escaping him as he did.

Sherlock shushed him before gently patting him. He wasn't really sure what to say, but he did his best to find the words.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I keep…thinking," Johann whispered. "It's like I can't shut my brain off."

His eyes closed as he considered that. How often had he felt the same thing in his life? He thought of his first time trying drugs. Admiring not only the chemical responses, but the way that he could stop thinking for a while. There were other factors, of course, but he remembered finding some of the greatest enjoyment in that. It was so hard to hear that his six year old was already feeling the same way.

"What do you think about?" Sherlock asked.

Johann made a soft noise. "Everything."

"Anything specific?"

He felt the small arms around his middle tighten ever so slightly.

"I think about if we can win this. The odds…they seem impossibly low. How can we possibly beat Moriarty when everything is against us? I…keep thinking about what will happen if he kills you…or mum or Alex."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute, pulling Johann a little tighter, rocking him slightly as he did.

"Shush, you needn't worry," he said. "We'll beat him, Johann. And if anything happened to Molly and I…well I believe your Uncle Robert or…Mycroft would take you. You wouldn't be alone."

"But I'd miss you," Johann whispered. "More than Alex misses Toby."

"Well, I suppose that's true," Sherlock said. "Is that all you can't stop thinking about?"

Johann shrugged. "I just want to stop. I want to…I want to sleep. I want to rest. I'm so tired."

The boy's eyes fluttered a little, and Sherlock almost smiled. He watched as the boy began to relax some.

"Tell me more about it," Sherlock said.

"I can't stop," Johann said. "I try, but I can't get it out of my head. And then my heart starts pounding, and I can't relax."

"You can," Sherlock whispered. "Just take some deep breaths."

He ran a hand through Johann's hair, fingers winding into the small curls. He sighed, trying his best to come up with the right response. Honestly, there wasn't a good way to fix this. He tried his best to think about what Molly would do if she were here. Probably everything he was doing now. Holding him, telling him everything would be all right.

"We'll get Moriarty," he promised. "I told your mother when he hurt you last time I wouldn't let him touch you again."

"You can't protect me," Johann whispered. "Not when he holds too many of the cards."

"We're depleting them," Sherlock said. "It will be fine."

He rocked a little more, doing his best to keep himself calm as he did.

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing will," Sherlock said.

It was a promise he knew was probably foolish to make. At one time, he knew he would have chastised John for making something like it. But there was no avoiding the need to reassure his son. And if a little false hope was the best means, then he would employ it.

Johann's breathing eased some, and before long, Sherlock felt him fall limp in his arms. He sighed and cradled him just a tiny bit tighter. Watching as the lines in his small face disappeared and he found some peace in sleep.

"Sleep well," Sherlock said. "I'm going after the monsters, my son. I promise. I'll take him down in the end. Even if it destroys me too."

A/N: All right, did a double chapter update (before updating another WIP) for you guys so I hope that makes up for the wait a little bit.

Thanks to all who have supported me. We lost a few last chapter, but I was glad to see several familiar followers stuck around. I'm bi, so I take LGBTQ+ matters very seriously and tend to be a bit overly sensitive about them (hence my long note last time). So thank you again for being so considerate.

No reviews last chapter, but thanks to any who followed or favorited!