I couldn't wait for tomorrow...sorry. Anyhow, here you go!

Warnings (caution this will be a spoiler): violence, death, etc. More angst. I swear things will get better!

"Sebastian Moran," Moriarty said. "Though I believe you have a different name you use for him."

"Alex," Molly whispered.

"I'm afraid I no longer use that name," Alex muttered, brow furrowing some. His eyes never strayed to Molly, fixed instead on his target.

Sherlock's mind was still reeling, trying to put together the pieces. How had he missed this? How could he possibly have missed this?

After a moment it came to him. When had everything changed? Truly? The answer was there.

"France," he said softly.

Alex lowered his gun a fraction of an inch.

"Not anything to do with your boyfriend then," Sherlock said. "A summer…a whole summer for Moriarty to train you how he wanted."

"Daddy's finally catching on," Moriarty said with a grin. "Took you long enough, Sherlock. Me and my pet have had so much time together thanks to your obliviousness."

He reached out a hand, one finger tracing down Alex's cheek. Sherlock felt numb as he noticed that Alex didn't bother to recoil from Moriarty's touch.

"Can I finish this now, please?" Alex asked. "I've been waiting long enough. Allow me to kill him."

Molly tensed beside him. "And will you kill me too?" she managed to ask, even as her voice wavered.

"I'm afraid I don't care much what happens to you, Molly," Moriarty said with a wave of his hand. "But pet is eager to prove himself….finish the great detective. Only the best to add to his personal list. I imagine one day it will rival his mother's. But that's a psychopath for you. Proud of him, aren't you Sherlock? Your sweet little killer you raised."

Those words seemed to spill open boxes within his memory. Thousands of recollections of Alex as a child, playing and smiling. Excited by pirates and dinosaur books and so eager to curl into Sherlock's lap and enjoy simple attention.

But they were there too.

Alex's purposeful injuries to players in football. His interest in finding new ways to kill living things. His intense love of guns that had only seemed to escalate. The look in his eyes when someone made him angry. Had the sweetness only been a mask?

Moriarty had planned this. He always had. Sherlock's mind was on their first meeting all together. One you can even train to your liking. Yes, this had been the plan all along.

But had Sherlock truly done this? Truly brought up a child that would be the next Moriarty?

"Step aside, Molly," Sherlock murmured. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Her hand tightened in his. "If you think for one second that I'm going to let you go to your death without putting up a fight, then you're completely wrong," Molly whispered.

He looked at her, noting the tears that were spilling in spite of her clear resolution to hide them. She was staring at him, and he knew she was right. She would never back away from him. Not now.

"Step away," Alex said, raising his gun again. "He's right, Molly. This isn't about you."

There was something in his voice. Sherlock had begun to try to push Molly away, only to catch it. Years enough had given him some idea of nuances in his children's voices. And of course, while he knew he'd been unobservant for the past few years, he was paying attention now. Alex was finally getting what he should have all those years before. Someone who was really truly listening. And Sherlock heard what his words didn't say.

It took a few seconds. And then he could see it. Like the curtains had been opened. And there was no hiding anymore with what he knew.

"No," Sherlock said. "She won't step away. But I know you won't kill her, Alex."

He glanced away from Molly and back at his son, noting the flash that went through those normally tender blue eyes.

"That's it, isn't it?" he said. "Twelve is greater than one. I knew there was something about that. And you are right…twelve lives for the price of one isn't a bad deal."

Alex's throat bobbed once.

"I thought initially Sebastian was Shakespearian," Sherlock said. "A villain if I remember anything. But then I realized….Johann Sebastian. You picked your name with a reminder hidden in it…one to remind you of how much you love your brother…Molly…those you hold dear. And Moran…clever. Close to Morstan…just like your mother."

"But without the saint," Alex murmured. "Because I have realized I'm like my mother."

Sherlock shook his head. "Because you want to save her too, Alex. Because you know you cannot possibly allow twelve people to die when one bullet could save them."

The gun lowered again, blue eyes going wide.

"You knew. This whole time you knew?" Alex gasped. "How long?"

Sherlock sighed. "About a year after they disappeared. I was looking over the footage again…and the clues came together."

"You never told me," Alex whispered. "Why? Why did you never tell me?"

"I thought we'd have them home by now," Sherlock said softly, blinking a few times and hoping that the tears that were there would go away. "I thought by now they'd be safe…"

"Wait…" Molly's voice came from behind him. "Wait…are you saying…"

Sherlock glanced at her.

"I told you he had cards yet to play," he said. "I told you there were reasons I didn't kill him when he hurt our son."

He thought back to that night, the scar that still glinted on Johann's cheek. But he had known even then that without more time he couldn't possibly hope to learn where John and Mary were. They'd be lost forever.

Moriarty giggled from the side.

"While this chat has been adorable, I think the main point is that Alex knows that if he doesn't pull that trigger he'll never see his mummy and daddy again…isn't that right, kitten?"

Alex closed his eyes for a second before the gun raised again. When he looked at Sherlock again, there were indeed tears in his eyes.

"Don't you understand?" he whispered.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "They're your parents. You still love them and want them home. And Molly...and Johann. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. Your aunts and uncles. Surely they mean something to you. You're no psychopath, Alex. Not truly. You act to protect those you love."

Sherlock finally managed to pull Molly's hand from his, moving a step away from her.

"You are right, Alex. Twelve is more important than one," he said softly. "I was prepared to die for your father years ago. And I still am. For us…for our family…broken and lost as it is."

He raised his hands slightly. This was the right thing to do. He knew that, just as he'd known it before. Moriarty had cornered him.

"Do it," Sherlock whispered. "Use your good aim and end it for me."

He could hear Molly's voice, but whatever words she was saying he tuned out. He focused on the gun being raised; Alex's terrified eyes fixed on him. Sherlock steeled himself, waited. It would only be a few seconds before the bullet pierced him. He would die quickly, mercifully.

And then Alex lowered the gun.

"I can't," he whispered, hanging his head.

Moriarty's eyes were shining. He nodded to the henchman, who promptly raised his own weapon and pointed it at Molly.

"How about now?" Moriarty sneered. "Or is our kitten still a little too shy? I'll kill them all then you know…. If that's what you really want. Mummy and daddy's brains splattered across the walls. What a pretty picture that would make."

Alex still hadn't tried to put his weapon back up. He looked at Sherlock hesitantly, mind clearly working to put together a solution.

"I will always love you, Alex," Sherlock said. "No matter what you decide. I'm sorry I failed you…I'm sorry I failed all of you."

The tip of the gun seemed to move minimally upwards. Sherlock watched, knowing that neither choice was ideal.

His eyes closed. It was over now. Either way, his own death or the deaths of those he loved. He should have found something better. He should have been stronger…

Until he heard the sound of the door opening again.

Sherlock raised his head, just in time to see Johann sprinting through.

"Alex, don't!" Johann screamed. "No! They're safe! They're all safe!"

The older boy immediately let his weapon drop again, turning to stare at his brother.

"What?"

"They're safe," Johann panted. "Mary and John. Mycroft's team is extracting them now. Moriarty's men are dead. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Aunt Harry and everyone else…they're all being watched. It's fine. We're safe!"

"How on earth did you—" Sherlock began, before realizing that he had absolutely no time to discover the particulars. He'd interrogate Johann at a later time. So long as they lived through everything.

Moriarty's head tilted to the side. His dark eyes had fixated on Johann for a moment, but Molly soon had him pulled up against her, safely tucked away from the criminal's gaze. And then Moriarty's stare returned to Sherlock and he began a slow clap.

"Well played. Really. Quite well done," he said. "Except…there's one teensy tiny problem," he said, and then looked quizzically to the side as though he were thinking about it. "Oh, that's right…I have all four of you cornered here. All of you, ready to die."

He reached for the gun in the other man's hand. Sherlock pushed both Molly and Johann behind him as Moriarty leveled the gun at him.

"Well, you know what they say, Sherlock. If you want a job done right…you've just got to do it yourself. Tooteloo."

Sherlock braced himself, pushing Molly just a little further back as the gun pointed at his chest.

Everything became a blur. A gun went off. He heard Molly scream and then blood was spewing everywhere. He had no time to even begin to process before there was a second shot and then Alex crying out and then a third.

He managed to focus enough to see that there were now three bodies on the ground.

Moriarty had blood steadily pooling beneath his head, a bright red wound gaping in his forehead. The other man was likewise dead, though he appeared to have been shot in the chest with a smaller gun in his hand, one he'd clearly pulled out at the last second. But the real trouble came for Sherlock when he realized that it was Alex who had also crumpled, hand to his chest where his shirt was steadily turning a gruesome shade of crimson.

"Alex!" Johann yelled, pushing past Sherlock to move to his brother.

Sherlock was torn for a moment, between going to Alex to help him and seeing to Moriarty. After all, the last head wound had been faked…and though he wanted to trust Alex's aim, he had to be certain.

Seeing that Molly had moved over to help put pressure on the wound, he grabbed Alex's dropped weapon and went over to examine.

The wound left him with few doubts. But for good measure he moved the barrel of the gun down and centered on the place where his heart should lie. It took him a moment of hesitation before he finally pulled the trigger.

Feeling certain the criminal was dead, and not caring enough to examine the henchman, Sherlock quickly moved in to see how Alex was doing.

Wound to the shoulder that Molly was currently keeping good pressure on while she coached Alex on staying relaxed.

"We have to get him to a doctor," Molly said, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I can't do much for him here without the proper equipment."

"On it," Johann said, moving to grab his phone out of his pocket.

"Someday, you'll tell me how you managed to save them," Sherlock murmured to his son. "But for now, all I can say is thank you. I should have had more trust in you…in all of you," he said looking down at Alex.

The teenager gave a small smile, but he soon began to pale as the blood loss caught up with him.

"Alex," Molly whispered. "Stay with us."

Blue eyes seemed to lose focus. He blinked a few times, but gradually his eyes closed, and they didn't reopen.

"No," Sherlock said. "No…Alex…"

He couldn't breathe. The world seemed to be closing in on him. He hardly noticed there were other people entering the room. It wasn't until he was being pushed aside by an EMT that he realized.

Molly sobbed as Alex was loaded onto a gurney. Sherlock found himself pulling her into an embrace, even as he continued to watch in horror.

It's over, he kept thinking. But at what cost?

"They're taking him to A and E," Johann said. "But I've already been told they'll probably put him right into surgery. There's no point following. We won't be allowed in."

Sherlock squeezed Molly a little tighter. "We can still go wait to hear what happens. But I'm willing to do that if you two need some rest. Go home if need be."

Johann sighed and shook his head. "Dad, I've had two energy drinks. I can't possibly sleep. I'll come wait with you both, unless mum needs to go home."

Molly shook her head, a few tears trickling down her cheeks, but otherwise appearing to be in a relative state of calm.

He looked at Johann, moving to lay a hand on his shoulder too.

"We'll go wait together then," he said. "We should know in a few hours whether…"

He couldn't form the words. It was impossible for them to leave his mouth. He simply tightened his grip on the two of them.

"While I would love to wait…" Johann said hesitantly. "I do need to go make a few calls about John and Mary. I want to make sure their transport goes well. But I'll be back."

Sherlock surveyed him for a moment, marveling at how grown up he could seem given how young he really was. Would Johann ever be a normal child? He doubted it. Then again, he hadn't exactly been one either. But he had to hope there was still a chance. After everything they'd been through…he had to hold onto the belief that they could still make it work.

It was several hours before he and Molly were finally given the news. They had sat in the waiting room together, Molly's head on his shoulder while Sherlock did his best to read other occupants waiting, doing his best to use his observation skills even as his mind wandered.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He looked up to see a nurse with a clipboard. Though he could tell many things about her (that she was unmarried and had five cats), it was impossible to discern her expression.

"The doctor will see you now," she said.

Sherlock stood shakily, weaving his hand into Molly's before she could even ask. He pulled her along after him, wandering down the hallway until they came to a small room.

Sherlock's eyes fell to the bed, immediately coming to rest on Alex.

The teenager was resting, eyes closed, even as his chest rose and fell in steady motions, the heart monitor steadily beeping beside him. There were bandages on his shoulder, and he looked far too pale, but otherwise it was obvious that the operation had been successful.

"He should be fine," the doctor confirmed. "We removed the bullet and stitched him back up. He'll probably need some therapy afterwards to recover full use of his shoulder, but we have high hopes that everything should go back to normal. Please feel free to call me with any questions."

Sherlock nodded, only half listening. Most of his attention had focused on the metal cuff on Alex's right wrist, effectively keeping him tethered to the hospital bed.

"Thank you," Molly said, nudging Sherlock to get him to mutter the same, even though he felt there were more important things that needed to be done.

"He should come to any time now," the doctor advised. She gave a small smile. "I'll be just down the hall checking on another patient."

She disappeared out the door, leaving them a moment alone.

"Oh Alex," Molly whispered weakly, moving to his side to stroke a hand along his face. "How could we have missed this, Sherlock?"

He sighed, bringing a hand to his temple to rub there in hopes of finding an answer. There had been signs. Constant signs. And both of them had ignored it. Or chalked it up to stress or other factors. But they had been wrong.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "But there's nothing we can do about it now."

Molly's eyes closed and she nodded.

Sherlock put his own hand on Alex's, watching for any kind of a response. When there was none he took a seat, keeping his hand on his son's. Molly sat beside him, head coming to rest on her shoulder.

They weren't sitting long before the door opened again. Sherlock looked up, expecting the doctor or a nurse, but instead discovering his brother. He huffed and sank back in his seat.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Mycroft gave a wry smile. "Oh don't pretend you don't need me right now. You clearly do, brother. Do you know what the penalty for these assassinations would be?"

Sherlock frowned but remained silent.

"Please tell me you'll do something," Molly whispered. "Please. We can't lose him. He has so much more life to live. It was Moriarty's fault. He brainwashed him…made him think that he had to kill people to save us."

"He was probably tortured," Sherlock agreed, thinking back to the marks on Alex's wrist that had so casually been dismissed as kinky sex. Of course, he should have seen the signs then. What a fool he'd been.

"If we give him the excuse of being tortured, we give every Moriarty follower and supporter the same," Mycroft pointed out with a sigh. "I promise you, Sherlock, that I will do what I can. But it is very unlikely I can actually make a difference at this point. He made his choices. And he will face consequences, I guarantee that."

Sherlock swallowed and sat back, though he didn't let his hand slip from his son's. He wasn't going to leave the boy alone. Especially now. He'd been alone for far too long.

"Moriarty's body?"

"Checked over by several doctors. He's dead. And we will have the body cremated," Mycroft said. "He'll be gone for good this time."

"And John and Mary?"

"They will be here late tomorrow. We put them on the first available flight," Mycroft said.

"And did you know where they were?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft sighed. "All Johann would tell me was that he was looking for someone important to the Moriarty network. And just today he finally informed me whom we were extracting. I must say, that boy of yours is going to do brilliant things. I'm beginning to think he might even be smarter than me."

Sherlock was unable to keep from smirking at the thought.

"Until he returns, I'll leave you to settle your affairs," Mycroft said. "I don't know that there's much left for you to do though. I think Lestrade and I have things mostly under control. For the moment, I think it would probably be best if you and Molly both remained here with your son."

Sherlock nodded. "Until John arrives."

"Of course," Mycroft said with a roll of his eyes. "I know you wouldn't miss that. Now, do see to Alexander. I'll be back in a bit when more things are cleared up."

He stepped back to the door, leaving Sherlock alone to his thoughts again. He let his hand drift up to Alex's uninjured shoulder, squeezing lightly. He heard Molly sigh, eyes closing again, leaning her head in one hand.

"Sleep," he told her. "I'll tell you if Alex wakes."

Molly gave a slight nod before her head drooped some more. Within a minute her chest was rising and falling in a steady gentle rhythm, her face smoothed over in the expression of sleep. Sherlock nodded her way before settling into his post beside their son.

"I'll be here when you wake," he whispered.

His eyes were open.

It took Sherlock a moment to see it. To really see it. To understand that it was happening.

Blue eyes were swiveling around the room, blond eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.

"What happened?" he whispered.

Sherlock sat up straighter and nudged Molly.

"You're in the hospital," Sherlock said. "You were shot in the process of killing Moriarty, taking a bullet to the shoulder that required you to be entered here for its removal and your care."

"How are you feeling?" Molly whispered, stretching some before turning a concerned look at Alex.

The boy grimaced. "Not so good. But it's all right. Sort of."

He tried to lift his hand, only to frown at the cuff on it.

"Ah."

"Yes," Sherlock commented. "You've been detained. I believe after you've recovered enough you will be taken in for questioning and formally arrested for the…well…you understand I'm sure."

Alex closed his eyes again and nodded.

"Yes. I do. And for now?"

"For now rest," Molly whispered, moving up to smooth the hair out of his eyes. "Is there anything we can get for you?"

Alex sighed, shaking his head.

"We'll solve this," Sherlock murmured.

There was a pause before Alex opened his eyes again. He frowned.

"Why are you even here? Don't you understand? I betrayed you. You shouldn't be here with me. You should be taking care of Johann…making sure everything else is all right. I'll be just fine."

Sherlock leaned in, making eye contact and holding it.

"Alex," he said. "You're my son. And maybe you don't realize what that means…but for me it means I'm not abandoning you. It means that I love you and I will stick by you no matter what."

"We understand," Molly added. "You were in a tough spot with everything that was going on. And I know how persuasive and confusing Jim can be when he sets his mind to it. Neither of us is saying you did the right thing. We both know that killing is wrong and that Moriarty is evil…but we still love you. We will always love you. Nothing can ever change that."

A tear rolled down one of Alex's cheeks.

"I didn't know what to do," he whispered.

"You were put in a difficult position," Sherlock said, reaching down to squeeze Alex's hand again. This time Alex squeezed back. "We know that. But no matter what happens we're still a family."

Alex let out a choked sob and Sherlock was incapable of restraining himself. He quickly moved from his chair reaching to pull Alex to him in a loose hug, doing his best to avoid the injured shoulder.

"I killed people," Alex bit out.

"Yes, I know," Sherlock responded. "But so have I. So has John…and Mary." He glanced at Molly curiously. He'd never thought her to be the type, but he wasn't sure.

"I've wanted to," Molly confessed. "It's come close. If you hadn't killed Moriarty I certainly would have. You're not alone, Alex. All of us make bad choices. You're going to work through this. If your father and I can, we'll…we'll get you therapy again. I'm sure Mary will have plenty to say to you when she gets home too. She'll have advice."

"Will they be able to look at me?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Your father is the most caring man I've ever met. And your mother has no right to judge your sins when you know hers. We all have a past, Alex. We all have mistakes we've made that haunt us…"

Alex closed his eyes again, breathing steadying some, though Sherlock could still make out a few fresh tears on his face.

Sherlock was surprised when Alex struggled to sit up more, but he quickly figured it out, wrapping his arms more tightly around the boy, thinking back to days when he'd done this to sooth the boy from nightmares or irrational fears. But now this was real. And he couldn't just say "there there" and be done with it.

"No matter what happens," Sherlock whispered, feeling Molly's hand on his back as she did her best to join the hug. "I'll always be here for you."

I'm going to just go ahead and address what I've been criticized in the past for; if you found this unbelievable…sorry just go read something else. I don't want to hear about it. I'm done writing and can't go back and change it. I feel like with a show that has had multiple characters fake their deaths…well this wouldn't be all that out of the question. Anyhow, hope you enjoyed this!

Also want to make it clear I'm not excusing Alex for what he's done. Killing people is wrong. And he did make a choice. I'll leave it up to you to decide what you think of him in the end.

Also, I do have plans for a oneshot from Alex's point of view of what happened in France (or well some of it at least), and I would like to do something with Johann's crazy planning. If those are things you're interested in reading let me know and they might get put on the list.

Reviews are seriously helpful!