A/N: I have been trying to post this chapter for days but the site wouldn't let me. Anyway, I hope this longish chapter makes up for my absence. Love you all! Btw... this chapter is sad- minor character death.

It always seemed that Gabriel was in trouble with his father these days. He didn't exactly mean to be. He didn't set out to get on his nerves or break the rules, but recently he and Sherlock hadn't seen eye to eye on much of anything. Gabriel thought his parents needed to treat him like an adult, but they couldn't seem to grasp it. They were always nagging him to clean his room or cut his hair or help Scarlett with her reading. Their constant surveillance of he and Katie was downright annoying. Wasn't it enough that he had promised they weren't going to have sex or anything? He still wasn't exactly sure what that meant. Sure, he pretended. Archie, who was fourteen and very schooled in what sex was, was always telling Gabriel about various things his girlfriend had allowed to happen between them. Gabe wasn't sure he believed half the stories, but he tried to play along. At any rate, his recent education of Will's vocabulary had landed him in trouble once more. So here he sat in the uncomfortable armchair in his father's study, waiting to be destroyed. Again.

As soon as Sherlock put the mobile down, Gabriel was offering explanations. "Dad… I didn't mean to. I didn't even know he could hear me!"

"Gabriel, just calm down. It's highly likely that you had nothing to do with Will's colorful first word. He hears it at least ten times every day from me."

"But I thought Mary banished me up here so you could destroy me for yet again having bad language."

"She did."

"But you aren't mad?"

"Mad would imply—"

"Insanity. You aren't angry then?"

"No."

"Oh," Gabriel sighed, the relief evident in his body language.

"I did want to show you something."

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, still unsure about the nature of their conversation. Did his father have some incriminating photos of him or something?

Sherlock motioned for him to come over. Gabriel obeyed and as he came closer to his father, he could tell that something was wrong. Sherlock's jaw was tight and his cheekbones stood out in harsh shadows in the dim light of the room. He didn't look angry. It was a stoic sadness. It was the same face he'd been wearing the night after Gabriel had seen the Mother Superior and told Greg about all the things that had happened at St. Christopher's. He was sad for Gabriel. "I need to tell you…"

"What, Dad?"

Sherlock reached out and grabbed his son's wrist and pulled him around the desk. "I'm not really sure… I mean, you aren't a child anymore, Gabe. And I've never been particularly good about delivering bad news to adults."

"What is it, Dad? You aren't making any sense at all."

Sherlock smiled and stood up, nudging Gabriel to sit down in his chair. "I know I'm not."

"Well just spit it out. I'm a big boy." Suddenly, Gabriel had visions that he was about to be told that he was being sent to boarding school. And as much as he complained that he wanted to be treated like an adult and granted more independence, Gabriel did not want to be away from his family. At all. For any length of time. He was too attached to his parents, his baby sister and brothers—his life at Baker Street. To be sent away had always been his biggest fear. Well, the answer was simple: he'd just refuse to go. "I'm not going!" he blurted.

Sherlock's mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not going to boarding school! I don't care what you say or do to me, I'm not going! Mum won't let me go either!"

"Gabriel…" Sherlock sighed. "That isn't what I was going to say. I'm not putting you in boarding school. I'd miss you too much. And who would convince Scarlett to eat her broccoli if you weren't here?"

"Oh. Then what is it?"

Sherlock nodded and knelt down so that he was on level with Gabriel. He took a deep breath and suddenly Gabriel felt a twinge of panic. Whatever his father wanted to tell him was not good. "Gabe… your uncle sent me a note this morning. He was reading the paper and… uhm…" He was stammering. His father never stammered. "He happened upon… well…" He reached out and put a comforting hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Gabriel, I'm afraid Mr. Rhys has passed away."

"What do you mean?"

"He died, Son." Sherlock reached beside him and turned the laptop where Gabriel could see it. Splashed across the front was an obituary for Mr. Rhys. The photograph showed the old man smiling and Gabriel felt his heart flutter. For a moment he was afraid that it was going to cease altogether. A heavy pressure settled in his chest and the skin on his scalp felt tight and tingly. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before and he sat back in the chair, holding his hand to his chest. For a moment he was certain he was going to throw up. "Gabriel? Are you all right?" He heard his father speaking, but he didn't respond right away. As if his brain were still processing what he'd been told. "Gabriel?"

"Uhm… yeah. I guess." He tried to speak but found that his tongue stumbled. He put a hand to his mouth, once more afraid that he was going to be violently ill.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I'm not stupid!" he snapped.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I know you aren't."

"So… he's… what happened?"

"According to the manager at the inn, he had a massive stroke while he was doing some repair to the stables. They found him there after he didn't bring his equipment back to the main house. The doctor says he was probably on the ladder when it happened and was dead before he hit the ground." Sherlock paused, watching to gauge Gabriel's reaction to what he was being told. "He didn't feel anything, Gabriel."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't… you know, suffer. It was like going to sleep."

"But… why?"

"He was very old, Gabe. The paper said he was nearly eighty years old. Pretty amazing that he was still working, actually."

Gabriel nodded. "Can I go now?" he asked, jerking his hand away from his father's.

"Well… I suppose so," Sherlock said. He seemed confused, but Gabriel didn't want to talk just now. He just had this overwhelming urge to run away. From his father, from the house… away from everything. As if he might run back in time before Will said "shit" and before his father had given him this news that made him feel so awful. It was deeper than the normal, trivial sadness he was used to.

Gabriel stood up wordlessly and walked toward the door, his fists clenched at his sides. "Gabe, it says the funeral is tomorrow afternoon in Halifax. Do you want to go?"

"No!" Gabriel shouted. "I never want to go there again! Or see that horrible old man ever!" With a rush of rage he kicked the floor lamp so hard it fell over and the bulb shattered all over the hardwood floor. The anger was so sudden and so violent that it scared Gabriel a little, but he didn't care. He just wanted to vent this unfamiliar emotion. He wanted it to leak out and dissipate like steam trapped in a pot of boiling water. He kicked the wall once more just as his father closed the distance between them and pulled him into an embrace. Gabriel fought him at first, shouting a muffled "let me go!" into Sherlock's shoulder and then giving up. His shouts turned to hoarse sobs as his father held on to him tightly. He felt so stupid, crying there on his father like a baby, but it was all he could do. "I… don't… want to… cry…" Gabriel stuttered as Sherlock led him over to the windowseat. "Crying… is for… babies…"

"If only that were true," Sherlock replied. "Sometimes we can't help it."

"You… never… do…"

"Just because you've never seen me doesn't mean I haven't."

They sat there for ages. Until Gabriel's sobbing had ebbed to silent shudders and the light outside had grown dim. He felt completely exhausted as he lay against Sherlock's shoulder. Finally Gabriel spoke. His voice was croaky and cracked more than usual. "I don't want to go, Dad."

"You don't have to. But it might make you feel better to say goodbye."

"I don't care," he sniffled. "I don't think I can do it."

"Gabriel, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not scared!" Gabriel snapped. "I just don't want to!" This time he did bolt from the room, nearly bowling over Scarlett who was walking up the stairs. He heard her cry out as she fell down, hitting her knee on the step, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be away. He didn't stop as he ran out the front door and down Baker Street.

When Molly returned from work, Will and Finn were wailing at ear-splitting volumes. Jada and Isabel were making funny faces, trying to calm them as Mary bounced them gently on each knee. "What is the matter?" she asked, hanging up her coat.

"Oh we've descended into one of the circles of Hell just in the last hour," Mary grumbled. "It all started when Will said his first word."

Molly's face lit up and she lifted the aforementioned toddler into the air. "Oh Will! You clever thing, you!" she squealed.

"Don't get too excited. His first word was 'shit.'"

"Will!"

As if in response to his mother's horror, Will crowed, "Shit!"

"No no no," Molly scolded, shaking her head at her child. "You mustn't say that word!"

"Shit!" he and Finn replied in unison.

"Aren't they lovely?" Mary said. "Care to guess who they learned it from?"

"Probably their father," Molly sighed.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Isabel began, twirling the end of her blonde ponytail around the end of her finger. "It's just a word."

"Not a very nice one," Mary explained. "Anyway, no. He was copying Gabriel."

"Who copies everything Sherlock says," Molly sighed. "Where is he now?" Will grabbed a handful of his mother's hair and tugged, letting out another sad cry.

"Well that's just it," Mary began. "I sent him up to Sherlock and an hour later he came racing down the stairs, knocking Scarlett over and bolting out the front door! I have no idea where he is! Scarlett started crying because she skinned her knee on the stairs and these two started crying because Scarlett was crying and now I just want to get in a cab and go home before I start crying!"

Molly offered a sympathetic smile and handed Will off to Jada who was already reaching for him. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I'll take care of this lot. The girls will play with Will and Finn for a while so I can sort out Miss Scarlett and then we'll all have a cup of tea and wait for John to get here so we can have dinner."

"What about Gabriel?" Jada asked, squeezing Will gently.

"Did Sherlock go after him?" Molly said, kissing Finn's fingers as he grabbed at her.

"No, he's upstairs cleaning up Scarlett's knee. He's been acting weird all day too. Up in that study not speaking or moving around. He usually at least comes down to collect tea or growl at the children for being too loud. John was supposed to go with him someplace this afternoon, but then he ended up having to work over, so I had expected that Sherlock would be peevish but something strange is going on."

Molly gave Finn one more noisy kiss before going upstairs. As she climbed toward the second floor, she could already hear Scarlett's whimpering followed by Sherlock's quiet rumble. She rounded the corner and found them both in the children's bathroom, Scarlett sitting on the countertop as Sherlock painted her knee with betadine. "I don't like the stingy stuff, Daddy," she whined.

"It doesn't sting, Scarlett," Sherlock sighed. "Just sit still."

"But it hurrrttss!" Then she looked up and saw Molly which caused her to weep openly once more. "Mummy…"

"What happened, Precious?" Molly cooed, sliding an arm around her daughter and brushing the stringy hair away from her face.

"Gabriel pushed me down!"

"It was an accident," Sherlock explained. "He was running down the stairs and ran into her. She fell and hit her knee on the step. A scrape and a bruise. She'll be fine. I wouldn't even be putting betadine on it if Cat hadn't been sleeping on the stairs all morning."

"Well why was Gabriel running? Mary said he got into trouble for teaching Will to say shit." Before Scarlett could form the words, Molly raised her eyebrow menacingly. "Do not say that word."

"We'll talk about it later," he replied, blowing on Scarlett's knee once more before covering it with a large plaster. "There. I think you're going to survive."

"You didn't kiss it, Daddy," she sniffled, tugging on her hearing aid.

Sherlock grabbed the little girl and kissed her cheeks over and over until she was giggling madly. "There. I'll kiss you instead," he said, setting her on her feet. "Kiss your mum."

Scarlett giggled again and threw her tiny arms around Molly's waist, kissing her belly. "Can we have chicken nuggets for dinner?"

"Maybe." Sherlock groaned behind her. Childish finger foods were not on the top of his list of acceptable fare. To be fair, it was a short list. "Why don't you go downstairs and help Izzy and Jada watch the twins?"

"Okay, Mummy," Scarlett replied, having forgotten all about the trauma of a skinned knee. She bounced from the room and when she reached the bottom of the stairs, her parents could hear her showing off her war wounds to the others.

Molly stood silently watching Sherlock clean up the bits and bobs from the first aid kit. "So. Are you going to tell me what's going on with Gabriel? Do you plan to go looking for him or have we lost him to the streets?"

"Gabriel just needs to be alone for a bit. Just leave him be."

"You sure he'll be all right?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he sighed. "He didn't go any further than the park. Or Katie Adams's flat."

"Is he angry for some reason? I mean, Mary told me about our youngest children's choice of first words."

Sherlock put the first aid kit back on the top shelf of the cabinet and started out of the room. "I'm not sure that was all Gabe's fault," he said. "Anyway, that's not the reason he ran off."

Molly followed him into the study, observing as he flitted around the room as if unable to find a place to land. He was nervous and almost shaky. "So what's going on? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

Sherlock turned his laptop so that she could see the obituary. "Mr. Rhys passed away."

"Oh no," Molly sighed, sinking into a chair. "I was afraid that might happen. When he was in London last summer he didn't look well."

"Gabriel is not taking the news well at all. And I'm not really sure how to help. I'm really not very good at this sort of thing. Not to mention he's a brooding teenager now and almost rejects my attempts."

"He's not rejecting your attempts."

"He shrugged me off and ran out the front door. It's not like when he was a little boy and he was upset. No longer is he soothed by cuddles and a bowl of baked apples. The scary part is, he looked not just sad, but angry and confused. Like he wasn't sure what I was telling him. And then when I asked if he wanted to attend the funeral, he seemed to panic. That's when he ran away."

Molly edged around the desk and sat down in Sherlock's lap. "He's never dealt with death before. It's a pretty scary thing for a kid. He's lucky, though. Most kids get it a lot sooner."

"So what do you think I should do?"

"Oooh… the great Sherlock Holmes is asking me for advice. I'll have to put that down in my little book where I keep up with strange and unusual occurrences."

"Funny."

Molly smiled. "I know. Anyway, I suggest that you just let him work it out. Leave him alone for a little while. Which you were genius enough to work out on your own." She giggled at his sour expression and kissed the end of his nose. "In the meantime, it's your turn to bathe Will and Finn."