Uncle Sherlock was plucking his violin in agitation, his leg bouncing and a scowl on his face as his glared burned a hole into the woman sitting opposite him.

In Dad's old chair, Aunt Molly was curled up, drinking her tea and flipping through an old science book, absolutely content.

From her place on the couch, Rosie analyzed the situation, a plan forming in her mind.

Aunt Molly had been bustling about all week, cleaning and humming and generally content to look after the Consulting Detective in Mrs Hudson's absence while the landlady was off to some foreign land with her latest beau.

Uncle Sherlock was in a strop, staring at her constantly and only looked away when she caught him looking. He had declared on multiple occasions that he did not want to be looked after like some errant child.

And if Baker Street was more of a disaster than usual… well, who was Rosie to assume that is was purposeful?

She shook her head.

Her godparents were such idiots, sometimes.

oOo

Rosie followed her aunt into the kitchen. 'You have to get him out of here, he's going to shoot the wall again! Take him out on a case or something! Isn't there a cooler of body parts at Bart's you could lock him in?'

'As if that silly lock could hold him,' Molly laughed and set the dirty tea cups in the sink. 'Just wait, he will get a good case, a Nine or a Ten, any day now and be running about London working off all that energy.'

Rosie inwardly groaned as her aunt began to gather the rest of the dirty dishes from around the kitchen and filled the sink with soapy water.

Well, if Aunt Molly wouldn't listen, she would have to work on Uncle Sherlock.

oOo

'Uncle Sherlock?'

He grunted but didn't look away from glaring at Molly, who was happily bleaching the kitchen counters.

'I think Aunt Molly needs to get out for a bit.'

His fingers tightened around the neck of his violin. 'Why?'

Rosie sat down on the arm of his chair and crossed her arms. 'Because eventually she will clean out every inch of this place, and that includes your experiments in the vegetable crisper.'

A flash of panic crossed her uncle's face.

'Take her for a walk; fresh air might do her some good, she has been breathing in way too much cleaning product. And get something to eat, the only edible things in this flat are classified under cannibalism.'

Well, that made Sherlock jump into action.

'Molly!' Sherlock leapt to his feet.

Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Molly looked up. 'What?'

He hesitated momentarily, so Rosie gave him an encouraging shove. He stumbled forward and sent her a glare over his shoulder.

'Would you like to…'

'…solve a case?'

'…have dinner?' Sherlock blinked when they both spoke at the same time.

Molly straightened up. A blush rose on her cheeks. 'Oh.'

With another less than gentle shove from Rosie, Sherlock stepped into the kitchen. 'How does Angelo's sound?'

'It sounds wonderful, but I'm not really hungry.'

Rosie grimaced and dropped her head into her hand. Oh, for the love of God, Aunt Molly! He is finally asking you out and you say you're not hungry!

Sherlock cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. 'I see.'

But then a smile spread across Molly's face. 'I think I can work up an appetite on a case, though.'

Instantly, Sherlock's face lit up. As he spun around, Rosie picked up his mobile and tossed it to him.

She winked at him when he caught it. A fond smile creased his face.

Molly quickly peeled off her protective gloves and hurried to put her coat on. 'So, what case are we going to take?'

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and tossed her the phone. 'Whichever one you want.'

'Really?' Molly asked excitedly. Before he could even answer, she had unlocked his phone and was scrolling through his emails. Rosie beamed proudly as the two of them made their way out the door, Sherlock's hand on Molly's back.

'Oh, Sherlock, let's take this one!'

Sherlock's incredulous bellow echoed up the stairs. 'A missing cat?! Molly Hooper, we are not taking this ridiculous case!'

'You said it was my choice, now put on your gloves and scarf, it's cold outside,' came Molly's stern reply.

'But Molly!'

The sound of the door closing behind them cut off their good-natured bickering. Rosie grinned smugly to herself and sauntered downstairs to 221C.

Her dad was snoozing on the couch and she dropped down beside him. He woke with a start and looked at her blearily.

'Hey. Have they killed each other already?'

Rosie just laughed and tucked herself against his side.

It was only a matter of time now.

oOo

Who would have expected that a simple case of a runaway cat would lead Sherlock and Molly into a nest of smugglers, resulting in a grand chase across London, finding the kidnapped son of a foreign leader, and an unexpected proposal in the back of a police car with Sherlock in handcuffs?

Well, since when did anyone in their family do anything even remotely normal? Rosie smirked as she took a generous bite of rich wedding cake and proudly watched her godparents waltz around the room.