For Pulchratibi.

A very late birthday fic for my dear, dear Hilary. Love you!

Many, many, many thanks to benedicted-cumberbatched for all of her help!

Hope you enjoy!

Molly Holmes lifted her feet off of the coffee table, glancing down at her son, who was currently crawling around on all fours. Having watched a nature program with his father, five year old Oliver Holmes now thought that he was a cheetah and his parents were his prey. She fought back a chuckle when the boy let out a soft "ouch" after he hit his head on the edge of the table.

"What are you stalking, son?"

"Papa," came the distracted response.

Molly flipped the page of the magazine she was reading and curled her feet under her. "You do know that Papa isn't home, right."

"I know, but he will be soon." Oliver crawled under the coffee table and laid down on his stomach.

"Mummy?"

"Hmm?"

"When's Papa gonna be home?"

"When he finishes his case"

"When is he gonna finish his case?"

"When he puts all the clues together and finds the bad guy."

Oliver crawled out from under the table and stood in front of his mother. "Is he almost done?"

She dog-eared the page she was reading and set the magazine down beside her. Her arms opened and Oliver took the comfort she was offering. He never liked it when Sherlock was gone too long and he had been gone a full day.

Molly smoothed back his hair as he nestled beside her. "I'm sure he is. Though he might be wary of coming home with a cheetah waiting for him."

The sound of her ringing phone caught them both off guard. She reached forward and picked it up off of the table. "Oh look, it's Papa," she said. Oliver waited, not saying a word knowing how much his mother disliked being interrupted while on the phone. After she set it down, he crawled up in her lap.

"I'm sorry baby, Papa's not going to be able to make it back tonight, but he told me to tell you that he promises to be back tomorrow. The bad guy is being particularly nasty this time."

"Oh."

The defeated sound in her son's voice nearly broke her heart, but there was nothing she could do.

Hours later, Molly found herself in a fort made from sheets and couch cushions. Protection from the rain, according to Oliver. He had ceased to be a cheetah, and was now a nature observer in the Amazon, his mother was his trusty assistant. However, the observer in question had long since fallen asleep. Not that Molly was complaining. Oliver had been restless ever since she told him Sherlock wouldn't be home tonight. It was all she could do to convince him to build the fort. It was something she used to do with her father when she was upset. It seemed to help her son as well.

She looked around their 'camp' and was amazed by the five year old's sense of structure. There was a main camp, three rooms, and there was even a bathroom! Her eyes finally fell on the boy and she smiled to herself. Moving him was out of the question, he would wake up as soon as she tried to pick him up, she didn't have the silent touch that Sherlock did. Instead, she grabbed a pillow that wasn't being used, curled up and fell asleep.

It was quiet upstairs. Too quiet for a Saturday morning Sherlock thought as he climbed the steps to his flat. He didn't quite know what he was expecting when he opened the door, but it wasn't his living room covered in sheets. He took a wary step in and listened for any signs of life and let out the breath he didn't know he was holding when he heard the soft snoring of his wife. He found her and their son sound asleep in the center of the fort they had built. Casting a forlorn look at the couch, he shucked off his coat and jacket and crawled underneath the shelter to join his family.

Oliver woke up very confused. He was on the floor and there were pots everywhere. Sitting up, he looked around and saw his parents, Billy the skull on a pillow wearing his father's deerstalker, and and a wooden spoon wrapped in a dish towel. He rubbed his eyes and tried to figure out what was different this morning. Oliver knew that the fort was different, that was fairly obvious. It was right in front of him, he knew it. What was it?

"Papa!" He crawled and pounced on his father, hugging him as tight as he could.

Shocked awake, all Sherlock could do was hold on to his little boy and try to quiet him.

"Shh, let's not wake Mummy." Sherlock began to try to pry Oliver off of him, but there was no moving the child. Instead, he managed to crawl out of the fort with Oliver hanging off of him like a sloth. They managed to find their way to the couch, seeing as Sherlock's chair was currently being used to hold up the fort's master bedroom. Sherlock stretched out, Oliver nestled close to his side.

"Now then, tell me what you and Mummy did last night that required a fort," Sherlock said, looking down at his son.

"We were on a safari," Oliver mumbled.

"And what were you hunting?"

'You."

"Why would you be on a safari if you were hunting me," Sherlock chuckled.

"You were a cheetah."

"I see."

"Papa, I don't like it when you don't come home."

"I know, son, I know. I don't like it when I can't make it home either, but sometimes I just can't help it. I tried really hard though."

"Papa?" Oliver asked, crawling on top of his father's chest.

"Yes?"

"Will you play safari with me?"

"Oh course!" Sherlock said, sitting up. "Shall we ask Mummy to join us or shall we hunt her"

Oliver climbed onto Sherlock's back and whispered loudly, "hunt."

"And our plan of attack?" Sherlock asked looking over his shoulder.

"Tickle monster," Oliver replied in his best doomsday voice.

Minutes later, the pair of them were crawling up beside the sleeping Molly. Sherlock looked across his wife at his son, who sniggered behind his hand.

"Shhh...on three," Sherlock whispered to Oliver.

He held up three fingers and slowly put them down one at a time. They both readied their hands and inched towards Molly.

"If either one of you so much as touch me, you will be severely punished," Molly grouched from under the covers.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," Sherlock smirked, ignoring his son's curious glance.

"Oh trust me, it will be." She turned around and opened her arms toward her son. He crawled into them and cuddled close to his mother.

Sherlock yawned a jaw splitting yawn and stretched as far as he could, which wasn't far considering his head was an inch away from the top of the fort. He did a double take and his family. The pair of them were staring at him like he was their prey.

"Don't you even-" Oliver pounced on him and started tickling him as best he could, which was more like clawing really. In the meantime, Molly slowly inched her finger up Sherlock's leg eventually finding his secret spot behind his knee. He squealed and jerked back, hauling Oliver toward him in the process.

"No fair," he growled at Molly.

"What's the old saying," she smiled at her husband, "'all's fair in love and war', my dear."