I can't apologize enough for taking so long to finish this story. I can't even blame real life this time, it was something totally different. Once I got most of the story posted my original ending just didn't fit. It took me a while to finally decide what I wanted to do, and here we have it.

Thank you all for making this story so successful and making me feel so appreciated (and for being so patient). I want to thank MizJoely for her constant support and friendship. She beta'd this whole thing and made it so much better. Also big thanks to MrsMCrieff for all her Brit help, without her I'm just an ignorant girl from Ohio who knows nothing about British toilets.

Warnings: Mentions of childhood trauma and more about Redbeard's death (nothing graphic).

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

This is a refresher from chapter 14:

Sherlock gave him a petulant glare that reminded him all too much of a much younger version of the man. It made his chest ache. No one could cause Mycroft Holmes to lose control of his emotions like his baby brother. It didn't happen often, but after the experiences of the day, he allowed it. Finally Sherlock drew a deep breath and brought his hands up to his mouth in his thinking pose. Mycroft leaned back and relaxed just bit. He knew that if Sherlock could calm him down and fix his mind on a single task it would help to bring him some peace and they could move on to the real matter at hand.

"He knew we'd use Barts. He brought the bomb in bit by bit."

"Good. And the gun? The knife?"

"Service entrances aren't guarded. He disguised himself. Then brought them in and hid them. Like I said, he knew us too well." When he opened his eyes they were red, blood-shot.

"We made a mistake. We should have chosen another hospital." Mycroft leaned on his elbows. "She's safe now."

"And next time?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "There are few guarantees in this life, brother mine. You cannot assure her safety at all times. But she loves you, for that you can be sure."

"When did you start caring?"

Mycroft smiled as he held back tears, but just barely. "The day you were born," he said, once again allowing himself this one moment.

Sherlock cleared his throat, then took a drink of his tea. "Fine," he said. "You win. But we do this my way and as much as it pains me, I'll need your help."

"Of course," Mycroft said with a deep sigh.

Chapter 15

Mycroft and Sherlock stood outside their childhood home enjoying a much needed reprieve and a couple of cigarettes.

The older Holmes turned to his younger brother and said, "So, 221B Baker Street is now the second safest private residence in England."

Sherlock's expression didn't change, he just took another long drag.

"The room has been... prepared."

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is pleased," the younger man finally replied.

"She wasn't pleased with the noise," Mycroft commented, remembering the tongue-lashing he'd received from the woman.

Sherlock chuckled.

"She seems to have acquired a cat, by the way."

"That's Toby, Molly's cat. He abandoned her about a week into their stay. I'm certain Mrs. Hudson is sharing her herbal soothers with him. I can think of no other reason why he so easily shifted his affection," he said with a smirk.

Suddenly the front door opened and Molly stepped out. Both men instinctively hid their fags behind their backs.

"I know what you two are doing and I'm not any happier about it than your mother would be. Come wash your hands; no one wants to smell that. And Sherlock, if you want a kiss anytime soon, brush your teeth." She looked at Mycroft and winked. "You too, Myke."

Mycroft tossed his butt to the ground. "Your girlfriend is insufferable. No wonder the cat left her."

When lunch was finished Sherlock asked Molly to take a walk with him. Gathering up a large blanket that was laying on a bench in the hall, he grabbed her hand and led her out of the house. She couldn't help but smile. It was their last night in Surrey and she had a feeling they were going to do a little heavy petting in the forest. Maybe I can get him to play Big Bad Wolf, she thought with a private giggle. He took her deep into the woods that surrounded his parents' property. They walked for nearly forty minutes in the late winter afternoon.

"Sherlock, are you taking me somewhere specific?" Molly asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

"Of course I am, Molly, I do nothing without a purpose."

"Care to share?"

"We'll be there soon," he replied, hugging her closer as they continued on at a leisurely pace.

Ten minutes later they were at the mouth of a small, nearly hidden cave. "We're still on my parents property. I had to take you the long way, since I didn't think you would appreciate all the climbing involved in the short-cut. Especially in that skirt."

He moved off to the side maybe fifteen feet away and started clearing away brush. Finally Molly saw it, a small stone with the letter R carved into it.

"We buried him here. Redbeard." He spoke the name reverently.

Even though he didn't say who helped him she assumed he was talking about his father. It seemed like something Si would do. After a few minutes Sherlock sat down on a large flat rock and got an odd look in his eyes.

"You know how kids... well, probably boys more than girls... they wrestle? Play fight?" He wasn't looking at her his eyes were focused off in the distance. "Ford was so much older than me, so much bigger. Sometimes he'd start wrestling with me, saying that it was his job to toughen me up. 'That's what big brothers are for,' he'd say. Of course it was just an excuse to beat me up. There was this one time, I was just a little thing, and Ford kept pushing me down, picking me back up and knocking me down again. Over and over, he just kept doing it. Later, when I was older, I realised that it was very calculated. He could argue that I fell down if Mummy saw the marks or I ever told… which I never did. It was a good plan, if you think about it."

He paused; she could tell it was this was a difficult memory to share. Her heart was aching for him.

"Mycroft found us. I was crying, of course, and muddy. He pulled Ford away from me and threw him to the ground."

He finally looked at her. God, he looked like a lost little boy.

"I thought Mycroft was gonna kill him, Molly," he whispered then diverted his eyes once again. "He just kept punching. I tried to stop him, but it was useless. Finally dad came running up and pulled him off. He was furious. I'd never seen Myke in trouble before, and it was my fault. He was defending me." His breath had become ragged. "I watched my dad give him hell for several minutes, then I looked at Ford." There was a short pause then he said, "He was smiling. He had blood in his mouth and smeared across his face but he just smiled. It wasn't the smile of a brother pleased that his older sibling was getting his arse torn apart. There was something sickening about it. One word appeared in my mind at that moment..." Sherlock's eyes met hers she and it chilled her to the bone. "...evil. I always think of it as my first deduction."

Standing up, he walked back to the cave. Molly followed. He turned to face her once he got to the entrance.

"So I ran. I ran into the woods and didn't stop until I found this cave. Sherrinford never found it. When I needed to get away, I'd come here." He looked down and kicked a piece of bark with his designer shoes. "I just wanted to share it with you. I'm… not sure why."

Molly put one hand on his chest and the other against his cheek. "I'm glad you did. Are you okay? Do you need a moment alone?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "There's something else I want to show you." Taking her hand he said, "This way."

Soon they were at a clearing with just a smattering of trees. Sherlock laid down the blanket he'd brought under large Hawthorn and sat down, his back against the trunk.

"On my lap," he said with a smirk, patting his thighs.

Straddling his legs, Molly leaned in and pressed a kiss to those smug lips. He seemed to have recovered from the moment at the cave. She was glad, since he'd been through so much. Several times over the last two weeks she'd noticed a particular look on his face or stillness she normally associated with a visit to his mind palace but lately it had been different. She knew he was lost in memories of his dead brother and wanted to comfort him, she just wasn't sure how. Sherlock could be an intensely private man, though she was as much a part of his private life as she could possibly hope, she didn't want to push him. In the end she decided to just be there and let him talk about things when he was ready.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, it's not bad today. And I wore layers," she said with a smile.

"Of course, you and your layers. Well, I need to tell you some things." He drew a deep breath and took both of her hands in his. Though he looked a little nervous his eyes never left hers. After a moment he said, "I'm completely in love with you, in every way possible."

Molly smiled. She knew it. She'd felt it since he'd shown back up the morning after Ford's death. But to hear it… well, that was something else entirely.

Sherlock's expression was nearly blank, though he still looked a bit nervous when he started talking again. "It's strange, I don't know when it happened. I should, of course, but I can't pinpoint it." He looked down at their hands and worried his lip. "Was it when you were injured? When we first made love? Or was it long before that?" He held her hands tightly, rubbing his thumbs over her palms. "It's disturbing that I can't figure it out."

"Why?" Molly asked, shaking her hands free and bringing them up to his face. "Why does it matter?"

He instantly closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Licking his lips he said, "It just does," in a raspy voice. He opened his eyes. "I should be able to tell you the moment I knew. This seems too important not to know."

"That's how it works in films, Sherlock, not real life."

"But you know, don't you?" he asked.

She had to think about it for a moment. "I don't, actually. Ah… At first I was attracted to you, but that was mostly sexual. For a short time I didn't think I liked you much at all," she said with a smile. "Then I got to know you, the real you, and I… well it was a slow thing, Sherlock. So no, I can't tell you when I fell in love with you."

He visibly relaxed. "I think that's how it was for me… a progression, an evolution of sorts."

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to equate love to some kind of science. Molly just nodded and smiled. "Is there more or can we get down to a little forest snog?"

He sighed. "There's more," he said as he moved his hands to her thighs. "I've made some changes to the flat."

The flat? She wondered where this was going. "What sort of changes?"

"John's old room, for instance. It's been cleaned out and painted. It could be used for an office or a lab or a nursery. Maybe even a billiard room." His tone was light, but his face betrayed him.

All the air left Molly's lungs at once. Finally she remembered she was supposed to breathe and managed to ask, "A n-nursery, why would you need a nursery. Do- do you know something about me that I don't?"

"No- no... no! It's j-just an idea," he said nervously. "It could be any… kind of room actually. Doesn't have to be a nursery, necessarily. That was merely a suggestion. One of many, if you noticed."

Molly released a breath as she realised that he was just… well, she wasn't sure what that was all about. But at least he wasn't trying to hint at an unplanned pregnancy. "Okay, that freaked me out. Any other changes?"

"Security measures, mostly. And I've had all of your belongings moved in. You live with me now," he said casually.

Just when she'd started breathing properly again, he threw something like that at her. The high-handed git. "I know this is all new to you, Sherlock, but usually there's a conversation before the breaking of leases and such."

"Mycroft took care of that," he said with a wave of his hand.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Sherlock moved her hand and said, "All right. Molly will you move in with me… please?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"If I say no I suppose I'll have to go to a homeless shelter."

"Molly…" he warned.

"You're lucky you're so handsome, Sherlock Holmes!"

"There's more."

"Of course there is," Molly said, trying to decide if she was mad or not. She hated her flat, but... ask for heaven's sake! "Let's hear it."

"That necklace you've been wearing..."

She looked down at the tiny piece of art lying on her chest. It was a round and clearly hand painted replica of Di Vinci's Vitruvian Man. He'd given it to her two days after the incident. It was stunning and she absolutely loved it. The gesture alone had melted her heart. It was romantic and thoughtful and…

"...it's a tracking device."

Molly sighed. "Of course it is," she said folding her arms across her chest.

"You're angry." His hands moved to her hips.

"Have you lost your mind? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I- I probably should have, I know. But I felt like this all needed to be said at once. I was taking care of things, making plans. Important plans, Molly. "

There was an edge to his voice now; she knew what that edge meant. Leaning closer she said, "I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. Ford's gone. I'm safe."

He gripped her hips tighter, almost painfully. "You of all people know what I attract. My life is dangerous. If you're going to be a part of it I have to know that you'll be safe." He swallowed. "This is my… this is the only way. If you can't..." His head dropped slightly. "If you don't want to live like this... I would understand."

"You ridiculous man." She tipped his head up. "I will wear your fucking tracking necklace and live in your Fortress of Solitude. Of course I will. I'd live in a Turkish prison to be with you."

"I've been in a Turkish prison, Molly. I don't recommend, nor would I ask it."

"It was a movie reference, Sherlock."

"As was the Fortress of Solitude, I assume?"

Molly sighed and shook her head.

He took her face between his large hands and his eyes went from playful to intense in a millisecond. "If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say you stay in the bloody flat because it's too dangerous to leave, you must listen, do you understand me?"

All she could do was nod.

"Good." He gave her a soft kiss then released her. "One more thing," he said as he reached inside his breast pocket.

Mycroft sat alone in his parents lounge, sipping scotch and becoming more and more morose by the minute. This place holds too many ghosts, he thought as he took in his surroundings. Suddenly he found himself remembering a night he thought he'd locked safely away along with so many other unpleasant memories.

Sherlock was still kneeling next to the body of his dead dog as paramedics and several policemen strapped Ford to a stretcher. His brother was hysterically screaming. Ford had come to just as the police arrived, Mycroft right behind them. The younger man was making quite a scene.

Mycroft followed the stretcher out to the ambulance. Just before they loaded it Ford's rant went from cursing threats to begging them to stop. Suddenly he was pleading to speak with his brother. With a wave of his hand, Mycroft cleared the immediate area.

"How can you stand him?" Ford asked. "He's not like us, Myke. He's so… human." The last word was spit out in disgust. "He's weak. He's small. Yet everyone loves him so fucking much! You always protect him! But what about me?" His body suddenly relaxed and his voice softened. "No one protects me," he said looking up at the night sky. "No one tries to save me."

As Mycroft backed away and allowed Ford to be loaded he whispered, "I couldn't save you both."

He went back inside and sat at his teenage brother's side while he relayed the events of the evening. When it was finished he forced Sherlock into the shower and returned to the crime scene.

"We're finished with the photos, Mr. Holmes. Do you want us to remove this?" a young forensic tech asked.

"I'll take care of the dog. Thank you."

The next morning he woke Sherlock and asked where he wanted to bury his pet. Sherlock insisted on carving a stone to mark the grave. It was the last time Mycroft would see his little brother cry, at least while sober.

"Heaven's sake, Mycroft. It's a bit early for scotch," his mother's voice rang through the room, and pulled him out of his somber memories.

He cleared his throat and said, "Lunch was divine, Mummy."

She nodded in agreement. Modesty wasn't one of her strong suits. "Where have your brother and Molly gotten off to? Shagging in the woods?"

He grimaced. "I wasn't in need of that particular visual."

"I'm not concerned about that, I'd better get a grandbaby and soon!"

"Mummy!"

"I like that girl, Myke, and she's good for him. Sherlock needs to do whatever it takes to make this work," she said as she mixed herself a highball.

"I've been reliably informed that he is indeed taking care of the situation." He stood up and joined her at the sideboard. "I thought it was too early to drink?"

She gave him a look that said, 'don't scold me, boy' then started to move away.

He stopped her with an arm to her shoulder. "How are you, really?"

She froze, her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"Mummy, I'm…"

"Don't you dare. Sherrinford…" She swallowed. "You did the best you could Myke, we all did." Touching his cheek gently, a gesture he welcomed even if he wouldn't admit it to a living soul, she said, "You were born forty years old, did you know that? So much responsibility, too much. Ford's problems were not your fault. It took me years and a lot of expensive therapy but I know they weren't mine either. You always kept us all safe, you always do. My beautiful boy."

She had tears in her eyes, but they never fell. No, Violet Holmes was not a cryer, at least Mycroft had never witnessed such a thing.

Turning away and taking a drink, she sniffed conspicuously. "Now, enough with this emotional nonsense. Your father has been outside trimming, of all things." She rolled her eyes. "Go check on him and make sure he has all of his fingers."

"Of course, Mummy," Mycroft said with a smile, then he kissed her cheek and walked out to check on his father. Trimming was code for 'go make sure your father isn't sad'. Mummy wasn't good at dealing with Father's emotions.

Sherlock was lying on the blanket with Molly on his chest, her head resting on top of his heart. It was disgustingly romantic and he couldn't stop smiling. She held up her left hand for the eleventh time since they'd reclined, admiring her newest piece of jewelry.

"Tell me about it, the ring. It's old, there must be a story," she said, turning her head and looking up at him. "It's not a panic button, is it?"

He ignored her bad joke. Most of her jokes were terrible; he loved them all. "It belonged to my father's mother."

"Why doesn't your mother wear it? I've seen her engagement ring."

"Well, Mummy evidently hated the woman. When Dad proposed she said no. Then told him to get a new ring and try again, that she'd not wear anything that had once been on that woman's finger."

Molly sat up and started laughing. "You're joking!"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. Dad speaks very highly of his mother. I never met her, she passed before I was born. Mummy won't talk about her at all," he explained. "I have no idea what happened between those women, but it must have been bad." He looked down at her hand which was resting on his chest. "Do you like it or did I just ruin it?"

She laughed. "Of course not. I love it. Will you mother have a problem with me wearing it?"

He pulled her back down, this time on top of him, rearranging his coat so that she was once again covered up. "No, she knew it was in Mycroft's vault and that one of us might use it some day. Besides, she'll just be thrilled that I've managed to secure you." He winked. "The ring will be of little importance.

Molly started biting her lip, and he could tell there was something on her mind. He always knew. "What is it, love?"

"What you said earlier about a nursery. That was a bit sneaky, you know, trying to figure out if I want children. You could just ask me."

He stared up into her big brown eyes and asked, "Molly Hooper, would you like to have my babies?"

Her smile was almost blinding. "Yes, yes I would," she said before leaning down and kissing him breathless. She kissed both of his cheeks and his neck then laid back down, snuggling in close.

It was starting to get cold, which meant they'd have to go back to the house soon. Besides, they still had to pack before heading back home. Home. He liked the sound of that. We have a home... Together.

"You said babies, Sherlock. How many babies do you want?" she asked a few minutes later.

Even considering everything that had happened, Sherlock couldn't imagine growing up an only child. His brother's had shaped him, made him into the man he was. For a long time that man was full of resentment, anger and even a little self pity. But the last few years had changed his outlook on things, and the woman by his side had made him see the advantage in caring and being truly cared for by someone else.

He patted her rear and she raised up. "Come on, let's head back."

Taking her hand, they started back toward his parents house. "I think we should have at least two children, Molly, don't you?"

She stopped walking and kissed him. "That's a good start, my love."

That's the end. Please let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading. ~Lil~