Prologue

"What do you need, Sherlock?"

"Molly Hooper…I want you to marry me. I cannot live without you. I hate that it took so long for me to realise how much so. Marry me."

"Oh Sherlock, I have been…and always will be, yours."

It was the only moment in his life he had allowed himself to show his feelings, just how vulnerable he really was. Molly had saved him from himself and Moriarty as well as rekindled his deteriorating relationship with John Watson after the fall. He and Molly had a relatively calm and lovely life together and she had moved into 221B soon after revealing Sherlock's existence to the world. Their marriage was passionate and exhilarating; Sherlock was very much in love with his wife, as it should be. Molly hadn't been able to believe the man she had loved unconditionally for so long had taken the opportunity to express his deepest emotions. Six months into the marriage, and settling into life as Mrs. Sherlock Holmes, Molly discovered she was pregnant. This fact had thrilled Sherlock and the two became entangled in preparations for the new arrival…

"Well, Mrs. Holmes. It seems you are expecting twins. Congratulations."

Molly recalled her mother mentioning twins running in the family. Sherlock had reacted as expected – practically. The next nine months had been busy for the two of them; with Molly on maternity leave, Sherlock was forced to take on more cases to bring in more money. Molly gave birth on a lovely day to twin girls, they had named them Francesca and Scarlett. Francesca had been Molly's favourite name since she was little and Sherlock had liked Scarlett because it was his favourite colour. John and Mary, who already had a boy Hamish, were pleased for them and offered their support for the new parents. For the next three years, they raised the girls happily and privately, hiding them from the media's attention. Everyone on Baker Street commented on how the Holmes' had the perfect family setup. Even John had to admit that married life had mellowed the detective, even though he would never say this to him.

Present Day

Every day was the same. He'd dress the twins, feed them, watch as they interacted lovingly with each other and him and take them to their nursery. Every day he would experience the same empty, sinking feeling as they entered their classroom, waving enthusiastically to him. Every day he held the over-emotional Scarlett, picking her up and hugging her tightly, as she cried into his shoulder. After she calmed down, he would leave, dodging past the single mothers at the gate, who had witnessed the kindness he had shown his daughters. They never gave up.

Every day his feet carried him to Scotland Yard, avoiding the route past St. Bartholomew's Hospital, even though it was much quicker. As he entered, he endured the same sympathetic glances as always, heading straight to Lestrade's office, without speaking to anyone.

"What have you got?"

Every day Lestrade looked up from his desk to see Sherlock standing there, unmoving, unblinking and un-emotive. He gulped…he always gulped now before he spoke.

"Look, Sherlock. Maybe you should…"

"Just give me whatever you've got."

It was always his answer to the same question. Lestrade sighed and searched through cases files, knowing that Sherlock now only accepted cases involving robbery or murder. Lestrade worried that this couldn't be good for the man. Nevertheless, Sherlock took the files and headed out, returning Lestrade with a text including details of who to arrest. It had all become routine…

It was the nights that were the hardest. John and Mary came over every evening, bringing Hamish to play with the girls keeping Sherlock stimulated with conversation, albeit not very intelligent. He concentrated all his attentions on his girls, watching them play and doting on their every need, despite how he may be feeling. John and Mary did their best to help him but nothing could save him now. It was the question, though, that Sherlock dreaded the most, always the same question, and always unaware of how to answer.

"Daddy, when's Mummy coming home?"

The lump in Sherlock's throat never went away as he took whichever of them had asked into his arms and choked out a 'soon'. The reason his gorgeous twins were without their mother was down to a common criminal who made a mistake. How could he bring himself to one day tell them the story of how, one night, whilst Mummy was walking home, she had seen a bad man trying to take an elderly lady's purse and Mummy had tried to stop him, but the pointy object he was holding had hurt her in the struggle. The bad man had run away, leaving Mummy alone, in the arms of the elderly lady who quickly called the good men who would save her. The good men were not fast enough, though, and Mummy had gone to sleep on the old woman, the names of her family the last on her lips. The only thing about this sleep is it is special, because Mummy wasn't waking up. It was the hardest and most devastating day of Daddy's life and Daddy's cases now revolved around stopping this happening to others. It also allowed Daddy to hunt to coward down and make him pay…and not leaving it up to the British justice system…

Sherlock knew the reason he was still functioning, still alive, in fact, was because of Francesca and Scarlett. Each week, they were visited by the kindly, elderly lady and she always embraced the detective and his girls. She brought with her cuddles and kindness, sweets and sympathy with each visit and had become something of a surrogate grandmother to the girls. She had once told Sherlock how she owed her life to his wife and was forever in debt to her, she paid this 'debt' by assisting her distraught family. The nights were difficult. He would dress the twins and read them their favourite book in his bed, of course. They found it much comfier. As he read to them, they snuggled closer and relaxed to the sound of his smooth, deep voice. Scarlett was usually first asleep by his side and he would move her gently to lie on the pillows beside him, smoothing her hair out of her face affectionately. Francesca was harder to settle and preferred to hear stories about her mother. Sherlock took a deep breath and, settling her down into the pillows comfortably, told her everything he could before she fell asleep. He told her, without going into details, how Mummy was an angel that had saved 'Nanny' before taking her to heaven. He also told her the story of how Mummy saved Daddy's life once. After his stories, he looked down to find his two beautiful little girls asleep either side of him. He sighed lovingly and brushed his fingers against their faces, gently caressing them, checking all the time they were real. It was too often they fell asleep in his bed…

The nights were the only other time Sherlock allowed himself to become a slave to his emotions as he sat up in his bed, stroking his children lovingly, permitting the tears to roll silently and freely waiting for uneasy sleep to claim him before waking up ready for another day…

Epilogue

He had been right, of course. He couldn't live without her, but every time he looked at their girls, Sherlock Holmes remembered why he must…

xx