Sherlock sat across from his brother in a conference room on an upper floor in a hospital in Manhattan. Violet had to be given a thorough going over, and Molly was sleeping off a sedative. Davies was already halfway across the world, on a new assignment. Martha would be sent back to the UK to recover with Mycroft's people.

Earlier in Montauk, they had managed to arrive at Moriarty's house a few minutes before Hernandez. In addition to all the surveillance footage and Molly's notebook, Sherlock managed to help himself to a few more gigabytes worth of information from Moriarty's computer. He figured it might be a start in repaying Mycroft for his help.

They had met Hernandez at Moriarty's and handed over Moran. Hernandez had smiled and asked Moran if he'd like to take a tour of a little place called Guantanamo, then had him spirited away. It was likely that all evidence of his existence would be gone within the week.

Then the two immigration officers and the social worker had arrived. Molly had reacted violently when they took Violet from her, punching one of the officers and scratching the other. She had to be sedated and couldn't consent to the DNA test that Immigration required before they would let Violet leave the country.

Sherlock let them swab his cheek before confronting Hernandez.

"We've taken out a major threat to your nation's security while avoiding a major incident. You've got access to all of his files and this is how you're repaying us?"

Hernandez, a tall man in a cheap suit, shook his head and held his palms out. "You've gotta understand, your brother is a very critical connection, but we can't just let a documented American citizen leave the country with a couple of British nationals just because they claim she's their baby. Sir."

"Right," Sherlock said as the pieces fell into place. "Did you and Agent Neilson go to school together? Just doing a favor for an old friend and torturing an innocent woman in the process?"

"Should only take a few hours if they get the sample to the lab in time. Of course that's in the city so who knows. Cheerio. Sir."

Sherlock and John had no choice but to follow the ambulance that held Molly and the town car that held his daughter. Mycroft had arrived a few hours after they got to Manhattan.

"Have the two of you discussed arrangements for when you get back to London?"

"Oh yes, Mycroft. We've had so much time to discuss hypothetical financial and living arrangements."

"Understandable, but it's time you thought about them now. Your monthly allowance isn't enough to maintain a child and I am fairly certain that Dr. Hooper will not be ready to return to work for quite a while, unless she finds someone she absolutely trusts to watch the child. And at the moment, the only person who fits that description is you. And your schedule is irregular at best. "

"I can take more cases."

"You know as well as I do how unreliable that is, especially since we're still working to clean up your reputation. Even if I throw you cases here and there, it's not a steady income."

"If this is another ploy to get me to work for you—"

"It is an option, Sherlock. However, I will not take advantage of your situation by pressing the issue. There are two other options. We can go to your trustees and request an increase. Considering you have good reason this time and are sober, it might work. But I would merely suggest that the easiest solution is to introduce Mummy to her grandchild. Quite smart, naming the child for her. It should go a long way in guaranteeing an extra monthly deposit, from her personal funds, no changes in your trust needed. Now, as far as expenses go, it would be prudent for Molly to continue at Baker Street-"

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair and groaned. "Why do we have to talk about this now?"

"When should we talk about it? The DNA results will be back by the end of the day. You're taking your child back to England and you don't even have a cot, much less nappies and clothing. It would be nice to know which flat to send those things to.

"Send them to both for now. We'll work it out. I do have to have Molly's input, you know."

"Yes, of course. And what about your relationship with Molly?"

Sherlock laughed, one bitter exhale. "Well, considering we were held hostage for the better part of a year, the first few weeks of which Molly was my captor under an identity created by Moriarty after he drugged her and used hypnotic suggestion to embed memories, during which time she was also forced to rape me, which also could probably count as Moriarty raping her or me being forced to rape her without my knowledge, then impregnated without her knowledge or consent, only to be apprised of these facts after the damage was done, not given a choice about what to do about said pregnancy, spent the entire pregnancy living with the knowledge that Moriarty planned to take the baby, almost dying in childbirth, having the baby taken from her when she was a day old and not knowing for two months if she would ever see her again, I would say that it's a bit complicated, wouldn't you?"

Mycroft rose and went to the door. He stopped at the door and turned to Sherlock.

"She really is a lovely child, Sherlock. Certain to be clever. I look forward to making her acquaintance. I'll speak to you when things are a bit more settled. "

Sherlock cursed and lit a cigarette, not caring about the legality. He flicked his ashes into the ghastly cup of whatever it was that the canteen had called tea. He had just put it out when the door opened and the CPS agent came in, carrying Violet. Another agent followed her, with a sheaf of papers in hand.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, the results are in. 99.99% probability that you are the baby's father. Now we just need you to sign some paperwork and you can be on your way—"

"Take her to her mother, now."

"But Mr. Holmes, don't you want—"

"That doesn't matter you idiot! Take her to her mother immediately. I'll take care of the paper work. "

The social worker hesitated, glancing at the paperwork on the table and at the door.

"Oh for god's sake," he said, taking Violet from her and marching out the door.

"But Mr. Holmes, the papers!"

"I'll bloody sign them downstairs," he called over his shoulder. The two social workers hurried along after him. He held Violet a bit more tightly than necessary, against his chest with one hand cradling the back of her head. He inhaled her sweet baby scent. He slipped into the lift and was glad when the doors closed before the social workers could enter, because he was seized with a crushing sort of panic as he held his daughter. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, dizzy and sick to his stomach. This was real. She was back with them.

He was going to have to be her father. He kissed the top of her head, mindless of the tears that had fallen into her hair. "All I can promise is that I'll try," he whispered to her as the elevator descended.

He all but ran off the elevator and down the hall to the private room where Molly slept. He was still furious that they had forcibly drugged her, considering her history, and hoped that she was alert enough to fully experience this moment. The dose had been massive and they had apparently administered more when she'd awoken in an agitated state a few hours before.

"John," he said to his friend as he came into the room. "Head off those social workers when they come off the lift and tell them I will sign the papers in exactly five minutes. No sooner."

He sat on the bed and shook Molly gently. She roused and smiled when her eyes focused on Violet. She held out her arms and took her smiling daughter.

"Mummy's here, darling," she cooed into her tiny ear. "We're going home."

That night, they lay on the bed in their hotel room, one lamp on and the flickering of the muted television lighting their faces, the sound of midtown traffic ten stories below. Violet lay between them, cooing softly while she waved her arms and legs in the air.

"I don't think there's any need to make any major decisions now." Sherlock said, taking one of Violet's little feet in his hands. "I think things can—continue as they were. So that there are two of us on hand while we learn the ropes. Of course, if you don't want to—continue, I can always provide you with a nanny. So you have your space. I'd just like to see you—her –both of you as often as I can."

"No, let's not make any decisions now. We'll come to Baker Street and we'll figure it out from there."

"Okay," he said. Violet laughed as he tickled her instep. Molly kissed her on her on the nose.

"I'm afraid for her," she said. "I don't want you to quit doing what you love. I'm not saying that. I'm just afraid. It's going to be hard."

Sherlock kissed his daughter's hand and looked at Molly. "She can handle anything. She's ours."

Author's Note: The fact that this fic ended up being novel length floors me. The fact that so many people embraced it leaves me absolutely gob smacked. Ending it feels exactly like closing night of a play. I'm so sad to see it go but also so damned glad to move on.

But I really have to thank nocturnias for having me start this. I had never even read any Dark Molly and was incredibly trepidatious going in. I had no idea it would end up being the longest thing I've ever written.

I also want to thank everyone who's given me so much encouragement, either by messaging me, reviewing, or just by favoriting or following the story.

Thank you!