Disclaimer: I own nothing except the children.

A/N: I know. It's been an age. But I haven't forgotten about you! I intend to keep up my Christmas tradition of posting some new Christmas stories, but I haven't updated this one in quite some time. So here goes nothing...

When the doorbell rang, Gabriel was in the loo. The twins had already gone to the Watsons' for the night. Mrs. Hudson had left he and Scarlett alone for a little while so she could wash up the pots and pans from where she'd made dinner. After all, it was only for a little while until Irene could get there. The doorbell rang again. And again. Where was Nena? "Nena! Scarlett!" he called. No answer, save for the doorbell's accusing clang once more. "Scarlett!" he called again, knowing it was of no use. She probably couldn't hear him anyway.

Finally, he managed to finish what he was doing and stumble out of the loo and down the stairs to find Scarlett standing in the foyer staring. The bell rang again, but she didn't move. "Don't you see somebody at the door, Scarlett?" Gabriel said, rearranging his jumper. "Why are you just standing there?"

"Daddy say I not s'posa open the door by myself," she said with her arms crossed defiantly.

"Did it ever occur to you that you could go get Nena?" he signed angrily.

She just shrugged and stomped back up the stairs. Gabriel sighed, exasperation bubbling over. He could tell that this was going to be the longest weekend of his young life. Scarlett had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she was not going to be happy until her parents came home. She had cried and carried on so the night before, that their father had forbidden the children to go with them to the airport. It was pitiful really. Scarlett hadn't had a full on tantrum since she was four years old, but the night before her parents' departure, she'd shown out like a champ. She cried, threw herself on the floor and screamed, and refused to go to her own bed (which led to her sleeping on the floor in front of her parents' closed bedroom door). Then this morning, she tried to hide in the broom closet downstairs so they wouldn't leave. They hadn't paid any attention whatsoever and Scarlett finally came out of hiding when she heard them leaving.

"You have to try and be a little understanding, mate," John had scolded before they left with the twins. "She's just scared to be without them."

But John didn't get it. This had nothing to do with being scared and everything to do with Scarlett not getting her way. As usual. Even Will and Finn acted like nothing much was going on when their parents kissed them goodbye and got into the cab. But Scarlett had to be the drama queen. Gabriel loved his baby sister, but she was sometimes very spoiled.

Gabriel opened the door to find Irene standing under the eave. It had begun to rain and she was trying desperately not to get wet. "Well finally!" she exclaimed. "I thought I was going to have to break in through a window!"

"Sorry. I was in the loo and Scarlett's being Scarlett." He took her coat and small case and led her upstairs.

"Scarlett's being Scarlett?" Irene chuckled. "What does that mean?"

"She didn't want Mum and Dad to go on their trip, so she's being a pain." As they emerged into the lounge, Gabriel noticed that Irene was not wearing suitable clothing to babysit. A bright white suit and high heels was probably not the best outfit for dealing with Scarlett. Luckily, the twins weren't her problem or she'd already be covered in something.

"Poor darling," Irene said.

"Poor darling my eye!" Gabriel said. "She's acting like a brat. Like she always does when she doesn't get what she wants."

Irene smiled and pulled Gabriel into a tight squeeze, leaving lipstick prints on his forehead. "She'll snap out of it. In the meantime, I'm so glad to see you! I've missed you very much. One day I'll just take you to Paris with me!"

"What did you do in Paris?"

"Oh… this and that," Irene replied, then spied Scarlett coming down the stairs from her room. "My darling, Scarlett!" she exclaimed. She embraced the little girl, but she was stiff as a board. "Well… you've certainly grown since the last time I saw you."

"I'm six," Scarlett said.

"So you are. And getting taller every day." Irene looked around the flat as if trying to find something to do. She immediately swept into the kitchen. "Let's have something to eat, shall we?"

"We already ate," Scarlett replied in a dull tone. "It's too late to eat."

Gabriel tried to cover with a chuckle. "Nena made us dinner about six," he glanced up at the clock that read nearly 8:00. "But I can pull out the leftovers for you."

"Nena already clean up," Scarlett said.

"It doesn't matter!" Gabriel snapped. "I'll clean it up. Isn't it time for you to take a bath anyway?"

"I not take a bath," Scarlett said.

"You have to. We have school tomorrow."

"I don't care!" she exclaimed, sticking her tongue out.

"Look," Irene said. "Everyone just relax. I'll heat up my own food. Then we can decide what to do and when."

Scarlett flopped down in her father's armchair and curled up so her back was to them. "I'm not taking a bath," she grumbled.

OoOoOo

Molly sat up and looked at the ruins of the bed. Almost all of the bedclothes were laying in a disgraced heap over the end of the bed. The remnants of a room service dessert sat there accusingly on the nightstand, a discarded bottle of champagne turned over in the ice bucket. Sherlock lay beside her in all his naked glory, snoring lightly. She couldn't be sure if he was asleep or passed out. Neither would surprise her. They had made short work of a bottle of wine at dinner and then the hotel was so nice to send them up a bottle of chilled champagne. It would have been a shame to waste it. Evidently Sherlock had informed them that they were honeymooning. In fact, everything since they'd arrived was super-romantic. A walk along the canal. An impromptu picnic in the park. Making love all afternoon and dinner in an intimate bistro recommended by locals. It was starting out to be the romantic getaway that Molly had been craving.

So why did she suddenly feel like crying?

When they stepped off the plane, Molly and Sherlock had made a pact that they weren't going to spend their whole vacation talking about cases or their children. But here in the dark, while he was sleeping and she was all alone—she missed them. A glance at the clock revealed that it was about the twins' bedtime back at home. She hoped that they would go down easily for Mary and John. They probably would. They were fairly easy babies. And when Will got fussy, a sippy cup full of warm milk usually appeased him. Gabriel, of course, was pretty self-sufficient. Her only real worry was Scarlett. When they'd left this morning, she was almost hysterical. It seemed that whenever anything was changed, Scarlett went to pieces. John, who wasn't a pediatrician, but was always knowledgeable about such things, had assured Molly that it was a phase and she would grow out of it. That it was a byproduct of her hearing loss, this fear of being without her parents. It didn't make it any easier to deal with. She'd tried to call home a couple of times already and each time Sherlock insisted that it would just cause Scarlett to be more upset. He was probably right. She should wait until at least the next evening to call. After Scarlett realized that she was not going to die from a night without her parents, she'd be easier to talk to.

"Sherlock," she whispered, jiggling his arm.

"Ungghh…" he groaned.

"I miss the children."

"That's nice," he sighed, obviously not understanding what she'd said.

"I think we should call and check on them."

"Mmmhmm…" He trailed off into a light snore and rolled over.

"Ugh. You're no help at all," she said, throwing her legs over the side of the bed to stand up. She reached for Sherlock's shirt and pulled it around her shoulders while searching for the phone. It was most likely too late to talk to the children except for Gabriel, but she was going to try anyway.

The phone rang several times before Mrs. Hudson answered. And when she did, she sounded panicked. "Martha? Are you all right?"

"Oh, Molly! I'm so glad you called," the older woman said. "We're about at our wits' end over here."

Molly heaved a dejected sigh and sank to the little chaise beside her. "Oh no. What's wrong?"

"Scarlett has been an absolute terror. She won't take a bath, she won't go to sleep, she just sobs and wails so… I'm afraid the neighbors are going to call the police!"

"Why is she upset now?"

"She says that Miss Adler is mean and she hates her. That she needs her Mummy and Daddy. And now she's saying that she's sick."

Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to take deep breaths. Why couldn't she have one weekend, just one, to herself? Was that too much to ask? "Is she still awake?"

Mrs. Hudson didn't respond, just held the phone out to where Molly could hear Scarlett wailing. "Does that answer your question, dear?" Molly glanced at Sherlock, who was blissfully oblivious of the situation at hand. He was so relaxed. She didn't want to wake him, though when Scarlett got like this, he was usually the only person that could control her. "We weren't going to bother you, but since you called—do you think perhaps you might get through to her?"

"Put her on the phone, Martha." There was a pause while Mrs. Hudson took the phone to Scarlett. She could hear muffled voices as they coaxed Scarlett over to the phone. "Scarlett?" Molly asked.

"Is that you, Mummy?" she asked. Her voice was teary, and she was gulping for air.

"Yes, love. What's the matter?"

"I want you and Daddy to come home. I don't feel well." She managed to croak out a few weak coughs.

"I'm sorry you aren't feeling well, darling. But Irene will give you some medicine if you need it."

"No she won't!"

"Of course she will."

"What if she does it wrong?"

"She won't, silly." Molly was trying to keep her voice cheerful and sympathetic. It wouldn't do to get upset with her now. They had all learned from experience that shouting at Scarlett only escalated the issue.

"She doesn't know anything about taking care of kids," Scarlett said in a tone so matter-of-fact that Molly almost laughed.

"Gabriel will help her, darling. And Gabriel gives you medicine all the time, doesn't he?"

"I guess."

"Well let Gabriel give you a dose of medicine and get into bed. It's well past your bedtime."

"But I don't want to go to sleep!"

Molly sighed. "Scarlett, you must go to sleep. It doesn't matter if you want to or not."

"But Mummy…" she whined. Molly could hear that she was gearing up for another crying jag. "I need you!"

"Well I'm sorry, dearest, but we aren't coming home tonight. We'll see you very soon."

Scarlett was silent on the other end, save for her sniffling. "Can I talk to Daddy?"

"He's asleep. You can talk to him tomorrow."

"Please, Mummy!"

"And he would tell you exactly the same thing I am—to go to sleep and stop arguing." Suddenly, Molly heard a great clatter that made her flinch. Then a screaming cry that rivaled the legendary banshee. "Scarlett!" Molly shouted through the phone. It was of no use. Not only was Scarlett too far gone to hear her, but she was making so much racket that none of the others would hear her either.

"Scarlett! Stop it right now! Everyone's had enough. Including the neighbors! So dry up and go to bed now!"

Molly gasped and whipped around to look down at Sherlock. He was still fast asleep, but the voice sounded almost identical. She stared down at the phone as if it might provide some clue. Then it dawned on her that the voice belonged to Gabriel. Even more surprising was that Scarlett immediately stopped crying. She heard a few muffled whimpers and then quiet.

Gabriel had spoken.