Both Molly and Sherlock stared at the child with their mouths agape while tears started streaming down Archie's face. A puddle of puke laid on the floor between the couch and Archie and the smell was quickly beginning to ruminate throughout the flat. Sherlock's face fell as stared at the boy. He had finally gathered the courage to talk to Molly and now all of that was out the window. Archie started retching again and it broke Molly out of her trance long enough to walk over to the boy and lay her hand on his back. She started offering words of comfort while Sherlock went to the kitchen and grabbed a bucket, handing it to her. She held it in front of Archie.

Sherlock assessed the situation. The boy's dinosaur pajamas were littered with his dinner and his sobs were beginning to increase, making him gag more. "It's okay, sweetie. It's okay," he heard Molly saying as she continued to rub his back.

"I want my mom!" he managed to get out and Molly looked nervous for the first time that night as she looked at Sherlock. He cleared his throat and stepped in.

"Your mother will be back in two days, Archie…"

"But Sherlock and I are going to take good care of you," Molly cut in. Archie went to talk again but started throwing up. Ava, who had been sleeping peacefully in the corner, chose this moment to wake up and start screaming again. Sherlock rushed over and picked her up, bouncing her gently.

He looked to Molly as if to say help and she got the message, stepping into action. "Okay. Okay. We can handle this, right? I'll clean up Archie."

"I'll clean up this mess and try to calm Ava down," he replied.

"Right. Okay. Archie." He turned around slowly and started walking with Molly toward the bathroom.

"Molly, I…" started Sherlock but then stopped, as he wasn't sure where that sentence was going.

"We can talk later?" she asked and he nodded once before watching her go.

Molly started drawing another bath for Archie as the sick little boy sat on the toilet, completely exhausted. "Come here, love," she said and held out her arms. Archie rushed toward her and fell into them, both of her arms wrapping around the little boy and her head bent down to kiss the top of his curls. Sherlock had been watching him a lot lately and Molly usually spent time with the two of them when she wasn't busy at work. She grew closer with the little boy and he almost felt like a nephew to her. She liked to think that she could offer him some sort of comfort in this situation.

"Do you think you can be a brave boy and not need Mum for a few days?" she asked him and Archie nodded. Molly felt his forehead. Warm. Clammy. Most likely running a fever. Molly held Archie close and rocked him a bit.

"Is Sherlock mad at me?" he whispered and she pulled back to look at him.

"Now why do you think he was mad at you?"

"He gave me the look he gives Anderson when he gets in the way at the police station," replied the little boy with a yawn. She had to laugh at his deductions. He was very bright.

"I don't think he's mad at you. He was just in the middle of telling me something."

"That he loves you," said Archie softly and Molly whipped her head around to look at him, shock all over her face.

"Molly," said Sherlock as he walked into the bathroom, holding Ava who was now awake, but quiet. "I called his mother."

"Good," she said but it didn't come out any louder than a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Good. I'll get him cleaned off and then we can talk, yeah?" Sherlock nodded and went to leave.

A half an hour later, Archie was in new pajamas sprawled across the couch and Molly held Ava on the end while also stroking Archie's hair. Sherlock emerged from the kitchen with Archie's now-clean bucket and set it beside the little boy's head. He stood in front of the couch, watching its three occupants and feeling his heart beat a little faster, his stomach feeling like it was free-falling, a physiological reaction that he was beginning to be able to explain. Being able to name. Calling it love.

"What does your mum do to make you feel better when you're sick, Archie?" asked Molly quietly.

"She holds me and tells me stories," he replied, his voice hoarse and Molly looked up at Sherlock and pulled a pitying face. She mouthed hold him. Sherlock looked at her like she was crazy. The only things he'd ever held were Ava and his mobile. Archie's hand but that was for protection. John's hand once but that was for a case. But one look to Archie and the little tears running down his cheeks, he thought back to a time when he was around his age and sometimes he wanted to be held by his mum but Mycroft would always make fun of him because of it. He remembered that pain.

So he bent down and picked up Archie before sitting on the couch right next to Molly and settling the little boy against his chest. Molly smiled up at the pair and reached over to run her hand through Sherlock's hair. "I suppose I'm telling the story?" she asked.

"Unless you want one about poisonous nail polish, a shredded head via lawn mower, and an evil step mum murderer," replied Sherlock.

"Not exactly the fairytale I had in mind, no," she laughed and Sherlock smiled over at her, catching her eyes for a second before she settled back against the couch. "Once upon a time there was a prince."

"Clichéd. Boring," mumbled Sherlock to which she gently bumped his shoulder and he smirked. Maybe it was boring, but she was thinking about what Archie said. About Sherlock loving her and she had to wonder if it was the truth. She spent more time with him than anyone else, and usually she wasn't the one to invite him. He invited her. Or he went to see her. So was there any truth behind Archie's deductions? She figured the only way to find out was to bare herself to him first. And give him the opportunity to respond.

"Anyway," she continued when Sherlock shifted Archie to his opposite shoulder and leaned his own head on the back of the couch. She mirrored his movements, both of them looking straight ahead. "Once upon a time there was a prince. He lived in a faraway kingdom in a castle high up on a hill and spent his days solving the mysteries of the kingdom. His brother, the king, ruled the entire land and looked after his little brother to make sure that he wouldn't get into any trouble.

"You see, the prince was extremely intelligent and he impressed everyone he met with his skills. But sometimes, he could be rude to people, sometimes without even meaning to be. Some of the people were jealous of his smarts. Some just didn't understand such a genius. But when the kingdom turned against him, his friends were there for him. You see Archie, some princes acted kind and loving and charming, but those ones are the fake ones. Once someone got to know them, they realized that the princes weren't really that special. But this prince, our prince, he was quite the opposite. Our prince acted rude and annoying and like he didn't care. But those closest to him knew the truth. That he loved deeply and cared widely."

As she spoke, her eyes fluttered shut and his opened wide, turning his head to look over at her, the way her mouth turned around every word, the way her eyebrow crinkled as she thought of the next line. Her voice was like a song, something he played on his violin that he could listen to all day long. He was vaguely aware of Archie becoming heavier on his chest and Ava starting to snore.

"One time, the prince was threatened by a huge dragon, a beast so large that he couldn't slay it by himself. There a came a time when the prince had to let someone solve him, as opposed to him solving everyone else. So he went to a princess who fixed the dead. Because the prince was going to die. And he was going to need fixing. And she helped him. Because she was one of the few who saw past the prince's armor. After the dragon was slayed, the prince had to leave on a long voyage. When he returned, the princess was no longer his, though she wished to be. But the prince didn't see it that way. Because yes, the prince's favorite activity was solving the kingdom mysteries, but there was always one that he could never quite unravel. And of course, it had to do with the princess."

Archie was sleeping soundly by now, but Molly went on, her head slowly drifting nearer and nearer to Sherlock's shoulder, so close that he hoped she couldn't hear his heart rate increasing.

"The prince knew everything about everybody just by looking at them," Molly continued. "But if there was one thing he never figured out, it was how much the princess loved her prince and had always loved him and would always love him."

He didn't say anything for a long time. She worried about her decision, the decision to say these words to him, even if they were indirect. She was about ready to apologize, to backtrack, but then she heard the intake of breath, the one that took place just before someone was about to say something important.

"Love isn't a fairytale, Molly Hooper," he whispered.

She looked over at him and realized that he was looking back, his face only inches from hers, his pupil blown wide in the soft light of the room. "It can be if you make it one," she whispered back and the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile, wondering why it took him this long to figure out him and Molly.

"And if there was one thing the princess deserved to know more than anything else in the world," he said with a shuddering breath, "it was that the prince finally realized that he loved her back." She smiled at him, the corners of her eyes scrunching up and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. They were silent then, having said everything they could for one night. So with a small, happy sigh, Molly settled her head back on Sherlock's shoulder, pulled Ava tighter to her chest and fell asleep to the soft snoring of sleeping children and a smile on her face that she couldn't quite shake.