Hello!

This is an AU, post-S3 fic (will contain some spoilers) based on both BBCs "Sherlock" and Disney's 1998 (Lindsay Lohan) version of "The Parent Trap". There will be teensy little flashbacks in each chapter depicting how Sherlock and Molly got together and had kids in the first place – which will occasionally get a little dramangstish (haha…drama/angst/ish) but nothing too bad. It seems since summer has arrived I have been obsessed with movies from my childhood. For the most part this is a silly, fun, lighthearted fic to celebrate my summer vacation.

I was having a bit of writer's block with my other fic Lessons in Love and I'd written this. (If you're reading it; I'm working on the last two chapters of that one...my goal is to have them both posted by Saturday evening!)

But I was too excited to wait to post this...

Not sure if it's been done before (haven't seen it, but it's entirely possible I just haven't stumbled across it...)

I do not own the lyrics I quote, Sherlock, or The Parent Trap. Those belong to their respective creators.

This is not related to my other fics.

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 1: Prelude to a Ploy

"Oh - where do we begin?

The rubble or our sins?"

-Bastille

Mo-lly. Mo-lly. Mo-lly.

Sherlock's pounding feet mimic the rhythm of his pounding heart, echoing her name into the deepest recesses of his mind and being. His lungs, aching for oxygen, burn with the intake of frigid February air. But he doesn't stop.

She has done so, so much for him – faking his death, hiding the truth for years, being there for John when he could not be, patching Sherlock himself up and holding him together, all that time – she has been so strong, and so resilient, and so…reliable…that the possibility that she could already be dead – that Moriarty has changed the game from beyond the grave, yet again – has not even registered. In his mind, it is inconceivable that he could lose this game, and lose her. Along with John, she is his constant in a life full of variables. She's never failed him before. And there is no possibility, probable or not, that he could fail to find her, or that she could fail to be alive when he comes to her rescue.

Which, although it hasn't occurred to Sherlock himself, yet - says something about his feelings.

Because when John had disappeared five days ago, with only a vague clue behind to alert Sherlock to his location, Sherlock had faced the possibility that his best friend – the best man he had ever known – could be dead.

Dead at the hands of the resurrected James Moriarty.

- Or, to be more precise, the terrifyingly brilliant little 'game' Moriarty has set up to be played posthumously, in the case of his early demise.

Apparently, Sherlock has missed some pieces of Jim's web.

And so Sherlock is running faster now, desperate to reach her – because suddenly, as he passes the remains of tombs and graves and vaults long eroded and as the salty spray of the ocean tide rises higher, the last part of Jim's clue as to Molly's whereabouts - the entirety of the poem Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe – that last line – "in her sepulcher there by the sea – in her tomb by the sounding sea" – clicks into place.

And it terrifies him.

Stupid. Stupid.

He stops in his tracks, John nearly running into him from behind – Sherlock didn't thank God because he didn't believe in him, but – but – if he did, he would've thanked him a thousand times over, because John had been found unharmed mere hours after his disappearance – but in Molly's case – it's already been nearly two days - and he can't find her, but he can't fail her, so he pulls at his curls, as though the action will draw the thoughts and facts and deductions out of his mind faster, and he comes dangerously close to sending a prayer heavenward.

Which one? Which one? Which one did Jim instruct Moran to put her in? Where is Molly?

11 years later

April

When the papers came in, Anthea grinned.

She didn't usually indulge in such blatant expression of her emotions, given her job, and her employer – she was a professional, after all - but for this, alone in the office, she would make an exception.

It was about time.

About time for Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper to become involved in each other's lives again.

Anthea would never admit it aloud – her livelihood depended on her ability to mask her emotions perfectly – but she had always been quite fond of her employer's little brother. Almost…almost thought of him as her own kid brother. She certainly knew as much about him as a sister would know – she kept tabs on him for Mycroft, and was well aware of his everyday habits and eccentricities. And sure, he was pretentious and rude and came off as extremely, chillingly unfeeling – but his flippancy and arrogance were really just walls built up to keep people out; to keep from feeling too much, because he did feel. Not many people saw it – not even John Watson, though he did occasionally have an inkling - an insight into Sherlock's inner machinery.

Anthea, however, saw it regularly.

So did Mycroft.

And so did Molly Hooper.

Anthea liked Molly Hooper immensely. She was a bit – exasperating – and pity-inducing - when she stuttered, sure – but Anthea appreciated a strong mind and a woman who could see past Sherlock's defenses. A woman who saw Sherlock for what he was, and loved him anyway. A woman who was patient enough to wait for the blind fool to see what had been staring him in the face for several years.

When Sherlock first began to prefer Molly over all the other pathologists at Bart's, Anthea had done a little research into Molly's background. Standard protocol, with the Holmes family. And she had liked what she'd seen – remarkably intelligent, independent, quiet, and by all accounts, trustworthy. Her only fault was her obvious crush on Sherlock. Mycroft had deemed her 'safe' and Anthea had (privately) deemed her 'a possibility'.

When Sherlock and Molly became sort-of-friends, after the Adler incident – and especially after that apology at Christmastime – Mycroft had upgraded Molly's surveillance level and Anthea had upgraded her to 'a probability'.

And when Sherlock had gone to Molly – all on his own accord – for help faking his death during the whole Moriarty fiasco – and when he had gone to her repeatedly during his 'death' – well. Mycroft had given Molly the highest level of security and surveillance possible, and had even been known to stop by for a biscuit or a slice of cake, now and again. And Anthea – Anthea had given Molly the label 'it's-only-a-matter-of-time'.

Sure enough, after the whole Moriarty's right-hand-man playing out a wickedly clever game per his dead employer's instructions, thing – Sherlock and Molly had come together in every sense of the word.

And Anthea found that keeping tabs on the two of them was much more enjoyable. Almost like a rom-com, really. Very entertaining.

When Sherlock proposed (rather off-handedly) several months later that they get married to 'make those mundane things' easier (he was referring to banking and rent), and after relieving some incredulousness on Molly's part with a second, much more romantic proposal, planned with the help of John – when Molly said yes – although Anthea betrayed nothing to Mycroft - when she went home that night, she had a glass of wine to celebrate, and danced around her flat with joy.

She failed to hide a smile when she found that Sherlock and Molly were expecting, only three months after having been married. She learned to regret that smile, because in true Holmes brother fashion, that small display of sentiment made Mycroft neglect to inform her of his plans to offer his brother an exciting opportunity abroad, right as Molly was due to have her baby girls – twins, as it turned out.

And then, of course, Mycroft neglected to inform Molly as well.

Mycroft was just a mountain of neglect and inaction, in those last few days of Sherlock and Molly's marriage.

And though Anthea knew that Sherlock and Molly were adults – Mycroft hadn't encouraged either one to get a divorce, per se – he also hadn't done anything to discourage it. And he could have discouraged it. And he could have waited to offer Sherlock that exciting opportunity. And he could have told Molly, and he could have let the couple discuss things before shipping Sherlock off to Greece. And he could have avoided insulting his brother's newfound attachment to sentiment at the exact moment when Sherlock was at his most vulnerable point, emotionally, and he could have avoided certain insinuations about the negative affects of sentiment on deductive reasoning when discussing things with Molly, and…well. The list went on. The couple hadn't seen the whole picture like Anthea did, and she blamed both Holmes brothers equally.

The resulting hurt on both sides was enough for Sherlock and Molly not to fight the divorce. But Anthea knew they missed each other.

And Anthea knew Mycroft regretted his part in Sherlock and Molly's failed relationship.

For an Ice-Man, he really had warmed to the little pathologist. Hadn't realized it until she was no longer in his life…but he did like her. And he did care immensely for his little brother. And really…he adored his nieces.

So, he tried to make up for it in little ways.

Such as paying for the girls' summer camp.

Molly had moved to California, both to accept a position as the head of pathology for Queen of the Valley Medical Center in Napa Valley, to escape the chance that she could be drawn in and heartbroken by Sherlock again, and to escape the majority of Mycroft's influence on her, and her daughter's, life. She did, however, allow him to pay for Lydia's summer camp.

Lydia was still his niece, after all, and she deserved the same chances to expand her mind that her identical sister Genevieve received, although Lydia was never told who paid for her camp, and wasn't even aware that she had an Uncle Mycroft. Not yet, anyway.

Molly had also allowed him to provide an American agent – for their safety – you never know when an old enemy will rear his head, Dr. Hooper, and although you may be done with us, I fear that that would not be enough to dissuade a hitman – and so she grudgingly accepted the protection ofMary Morstan.

Whom she had promptly befriended and won over to her side.

Apparently she served as a sort of live-in…something for them now. She worked part-time as a nurse at the hospital Molly worked at, and the rest of the time, Mary was…not exactly a child-minder or housekeep…but…she kept things running smoothly. Mary still reported to Mycroft, but only the most basic information about her charge's health and well-being. Her loyalties lied with Dr. Hooper, now.

And so, after waiting years for two of her (privately) favorite people to come into contact again - Anthea felt no small surge of satisfaction when she noted that both parents – Sherlock and Molly – had chosen the same summer camp for their girls, this year.

It was about time.

"Sign here," Anthea noted, pointing to a line at the bottom of the page, "and here, sir," she added, turning the packet of papers over, and allowing her superior to sign his name with an impatient flourish.

Mycroft signed, and capped the pen primly as he pressed his lips together. He then blinked, and smirked. "Anthea," he said, eyeing her over the paperwork – "were you aware that both my dear younger brother and Dr. Hooper chose the same summer camp for Genevieve and Lydia this year?"

"Well aware, sir," she replied, and smirked knowingly in reply.

Please review and let me know your thoughts!

I've already written the next two chapters of this...because it was so FUN! But I'm trying to hold off posting them until I'm done with my other fic because...I don't want to leave people hanging, on that one.

The next chapter will introduce Gigi and Lydia...fun fun fun! :)