I would like to thank everyone for their support and encouragement in reviewing, favoritng, and following this and other stories in this series. ^_^ It means a lot to me.

This is the fifth in a series of one-shots, which takes place in my "Falling" verse. This takes place after "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling," has completed. These one-shots can be read individually, or as part of the larger series. I hope you enjoy.

Love Always Hopes

John scrubbed gravel and dirt out of the dreadful scrape along Sherlock's shoulder, cursing colorfully under his breath. "That was an idiotic thing to do, Sherlock!" he scolded, "A very dangerous thing."

Sherlock arched a superior eyebrow at his husband. "It worked, did it not? Besides, danger has been a part of the equation since we began our partnership."

John huffed in irritation and bit back more curses. Their latest case had started off as a simple, but high-profile kidnapping. The youngest daughter of the Bulgarian ambassador, Elzbieta, had been spirited away from her security team half a mile from her school. The kidnapers had taken not only Elzbieta, but also a poor schoolmate of hers, who had been accompanying her that morning. Both girls were similar in appearance, and at first they thought they were related.

Elzbieta's classmate, Laurali, was an orphan, attending the school on scholarship, and the kidnappers felt that public sympathy would motivate the Bulgarian ambassador to be more than accommodating. They demanded twenty million pounds for the safe return both girls, however they would settle for ten million if the Bulgarian ambassador deigned only to rescue his own daughter. Human trafficking was alive and well, so they would make money either way.

Once again, Sherlock and Mycroft had worked closely, if not amicably, together. Mycroft had arranged for his agents to negotiate with the kidnappers while Sherlock, having deduced their exact location, worked his way into their hideout undetected. It was a maze of passageways and moldering wood.

He had located Elzbieta with unexpected ease. Laurali had nearly dislocated her own wrists to free herself from her bonds, and then had made short work of the ropes securing Elzbieta. They had just begun debating their next move when Sherlock, having rendered their guard unconscious, entered the room. Elzbieta was nearly beside herself with panic, whereas Laurali appeared calm and focused. She quickly, and more kindly than Sherlock could have managed, shushed her friend.

For just a moment, Sherlock thought their escape would be seamless. The kidnappers, however, were organized, and their absence was noticed not half a minute later. Sherlock had immediately volunteered Laurali as bait, running through the maze of hallways to distract the kidnappers while he brought Elzbieta outside. Laurali was smart and quick on her feet. It wasn't long before she had her captors chasing their tails.

Sherlock, having thrust a sobbing Elzbieta into Anthea's waiting arms, had just returned to the building to retrieve her classmate, when Laurali rounded a corner, and threw herself into his arms.

Sherlock whirled, twisting so he was crouched just outside the doorway and to one side. While covering Laurali's body with his own, he was able to give Mycroft's snipers a clear shot. The danger had passed in a matter of minutes. The lectures, however, continued at length.

"She's only a child, Sherlock," John hissed in irritation. "She's nine years old!"

"He's right, though," a small, clear voice spoke up from Sherlock's side. Laurali had not cried or carried on like her classmate, but she had stayed stubbornly at Sherlock's side since her rescue. "It was probably the quickest way out of there."

John attempted a glare, and failed miserably. "Don't encourage him," he groaned, gently bandaging Sherlock's wound.

Laurali and her classmate had both been unharmed. However, their experience had left them exhausted and slightly dehydrated. John pressed the back of his hand gently to the child's forehead and frowned. "You have a bit of a fever. Would you like some more water?" She nodded slowly. John smiled. "I'll go fetch some for you." He turned a suspicious eye on his husband, who currently looked the picture of innocence. "Keep an eye on him for me, will you? We've had enough excitement for one day."

Laurali looked skeptically at Sherlock, then back at John. "You're asking for a lot here."

John bit back a flurry of chuckles. "Don't I know it." As John was leaving, Greg finally made an appearance, with Alex in toe.

"It's not like you to be tardy taking witness statements Detective Inspector," Sherlock noted, looking superior. "What kept you?"

Greg resisted the urge to clap Sherlock firmly on his injured shoulder. "Alex sprained his ankle playing football, again.," he explained.

"Yeah, but we won!" Alex smiled brightly, completely unconcerned as he navigated the smooth linoleum floors with his crutches.

Greg stared at the ceiling for a count of three, as though asking for divine intervention.

"Alex, would you mind keeping Laurali here company?" Sherlock asked, patting the space beside her.

"Sure," Alex replied with an easy smile. He nimbly hopped up on the hospital bed, set his crutches aside, and extended his hand to Laurali. "Alexander Langley, nice to meet you."

Laurali accepted his hand, and shook it. "Laurali Owens, nice to meet you."

Closing the privacy curtain around the bed, Sherlock followed Greg down the hall.

The Detective Inspector shook his head sadly as they walked. "That poor girl."

"Well, orphans are, generally, poor," Sherlock interjected.

Greg glared at his friend. "That's not what I meant, Sherlock. I meant what she's about to go through."

Sherlock nodded in understanding. "Ah, I assume the media has swarmed Ms. Owens orphanage facility?"

Greg put his face in his hands. "You have no idea, Sherlock. It's a mad-house. I have no idea where I'm going to be able to place her tonight."

John, who was on his way back to Laurali with water, joined them in the hallway. "We could look after her for the night, if you wanted," he suggested.

Greg peered at him through his fingers. He did trust John, and he mostly trusted Sherlock… "Put you two aren't registered in the foster care system," he mused regretfully, taking his head from his hands.

Sherlock nudged his side as suggested, "You could always have your husband push the paperwork through. You know, unless you like making things difficult for yourself."

The Detective Inspector glowered at the consulting detective. He hated asking Mycroft for professional favors. Not because Mycroft wouldn't gladly assist him, but because he knew they were both proud of their work, and wanted to succeed on their own merits. … Still…this might actually be the best option for Laurali. Otherwise she was likely to spend the night at the hospital… He let out a long sigh, and nodded his assent. "Yes, fine, okay." He turned and pointed an accusing finger at John, "When we have things settled I want her back in one piece."

Still holding the glass of water in one hand, John raised he free one in surrender. "Hey, I take care of Sherlock for a living. He's the best babysitting training there is. We'll be fine."

Sherlock's spine straightened and he turned to glare at his husband. "I'm not a child, John."

John smirked as he turned to face his husband. "True, but you do act like it most of the time." Before Sherlock could respond, the good doctor continued down the hall with every intent of delivering water to his patient. Reluctantly, and with a full pout on his face, Sherlock followed.

"Thanks for pushing these through, Mycroft," John said, hefting the documents which declared Sherlock and him to be fit foster parents in one hand.

Mycroft nodded graciously. "It was no trouble. It really is the best situation for her right now. I will keep you informed when other options become available."

"Right, say 'hi' to Greg and the kids for me," John replied. "Make sure Alex keeps that foot elevated."

Mycroft's answering smile bordered on a smirk. "Yes, Dr. Holmes."

Closing the door behind his brother-in-law, John fought the urge to blush. Whether he acted like a child or not, there was no doubt that he loved his husband, and took great pleasure in sharing his name. Even after three years, he never tired of hearing it. He would feel some guilt about giving up the Watson name, but Harry and Clara, who now shared said name, were eight months away from delivering someone who would continue it.

John gave a mental shrug. As happy as the Holmes name made him, it was just a name. He still considered himself part of the Watson family, just as the Langley children were now, arguably, part of the Lestrade and Holmes families.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, John went in search of his husband, and their new ward. He found them, curled together on Sherlock's bed. Sherlock had his arm around her shoulder, pillowing her head. Laurali had leaned into Sherlock's side and, apparently, fallen asleep. Maggie, their cat, was nestled against Laurali's stomach, purring quietly.

Setting the important paperwork on his dresser, John moved to stand beside his husband. Sherlock looked up and smiled warmly in greeting. John leaned down to kiss him. Once they had parted, John murmured, "You look like you're getting sentimental."

Sherlock waved him off with his free hand. "We were discussing the finer points of growing cultures on petri dishes from household sponges for her science project, and she drifted off. There didn't seem any point in moving her."

John wasn't fooled in the slightest. He raised an accusatory eyebrow at his husband. "This is not the time to be making rash decisions, Sherlock."

Sherlock glowered in response. "Yes, you're quite right. We wouldn't want to get so attached to someone that, after knowing them for only three days we would kill a deranged suicidal cabbie for them. That would certainly never end well. It demonstrated poor boundaries, really."

John rolled his eyes, and stifled a yawn behind his hand. He decided not to push the subject…for now.

"You can go to sleep if you're tired," Laurali's voice was quiet and breathy with sleep. John glanced down to find her blinking up at him. "If you're tired, you should rest," she repeated. She glanced away for a moment, then added, "I have nightmares sometimes; I can sleep somewhere else if I'll bother you."

John smiled softly and said, "I have nightmares sometimes too, love, so we're a matched set."

Laurali returned his smile, and then nestled further into Sherlock's side.

Greg held the phone to one ear, and used his hand to cover his other ear. All the children were currently having a sleepover at the estate, and things were a bit noisy. Currently, he was trying to work out the details of an upcoming parent-teacher conference. "No, Mrs. Miller, I'm not Laurali's father; my husband I are guardians to Nikki, Katie, Cori, and Alex Langley."

There was a lengthy pause before the woman on the other end of the line replied. "Is Laurali Holmes related to you in some way?"

"She's Sherlock and John's daughter," Greg replied. They had gone over who was taking care of who a few times so, for clarity's sake he felt compelled to add, "My sister, Sarah Langley, and her husband Anthony passed away last year, and I took guardianship of her children."

"And your name was Langley before you married?" She still sounded confused and Greg was starting to lose his patience.

"No, my name was Lestrade before I married, just like my sister." The children ran past the door to his study then, chasing a plastic eyeball the size of a plum, which was rolling on the floor. It had a clear plastic case around it, with clear liquid between the plastic eyeball and the clear casing. The eyeball inside was weighted so that, no matter how it was held, the eyeball always pointed up. Sherlock had made up several of them as presents for the children. "Hold on just a moment," he said into the phone. Then, shielding the phone with his hand he yelled, "Don't chase that eyeball down the steps! I do not want to take anyone to the hospital today!"

There was a dutiful chorus of, "Yes Uncle Gregory."

Greg brought the phone back to his ear. "Sorry about that, Mrs. Miller. Now, when did you say would be a good time for Mycroft and me to meet with you?" There was only silence in response. "Mrs. Miller?" he tried again. Glancing at his phone he found they were no longer connected. More likely than not, she'd simply ended the call. He shrugged. The children were largely smarter than she was anyway, and their grades reflected that fact.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, the Detective Inspector went to join the fun, and, with some luck, prevent any injuries.