Prompt from Tumblr (enamoredwithsherlolly). Please feel free to submit a prompt anytime!
"Sherlock?"
Molly grunted a little with the effort of picking up little William. She chuckled as she thought of Sherlock's sulky glower. John had named him William as a tribute to Sherlock, but apparently he didn't think so. He felt as if he had been wronged, and being the drama queen he was so apt to turn into every so often, he had not forgiven John.
For six whole months.
Yes, of course they still talked and did cases together, and Sherlock would play with little William sometimes (Molly was sure she could see a strange glow in his eyes whenever he picked him up, although whether that was from joy or from imagining the potential of having a whole new little person to perform social experiments on, she could never tell), and he would even bathe with William on occasion (Mary and John condoned it, so what could she do?).
Regardless, he still claimed he didn't like little Will while stealing him from John every chance he got.
This time was no different, for as soon as Molly picked up the little wriggling child (a bundle of energy, that one was), he snatched him from her arms and claimed she shouldn't carry heavy things.
As if.
Rolling her eyes at him, she cooed at William and stole him back from Sherlock's grasp, settling him in her lap as she sank into Sherlock's comfortable chair.
He froze for a moment, then joined her, sitting on the armrest of the chair. It was truly a sign of their strong friendship that, though John's chair had finally made a return upon his insistence he needed some goddamned place to sit, you fucking dick, Sherlock never sat in it, reserving it for his best mate.
He uncharacteristically stuck his hand in front of William's mouth and just let him chew on his finger.
"My God, Sherlock, that's so unsanitary! What if you give him germs?"
Even as he gasped, insulted (he always washed his hands to perform his experiments thank you very much), she stuck William onto his lap and got up to get his tiny rubber duck.
Better that than Sherlock's finger. Who knew what bits of tobacco ash he still might have on them? What if he gave the baby an addiction, for christ's sake? He was going to come back alive if John found out, that was for sure. Not for the…oh, what was it again? Fifth time?
She had laughed endlessly when Mary had regaled her with the tale of how Sherlock had been nearly banged black and blue that night, unable to stop snorting with giggles, even when Sherlock not so subtly nudged her three times to get her to stop bursting out in fits of laughter.
It hadn't worked, but they had had angry sex later (well, for her not so much. It was more about humiliation than anything for him as well, she guessed). He had sported a Cheshire cat grin for days afterwards because she had been the one bruised all over after that night.
It couldn't be helped. At least he seemed to regain his ego and strutted around like a proud peacock once more.
Anyways.
After grabbing William's rubber ducky (he was over often enough that they kept some of his toys), she gingerly brought him away from Sherlock's grasp (she had no idea why he was blowing air into William's face, and she didn't want to know, quite frankly. He had been stuck on the enigma of why dogs didn't like warm air blown onto their faces while liking to stick their faces out of car windows. It doesn't seem logical. Warm breezes are very similar to one's breath, and one can even mimic the cool air blown…Needless to say, he had tried it on her, John, Mary, Toby, and even Mrs. Hudson. None were impressed by his "highly scientific" experiment." He bore a scratch from Toby's claws for days afterwards) and brought him to the tub.
She then turned on the tap, waiting for the water to warm up while undressing William.
A pair of hands wrapped around her waist and warm breath blew onto her neck.
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"I didn't say anything."
"Hmm…"
She simply ignored her man-child, picking up William and setting him the bathtub with his plastic duck. Even as he giggled and splashed the water, his body wriggling every which way in delight, Sherlock's hands ventured lower, lower, lower until they were practically on her bum, which was practically dangling entirely off the side of the tub anyway.
She had gained a few pounds over the last month, but that truly wasn't her fault. It was Hamish's dad's fault, and it was his fault that she was vomiting all over the place and absolutely his. fault. that she couldn't get a night of decent rest still because that idiot doctor had told him it would be safe until several months later at least.
Not that she was truly complaining.
She slapped his hands away, failing to notice Toby gracefully leaping onto the side of the tub to join the commotion.
William noticed, however, and he reached his chubby hands toward Toby…
And pulled him into the water.
One second later, William was crying, Toby had shot off to whereabouts unknown, Molly was covered in water and laying on her back in the water with Toby on her tummy, and Sherlock was underneath her, having broken her fall.
He was a romantic after all, she would later muse.
But in this moment, she could only claim slight amusement (although mainly frustration) when she felt a very distinctly non-water like thing protruding into her bum.
"Sherlock!" she hissed.
"What?" he replied innocently.
"For god's sake!"
Still dripping, she clambered out of the water, kicking Sherlock's shin hard enough for him to go ow, but lightly enough so he wouldn't bruise. She was a doctor, after all. She knew very well how much strength to use to bruise someone.
Thirty minutes later, when John and Mary arrived back from their date (Mary complained about having William too soon, but she never meant it), all three were dressed. Only different from earlier, Sherlock was sulking on the couch, his back to the company even when William left.
John gave Molly an inquisitive look, but she didn't bother explaining, her lip twitching for a moment. John and Mary nodded and quickly backed out of the apartment, definitely willing to give the two lovebirds some space. They knew all too well about the moving furniture and knocked over items they've heard crashing more than once before after a big argument.
Two hours later, he hadn't moved, so Molly got up and sat down on the edge of the couch, her hand resting on his upper arm.
"Sherlock?"
A moment of silence.
His head turned slightly, and he peeked over his shoulder at her. Then turned around, his head resting in her lap, and snuggled his head against her stomach.
"I love you, Molly Hooper."
Her hand lightly brushed his curls, and she smiled.
"I love you too, William Sherlock Scott Holmes."
Once they made it to the bedroom, they would not leave for another 12 hours.