"What's this?" John asked, seeing the gift-box his wife held out to him.
"Anniversary present," she said, cheeks flushed. He gave her an almost naughty look.
"I'd say you were almost embarrassed to give me this." He was about to tug at the ribbon, then paused. "Our anniversary isn't for two months," he said with a frown.
"It's an early one," Molly amended. "Anyway I decided I couldn't wait, some secrets just won't keep that long,"
"Hm," John smiled and kissed her cheek. "Well thank you." He paused, studying her a moment. She was fidgeting as if nervous. "Is everything alright?" he asked,
"Good heavens, of course it is!" she laughed
"Ok, it's just, usually early anniversary presents are followed by 'I scratched the car,' or 'I accidentally on purpose dipped into the savings'," John said. Molly shook her head.
"Just open it!"
Sherlock stood by the window, rosining the bow of his violin. He listened as Molly had come home, meeting John on the stairs in the hall. He'd seen her pass the open doorway. He'd given her a courteous nod before turning back to the window. Idly listening as she handed John what she claimed to be an early anniversary present. He frowned. That was not like Molly. It would be more like John to have something planned out. He opened his eyes now, studying her. She wore John's oatmeal sweater over her jeans, it hung too long on her small frame, just hitting her mid-thigh. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes twinkled, and she fidgeted, nervous about something. He turned his attention to the box. Too large to contain a watch, perhaps a new mobile phone, unlikely, John had just replaced his.
"-I'm sure I'll love it," John said, working the knot on the ribbon free. He lifted the lid-
The world suddenly seemed paused, the air in 221b stilled.
John gasped, then let out a 'whoosh' of breath, staggering back two steps. He clapped the lid on the box, grinning at her. He opened it again, then replaced the lid, took a breath, and peeked inside. He looked up at Molly, eyes watery, the corners of his mouth slowly forming a smile.
"I'm crying…" he could barely find the breath to speak, his voice was choked. "I'm crying because you still don't know my size,"
She burst out laughing and he grabbed her by the waist, tugging her close. Her arms went around his neck, stroking his head when he finally set her down, wiping his eyes.
"Are you ok? This is ok?" she asked.
"My God, yeah, yes! Oh my- Molls," he pulled away, looking in the box again. "You're sure- it's for sure?"
"Yes, yes, I- I had a feeling and I went after my shift last week, asked them to run a test,"
Now Sherlock was entirely confused. Size? Size of what? What test? John was kissing Molly now, laughing.
"Who else knows?"
"Nobody, you think I'd tell anyone before you?" Molly asked. "Well, except Sherlock must have known," they both turned to the consulting detective, who still stood by the window, looking rather confused.
"Know what?" John and Molly looked at each other, smiles growing.
"You mean you didn't notice?" Molly asked. She nearly burst out laughing then. "Weight gain? Sickness at odd hours of the day, odd mood swings, and the fact that I'm six weeks late,"
"Late for what?" he asked. "Oh yes, your menstruation cycle, yes I noticed you didn't send John out for tampons, I assumed this meant you were pregnant," he said. They stared at him. "What you mean that's it?" he asked.
"Geeze Sherlock yes!" John said, though he was laughing. Molly crossed the room, pressing his cheek.
"Congratulate us then, Sherlock, you're to be an Uncle!" she said. Sherlock did, and he did the courtesy of shaking John's hand, offering a smile. He pressed Molly's cheek, embarrassed and feeling as if he'd intruded on something private.
"I expect you'll want to find somewhere else to live," he said, not liking the idea one bit.
"I had thought of that," Molly said, and John looked at her. "Well I had the time while I was waiting for the results." She shrugged. "The flat upstairs is perfectly fine, we could have it fixed up," Sherlock crossed the room, snatching up his mobile.
"Mycroft owes you a favor," he said, tapping out a text. "Mrs. Hudson will rent it to you of course," he said.
"Why does Mycroft owe you a favor?" John asked. Molly just shrugged, tugging him over to sit on the stairs with her. Sherlock tossed his phone onto his chair, picking up his violin. Swinging the bow for a moment, he flourished it, tucking the instrument under his chin and began playing a jaunty tune. Leaning against the stair wall, Molly sat between John's legs, resting her back against his chest, head tucked under chin. Fingers laced, his other hand covering her middle, idly tracing circles. Outside a gentle snow began to fall, and John thought to himself it was a very happy early anniversary indeed.