OH MY GOSH IT FEELS LIKE IT HAS BEEN SO LONG!

I MISS YOU ALL!

Okay, a new story note that I don't own anything Sherlock, except my Mary. She's mine. Go away.

I hope that you all enjoy this, and I hope it has as good of a reception as 'My Dearest Sherlock'!

Enjoy, duckies!

'Put your hand right here! You can feel him kick!' Mary guided my hand to the side of her now very large belly. She pressed in and I could feel little thumps against my hand.

'That's weird! It's like a little alien!' I hadn't changed very much in the past four months, and my inability to say the right thing hadn't changed either. Luckily Mary knew me well enough to know that I didn't think her baby was an alien…just the idea of another human being inside of Mary seemed…well, alien.

In fact, she laughed. 'It really is sort of odd! Thinking that John and I…we have a baby!' She traced patterns lovingly across her stomach. 'It's been five and a half months and it still seems so surreal.'

'Do you have any names picked out for him?'

'I'm quite fond of Aidan. John really likes his own middle name. Hamish. It sounds like deli meat.'

'I agree. Hamish Watson. It doesn't sound very nice.'

'I recently thought about Oliver. Oliver Watson. I think it has a nice ring to it. It's like I can picture myself calling him Ollie.' Mary got this far off look in her eye and I knew she was thinking of a time in the future.

'Have you told John you like the name?'

'No, not yet…he's still set on Hamish. He said it's been in his family for quite a few generations.'

'What about Oliver Hamish Watson? It could be a middle name, just like John's.'

'True!' She pulled herself off of my couch and made her way to Sherlock's door and knocked. Sherlock answered in a matter of seconds, followed by John.

'Everything alright?' John asked.

'I found the name I like!' She beamed, and I made my way closer to the couple.

'What name?'

'Oliver Hamish Watson.' John smiled and bent down to kiss her.

'I love it.' I saw Sherlock in the background rolling his eyes, and John checked his watch. 'Well, it's almost time for our appointment. Better be off.' Mary gave me a hug and they left, just like usual.

'I swear, if I have to hear one more thing about pregnancy or babies I will lose what little sanity I have left.' Sherlock complained from the other side of the flat.

'You should be happy for him. He's finally got what he wants.'

'He's tied down and therefore unavailable to help me.' I poured myself a cup of tea and made my way back into Sherlock's room where he was sitting at his table looking under the microscope. 'Molly, I could use your assistance.'

I walked over to him and he grabbed my hand.

'Hold your breath.' I did as I was told, and before I could stop him he had made a little cut on the tip of my finger.

'Ouch!' I cried, pulling my finger away, causing the knife to do more damage than necessary. 'Why didn't you tell me what you were doing in the first place!'

'You didn't ask.' He grabbed my hand and plopped a few drops of blood in a vile with a clear liquid.

'That knife better be clean.'

'Do you honestly think I'd taint a sample by using a dirt knife?'

'It's not the sample I'm worried about being tainted!'

'A few germs aren't going to harm you, Molly.' I sighed. His compassion was overwhelming. I took a bandage from the box he kept lying around and wrapped my finger in it before plopping myself in the middle of his bed. It was only seven, but I felt like I could go to sleep then and there. I curled up and threw the blanket over me. 'Going to bed early?' he asked.

'I don't know. Are we?'

'I'm not, but you're more than welcome to.' I looked over at him and he hadn't looked up from the microscope. He wouldn't go to bed for another few hours, I concluded, and chose to close my eyes.

Before I knew it I was asleep, dreaming, as I had been for a few months, of terrors that no longer existed except in my mind.

A gentle shaking roused me from my nightmares. 'Molly, wake up. You're dreaming again.' I bolted upright, and a hand grabbed mine, and squeezed reassuringly. It was dark in the room, so I guessed that I'd been asleep for some time. Not to mention I was still in my clothes from the day. I climbed out of bed and began mechanically removing my jeans and button up shirt, choosing to sleep in my tank and panties…in other words, I was too tired to go find pajamas.

'That's a new look.' Sherlock commented, his voice quiet, deep, and full of sleep.

'Yeah, I thought I'd try it out.' I replied, yawning halfway through. Sherlock held the blanket up for me to climb under and I made myself get as close to him as humanly possible, the cold nipping at my legs and arms. It wasn't long before his breathing got deeper and evened out, and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. He was asleep already. It must be pretty late. I closed my eyes again and joined him in his slumber.

I awoke the next day to the sound of the shower and the damp warmth of the steam rolling out of the bathroom.

It took a few moments before I could sit up and think properly. I was still beyond tired. I looked at my phone and it said eight a.m. I put my head back down on the pillow and closed my eyes. It was still acceptable to sleep for another three or four hours. I heard the shower click off, and the shower curtain pull open. I heard his dresser open and I opened my eye a little, just glancing...

He was just slipping his boxers on…to me, it was a wonderful sight. I quite enjoyed just looking at him…

'I thought you were sleeping.' He stated, catching me as I drifted off into a daydream.

'I was…and probably will be again momentarily.' I laid my head down, smiled at the thought of more sleep. I felt Sherlock climb in beside me, his body still warm and damp from the shower, the smell of men's soap clinging to him. He was lying sideways when I looked up, his feet hanging from the side of the bed, his head resting on my stomach. I reached down and rubbed small circles on his temples, his eyes closing, making me question whether or not he was awake. I didn't rouse him, knowing I'd woken him up last night.

My hand traced it's was down his chest and back up to his shoulders, where I outlined the pattern of a familiar scar. I ran my finger up over his chin and felt the stubble of an unshaved face.

'That's got to go.' I commented, not liking the feel of it against my hand. I rubbed my fingers over it, comparing it to sandpaper, surprised by the red coloring…I'd expected a dark brown, similar to his hair. 'Do you dye your hair?'

He sighed. 'I'll let you guess.'

'Why is your beard red?'

'You're quite like a child, Molly.' He responded, rubbing his face where he needed to shave.

'That doesn't answer my question.' I giggled. 'Are you Irish?'

'I'm not Irish, and I suppose it's just genetics, Molly. You should know this.'

'I should, but I don't.' I laughed. 'I don't think that I've ever seen you with facial hair.'

'I had no idea of the impact it would make.'

I leaned up, and he moved his head to my lap. 'You look nice either way.' I commented, gently caressing his face. I leaned down and kissed him, the sideways angle making it somewhat awkward, and my hunched over position leaving me out of breath faster than normal. '…Although it's like kissing sandpaper.' He sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

I followed him, and wrapped my arms around his chest, setting my head on his shoulder. I rubbed my hand up and down his chest, admiring the soft strength that was there.

'This seems vaguely familiar.' He commented. I mumbled in agreement, fondly remembering the time our relationship truly changed. I kissed the side of his neck, him laughing in the process, in turn making me laugh.

God, I loved his smile, his laugh…I didn't try to deny it anymore…I was in love with him.

'Do you have a case today?' I asked into his ear.

'Yes. In fact, I should be there right now. Lestrade texted me this morning to asking me go to east Sussex to investigate a double murder...'

'Sorry I woke you up last night…I couldn't sleep in my bed…you need to get a good night's sleep to investigate properly.'

'No, you're fine, Molly. You're fine where you are. I…just you're fine.' He stood up, unlocking my arms from around him, and pulled a pair of pants and a button down shirt on. He slipped on his shoes and left, just as he always did with a case. He didn't act excited about it, so I assumed he already had an idea of what'd happened.

I drug myself out of bed to take the shower I desperately needed. I elected to use Sherlock's, too lazy to go into my own. I ran the shower water hot, hotter than normal and threw myself in. I let the water run over me, hoping it would wake me up. It didn't help, and my tired mind sent me back into the days of old, days that my showering in his bathroom would have never happened.

Things had changed so much in such a little time.

John and Mary we having a baby…a baby that may, for some reason, make it through the door of this flat…I wasn't fond of kids, never have been. They'd always seemed to be oozing some sort of body fluid or making some noise. They were much more trouble than they were worth.

The idea of seeing Sherlock react around this baby was sure to amuse, though! If I was awkward around children, he would be tenfold.

Back on topic though…Sherlock and I's relationship had definitely changed…no doubt.

He was much more…open? No, not open, but not as closed off from the world, if you understand my meaning. He was in no way open, but he wasn't keeping me out purposefully like he had before.

Not to mention the intimacy between increased like crazy.

I mean…

Wow.

He still never answered or commented on what he considered us, or if he loved me, but I wasn't concerned…if he loved me, it would take a hell of a lot for him to admit it. If he didn't, then I know that he at least cares about me…

I sounded so pathetic.

Oh well, being pathetic was rule number one in my how-to-be pathetic book, I suppose.

I shut off the shower, afraid I would fall asleep, and climbed back into the bed, not bothering with clothes, and fell asleep.

There was a pressure on my wrist when I woke up.

'It's alive!' Sherlock exclaimed monotonously.

'What are you talking about?' I asked, beyond groggy.

'Since the last time I saw you I have taken the tube to east Sussex, solved a case, and taken the tube back from east Sussex. That's eight hours, Molly.' I sat up; my head feeling like it was in the clouds.

'Yeah, I'm still really tired.' I laid my head back down

'That shouldn't even be possible.' He mumbled, going over to his desk and setting up his microscope and slides. 'You realize that you won't sleep at all tonight?'

'I will sleep until next Tuesday.' I stated, shutting my eyes and drifting off into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

I waited until Molly fell asleep to investigate the cause of her lethargy. I took her pulse, which I'd been interrupted in doing earlier, and her temperature.

Insomnia. That doesn't seem probable.

Working long hours. Possibly. She had picked up a few hours for Mary these past few weeks.

Illness. The most likely cause. She had seemed rather pale and warm to the touch.

Diet. If she was dieting again I'd be livid. I'd just gotten her back to her average body weight.

The advice on the website concurred with the advice John had given me: wake her up and monitor her sleeping and eating habits, as well as beginning an exercise routine.

It was all quite frustrating, really.

The part of myself which I loathed, the part with emotion and feeling, was more than willing to do to such dramatic extremes to see her better; yet the part of me which I considered to be more wise told me to let her work through this herself. She was an adult, she could handle it.

I stood up and placed myself by her side on the bed. 'Molly, you need to wake up.'

'I told you that I am sleeping until next Tuesday.' She stated, throwing the quilt over her head like a child trying to sway the attention of a parent.

'No, you're waking up right now.' I pulled the cover down, only to discover she was naked in my bed. I felt the blood rush to my face. Great, now I looked like the child.

'I have no reason to wake up, Sherlock. No motivation.'

Depression, maybe? Why would she be depressed, though? I marked it down as something to investigate at a later time.

I sighed, and, out of habit, laid my hand on her abdomen, forgetting its being bare. The skin on skin contact knocked me out of my stupor, and apparently did the same to Molly.

'Okay, I'm awake.' She stated, sitting up and taking my face in her small hands, kissing me as she did when she expected something more.

This was the part I hated to love, because under her marvelous spell I became like putty in her hands, and I didn't even care. I loved giving myself over to her, and hated that she had such a claim over me.

If I was being honest with myself that's why I couldn't tell her that I loved her. With the scientific description of love and the symptoms I'd been experiencing, I'd concluded long ago that I held a special sort of sentiment for Molly Hooper, not just a lust that I'd though it was in the beginning.

I wouldn't tell her that, though. That would be joining the losing side.

What do you think?

Honest question though, do you think that I should maybe throw in Sherlock's POV every now and again?

I did it this time to see how people reacted...

So, do you like it?

;)

Review and let me know, and I can't wait to get this show on the road!

-TDM

PS- I'm thinking about writing John and my Mary a story (actually I've already started it)

let me know if you'd be interested in reading! :)