It was only a few days since Sherlock had done the re-creation of that fateful day when he and Molly had solved crimes together. He was sitting in his chair, thinking. Molly was on his lap, admiring her new ring enhancer which really did enhance the beauty of her heart-shaped engagement ring.

"You know, darling, seeing as how you love re-creating scenes from our past and rewriting them, I have a couple ideas if you want to hear them."

Molly stopped admiring her rings and looked at him. "Sounds intriguing. Go on."

Well..." he drawled the word. "One of them is actually from the same day as our new memory we created a few days ago."

"I'm not sure we can top that one, to be honest," she commented.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe," she lowered her lashes and planted a kiss on his lips.

His arms tightened about her. "You need to stop sitting on my lap. It ties me up in knots. Then of course there's that added problem of you crushing my legs."

Molly glared at him.

"Bit Not Good, I suppose?"

"You're learning, Sherlock. Now apologize."

"I apologize that you are crushing my legs with the extra weight you have put on."

Molly raised her hand to slap him playfully, but he caught her wrist and kissed it. "I will not tolerate any spousal abuse, Mrs. Holmes." Then, extending her arm, he started kissing his way up it, over her jumper.

"You know I don't actually feel your kisses through the jumper don't you?" she remarked, arching a brow.

"Are you inviting me to take it off then?" he inquired with what he hoped was a very seductive look, and was rewarded by her lifting her arms so he could remove the jumper.

Wondering how far he could push it, this was usually the time when Molly stopped him from going further, he asked, not really sure of what to expect, "Blouse too?"

"I will allow you to unbutton and take it off."

At his surprised, yet delighted grin, she added pertly, "Pregnancy libido is a thing you know."

Sherlock wasted no time unbuttoning and removing her blouse as well.

He went to unclasp the last article of clothing on her upper half. When she made no move to stop him, he asked, "Why aren't you telling me off for distracting you this time?"

Molly began to unfasten his buttons. "Because, my darling husband, I am not the one who is trying to tell you something. You are the one trying to tell me about these new re-creation scenarios."

Her bra dropped to the floor, as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, then began to knead her shoulders so that she moaned. "The difference is, I am quite content to explain my ideas after we make love."

His mouth captured hers, as he began to kiss her passionately. Molly continued to make noises of pleasure against his mouth as he kept massaging her shoulders. She finally finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off his shoulders.

He would have pulled Molly against him, but her position sitting sideways on his lap made it rather difficult. Instead, he dropped one hand to possessively cup her breast. She gasped at his touch and he smiled. He loved that he affected her as much as she affected him.

"Bedroom?" he queried.

"Bedroom," she agreed breathlessly.

Sherlock placed one arm under Molly's legs and his other supported her under her back. Molly placed her arms round his neck. With an exaggerated groan he heaved to his feet, carrying his wife, bridal style to the bedroom.

Once there, he laid her down gently on the bed and joined her. He looked into her eyes for a few moments, not touching her, just drinking in the sight of her, seeing her heavy-lidded gaze. Then she was pulling him close, threading her fingers through his hair. She pressed as close to him as she could. It was getting decidedly harder for their chests to connect, now that her belly kept getting in the way.

He stroked Molly's abdomen and spoke softly to their unborn child. "You're not here yet, and you're already cramping my style." Then he kissed that beautiful evidence of their love.

"I hate to interrupt your bonding time with our child," spoke up Molly, "but I'm feeling a little neglected here."

"So demanding, Mrs. Holmes," murmured Sherlock. He trailed open mouthed kisses upwards from her abdomen to the underside of her breasts, then continued with little seductive licks and kisses above.

"Sherlock," she moaned, "kiss me, please."

He raised his head. "What do you think I've been doing?"

"Your lips, Sherlock. I love feeling your lips on mine."

He slid upwards, placing his lips against hers once more, letting his hands do the wandering instead, as he continued to kiss her with long, lingering, open-mouthed kisses that affected her more than anything else.

Then she arched towards him in a mute entreaty, indicating she wanted more than just kisses. His mouth left hers only long enough so he could divest them both of the rest of their clothes.

And he was kissing her again, even as they allowed the flames of passion to overwhelm them. Their lips were always the fuel for their desire. Then kisses turned to murmurs and whispers of love as two became one.

Sometime later, when their breathing was returning to normal and bodies were cooling, Sherlock asked his wife, as she lay in his arms, "Now are you ready for me to tell you about these other two scenarios?"

Instead of answering in the affirmative, Molly moved away from his encircling warmth.

He pouted, until she said. "I need the loo. Just be glad this time I didn't stop you just when things were getting...heated." She grinned at him and he rolled his eyes.

Molly certainly had a habit of needing the loo at the most inconvenient of times. "Hurry back, love. I'm cold without you." He was treated to the sight of a very naked, very shapely wife hurrying into the bathroom. She wasn't long and, as soon as she returned, slid under the covers. Sherlock joined her, holding her close from behind.

"Are you ready NOW?" he queried, trying not to sound impatient.

"Yes Sherlock," she murmured drowsily.

He nudged her. "Do you want to sleep now, instead?"

"Mmmm? What was that?"

Sherlock gave up. "Just sleep, love. We'll talk later."

"Okay." Within minutes, his wife was fast asleep.

Oh well, he thought. It's my fault for making her tired. Come to think of it, I'm rather tired myself. He closed his eyes and slept too.

A couple hours later, Sherlock woke. Molly was still tucked securely against him and he always loved being close to her. He could smell the scent from her shampoo; the body wash that often scented her skin; her own unique scent that attracted him. Five and a half months of marriage and she still drove him as wild as when he had first realized he loved her, when his emotions had been restored after the events at Sherrinford.

Sherlock kissed Molly's hair. His hand was resting gently on her abdomen, and from time to time he felt slight movement. It was another thing that had delighted him over the past three and a half weeks. No matter how many times he was fortunate enough to feel that tiny flutter, it was still a miracle. He, Sherlock Holmes, formerly married to his work, was going to be a father in about three and a half months time. It was an exciting, yet terrifying prospect.

Molly finally stirred, interrupting his internal monologue. She shifted onto her back and looked at him, smiling. "I love waking up in your arms."

"I love having you there too." He smiled fondly at her. "Now you are rested, do you want to hear my scenario ideas or not?"

"Yes." She reached up and stroked his cheek. "You said it was the same day as the one we did two days ago. So what's the story?"

"It was when you first came to the flat."

"Okay. I know we had our wires crossed. You wanted to solve crimes, and I thought maybe you wanted to have dinner. That's not really a re-creation scenario that would be fun to re-write. I mean, so yeah we can just have dinner. Hardly necessary for a new memory."

"But what if I told you 'have dinner' could have an entirely different meaning?"

He could see the confusion in Molly's eyes.

"Okay," he said patiently, "hear me out. Back in the old days, when Irene Adler was constantly texting me..." He felt Molly stiffen against him.

"You know I can't stand that woman for what she tried to do to you."

"I know, but please just listen to me." He leaned into Molly, giving her a gentle kiss, and she relaxed. "The point is, one of her things was, she would always say stuff, then add 'let's have dinner.' I only ever responded in the negative. I knew what she meant by 'dinner.'"

"And you think she was asking you for sex?"

Sherlock snorted. "Of course she was. She wanted me, you know that."

"I might despise her, but I can understand her wanting you. I'd be pretty hypocritical to not understand the attraction, wouldn't I?"

He nuzzled, then kissed Molly's neck. "You know you've always been the only one for me."

She smiled. "I'm still not sure how you want to re-create that into a scenario. Do you want us to stand, look at each other, and then agree to have dinner instead, but have a different kind of dinner?"

"Yes." Finally she understood.

"Well, that's a pretty short scene. So we can do that whenever you want. I'll wear the clothes and you'll be in your dressing gown and we'll have dinner. All good."

Sherlock smiled to himself. She had no idea what was in store.

"So, what's the second one?"

"Well, this was a non verbal one. We'd have to make up a whole conversation later."

"You're confusing me, honey."

"You'll understand when I explain. Remember the piece I played at John's wedding, and how I threw my boutonnière?"

"I remember. You told me when we were engaged that you really wanted to throw it to me, but didn't, out of respect for my engagement."

"Correct. I thought maybe we could re-create it, pretend you were free at the time, and hold a conversation about...us."

"Oh, I think we can work with that," she responded with a grin. "When do you want to do those? You know of course I can't wear that dress in my current state."

Sherlock chuckled. "We'll just have to find a pretty maternity dress for you and buy that first."'

"That could be awkward. You throwing a boutonnière to a pregnant woman."

"We'll pretend you aren't pregnant." He rubbed Molly's belly gently. "Sorry, Victoria. Mummy and I love you. We're just going to play pretend."

Molly giggled. "Well, we need preparation for that one, a dress and a boutonnière. When do you want to do the other one?"

"I should be up for it tonight."

"Are you trying to make a dirty joke?"

"No, my love. I did not put emphasis on the word up." He shook his head. "You are the one with the dirty mind, my angel."

Molly blushed, then smirked. "Nope, just your naughty little angel."

Oh yes, you are naughty, he thought, but I can be naughty too. Wait till tonight. He smirked back at his unsuspecting wife.

Author's note: What does our naughty Sherlock have in mind? Make your deductions, folks!

Updated for errors and better flow 6/23/18.