"Getting ready to go then?" Molly leaned against the doorway of Sherlock's (now their) bedroom.
He glanced up from packing his violin in its case. "Yes."
"Gone long?"
"Not very. A day or two at the most."
"Does she talk?"
Sherlock was silent for a moment. His sister's silence was the eeriest thing. Mycroft said it was perhaps best she didn't, better her silence than to disturb their parents. In truth, Sherlock did not know which was worse.
"No," he answered finally. "No she doesn't speak."
"The violin helps though," she nodded to the case.
"Yes, it…helps." He didn't know what was happening in his sister's brain, he could understand a fraction of her frustration at the world, but ultimately, there was a dizzying simplicity to her. The best problems usually are though. "She always wanted to play," he murmured, lost in thought. "That's all she ever wanted."
Sherlock felt Molly's arms slip around him, hugging him from behind with her cheek resting against his shoulder. "It's not your fault, you know. You were only a child."
Turning around in her arms, he settled her against him. "Yes."
"Will you ever believe me when I say that?"
He smiled gently. Molly always knew what he was thinking, there was no fooling her.
"Someday."
She left him to finish packing, he could hear her puttering around the kitchen.
In a few moments, she heard him heft the duffle bag, leaving the bedroom to set it by the front door. When she turned to face him, she found he was leaning against the doorframe, studying her with the fondest of smiles.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shook his head, staying where he was. "Just…you look nice today."
"'Nice'?" she raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile.
"Beautiful," he amended, shy smile remaining. Gentle words and compliments were not his forte, he was unused to giving them, but when he did, he always meant them.
"At seven and a half months, I don't feel it, but if you say it, it must be true," she smiled, sidling up to him.
Kissing her gently, he smoothed the hair from her face, again studying her, admiring her. It is the most petrifying thing in the world, realizing how close you come to losing someone you didn't realize you loved so very deeply. He'd always known…but he'd always been afraid to acknowledge it.
She took a breath, eyes soft. "Sherlock," lowering her head, she fiddled with the buttons on her sweater. "Will you do something for me?"
"You cannot come," he said immediately. "I've told you before, you cannot-"
"No, I know," she interrupted. "I know, and I understand, I do, I won't ever go against what you've asked, I promise," she squeezed his hands, hoping he understood she would never disobey his request. "But I just, I wanted to ask if you'd tell her something. She doesn't have to know it's from me, though I suspect if she's as clever as you and Mycroft say, she'll have figured it out."
"What is it?" he frowned. What on earth could Molly have to say to Eurus?
"Tell her 'thank you'."
"For what?"
"For making you say it."
He paused, thinking for a moment. "She didn't make me say it!" he said, slightly indignant.
"You said she told you a bomb was rigged in my flat, and that if I didn't say it, she'd kill me!" Molly poked his chest, amused more than annoyed.
"I did," he confirmed, serious this time. "But she did not make me say that I loved you…you did." Molly frowned, shifting carefully. Her knee-jerk reaction was to fly at him and demand an explanation, but time and understanding had taught her to wait for Sherlock to finish. "Only you could ever get me to tell the truth, Molly Hooper-Holmes," the gentle smile was back, his blue-green eyes were soft and he gazed down at her.
"Still," she shifted, but this time it was closer to him. "Without her…experiment, would you have been in the position for me to ask you to say it?" He tilted his head, pursing his mouth in an exaggerated way as if deep in thought. "No, stop it," she laughed, sobering. "I mean it."
"I would like to think so, I would hope that," he answered, honestly. "It would not have been in a normal way, and…at the time, I had been so desperate to save you, I would've said anything…but once I'd said it, said 'I love you'…" he paused then, thoughtful, happy. "I realized it was true, it had always been true and I'd been entirely ridiculous to be afraid of it."
"So," Molly leaned forward, kissing him and he happily reciprocated, sighing against her. "You'll be late for the car," she said, pulling away and he nearly followed. "Tell her thank you, just the same."
"Just that?" he asked as she got his scarf, settling it around his neck.
"Just that," hands rested on his chest, savoring the feel his heartbeat under her palm. She kissed him once more before stepping back, letting him shrug into his coat.
"I will," he nodded.
"Will what?" John asked, coming up with Rosie in his arms.
"Never you mind," Sherlock quipped. "Back tonight or early tomorrow, depending on the weather. "Shall I text you?"
"If you think of it," Molly answered. "Safe flight, give you parents my love, and Mycroft too."
"I will," Sherlock promised and headed downstairs.
"Off to see Eurus?" John asked, passing Rosie to Molly's waiting arms.
"Mmhmm," she smiled, lifting Rosie up and down, making the little girl laugh.
"How's that going, then? Is she…better?"
"I don't know as she'll ever be better," Molly said, bouncing Rosie for a moment before setting her on the floor.
"Is Frederick okay with babies?" John asked, pointing to the bloodhound that Molly had surprised Sherlock with.
"He's great," Molly promised. "If you're asking if the visits help their sister, then…yes. Help with what, I don't know…I don't know that any of us know what she needs. Human contact, but to what extent, conversation?"
"No," John shook his head. He still had awful nightmares about that voice. "But then I was only around her at her worst. Maybe she's…more…" he searched for words, unable to find any.
"Yes," Molly answered, understanding what he was trying to say. "So," her voice was bright, and she sat down, clearly wanting to change the subject. "What shall we do today, Miss Rosie?"
Late that night
John had stayed most of the day, helping Molly fix up the rest of the nursery, rewire the lamp by the desk and do a few odd jobs for Mrs. Hudson. They weren't the most exciting days, but often the ones he enjoyed, just as much as helping Sherlock solve a case. His 'Baker Street Girls', he called them, Molly and Mrs. Hudson. Molly got to babysit Rosie, and he got to get out of the house and be with friends again, be useful in the small ordinary ways. Molly made lunch, and Mrs. Hudson sent him and Rosie home with hot dinner. It was a beloved ritual, especially now that Molly was expecting. Sherlock demanded John be Molly's primary, and to be the one to deliver the baby, to which, per Molly's blessing, he happily agreed.
Molly went around 221b, putting out the lights and seeing the kettle set for the morning, turned at the sound of the downstairs front door opening and closing, the tumblers clicking into place.
"Home," Sherlock called up, shaking the rain off his coat before heading up. The door opened just as he reached it, and he smiled. It was a small thing, but one that he'd realized he loved very much. It meant there was someone waiting for him, and it was a very good thing, knowing that someone he loved, loved him back and cared to wait up, to greet him.
"Here," she took his coat and scarf, hanging them to dry. "Hungry?"
"Starving," he murmured, pulling her against him.
"I meant dinner,"
"Hmm, so did I," he kissed her neck, smirking naughtily.
"Oo you're freezing! Go on, go get in the tub and warm up before you catch cold," she smiled back at him. "I'll even join you, let me just put your plate in the warming oven."
This, he agreed to, and disappeared down the hall to run a bath. In a few minutes, Molly appeared, laughing at the sight of him sinking into the tub, legs stretched out so his feet were propped up outside.
"Go on, bunch up, you can't eat sitting down anyway,"
He obeyed, taking the warm bowl from her.
"I thought I smelled Mrs. Hudson making potpies," he said.
"She did, sent them home with John and Rosie. I wanted take-away, is that okay?"
"Mmhmm," he said around a mouthful of eggroll and lo-mein. Bowl in one-hand, he grasped her's with his other, steadying her as she stepped into the bath across from him. "Here," he reached to the closed laundry hamper where she'd set her own bowl and passed it to her. "Didn't you eat?"
"I did, we're hungry again," she said with a shy smile.
"You know you don't have to worry about getting fat around me," he said, quite seriously.
"I know," she gave a nervous laugh, pushing her hair back.
He gave her a look, and she met his gaze.
"Thank you," she said after a moment, and meant it. "Sorry. I worry sometimes, I'm big as a house and then sometimes that Woman texts you-"
"I don't answer her," he said flatly. "Not anymore. I've told her about you and I, shall…shall I ask her to stop? If I told her to stop-"
"No," Molly shook her head. "I know you would never go to her, I know that, I do trust you," she squeezed his hand. "But it's only in a few silly moments I worry…John and Mary were totally happy, perfectly happy, but he still felt something was missing enough for him to become emotionally attached to someone else and…" she shrugged. "I'm sorry,"
"Look at me, please?"
She lifted her teary eyes, feeling foolish.
"I can only tell you what I know is true: that there is nothing she, nor any woman could offer me that you do not already possess. There is no one else for me but you, Molly Hooper-Holmes."
Molly's smile was incandecant, positively glowing, sitting there in the bathtub with a bowl of Chinese takeaway. "Thank you," and she sealed her answer with a kiss.
"Speaking of," he said, once they'd pulled apart. "She said 'You're welcome,'" he went on eating while Molly paused to take in what he'd said. "Eurus," he said. "I didn't tell her who or what, just finished playing my piece, and told her thank you. She might've thought it was for playing with her, but I think…"
Sherrinford, Hours Earlier
"You're welcome."
Sherlock looked at his sister, and she looked back. There was a spark, the same spark as when he'd begun to play for her that first day. She understood what he meant.
"Will you do something for me, Sherlock?" she asked.
Mycroft shifted in his chair, gesturing to their parents to keep silent.
Eurus didn't wait for him to answer.
"Be happy, Sherlock." With that she picked up her violin again, plucking at the strings.
"Sherlock?"
He blinked, realizing Molly was calling him.
"Sorry, drifted off,"
She nodded. "It's okay, just seemed lost in thought, didn't want you to drop your food in."
"I like this," he suddenly said.
"What?" she was distracted by a drop of duck sauce running down her arm.
"This," he shrugged, looking around them. "The bath and, you, and…food."
"It's nice, isn't it?" she agreed. "It's how I found out take away containers float."
"Do they?" curiosity peaked, Sherlock took another bite. "I imagine the foam ones, but it would prove a trick, eating it evenly to keep water from leaking in."
"Sounds like an experiment we ought to try," Molly answered, smiling a particular smile that Sherlock had come to savor very much.
"Oh indeed, and will you be available? I'm afraid it's quite hands on."
"Very much so," she said, setting their bowls aside and moving to his side of the tub. She rested against him, and he gave a contented, happy sigh.
"I love you," he murmured against her head. She turned, resting her chin against him.
"I know you do."
Sherlock smiled, knowing she could say that with every confidence, with every assurance that he meant it. There wasn't much he could do for Eurus, but he could, in good conscience, and happily so, fulfill his promise to her. He would be happy.