AN: Surprise! It's the holiday weekend and I needed a bit of Sherlolly fluff to break me away from the family drama. :)
Not betaed and any mistakes are mine and mine alone, due to my impatience to write this up quick and post.
Of all the days for her to have pushed Sherlock out of the flat to get some fresh and air and stop hovering over her!
'Oh.'
Had she not been so surprise herself, Molly would have laughed out loud at the simple word and the look of complete shock on Mycroft's paling face as he stood up.
'You...your...' He waved at her in complete befuddlement.
Rolling her eyes, Molly heaved a breath and began to rise. From the kitchen, John walked into the room carrying a tray.
'Your tea...' he trailed off and his eyes widened as he took in the situation. 'Oh.'
Men. She scoffed inwardly and finally managed to stand up, one hand supporting her extended belly. Her cherry-print maxi dress was darkening, visual proof that a Holmes does not keep to anyone's timeline but his own.
'B-b-but you're not due for another three weeks,' Mycroft sputtered.
'If you like, I can try to hold him in,' Molly teased. Suddenly, she was hit by a tight band of pain around her abdomen and she groaned.
John was immediately at her side, the Doctor in him coming to the forefront.
'All right, let's get you into a clean outfit and out the door!' He commanded sternly, but gently. Molly let him lead her into the bedroom, where she had a bag prepped for just this occasion...Okay, Sherlock had put it together, saying they needed to prepare for any contingency (and she was never going to hear the end of it now).
She smiled and stood in front of the mirror, taking in the moment. Another contraction hit and she hissed, breathing through the pain. They were too close together. Their child wanted to be born and he wanted to be born now!
Rubbing a hand over her belly, Molly smiled fondly. He certainly was proving to be his father's son, that was for sure!
Slipping out of her dress, she put on the light cotton shift hanging on the back of the door and rejoined the men in the lounge. Both were hanging up their phones and turned expectantly when she entered. John took the bag from her hand.
'Let's get you to hospital; I rang, they're expecting you.' John took her left hand in his left and wrapped his arm around her waist, intending to lead her down the stairs. To her surprise, and humour, Mycroft did the same on her right, the men's arms criss-crossing behind her back. Her heart swelled with affection for them both.
They made it downstairs and out onto the sidewalk with little trouble. Immediately, John raised his hand to hail a passing cab. The driver pulled neatly over to the side as Mycroft frowned and turned to say, 'Dr Watson, I must inform you that-'
A black, unmarked car whipped around the corner and came to a screeching halt right behind the cab, the front bumper a hairs-breadth from the cab.
'-I have already procured a means of transportation.'
To add to the ridiculous situation, there came the sound of sirens, growing closer until a familiar Met car flew into view and slammed on its brakes, coming to a stop half-on the curb right behind the unmarked car.
DI Lestrade hopped out and was about to approach the black car when he noticed the trio standing on the sidewalk. He immediately ran up to them.
'That one of yours, Holmes?' Greg jerked his head in the direction of the offending car. Mycroft simply raised his eyebrow in reply. 'Nearly drove a half dozen cars off the road on Paddington.'
'For good reason,' Mycroft said loftily, looking down at Molly, who was in the midst of another contraction.
Greg stared at her and then his eyes widened in sudden realisation. 'Oh! Really?'
'Really,' John snapped. 'And it's high time we got her to the A&E! Now, get a move on!'
'Put her in the back of my car, I'll get her there with the lights on in no time!' Greg grabbed the bag from John.
Mycroft sneered and took the bag. 'My driver is trained in defensive driving and will beat your time by more than ten minutes. I guarantee it.'
Greg scowled. 'Illegally and leaving a trail of fender benders, no doubt.'
'Pick one!' Molly gasped, sagging as the contraction eased.
John took the bag back and led Molly toward Mycroft's car, waving the cab away. 'Just tell him to drive a bit safer than usual,' he commanded. He opened the door and helped Molly in. She settled happily against the plush seat. Mycroft ducked in and sat beside her, taking her hand. John started to get in and turned to Greg one last time. 'Go get Sherlock. He's with Billy Wiggins at Hyde Park, no doubt deducing people.'
'Yes, sir.' Greg took off toward his car. John smirked. He hadn't used his Army Doctor command voice in quite some time and it was good to know it still sent the common man running to do his bidding.
'Doctor Watson!' Mycroft's shout snapped John out of his thoughts and he slid into the car, taking the backwards-facing seat across from them.
The tires squealed and the car jerked forward, sending them through London at a most impressive speed.
Molly hung on to the safety bar above her head and gritted her teeth against the pain as John rang Sherlock, telling him to meet Lestrade and get his arse to the hospital.
Beside her, Mycroft was coaching her through breathing (she'd have to ask him once this was over if he'd Youtube-d Lamaze breathing, because he was extraordinarily well-versed in the proper technique.)
One thing is for certain, she told her soon-to-be-born son. Your three ridiculous uncles love you already.
'How long does it take for a baby to be born?' Mycroft scowled at the doors to the maternity ward. Across from him, John uncrossed his legs and leaned on his knees, his legs bouncing in agitation.
'Too long.' He brushed his hand through his hair for the 37th time since the doctor delivering Molly's baby had told him he couldn't enter the birthing room unless he was the father.
Mycroft leaned back and crossed his arms. Hours had passed and still no sign of the baby. Lestrade and Sherlock had been right on their tails, not thirty minutes behind. Sherlock, his curls mussed and his eyes wild, had burst into the hospital and stormed through the maternity ward, deducing anyone who dared so much as approach him until he'd found Molly.
Greg paced back and forth in the space between John and Mycroft and checked his watch on average every 3 minutes and 17 seconds.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity (but was in actually only about four hours), the door swung open and a nurse stepped in, her face buried in a clipboard.
'Molly Holmes?'
Mycroft and John leaped to their feet and were right on Greg's heels as they crowded the wide-eyed woman. She stepped back and flushed bright red at being the intense focus of the three men.
'Erm, i-if you'll follow me, please.'
They scrambled to follow her, stumbling over each other in their haste. They passed countless rooms before stopping outside one. The nurse knocked and a soft come in drifted through the door. She opened the door and let the men in.
Rushing in, the three of them simultaneously came to a dead stop at the sight in front of them.
Frazzled, sweaty, and crying happily, Sherlock brushed a finger down the soft cheek of his son. Molly watched with joy in her eyes, exhausted, but glowing with the beauty only a new mother has.
'Would you like to meet your nephew?' She glanced at the three of them, her smile widening, as if she was keeping a secret.
'It will only go to their heads,' Sherlock muttered, the smile never leaving his face as he kissed his son's forehead.
Molly rolled her eyes fondly and beckoned them over. They crowed around Sherlock and took in their first glimpse of the Holmes' boy. His pale blue eyes were wide open, taking in this strange new world he was in, and there was a shock of thin black hair covering his head.
'Mycroft, John, Greg... we'd like you to meet your nephew,' she paused and smiled knowingly up at them. 'William Mycroft John Gregory Holmes.'
Their mouths dropped open as one and they looked up at Molly in disbelief.
'I told her it was utterly ludicrous to give him three middle names,' Sherlock said with a smirk.
'And I told you to stuff it.' Molly poked his arm. 'Now let the uncles hold their nephew.'
Sherlock pouted at having to relinquish his baby son, but one look from Molly and he conceded defeat.
It was unspoken amongst the uncles that Mycroft would be the first to hold their namesake, being his own blood relation. It took a bit of doing, but within seconds, Mycroft was holding his nephew in the cradle of his arms. The initial hesitancy faded and he found he already loved this tiny human who was staring up at him with wide-eyes that promised mischief. I'll be keeping my eye on you, William. Mycroft's eyes crinkled in the semblance of a smile as he remembered when he was seven and Sherlock had been the bright-eyed baby, and he had promised his little brother the very same thing.
Greg and John leaned over his shoulders to stare down at the proof of Sherlock's getting laid (their comments causing Sherlock to scowl and Molly to giggle).
Wrapping his arm around his wife and the mother of his newborn son, Sherlock pressed a kiss to her temple. Molly sighed happily and rested her head on his chest as they watched the uncles fuss over their baby, arguing over who would teach him self-defence, how to shoot a gun, seduce a woman, and everything in between.
They were far from a normal family, but she wouldn't trade it for the world.