Hi everyone! I haven't posted anything in a while so I'm very excited (and a little nervous). I have been working on this fic for a really long time and its been going very slow, so I have decided to just begin posting it in hopes to motivate myself. Hope you enjoy!

Molly flew out of the lab at Bart's, showing no interest in stopping for the befuddled young intern she had just struck with the door. She hadn't even changed from her formaldehyde scented clothes before she left. She sat in the cab, tapping her fingers on the armrest with a frantic energy until she reached Baker St.

She looked over Sherlock's texts as she waited for him to open the door- he had sent about ten more just on her five-minute drive to Baker Street.

Molly, I need your help. It's urgent. Baker St. -SH

Please, Molly. I'm a bit out of my depth here. –SH

The first few she had ignored, assuming he just wanted her help with some experiment or was angling for a spare body part, but when the name of her goddaughter flashed across the screen she could ignore him no longer.

It's about Rosie. I don't care if it's inconvenient, come anyway. -SH

Sherlock pulled the door open to a flushed and panting pathologist. He looked exhausted; his usually perfect curls were a ratty mess, a furry halo around his head. He was holding the baby in his arms- entirely incorrectly, as she babbled loudly. Spit-up decorated his finely tailored suit.

"Thank god!" He exclaimed as he pulled her inside.

"So, what's so urgent that I needed to leave in the middle of a workday, Sherlock?" He held out the baby to her like an offering he was desperate to rid himself of. He looked truly concerned- she had never seen him so frazzled.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Molly! She just kind of expelled a lot of various fluids and…" He motioned to his soiled clothing. "Anyways John had some emergency with the nanny, so he dropped Rosie off with me."

Molly struggled to suppress a giggle. "Oh my god Sherlock. You are ridiculous." She rolled her eyes and tried her best to sound stern as she grabbed the child from him, heading for the kitchen to clean her up. She ran some water in the sink and removed the soiled nappy, carefully cleaning Rosie up. When the sink was full, she scooped up her goddaughter and placed her in the warm water.

Sherlock sunk into a kitchen chair directly next to her, visibly relaxing. He watched as Molly ran her hand over the child's head, attempting to get some spit-up out of her tufts of hair. She tickled Rosie's stomach and they both erupted in giggles. Molly picked up some bubbles and blew them towards her granddaughter, who squealed with delight. The smile on Molly's face was radiant as she played with the squirming child, Sherlock thought. He stood and leaned over her shoulder, making funny faces for the baby.

She eventually caught him, the idea of Mr. Posh doing something so ridiculous made Molly giggle and she turned, scooping up some more bubbles and playfully blowing them in his face- which she instantly regretted. At first, he looked shocked, frozen in place. Molly gulped, worried she had crossed a line, but quickly his face morphed into a brilliant smile. He ruffled the suds from his curls and gave Molly a wicked grin. Both she and Rosie squeaked as Sherlock splashed her and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

After both Rosie and Sherlock were cleaned up and the baby was sleeping in Sherlock's room, he and Molly lay on the floor in the sitting room; exhausted.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said, breaking the silence. She hummed in response. "You're really good with her, you know?"

Molly smiled. "You're not so bad at it, Sherlock."

"Oh please. I can barely change a nappy." They both laughed.

"Okay fine." she laughed.

Molly considered her next few words carefully, attempting to pull enough courage to ask him what she wanted to know. "Sherlock? Did you ever, at any point in your life, actually consider having kids?"

Sherlock's face went blank and for a second she thought maybe he would just retreat into his mind palace and leave her to chew on her lips and twiddle her thumbs until Rosie woke. I knew I shouldn't have asked that! Stupid. His response came though, and it fully surprised her.

"Of course I have. But I'd be terrible at it! I mean you saw me today. And children come with… emotional attachments that I couldn't possibly-"

"What do you mean 'of course'? What happened to all that 'sentiment is a chemical defect' crap?"

"After my sister, after Sherrinford, I could no longer deny that I… feel things. I can't pretend that I don't… But pushing things down doesn't work in the long run." Attempting to remove attention from himself, Sherlock hurriedly said "It seems that you are the one that wants a baby, Molly," he said, looking up at the ceiling, away from her eyes.

"Hmm." Molly had given this consideration before. She'd dreamed of having children when she was a girl, but in her dreams, she'd always had a husband by her side. But now, at thirty-five, not a relationship in sight and a job that seemed to repel suitors, her childhood dream seemed far off. The only man she'd ever wanted to fill that role was laying on the floor next to her and he'd just told her he didn't want emotional attachment. She left his flat that evening feeling heavy hearted and in need of a girl's night- she had come to a realization.

Meena and Molly were snuggled on Molly's settee with two very generous glasses of wine. Molly had called her friend as soon as she left Baker Street, in desperate need of some advice and even though it was nearly nine, her friend obliged. She sat with her legs crossed under her, chewing on her lips, trying to force the words from them.

"Molly, Jesus what wrong?" Meena looked concerned and set down her glass. Molly took a deep gulp of her drink before doing the same.

"I- I think I want to have a baby." She watched Meena's eyes widen. "I mean I'm not getting any younger, and we both know I'll never feel for anyone like I do for… him, but that's never going to happen so…" She trailed off.

"Molls, you still have time. Really!"

Molly never liked thinking of her slowly aging body as a "ticking time bomb". She thought the term was sexist and stress-inducing, but as she grew into her late thirties, she found herself longing for a family.

"How do you think you're going to go about it?" Meena questioned.

"Artificial insemination?" This caused an abundant eye-roll from her friend. Molly understood her doubt- she had been pining for the same man for years, one she could never have. She wasn't just picky, she was heart-set and stubborn-footed for one man. "I mean I'm not finding a man." She laughed with a hint of bitterness, but Meena was not amused by her self-deprecation, she just looked at her friend sadly. "I don't know," Molly said defensively. "I'm still thinking it over."

"Maybe just a midlife crisis? Sleep on it and if you decide to go ahead, I'll take you to the clinic." She sighed. "Just… please think it over. I'm not so sure this is what will make you happy."

"What would?"

"I am fairly capable in my manipulation skills. Maybe even the sexy detective can fall susceptible to my talents." Both women laughed.

After Meena left that night, Molly lay awake thinking about her options, trying to convince herself that she was simply stressing the passage of time, but rightfully, she thought. But in her heart, she knew what she wanted, which quickly turned into dreams of one curly-haired detective.

Sherlock chased a little dark-haired toddler around his flat, her squeals filing the room. He reached her, swinging the child in his arms, tickling honey-sweet giggles from her chubby cheeks. His smile reached his eyes, forming those perfect crinkles, a rarity that filled Molly with warmth.

She kissed the head of the little warm bundle she held. Sherlock had his arms wrapped around them, staring down at their perfect creation, radiating pure joy. She was exhausted, but so incredibly happy.

"I love you." He said to her, his deep baritone sending shivers down her spine.

"I love you too, Sherlock." She turned to him and their lips met in a slow, tender kiss.

Molly woke with teary eyes. When she dreamed of Sherlock, it was usually much more pleasurable, but her subconscious seemed to refuse to let her live in denial. She wanted a child with someone that would make her happy, she wanted him, though she also knew that he would never be the man she would need him to be. Sure, he could learn how to change a nappy or make dinner, but he would never be affectionate. He would never hold her when she was upset, and if he did, it would be out of obligation rather than genuine concern or love.

Love. That's what she really wanted in the depths of her heart, but she was smart enough to know that love- especially his, would never be hers.