A/N This is a prompt fill I have received eons ago in Tumblr. Prompt: Pregnancy. To the anon who gave this, sorry it took me this long but I hope you still enjoy it! Also, thank you to listrant, mayacakaia, sundance201 and morbidmegz for giving me those wonderful puns! I had a good laugh with them!
Nothing much is going on here, just general stuff but I hope you, readers, still like it. Enjoy!
This will be a quiet affair.
Ever since her involvement with Sherlock became public knowledge, Molly's life went from barely interesting to center-page gossip material. For the first few months ever since the media caught wind of their relationship (no thanks to Kitty Riley, as usual) she would see her face underneath headlines like:
"Holmes falls again - for Hooper"
"(Ex) dead detective finds his corpse bride"
"Morgue girl, Dr. Frankenstein of boffin detective's heart."
The upside, was that she gets to say "Well, I guess the gossips for this week were to die for!" whenever a nosy colleague asks – or when Sherlock is being a downright git, at which point, she gives him a sweet smile as she basks under his glare and annoyance.'
'It's The Small Things: Molly Holmes' Quick Guide In Getting Sweet Sweet Revenge!'
However, as crazy as the other headlines were, there's also the other end of the spectrum, the ones which forgot to take the exit towards funnyville. The most scandalous of all, was "221 B Menage a trios."
For one, John does not live in 221 B anymore. He's actually in 221 C with his wife Mary Watson. Also, Mrs. Hudson who lives next door to the couple had shared enough anecdotes that led Molly to the conclusion that the doctor won't be engaging in a menage a trois anytime soon.
He won't want to.
'God bless the walls' as the old landlady would say.
'To each his own, Mrs. Hudson. To each his own.'
Two, menage a trois involves three people. The closest thing that would ever become as a third person in 221 B is Bill the skull and fortunately, he is yet to show any sign of wanting to be included in their tryst.
Truth be told, a case-absorbed Sherlock is enough as a ghost lover - a lover, who when not in his ghost mode, is actually a very good lover.
Not to mention a well-aimed one.
As she takes another look at the two stripes glaring back at her with their angry redness, she makes the decision that her pregnancy will be a quiet and solemn affair - an event that both Sherlock and she, will enjoy. After all, who would have thought that they will actually reach such a milestone?
Her and Sherlock? With a baby?
It is a surprise, even to her - the one who's carrying the child -even though she really shouldn't be, because they were trying after all. In fact, they had been trying since three months ago when Sherlock awkwardly expressed his want to have an offspring. But even so, seeing the confirmation from the five tests that she took, still made her feel the rug being pulled underneath her feet.
Her eyes drifted down to her still flat stomach.
'A tiny Sherlock is growing in there. God bless the world.'
She can only imagine the reaction of the others. After all, it took John - Sherlock's bestfriend - three months, before he stopped looking at them like he's watching an animal mating documentary.
How will he react when he learns that there will be a sequel featuring a detailed birthing sequence?
So, as she threw away the tests, she resolves to make sure that the whole affair will run smoothly without turning into a carnival show.
Unfortunately, she forgot one tiny detail.
She is carrying a Holmes.
Not even an afternoon after she told Sherlock the surprising news, which is actually not a surprise for him because he already knew, the git, a knock broke the silence in 221 B. Prior to that, Sherlock had to rush out for a new case but not before assuring Molly of his happiness, by giving a short, awkward, but heartfelt speech that brought tears in her eyes. She was left sitting in his old chair, imagining little feet and soft giggles, until a sharp but familiar sound broke her reverie. When the knock - which is more of a tap made by plastic against wood - resounded for the second time, she couldn't help but release a sigh.
She might need to ask Sherlock to sweep the whole flat again, although she already has inkling that it will do nothing, because she knows that the person on the other side of the door has something else in his disposal other than high tech spy technology.
"Hello Molly."
"Hello Mycroft."
No matter how much they deny it, the Holmes brothers could be very predictable. From their article of clothing, Sherlock's tight dress shirt and coat, and Mycroft's three piece suit and umbrella that are present no matter what the weather is, down to their ability to know things and the almost pathological need to meddle with them, they both got it with capital letter P. Mycroft standing in front of her, just moments after she had informed her significant other about her pregnancy should not really be a surprise to her. She suspects that Sherlock is not the only one who knew about her pregnancy before she did.
Her suspicion was confirmed when she stepped out of the way to let Mycroft in, who was immediately followed by Anthea, who in turn, is carrying a basket that is brimming with baby products and stuffed toys.
"Congratulations Molly, I am glad that you have assured the continuation of our line."
Mycroft's smile can't be anymore wider as he handed her the basket.
Molly smiled and graciously accepted the basket before turning around and sighing.
A week after, the feeding materials arrived.
On the first day, it was baby bottles. It came in all sizes - tall, medium, small - seven each pack, and an extra set for each size. She wondered if Mycroft was expecting her to change his niece/nephew's bottle everyday.
The next day, it was pacifiers and bibs which came in quantities that indicated that there would be no repeating within a month.
The following day, the package came in boxes. Uncle Mycroft completed the basics by sending sterilizers, warmers, as well as pumpers. When she expressed her concern over the quantity of Mycroft's gift, Sherlock merely grunted, too absorbed in testing the elasticity of the milk storage bags, to share her sentiment.
The next week, there was an avalanche of diapering materials.
Diapers of different brands, types and sizes, were delivered in the flat. Baby wipes, wipe warmers, pails, trashbins, rash ointments - Mycroft has basically given them a supply for the whole year. She thought it was too much, but Sherlock merely shrugged.
"Let him spend his money on buying these. Really, this is more for his benefit than ours. He's better off buying diapers rather than desserts." He said without breaking his stare from the nozzle of the pumpers.
The following weeks saw the arrival of more baby supplies and toys.
Sherlock was dismissive. He merely adapted a shrug and stare attitude – shrug when she tells him it might be too much, and then stare at the supplies like they were alien technology. Considering his background and previous emotional and social stance, the supplies were indeed alien technology - most especially, the pumpers.
He spent half a week experimenting on one, and then the other half was spent safeguarding his front row seat of when the pumpers are to be used.
As if she is planning on doing a public demonstration of it.
Nevertheless, the father-to-be was more focused on her and the growing baby rather than on the growing supply of baby bibs. He would prance around the flat being hyperaware of things that might crush, stab, electrocute, prick, and burn her – which is pretty much everything if placed under the scrutiny of his mind. He had began scouring every pregnancy books that he could get, which resulted to him being aware of various complications that could happen during pregnancy and birth, which in turn did a bad number on his hyperactive mind. It took her weeks, lots of discussions and a wad of scientific papers, before she could convince him that half of what he had read can't even possibly happen to her and to their baby. Suffice to say that any thoughts regarding where to store the growing pile of baby materials had been relegated to the corners, in favor of monitoring her bp, belly size, weight, pulse and whatever data that Sherlock could think of.
On the other hand, their friends were more responsive towards the extravagant display of First-Time-Uncle symptoms, as Mary so fondly called it.
One time, Lestrade walked in just as the deliverers finished putting down another set of supplies. One look at the room full of unopened boxes, and his face immediately scrunched up.
"What else am I supposed to give the baby?" He said as his arms swept the whole room. "A gun?"
Her eyes grew big even though she knew that the detective inspector was merely joking. Later, she'd blame it on her erratic hormones.
Her husband on the other hand, had the gal to look interested.
Surprisingly, Mary and Mrs. Hudson took more passive attitudes. One would think that the ladies would share her sentiment over the excessiveness of it all, but they merely took to placating her, claiming that they should all understand how exciting and new, this experience is for a Holmes man like Mycroft. Molly thought that, being creatures of the X chromosome, the women would pick up the telepathic signals that she had been sending out ever since the whole thing started. The signals bearing images of cute rattlers and mobiles and the sounds of cooing over animal-stitched bibs and great debates over which is better: organic cloth nappies or the standard plastic diapers.
Truth be told, she was afraid that she was missing out on an important and exciting part of first pregnancy: the shopping. However, she's more afraid of becoming the monster mom - the one who monopolizes opinions and has tunnel vision over what to buy and how to proceed with the pregnancy. She wanted to include the people important to them in this event and so she would, even if the boxes of organic pacifiers made her uncomfortable.
However, it was during the fourth month that she learned of the real reason why Mary and Mrs. Hudson were more forthcoming.
They had already called dibs on the dungarees and onesies.
Apparently, negotiations were made without her knowledge, and the British Government had conceded when Mary and Mrs. Hudson drew the line around baby clothing.
"There is a reason why Mrs. Hudson is Sherlock's landlady." was the cryptic response of Mycroft when she asked how they had come to that kind of agreement.
Right there and then, she would have thrown a fit if it weren't for the fact that the onesies were embroidered with "My daddy is more intelligent than yours." and "Future heart-breaker."
Fortunately, it wasn't just her who was feeling the weight of the situation. Somehow, John became the one experiencing the brunt of it all.
For the doctor, everyday had become a race, a fight to the top and a struggle for the first place.
Bib after bib, pacifier after pacifier, the baby room had become a war zone for the ex-army doctor and the British Government.
Somehow, the delivery of baby supplies became a tight game of Bring Me.
Mycroft, using the Holmes treasury and his connections, went for the strategy of quantity and quality.
John, with a heart of a soldier and loyal friend, went for sentiment – bringing personalized babygrows, furniture and toys.
She had already tried to defuse the situation by telling the two grownups that no matter whether they got the top-of-the-line, luxurious car seat or mini-Belfast baby coat with matching scarf, they will still be both godfathers.
But still, they kept on with trying to outdo the other, which resulted to an increase in the growing pile of baby stuff, none of which was brought or chosen by her.
On the fifth month, when the baby room had nearly looked like a department store display room with an almost overflowing storage room, she had finally accepted that her life will never be quiet so long as she knows a Holmes, married to a Holmes and carrying a Holmes.
As she looked around the room, she realized how much story her baby's life already has. The piles of blanket with the H insignia embroidered on it, the hand woven baby bee hats, the police teddy bear sitting near the door, the small deerstalker hat that Sherlock tried to throw and the unfinished crib waiting on the floor – all of them signifies the start of her baby's life, even if it is still in the womb.
She wasn't missing out anything, after all.
Everything around her is what pregnancy is all about – bringing life to a human being.
Mycroft, John, Mrs. Hudson, Mary, Lestrade and Sherlock, all of them had made their own contribution – no matter how small or extravagant. But at the end of the day, even though she did not get to choose between a solar system and a birds and bees mobile, she's still the one with the most important task, carrying and giving birth to the human being that is going to look at them.
A small smile grazed her lips as she marveled at the thought and the subsequent warmth that it brought. A contented sigh escaped from her as she patted the pile of kneecap crawlers that she had been folding, before standing up slowly and making her way out of the nursery room.
The end
"Sherlock, when are you going to finish the crib? It's been six months already!"