It was New Year's Eve afternoon and Sherlock was sitting in his chair, wearing his reading glasses and reading one of his Christmas presents from Molly, The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. He glanced over at Molly who was busily doing something that he could not immediately deduce, with balloons and little pieces of paper. He'd have to ask her about that. In the meantime though, he ventured a comment on the book. He lowered the reading glasses on his nose so he could see her clearly. "When you gave me this book, Molly, I was wondering if you were implying we were having some mysterious issues in our marriage that I wasn't aware of."

Molly looked up from her task and laughed. "You are so silly sometimes! Don't you remember Pastor Briggs talking about that book in church? You seem to enjoy the C.S. Lewis books, and this one seemed really interesting, with the talk of contrasts between heaven and hell. In fact, I think I'll read it after you're done."

Sherlock pouted and dropped the book over onto the desk next to his chair. "So, in other words, it was really a Christmas gift for you."

Molly stood and walked over to him, then sat on his lap and wound her arms around his waist. "And you're saying that hot pink lace teddy wasn't a Christmas present for you as well as me?"

Sherlock removed his reading glasses and reached over to put them on the desk as well. Then he placed his own arms around Molly. "Touché, my love. I don't suppose you'd like to model it for me now, would you? He bent forward to give her a lingering kiss, moving his hands along her back invitingly, caressingly.

He had his moves perfectly mapped out - a little kissing, followed by slow movement of the hands up under her blouse. Find the fastening to that damned three hook maternity bra she wore 24/7, except on special occasions, like Christmas the previous week. Unhook bra with one hand (he was quite proud of the way he was getting better at one-handed unhooking) while undoing enough buttons to pull her blouse up and over her head. Of course, that was just the beginning...

But not today.

Molly broke their kiss and pushed against his chest just when he was thinking she would comply with his wishes. Molly almost always gave in when they began the serious business of passionate kissing, and he huffed out a disappointed breath.

"Sherlock, we have all day and night. Let's not wear ourselves out too early." She sighed a little. "I miss Victoria. It's really strange to think she won't be here with us tonight. I hope Mum can handle her and that she doesn't get too fussy."

Sherlock raised a hand to smooth the creases that had formed in Molly's brow. "I know this is her first time away from us overnight, but your mum is great with Victoria, and you gave her enough bottles of breast milk and baby food to tide her over. I'm sure she'll be fine. Besides," now his voice held a caressing note, "your mother wanted this to be a Christmas gift for us - time alone."

Molly laid her head against his chest briefly, then looked up at him. "I know. But I have plans I want to get ready for tonight, to make it extra special, and that means no time for unscheduled bedroom activity."

Sherlock frowned. "I certainly hope by the end of this evening then, you have some planned bedroom activity."

This time it was Molly's turn to smooth the creases on his brow and give him a quick peck on the lips before she hopped off of his lap. "Don't despair, husband, dear. I promise you won't be disappointed when the clock strikes midnight."

She returned to her place on the sofa and he watched her writing on little slips of paper, then rolling them up tightly. Then each piece of paper was inserted into the neck of a balloon and carefully pushed inside. Intriguing. What is Molly up to? wondered Sherlock.

Molly looked over at him again. "Seeing as you are more interested in what I am doing than in reading your book, you can help me blow these balloons up."

When Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at her and didn't move, she placed her hands on her hips. "Sherlock Holmes, come over here this instant and help me, otherwise you can forget the games tonight."

Sherlock chuckled and stood, then walked over to join his wife. "When you put it that way, how can I refuse?"

There were eight balloons and he blew up four of them, while Molly took care of the other four. Once the balloons had been tied off, Molly set the red one aside at the far end of the table, saying, "That one's for midnight."

Sherlock looked at the other seven balloons laid out in a neat row on the coffee table. Fortunately they weren't full-sized balloons, but the smaller ones typically used as water balloons. "So, what are the rules of this game of yours?" he questioned, with a sidelong glance at Molly.

"Well, the idea is this - every half an hour from nine o'clock onwards, you pop a balloon, and view the activity inside. We will then proceed to do that activity," she informed him.

Sherlock frowned a little. "I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but popping one balloon up until midnight, not including the one you have set aside, equals six balloons, not seven."

Molly smirked at him. "That's the fun part. Among the balloons is one booby prize. So you had better hope that is the one that remains unpopped at the end."

Sherlock groaned. "That does not sound in the least like fun. Why do we need a booby prize at all?"

Molly patted his leg. "Because if you get it, it's a little gift for me. Besides, you're such a brilliant detective, you should know which one has the booby prize and be able to avoid it. It's more fun that way."

"Molly, I'm a detective, not a mind-reader!" he exclaimed, but his wife was not to be dissuaded, so he switched tack. "Well, now that you have all your preparations complete, what are we going to do until nine o'clock?" He placed his hand over hers where it still rested on his leg and squeezed it, giving her a suggestive look.

Moly tossed her head. "We can figure out what to have for dinner tonight - leftovers from Christmas? There's still some turkey and stuffing left."

Sherlock grimaced. "I am not eating week old turkey and stuffing. That should have been put in the rubbish bin yesterday. How about we go out and just get chips?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "You and your chips. Never mind, I'll just make something for us."

At that moment a knock sounded on the door. "Hoo hoo," the voice of Mrs. Hudson called.

Sherlock walked over to the door and opened it. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson. What can we do for you?"

Mrs. Hudson looked around curiously, seeming to note the absence of the baby. "Where's Victoria? Is she having a nap upstairs?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Molly's mother is looking after her today and tonight, so that Molly and I can have a night to ourselves."

Mrs. Hudson gave him a knowing look. "I see. That is understandable. Molly seems to be up several times a night to go back and forth up and down those stairs to tend to her. It must be very tiring - for both of you."

It was at that moment that Sherlock made a snap decision. "Yes, it is. In fact, I have decided to move the cot into our bedroom today so that Molly doesn't have to do that anymore." He heard Molly make a little exclamation behind him, but did not turn to look at her. "So, did you come here for a social visit this afternoon or was there another reason?" He tried to keep his voice polite, but his mind was suddenly whirling with his decision to move the cot, and he wanted to tend to that as soon as possible.

Molly walked over to stand beside him and she slid an arm around his waist as Mrs. Hudson responded. "Actually, I am making a lasagna and was wondering if you'd like me to bring some up to you for dinner later."

Molly smiled at the elderly woman. "Oh, that would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson. We were just discussing what we were going to do for dinner."

Mrs. Hudson beamed. "Well, that is certainly fortuitous. I'll bring it up to you at around six or so. And while I am at it, I think it is past time the two of you referred to me by my first name, Martha. Calling me Mrs. Hudson has always made me feel so old."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. His gut reaction was to respond, "But you are old," but he repressed the rude sentiment. He was not the same man as he had been ten years earlier when he just blurted out anything that came into his head, most of which showed a distinct lack of tact. Using her first name though - he had never even thought about it before. Yes, on occasion he would refer to her affectionately as Hudders, and she seemed to like the way Sherlock had dubbed her Nanny Hudders as a grandmotherly title to use for Victoria, but calling her Martha just seemed so foreign. However, he was willing to accede to her wishes.

"Thank you...Martha" responded Sherlock, finding the name rather alien on his tongue. He supposed he would eventually get used to it. Then he thought of something. "While I have you here, may I return downstairs with you and get a screwdriver to disassemble the cot so I can move it?"

"Of course," she responded, and he proceeded to follow her downstairs to collect the screwdriver.

As he returned upstairs, he remembered the trouble he had had initially when assembling the cot, the way he had eschewed the instructions, and how Molly had ended up helping him with the assembly.

When he entered the flat, Molly came up to him immediately and asked, "When did you decide to move the cot into our bedroom?"

Sherlock put down the screwdriver on the coffee table before answering. He ventured a small smile. "It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I suddenly realised I'm tired of the way you have to get up several times a night - or I do, when you are on nightshift, to take care of Victoria."

Molly nodded slowly. "To be honest, I've never really been comfortable with the idea of her being in a separate room on a different floor and even outside our own front door. It just doesn't seem safe, somehow, even with the video monitor."

Sherlock slid his arms around her and looked down into her eyes. "So, you aren't cross with me for making a decision without you?"

She smiled at him. "Not in this case." Then she sobered. "There's just one problem, Sherlock, and I'm not talking about the fact that our room is going to be much more cluttered with a cot in it."

He looked at her quizzically. "And what is that?"

"If we have more children, we will not be able to accommodate a second cot or Moses basket in our bedroom."

Sherlock kissed the top of her head. "In that case, if and when the time comes where you are pregnant again, we will buy a house of our own, and Baker Street will become merely my consulting rooms."

Molly's arms came up to curl about his neck. "You'd really be ready to move out of Baker Street?"

He gazed at her. There was no hesitation at all when he answered. "I don't care where we live, as long as it's together." Then he added, "Actually, separating our home residence from my work would probably be a good idea. We've been dealing with a lot of media attention directed here for a year now, and every time I solve a high-profile case, there's a slew of reporters outside. I'd rather not subject Victoria or any future children to that scrutiny."

Molly stood on tiptoes then and kissed him, and he luxuriated in it - until she pulled back and looked up at him again. "So, we're really going to do this? If and when I get pregnant again, we're going to look at buying a house?" She looked so genuinely delighted at the prospect, he knew it was the right choice.

"Yes, my love." He would have liked to kiss her again, but decided the best use of his time would be to get that cot-bed disassembled and reassembled. Work first, play later.

He released Molly and retrieved the screwdriver. "So, how would you feel about assisting me me to pull apart the cot and set it up again in our bedroom?" he asked his wife.

Molly grinned. "After the way you had trouble even putting it together properly the first time, I think my help would definitely be a good thing."

And so, for the next hour, Sherlock busied himself disassembling the minimum amount of pieces of the cot in order to transport it downstairs. Molly, who was definitely stronger than she looked, he thought admiringly, managed to carry the mattress down and set it temporarily on their bed.

Finally the task was complete. The cot-bed was taking up most of the room at the foot of their bed, leaving only enough room for them to squeeze by, but it was done. Sherlock thought with satisfaction that this would definitely make things easier in future. If he and Molly were interrupted by their baby during an indelicate moment, having her close by would mean Molly could feed her and get her settled again much quicker, and do it from the comfort of their own bed, rather than sitting upstairs in the rocking chair. Instead of grudgingly going to sleep, he could watch his wife feed the baby and stay "in the mood," ready to resume what had been interrupted. Yes, definitely a good solution. Why didn't I think of this months ago?

Glancing at his watch, Sherlock saw it wasn't yet five o'clock. He was definitely ready to have some uninterrupted time with Molly. She had gone into the bathroom to wash her hands and use the loo, and he did the same as soon as she exited.

When he came out of the bathroom, she was in the bedroom, with her hands on the railing of the cot, looking into it. She turned around to look at him. "I know it's going to be a bit cramped in here, but I'm glad we did this, Sherlock," she told him, and he walked to stand beside her.

He raised a hand to tilt her chin upwards. "Me too." Then he added silkily, "So, now that the work is done, and we have at least an hour until Mrs. Hudson brings us our dinner, can we indulge in a little playtime, or will it ruin your plans for later?"

Molly turned to face him properly and slid her hands around his waist. "Knowing how quick your recovery time is, my love, I think we can definitely indulge in a little playtime now without it ruining things for us later."

Sherlock smiled at that, then lowered his lips to hers. Within a short time, he had pressed her back onto the bed, and was kissing her more urgently, feeling his heart race as it always did, and he felt almost giddy at the knowledge that there was no baby to interrupt them this time. It was just like old times, when he and Molly could indulge in amorous pursuits whenever the mood struck them.

This time Sherlock was able to do what he had fantasised about earlier, sliding his hands up to unfasten Molly's bra with one hand while he used the other to release a couple buttons of her blouse. She in turn was busy with his own buttons and they were soon enjoying the intimacy of the marriage bed with no interruptions to distract them. And it was oh, so good.

Afterwards, Sherlock glanced at the clock and reluctantly prodded Molly, who was nodding off in his arms. "It's ten to six, love. We had better get up now before Mrs. Hudson turns up. I don't think we locked the door."

Molly sighed and sat up, then reached for her maternity bra and breast pads to replace them inside the bra. "Yeah, I need to use my breast pump anyway," she informed Sherlock, wrinkling her nose a little. "My breasts are feeling uncomfortably full."

He looked at her sympathetically. He had seen Molly's discomfort before on the odd occasion when she had come home from work and rushed to put the baby to her breast, hungry or not, to relieve that ache of her breasts filling with milk because she had been too busy to use her breast pump at work. "You go ahead and use your pump, love. I'll get dressed and get the lasagna from Mrs. Hudson, I mean, Martha, when she brings it up."

He dressed quickly and was casually seated in his armchair, holding the borrowed screwdriver when the knock sounded on the door to indicate that Mrs. Hudson was outside.

He opened the door to see his landlady holding a tray on which rested a steaming casserole dish with what looked like only two pieces of lasagna removed from it. "Thought I'd let you have the dish. I just took two pieces for myself. You can return the dish tomorrow or the next day," she told him with a smile.

She really was an amazing woman, he thought, then wondered what she had planned for that night. He felt duty bound to ask, "Do you have plans for this evening?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled mysteriously. "As a matter of fact, I'm going out for a few drinks with Iris from Speedy's. We'll watch the fireworks display at midnight on the telly at the pub." Then she gave Sherlock a wicked grin. "Who knows? Perhaps you might not be the only one getting lucky tonight if there's a lonely man there."

Sherlock flushed. He would never get used to the casual way his landlady discussed her sexual history. He had cut off enough ramblings from her about her late husband Frank, to last a lifetime. "Yes, well," he managed, making the screwdriver/lasagna exchange, "good luck with that." Then he added hastily. "Thanks for the lasagna and the loan of the screwdriver, Mrs...Martha."

"You're welcome, dear." And with that, she bounded down the stairs at a pace which belied her advanced age. Sherlock hoped he would still be as sprightly when he attained the age of around eighty.

Molly exited the bedroom at that point, holding a filled bottle of breast milk. "Better?" he inquired solicitously.

"Much," she responded with a smile, then put the bottle in the fridge as he set the lasagna down on the kitchen counter. It was time to eat. He was very much looking forward to the rest of the evening, he thought, even as he dished out the lasagna onto plates for them.

Author's note: I was originally intending this to be a one-shot, but I ended up including a few extra things I'd been thinking about - like the annoyance of having a second bedroom that is outside the front door of 221B. What is with that anyway? I never liked the idea of a baby being up in that spare bedroom, so I decided it was time to have baby Victoria moved. Of course, that necessitated the set up for a future residence change. If you want to read more about Sherlock's trouble with assembling the cot, I refer you to my engagement story, A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage.

I also recommend the C.S. Lewis book, which I recently listened to on audio.

The talk about the discomfort of aching breasts too wasn't planned, but it is a factual thing, as any mother who has breast-fed would know. It is not fun to have a full supply of milk and nowhere for it to go!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to seeing the little balloon game play out. More about that and the person who deserves credit for the idea in the next chapter.

Your reviews, favourites and follows gratefully accepted.