Yep. I'm a fan of John/Molly. Just a little ficlet. No point, just fluff. Established John/Molly.


Case solved. Head hurt. Arm hurt. Shoulder hurt (old wound). Limp was real this time though. He blamed Sherlock entirely for that, it was his idea to jump the fence, and while the Consulting Detective would argue it saved them valuable time, he ought to have warned John of the precariously placed boxes. Sherlock got off without too much damage, pleased as punch murderers were behind bars. It had been a while since he'd had a large case and this one had taken nearly two months to crack. It had kept him very busy and now Sherlock stumbled his way up to 221b and crashed through the door, John close behind. Door shut and locked behind them, they wearily put off their coats, shutting lights off as they went. Sherlock went straight up to his room, collapsing onto his bed. Toby went mewing after him, apparently upset his favorite human at 221b had been gone for so long. John opened the oven, having seen the note on the table for him. Inside was a plate of food kept warm. Tired as he was, he plopped down at the table, eating the hot shepherds pie until he sighed with deep fullness. It had been nearly twelve hours since his last meal. Molly knew what best he liked and knew he'd rather eat first than anything.

Putting his dishes in the sink, he shut off the living room light and headed to the bathroom, wanting a shower first. Molly had foreseen this as well it seemed, fresh pyjamas were laid out for him. A quick hot shower, tossing his clothes in the corner of the bathroom he padded down to his room. On the bed, curled up, her back to the room laid the person John most wanted to see. Heavy with child, Molly slept on her side, her arm tucked under her head. Shutting the door behind him he crawled into bed, nearly giddy from the idea that he'd at last have a full night's rest, and tomorrow was Saturday to boot. They could sleep in. Sherlock would not be waking him at four in the morning with a breakthrough. He folded himself against the curve of her body, covering her like a shield. Sighing happily, he shut his eyes, feeling himself relax finally.

She felt the bed dip, and roused herself somewhat, feeling his arms come around her, placing his palms over her ever-expanding belly.

"Case over?" she murmured. He didn't bother opening his eyes.

"Hmm," he mumbled. "Sherlock's in bed,"

"Get your dinner?"

"Mmhm, thanks,"

"I missed you," she murmured. He smiled against her hair, kissing her shoulder.

"I missed you too," he said. "How's baby?"

"Kicking,"

"I'm sorry." He said, and he was. He traced circles in her lower back, soothing away any tension she carried there. Sleep overtook her again, leaving him awake for a while longer with his thoughts. He thought of how very happy he was. Molly was in his arms, sheets smelling of laundry soap and her shampoo. Her hair tickled his face, and as he rested his cheek against her shoulder he realized she wasn't wearing one of her usual pyjama shirt but one of his button-downs. It warmed his heart, seeing her in his shirt. It meant she missed him, and while he hated being away from her, it did please him to know he was in her thoughts. She was certainly in his.