"Oh, let's have a baby, Molly! It'll be great!" Molly grumbled to herself as she paced – waddled – her small room. One hand was on her back, the other on her protruding stomach as she moved; the walking was supposed to speed the process along.
"You've wanted children longer than I ha-"
Molly turned just in time to see John swat Sherlock's arm, cutting him off. She made it to the foot of her bed as a contraction hit. She gritted her teeth, the hand that had been on her stomach moved to grip the plastic footrest as she waited it out. Each time a contraction hit, the room went quiet; Sherlock, John, and Mary ceasing conversation until her face relaxed. Bafflingly it both annoyed and relieved her.
When the contraction passed, Molly resumed her pacing, "This is an awful experience," she complained, "How have humans survived this long?"
Mary laughed, "Somehow you'll forget this part later. I don't know how, really, but it'll be worth it."
Eventually John and Mary left for home. John mentioned that Molly probably did not need or want extra people around when that time came close. Molly had shrugged at the comment; doubting that she would care once past a certain point.
Sherlock had settled in Molly's bed and summoned her to him, "Come relax."
Molly sighed and carefully maneuvered herself to sit, her body between his outstretched legs, leaning against his chest. Her head rested against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock's hands moved to her stomach and rubbed soothingly.
"You don't regret this, do you?" his voice was soft, a hint of worry only just detectable.
"Of course not," Molly murmured, "I'm just incredibly uncomfortable." She let her had move to clasp Sherlock's.
Molly's grip tightened as a contraction pulsed through her body. She felt Sherlock tense beneath her.
"Fuck."
Sherlock's lips were on her hair, his hands soothed over her stomach as Molly panted lightly.
"They're fun to make," Sherlock commented as Molly relaxed again, making her laugh.
"Second trimester hormones are also fun," she added, giggling.
"Sometimes," Sherlock amended, clearly remembering the sudden mood swings he had suffered through with Molly.
Molly exhaled loudly just before the doctor walked into the room.
"How are we doing, Molly?" she asked.
"Fine," she responded as the doctor quickly checked her over. Sherlock nuzzled Molly's check, pressing a tender kiss her skin before the doctor spoke again, "Okay. Dad, I'm gonna have to get you off the bed. We're about ready to start."
Molly felt Sherlock's body stiffen in surprise – twice: first upon being addressed as a father; the second at being told to move. She felt his lips on her hair before Sherlock carefully extracted himself from behind Molly. He stood to the right of her, his hand in reach of her own.
Molly grinned as the doctor and various nurses moved about the room, "Hope you don't want that hand."
Moly smiled happily as she looked upon the sleeping baby in her arms. She didn't have to look to know Sherlock's expression was much the same as her own. His hand was gently cupped around back of their newborn's head.
"She's perfect," Molly murmured, fingers skimming past Sherlock's to stroke the dark, curling hair.
Sherlock hummed in agreement as John and Mary entered the room, their own Owen and Ava in tow.
"Let's see little Alice, then," Mary announced.