Molly felt devastated: the only thing that was the only hope in her life gone. The only thing that was her future was no longer. She felt as if her heart had been shot, ripped apart, jumped on and smashed all into a thousand pieces, and then put back together just for it all to happen over again a hundred times over. She had lost her child.

A child she never got the chance to meet, see or hold. She knew for that rest of her life she would never stop wondering: would it have had her nose? Would it have had his smile? Her hair? His eyes? She found out, before she lost the baby, that it was going to be a boy, a son. She was going to have a son. Was now being the operative word.

She had not really talked to Sherlock since they found out the news; she came straight back to her flat once they let her leave the hospital. Sherlock had contacted Mike, her boss, and he understandably let her have as much time off as she needed. She had not talked to anyone since then; she had texts from John and Mary and even Greg, sending their condolences and, if she needed anything, just to ask. She did not. Then she got a text from Mrs Hudson; she deleted that before she read it, only half regretting it. But she did not want anything to do with her: not now, not ever.

It had been three days since she found out, and all she wanted to do was go to Baker Street. She wanted to see Sherlock and never leave his side again, but then she would also give anything just to never see or hear from him again. She felt numb and she felt everything all at once. It was like losing her dad all over again.

She had not brushed her hair in two days, and she was in comfortable clothes; she did not look like her happy normal self. She didn't feel like her happy normal self. Would she ever again?

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Molly got up knowing that she could not keep the world out forever. She got up and went to open the door. To her surprise, Sherlock was at the door, and he looked almost as bad as she did. It reminded Molly of the time he came to her lab with John to run that drugs test.

'Oh god, please don't tell me he's doing them again.'

No. Not after everything. He was doing so well, and now it was her fault he had fallen off the wagon.

"Molly," he said, his voice almost unrecognisable. "I'm not on drugs if that's what you're thinking ... Um, may I ... Can I come in?" He said, pointing at her flat.

Finding it hard to find her voice, she just about managed to say. "Yeah, of course, Sherlock."

"How are you?" They both said at once.

Neither one knew how to answer, so Molly went first. She said the thing she wanted, the thing that had been inside her for the last three days. If she did not get these words out now, she knew she never would.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I probably asked too much of you. So, thanks for everything, yeah? Thanks for helping me find my mother; that's nice to know stuff about that now." She heard the words come out her mouth but did not believe it was she who was speaking them.

"It was my pleasure, Molly," he said, almost trying to smile. He had not realised until that moment just how much he has missed her. He could see all the pain she was going through; he would never admit it to another soul, especially Mycroft, but it was as if he could feel her pain, almost as clearly as he could feel the rain on his skin on his walk over. He wanted to hug her, to take her pain away, but nothing would. If he went to hug her, she would push him away, and that would only add to his pain. He sensed that she had more to say, so he waited for her to speak.

"I'm so sorry about the baby," Molly began again. "I'm so sorry for everything with that. I bet you're kind of relieved that you don't have to deal with that anymore. You can continue your crime fighting days, Sherlock. If you want to delete this time from your mind place, I don't mind. I know I would if I could. Might make it easier somehow." She was half laughing, half crying.

Sherlock was shocked at what he had heard; never did he think he would hear such words like this come from Molly. She was more hurt than he would have ever expected, and to delete this from his mind palace, no, he could not. Anger started to rise in him.

"You thought I was relieved!?" He shouted. "Relieved that a defenceless child was taken from us before it even had a chance to live? Before it even got to know how much it was loved?" He lowered his voice on the word 'loved'.

"But you didn't want kids to be a part of your life. We wouldn't have been fit parents. You're you, and I'm me - how could I be a mother without anyone to show me how?" Molly spluttered out. She started to cry again.

Sherlock reached out and held her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "No, none of this was planned. No, I never imagined myself having kids. But what we did and what it did create changed me somehow." Sherlock was starting to get teary eyed now but continued on.

"Molly, he taught more than anything about feelings, and the sad part is I'll never get the chance to thank him." He reached and touched the small bump that was there, that would go sooner than either of them wanted it to. "Our ... Our son made me finally realised that I loved you. I always have, probably since before the fall, and you're the one person who matters most to me, Molly. Always have, always will. And you not being a good mother: that's almost as stupid as the stuff that comes out of Anderson's mouth."

She laughed at this comment. He loved at her laugh.

"You might not have been the mum our son would have always wanted, but you would have been the one he needed. If anyone on this planet was born to be a mother, it was you. Having a parent there or not would not influence what type of parent we become. I had two parents and look how I turned out. All a child needs is love, food, warmth, and clothes. You would have given him that and more and he would have loved you more than me and I did not think that possible."

She kissed him and he kissed her back. It was brief, but it was what they both needed. Then he hugged her. He hugged for what seemed like forever.

Then she broke the silence. "Sherlock, I need to go to Baker Street. I need to see her. Will she want to see me?"

Sherlock looked at her and smiled. "She'd love to see you."

The cab ride to Baker Street went by in a flash. Before she knew it, she was on the doorstep. How stupid. She'd been here so many times, it was ridiculous. Now she was scared.

"Ready?" Sherlock said, looking at her.

"As I'll ever be." was all she responded with.

They went to the building, Sherlock going in first. He knew Mrs Hudson would be there. He was glad it was not too late and that she'd still be awake. He walked into her flat. He had told her what had happened, and she was devastated, which was not much of a surprise. She had tried texting Molly, but there was not much luck. She had hoped the message got through.

"Hi, Mrs Hudson," he said.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, dear. You're back. I wondered where you'd got to. Not getting up to much trouble, are we?"

"No. I went to visit a friend. They wanted to see you."

Then Molly stepped out from behind him. They both looked at each other and Molly practically ran to Mrs Hudson for a hug. It was the first time in her life Molly had gotten a hug from her mum.

She cried into her arms. "Mum, I feel so sad."

Mrs Hudson was taken back. She had never thought she would hear herself be called that name. She kept rubbing and patting her back. Crying too, she said, "It is all going to be okay. I promise. Sshhh, it's all going to be okay. I'm here for you."

Sherlock watched this scene, knowing he should not interrupt. He though about what John would do if he was in this situation, so Sherlock did the most British thing he could think of he and made them all cup of tea.