Sherlock hovered at the kitchen entrance for a moment touching his fingers together over and over as he appraised Molly sitting on a stool at the kitchen peninsula with her face buried in her hands. Her top, stretched over her distended belly, was caked with flour. She was obviously upset. There were baking implements everywhere and a whole carton of eggs smashed upside down on the floor. The acrid smell of incinerated baked goods filled the air.
However, he hadn't a clue as to how to proceed. Lately, he had trouble gauging her moods. She was very pregnant and she often divulged into a fit of tears for little to no reason. It was frustrating because sometimes she wanted comfort and other times she just wanted him to burn in a fiery pit of her rage (at least, that is what he gleaned from the look in her eyes).
He took a deep breath. It mattered not how he was received. He would never ignore her in distress no matter how much she loathed him in any particular moment.
"What's wrong, my darling?" He asked warily.
Molly looked up from her hands. Her very red, swollen eyes and trembling lip lanced his heart.
"I-I-I dropped the eggs and I cannot pick them up because I can't bend over properly. S-So I tried to put in some extra baking powder and soda into the mix but I think there is something wrong with them because the cupcakes expanded rather rapidly. Oh," she sniffed and started crying again. "I am a complete and utter failure! What kind of mummy can't bake? What am I going to do? I will make a laughing stock of our poor child."
Sherlock steeled his features and wrapped his arms around his tiny wife. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and sobbed into it. He bit back every too-logical counter argument that came to mind and allowed her to have her cry. Then, he crouched down in front of her and squeezed her hands.
"Baking is not a prerequisite for motherhood, Molly Holmes, and one of the things I love most about you is that you do not fit any standard mold. So I am glad you cannot bake because I think I would prefer being better than you at something for a change."
Her lips parted in surprise. "Wh-What do you mean? Are you telling me you can bake?"
He wanted to tease her about not disagreeing with his telling her she was better at everything else but decided against it. "Of course. I do have a degree in Chemistry, after all, it's just science. I will tell you a secret. I am such a good baker and did it so often as a youth that I was single handedly responsible for Mycroft being morbidly obese as a teenager."
Molly gasped. "He wasn't!"
"Indeed, he was. He was eventually able to lose the weight through a regimented diet and exercise routine but every now and then, I get a phone call in the middle of the night and he begs me to bake something for him. I have to say no, of course. You know how addicts can be."
Finally, his wife giggled and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"I cannot imagine a more perfect mother for my children, by the way," he murmured as he rose and kissed her on the forehead, "that's why I chose you, Molly. I knew I would never meet anyone better. Now let's see what you have done and try this again, shall we?"
He turned quickly as her eyes misted over and gulped back a bubble in his throat. Several hours later, the pair of them generously iced the most decadent lemon curd stuffed vanilla cupcakes with rich buttercream topping. As it turned out, the baking powder Molly had used for her ill-fated cakes was mislabeled citric acid that had not taken kindly to being mixed with soda and baked.
As they toiled together, Sherlock made certain to stop from time to time to catalogue every moment. Until he met Molly, there had been lots of adventure as well as ups and downs, but never any real joy in his life. It was simple moments like this he found himself thankful for what she added, a feeling of wholeness he hadn't known he was missing.
"So, will these suffice?" He asked gruffly when emotion threatened to distract him again (he blamed it on a sympathetic physiological response to her earlier outburst).
"Hmm?" Molly mumbled through a mouthful of cupcake. She swallowed and licked her lips. "Oh, yes, these are excellent."
"Then you need not worry about baking. I will do it if the need arises as long as you take full credit for their production."
She nodded, smiled and reached for a second cupcake. "That I can do, my love."
"And you won't tell anyone else, especially Mycroft?"
Before she could answer, Sherlock's phone began vibrating on the counter. The caller id flashed "private".
"How does he always know?!" Sherlock snapped as he snatched up the mobile.
"Oh, be nice, Sherlock. These are heaven. If I had to live my life without them, I might be just as ornery as your brother," Molly took another large bite, a dollop of icing stuck to her nose, "but better tell him to get over here quick if he wants any. There might not be any left in another hour."