I was looking through some old stuffs and this question I asked about another story was somewhere in the pile of things I never quite deleted. You can say I am a word hoarder – I am not sure why. And I am, right now, attempting to answer certain questions that could probably satisfy my imagination and hopefully yours. Sherlolly – as usual, I do not own Sherlock. And all mistakes are my own.
Of course, Happy Father's Day to Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman and Steven Moffat as well as all the fathers in the world – my dad and stepdad too :D
oo
It was no secret that Sherlock would get bored quite easily and as someone that had shared his flat before, John can definitely attest to that. It would, generally, take Sherlock a span of John's visit to the market to find way to bore himself and take a shot at the wall. So, it was every bit, surprising, for the doctor to find how very mundane and normal Sherlock could be around one certain pathologist named Molly. Of course, Sherlock himself had changed a lot over the course of his acquaintance with the consulting detective. Mary had said that John had broken down Sherlock's wall, John, however, doubted that very much.
Even more so now that he was sitting in his chair which Sherlock never quite threw out, across from the couple who are idly turning pages of a book and sitting too close to each other to be considered appropriate with a company. Yet, John didn't mind. He didn't mind he was the third wheel for once, he didn't mind looking at his two friends so engaged (pardon the pun) with each other. Honestly, he was rather baffled as why he had stayed in the flat with the two when he could have very well spend the day doing everything else. After all, it was his free day. Mary had the day with her friends and his sister; Harry, had Elizabeth to, of course, spoil the three year old rotten.
"You're staring," The consulting detective's voice startled John and earned him a chuckle from the pathologist.
"I am merely observing you in a setting that's hardly your natural habitat," John rolled his eyes at the two.
"Hardly my natural habitat?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow, "Need I remind you that this is my flat and you're a guest?"
"I know that, you git and that was not what I meant," John smirked.
"What is it that you meant John, do be specific,"
Sherlock's tone was dangerously calm and boring that John was betting with himself on when the man would start shooting at the wall again. John didn't answer, instead he sighed, pointed at the two and put on his best 'obvious' expression on his face.
Molly laughed. Really laughed and that made the doctor smiled. How times have changed from the moment he first walked into 221b, Baker Street all those years ago. Turned out, all it took for Sherlock to get his shit together was a dominatrix, a psychopath and a trip to hell – in relative term, since he did, 'die'.
And she stopped, quite abruptly moments later, squealing a little.
Sherlock was quick, "Molly, what's wrong?"
"No – nothing," She said, grabbing his hand and placing it over her round stomach, "She kicked,"
John caught Sherlock's awe look and smile to himself. He was, definitely, imposing on the couple, even if they didn't think so. Sundays, really, the two should have time for themselves, but, their home had always been open to him, which John was always grateful for.
Molly had even gone as far as saying; Please John, you've lived here way before I did and you're his best friend,' when he pointed out he was spending way too much of his time at Baker Street, either by himself or with his family.
"You've had the scan then?" John asked, quite happy for the pair.
Sherlock Holmes ever becoming a parent, who would have thought of that? Well, they can certainly imagine Molly Hooper – Holmes now, she changed her name – as a mother, she was always wonderful.
That took the couple out of their moment.
And it was Molly who answered, "Yes, the doctor said it was undetermined at this point seeing her position,"
"And yet she insisted it's a girl," Sherlock scoffed.
Scoffed, yes, but, John detected no hostility or indifference in there – in fact, it sounded as if Sherlock was lovingly amused at his wife's gut feeling.
"It is a girl, trust me," Molly insisted, "You see, even Mrs Hudson agree since my stomach look – "
"Yes, old wives' tale," Sherlock interrupted before Molly could finish.
"Well, it could turn out to be true," John said helpfully.
Sherlock shook his head, "Genetically speaking, he'd likely be a boy since my family had only one girl in three generations and that is from my mother's family,"
"Yes, but you're forgetting that my mum had three sisters," Molly contradicted her husband.
"Your aunts, how can I forget," Sherlock scowled. He was clearly not a fan of them.
John just had to laugh. Of course he knew why Sherlock was not on good terms with Molly's aunts. Which man would when the women kept pinching his cheek (and John did not mean Sherlock's face) throughout the reception?
"I did warn you they could be a bit frisky," Molly giggled, actually giggle.
That earned her an eye roll from Sherlock, "You and I both know that was not 'a bit' frisky,"
"Yeah, I don't need to know that mate," John said quickly before Sherlock could share the information on how frisky the women are.
Still, it was quite nice how Sherlock remained civil throughout the ceremony and reception even when he hated huge events, going as far as refusing a medal from the Queen when he took down Moriarty and his minions for good.
Laughs erupted from the small pathologist who was holding on her husband as if her life depended on it. She had way too much laugh at the expanse of her husband for the past two years and she cannot say that she was ever luckier than that.
"I do hope it's a boy," Sherlock said, "I don't want my daughter to be influenced by your aunts, Molly,"
"Do you need Mary to take a shot at them?" John jokingly offered.
Sherlock thought for a moment, much to John and Molly's amusement, "As tempting as that sound, I doubt that Molly would appreciate the demise of her three aunts, I suppose husbands number three, two and fifth would suffice,"
"Can't help you there mate," John laughed, "Maybe if you ask Greg?"
"Who?" Sherlock asked on queue.
"Lestrade, you tit," John replied, as expected.
Alright, so maybe, just maybe some things never changed.
The amusing discussion on Lestrade's availability for one of Molly's aunt continued until Mary walked through the door twenty minutes later, carrying an exhausted toddler and John took it as his sign to leave, and bid his goodbye.
"'Till next week," He waved, taking Elizabeth from Mary who merely beamed at Molly and mouthed that she would call later.
"God, I thought he'd never leave," Sherlock sighed as John and his family disappeared after a click of the door.
"I thought you like having John here," Molly scrunched up her nose, not at all confused, only amused at Sherlock, as always.
"Not when he's always on your side," Sherlock pouted.
"You can take Mary if you'd like," Molly offered.
Sherlock shook his head, "Nope, she's on your side too, I checked,"
"She thought we'd have a girl too?" Well, one of the information Molly was not privy to as she had not met her friend for a few weeks due to long hours (which Sherlock hated and soon rectify with the help of his brother) and Sherlock's constant demand for attention.
"Yes, quite excited at the prospect too, still, he could be a boy,"
Molly knew that Sherlock was not particular about the gender of their child, still, she cannot help but tease the consulting detective.
"It's going to be a girl, Sherlock,"
"There's a higher probability of him being a boy,"
"Trust me; we're having a girl,"
"Scientifically speaking, it would be a boy,"
"Girl,"
"Boy,"
"Girl, willing to bet on that?"
And if there's any doubt, Molly was right all along, like she always was.