Thanks to petratodd for beta, thanks to strawberrypatty for encouragement and help with the ending.

1/13

1. The Babysitter

Sometimes Molly wondered if they had anything vaguely resembling security anymore for the morgue. Sherlock had carte blanche of course, to come and go as he pleased. And John with him. But apparently Mary had gotten some sort of dispensation too, seeing as how she was attached to John.

"So, we have a plan," Mary announced, staring at her over the body of Mr. Crooks who'd had an unfortunate gardening accident involving tomato stakes and his abdomen. Mary rubbed the baby's head, which was sticking out of the sling tied around her, looking far too excited. "But we need your help."

Molly turned away from the other woman, pulling off her bloody gloves and disposing of them in the proper receptacle. "You can't have a baby down here. She'll be traumatized."

"It's her nap time. We have forty minutes to discuss how we're going to keep Sherlock from blowing himself up or otherwise self-destructing."

Disposing of her coverall and washing thoroughly, Molly grabbed her clipboard and filled in as much information as possible while she still had it all in her head. "I heard the chemical smell eventually dissipated."

"Yes, after he burnt a hundred incense sticks simultaneously to get rid of the stench. And the carpet is still blue." She grabbed Molly by the sleeve and dragging her toward the exit that lead to the rest of the hospital. "And Mrs. Hudson says he hasn't paid the rent in two months. Then John had to pay his mobile bill because it got shut off because he can't be arsed to deal with due dates."

Molly winced. She knew Sherlock had been… becoming a bit flighty lately, but the rent and the mobile phone were new to her. She'd heard about the stuffed chimney, the goat brains in the bathtub and the requisitioning of John's old room for various dental plaster molds of stab wounds. Molly thought it looked like an exotic dildo farm, but she said nothing. And the chemical explosion. And the carpet incident. "So what is my part to be in all of this."

That bright, evil smile spread across Mary's face. "You're going to move in with him."

Molly held up both of her hands. "No, no no. We're not like that."

"We know."

"And I am NOT his mother."

"He just needs someone to look after him for a bit. It isn't forever," she pleaded. "We've already spoken to Mrs. Hudson about getting the mold and the wet removed from the C flat, and we're going to do a bit of a remodel. Then we are going to move down there so we can babysit the five year old consulting detective."

The last made Molly giggle. "Do NOT let him hear you say that out loud." But then she frowned. "But he's not. He's grown. He just… has some issues."

They got to the hospital canteen, which was mostly empty. Mary contemplated her choices (or lack of choices) for something to eat and drink before she had to nurse again.

"Yes. Issues. With running his own life. I found a moldy cup of tea on the toilet the last time I visited." She made a face. "He's got all his brain power going onto all his problems and puzzles, and he's forgotten about little things like paying rent and washing dishes."

"So I'm going to be his nanny and his housekeeper?" Even Molly had her limits.

"Oh no. That wouldn't be fair at all. It's just your job to order him to do it. I can get you an actual whip to crack, if you like."

Molly found herself giggling again. "No, no. I can't. As much as I want to. Er-crack the whip. Not move in with him. I mean, I am not opposed-but he's never given any indication-What I mean is, we're just friends."

Paying for juice, a yogurt and some unidentifiable fruit thing, Mary tried to hide a knowing smile. "Yes, yes. Just friends. But it's just for a bit. Until the remodel is done. Come on… for me and John, so we don't have to worry about him…"

Molly grabbed something to eat for the sake of being social, even though she wasn't really hungry. "You make him sound… I don't know. Dull. Or infantilized. Even if he did nearly explode a portable toilet in the flat."

"He just needs someone to tell him 'no' for a while. You know, place a few limits here and there. Remind him of what month it is and get him to actually write Mrs. Hudson a cheque."

They sat down at one of the tables with actual chairs, instead of the booths, so there'd be room enough for the baby. "He's a grown adult. I think he has to learn how to take care of himself, anyhow," Molly pointed out.

"Oh yes, the last time we did that, John dragged him out of a drug den, and he was an annoying, miserable bastard while he got himself clean. It's just… we're all worried about him because we love him. Not in a… childish way. As some man-child who can't take care of himself. But… I don't know. He and John are as much of a unit as John and I are. And I'd do anything for him. And so would you."

And there it was. The drop of the other shoe. Now she really couldn't turn the request down. "I will have to see how he feels about cats. Because if it's between him and my cat, I'm taking Toby every time." Human beings were difficult, and she was clumsy around them. But cats didn't care that she stumbled over her words. Toby had outlasted more boyfriends than she cared to think, and he'd probably outlast her strange association with Sherlock Holmes as well.

Mary licked her spoon then scraped at the inside of the empty yogurt container. "He likes them. He enjoys their devious ways and standoffishness. Says they're the perfect pets."

Molly was surprised. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"No battle plan survives the first encounter with the enemy. But we've done our best to account for every possible scenario."

Molly sighed. Somehow she sensed 'we' was the royal 'we' and pertained only to Mary Watson.. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Taking a sip of her tea, she put it down on the table with more force than necessary. "I suppose it is better to regret what you have done, than what you haven't done."

Mary punched her arm gently. "That's the spirit."

##

Molly stopped off to see Sherlock on her way home from work. She hated how full the tubes were when she got off of the day shift, but she wouldn't be on nights again until Stanna got back from maternity leave. Babies, babies everywhere. Sometimes, when she thought about how the expanding uterus pushed organs upward into the lungs, she thought growing a living being inside of you was a ridiculous thing to do. They took up SPACE and shifted your organs around. Having your organs shifted couldn't possibly be natural. Despite how the human race reproduced, she was still suspicious of this whole arrangement.

Just the thought of shifting organs made her rub her abdomen. Her parts would stay where they were. Maybe. Probably.

She thought about her current love life. Most likely, then.

Successfully navigating both the full car and the tragic push of people trying to get up to street level, she made it to Baker Street in, perhaps, record time.

Mrs. Hudson was yelling. That much was evident before she even opened the door. John had given her a copy of his key after the first time Sherlock went missing and was discovered in a drug den. The second time he went missing Mary had given her a stun gun, should she need to electrify him into better behavior. She'd thought Mary was being funny again. But the way Mrs. Hudson was yelling, she wasn't so sure.

Gripping onto her bag for dear life, she took the steps as slowly as she could, praying none of them creaked. It sounded heated up there.

"I'll fix it!" Sherlock shouted back.

"You're darned right you'll fix it! You'll fix it right now, Sherlock Holmes. Or so help me…"

"What? You'll call my brother again?"

Molly froze a few steps from the top.

Mrs. Hudson was officially worked into a lather. "I will call your brother, I will call John, I will call… THE POLICE."

Molly giggled. It sounded like she was calling out the Navy and the Marines and the Army.

She stopped, though, when she realized they were both staring at her. "Sorry. SORRY." She smiled sheepishly. "But it is a little funny?"

Mrs. Hudson pointed down at her feet. "THIS is not funny." Her finger was nearly at Sherlock's nose a moment later. "I should not be able to see you through my ceiling. I will be staying with my sister until it is repaired."

Molly crept into the sitting room and looked down through the hole in the carpet, the floor board, part of a support joist, ceiling board, plaster, and finally into Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. "It's not… that bad?" she tried to offer. "It just needs a little patching?" she continued with half a shrug.

Flustered, Mrs Hudson went to the door, throwing her hands up. "If it's not fixed in two days, TWO DAYS, SHERLOCK HOLMES, you will be back living under a bridge! I promise it!"

She hobbled back downstairs as quickly as her arthritic hip would allow. Which left Molly clutching the strap of her bag, staring at Sherlock over the hole. "So, um… shall I start searching for contractors that work on short notice?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She won't throw me out."

"She was quite serious about you living under a bridge." She didn't say again. She'd learned SOME tact in years of dealing with Sherlock.

He turned away from her and walked to the desk he used to share with John. "I wasn't living under that bridge. I was living in a basement at Montague Street. I was on a case."

Just like the drug house, Molly thought. Yes, he'd been living under a bridge.

Rifling through papers, he ended up just pushing the whole lot onto the floor. Several fluttered then dropped down the hole. "That beam is hardly structural. I don't know what she's complaining about."

"Sherlock-you put a hole in your floor, and her ceiling, and there is a smoking black mess on her linoleum. This is after you ruined a carpet, nearly asphyxiated yourself and her with chemicals, and made the whole place smell like you were covering over a bong party with the amount of incense you burned. I think a normal person would have shot you by now." It had come out of her mouth before she'd thought it through. At least she'd been calm when she'd said it. She hadn't even reached for the Taser, or moved to slap him.

"You're siding with her, aren't you?" he found a business card among the few remaining possessions on his desk. "You would."

Staring up at the ceiling (which had pencils stuck to it) she took a few deep breaths before walking over to the sofa and slumping into it. "I'm not siding with anyone. But you're either deliberately trying to destroy this house because you're a petulant man-child, or you're an idiot."

He squinted, making a face at her.

She didn't look away. She was well past being cowed by him. "Mary did give me a Taser, if you should get out of hand."

Flipping the card back and forth in his fingers, he leaned against the desk, obviously not doing whatever it was that had launched him into the disturbance of the papers. "What are you here for?"

Molly tried not to let it bother her. "That's not a very polite way to start off a conversation."

"You don't have a case for me; I don't see a file sticking out of your bag." He waved a hand around flippantly..

"Well, I saw Mary today, and we got to talking-"

His eyes narrowed again. "She wants you to move in here."

"See? I told her it wouldn't work, that you're just too-"

"Volatile? Uncontrollable? Childish? Rude? Churlish? Imp-"

"Lost in your tantrum to let me finish a sentence?"

"Fine. Go on."

"You know, you've been acting like a self-destructive idiot since John and Mary went on their sex holiday-honeymoon-now you have ME doing it." She'd never get those words out of her head ever again, now that she'd seen it on the blog. "And I figured you'd pull yourself out of this-this-self-pity phase and do something productive."

He gestured to the hole in the floor. "I am being productive!"

She pressed her lips together. "By nearly killing your landlady?"

"It was an experiment!" He threw his hands in the air, as if no one could possibly understand him.

Molly sat up straight. "Yes. Well. I can see that John is very important to you, and that him living here provided you with several things you are currently without: friendship, companionship-" Sherlock opened his mouth.

Molly held up a finger to stop him. "Don't you dare. Let me finish. Companionship, body guard, nursemaid, mother hen and someone to tell you when you are being a self-important, ridiculous idiot. Toby and I will be moving in this weekend." She stood up, pulled the strap of her bag back onto her arm and marched toward the door. Turning around in a huff she gave him an evil look. "And that card in your hand had better be the phone number for a contractor, because if you get distracted and my cat falls through the floor because the hole is still there? I will taze you. A lot."

##

When John got home, he knew Mary had done something. She had that smile on her face as she pulled a casserole out of the oven. They seemed to have casserole every night, but he never said anything. She was the one home with the baby, therefore if he ate forty-seven different kinds of casserole before she went back to work, so be it. And he did miss her at work. But she was still on maternity leave until the end of the month.

He kissed her on the cheek. "What have you done?"

One eyebrow arched as she slid the pan onto the table. "I haven't done anything."

"No, that's the face of someone who's done something and is now trying to choke back a shit-eating grin over it." He'd lived with Sherlock. He could spot these things.

The smile spread all over her face and she shook her clenched fists in front of her. "I got Molly to move in with Sherlock," she sung in gleeful triumph.

John's bottom hit the kitchen chair, mainly so there'd be something supporting him before his legs gave out. "You-why-I thought we LIKED Molly."

She was nearly bursting with glee. "No, no. It's a fantastic plan."

"This is the worst plan." And he'd lived with Sherlock. He knew about terrible plans.

She sat down on his lap, her arms twisting around his neck. "Oh don't worry about Molly." She kissed his cheek. "I gave her a Taser." She stood up quickly before he could swat at her behind.

"Woman!" He ran a hand through his hair. "This is going to end badly. This is going to end so badly, and the fallout is going to look like nuclear winter."

She pulled the lid off the pan and licked a bit of the sauce off of her thumb. "You just don't understand genius when you see it," Mary moaned desperately.

"Apparently not. Because I think you and Sherlock are both are the reason why I have grey hairs."

In the next room, the baby made those first squeaking noises of waking. The ones before the crying started. He slipped over and picked her up before she could even start. With a couple of back rubs she made a few audible huffing noises and was silent. "You know, it's bad enough that I'm actually contemplating living in the same building as that madman again."

"That madman is your best friend, and you love him, and I've already called about mold removal and remodeling." Mary called from the kitchen.

John looked down at the other important woman in his life. "I am surrounded by people who are going to be the death of me," he told her in that sing-song voice that the baby liked so much.

"What?" Mary called again.

"I love you and you're pretty?" he said as he walked into the kitchen.

"Good answer." She put some plates on the table. "Do you want to feed her? I have some breast milk in the refrigerator. It only keeps for six weeks frozen, so I'm trying to keep after it."

"No, we don't have any breast milk in the refrigerator. I put it in my cereal this morning."

"John!" She hit him with her napkin. "Now's not the time to experiment. I've got all pumping sessions carefully planned for the next month."

"It wasn't on purpose!"