Molly Hooper was sat cross-legged on the floor of her bathroom. She clutched her head in her shaking hands. She could not believe it. How could this have happened? She knew perfectly well how it had happened. But why to her? With a deep breath, she raised her head. She had to tell Sherlock. Molly and Sherlock had been dating for 2 years, since his legendary fall from the roof of Saint Bart's hospital. When he had returned to the land of the living, their blooming relationship had been publicised among friends and family, however the nosy media had also discovered. The newspapers had a field day when Sherlock was resurrected, and now with him being in an exclusive relationship, the journalists had never ending stories to write; not all of which were true.
She stood shakily to her feet. She had left the little piece of plastic, on top of its box, lying on the floor. She detested the small object as it was going to enviably change her life in either a bad or a good way. She prayed with all her heart for the latter. She bent down to pick it up. As she did so she was even more conscious of her movements. Molly straightened up, and again looked down at the pregnancy test. Positive. She sighed, placed the test on the bathroom counter, and turned to the task at hand. She would have to tell Sherlock, and face the consequences. She knew he would be angry at her, as he did not want children.
Walking out of the bathroom door, she took in deep breaths, trying to calm her nervousness. Better to get it over with, or it would come back to haunt her later in life. She entered the sitting room, to find Sherlock poised at the window, mid way through an immaculate viola solo. She envied his musical talents, as he got caught up in the melody, and could blissfully ignore the world; however she could no longer do so with him as she now bore a child, which would acquire acute attention. She permitted him to continue his composition, as she settled herself deep into the back leather sofa. She listened for a few minutes before dropping her face into her hands. The music was despondent, inconsolable, yet with an undeniable essence of beauty. This combined with her hormonal state, reduced her to tears; an action that did not go unobserved by the consulting detective.
He abruptly brought to the song to a sudden close, as he had deduced from Molly's emotional outburst, and position on the sofa, she had something incredibly important to tell him, but was either reluctant or extremely nervous to do so. He had mentally prepared himself to coax the information out of her gently. He turned towards her, after depositing his viola on his chair, and proceeded to sit next to her on the sofa, encircling her with his longer, yet muscular arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and tried to calm her shallow breaths, and feeble tears. Once she had obtained a limited composure, she turned to face him fully, and grasped both his hands firmly in her own petite ones.
He began to grow, extremely nervous as the climax, and therefore tension grew into an unbearable closeness. "Molly, what's going on?" He asked, bothered by the neurotic silence. "Tell me what's wrong." He continued, trying to soothe her with his deep baritone voice. She took yet another deep breath, as she steady herself for what she about to reveal to the world, and even more importantly allowing the realisation to settle on herself. "Please don't he angry at me." She murmured. A look of horror crossed his face, before his calm facade claimed his face void of expression. "Never." He pronounced with a clear determination to never inflict any anger on her. "I'm… I'm… pregnant…" She stuttered.
Sherlocks face and mind went blank. For the first time since he was a child, his machine like mind was unable to process anything around him, even with his unimaginable brain capacity. His body had unconsciously tensed up, in a physical reaction to the shock and fear flowing like lava through his unresponsive figure. Sherlock expected to feel anger, as Molly had anticipated, yet he did not feel such a thing. Instead he felt a flitter in his stomach that was unmistakably, delight at the prosperity of becoming a father, something he had never considered in all his life.
Unfortunately he lacked the ability to express such emotions on the outside, therefore Molly took his silence as disapproval. Before she could contain herself, she leapt off of the sofa a ran into the bedroom, as a wave of hysterical tears engulfed her, as she flopped down on to the bed. This was the kick in the gut that Sherlock severely needed. The gears in his head clicked into place, as he himself jumped up from the sofa. He bounded across the room and launched himself into his and Molly's, bedroom. He appraised the sight of Molly curled tightly into a ball in the centre of the bed, weeping into her knees. He walked slowly over to the bed, and sat down. He delicately took her of her wrist hand pulled her up to a sitting position beside him. He took hold of her tear stained cheeks, and forced her to look him in the eyes. "You're angry at me." Molly whimpered.
"Why would I be angry at you my dear Molly. This is not your fault. This is the cause of both our efforts, as I am sure you are biologically aware." He stated calmly. "On the contrary I am extremely delighted." He beamed at her. She seemed a bit dumbstruck. "But you never wanted children, as it was you thought you were asexual until you had a near death experience." She murmured, trying to lower her gaze. He refused to let her look away from his icy blue iris' and smouldering black pupils. He sighed and released her fragile face from his hands, and alternating to gathering her hands in his. "Molly, you changed me. You made me realise that sentiment was not in fact a chemical default, but an advantage which I am privileged with. Whilst I am terrified I will not suffice as a father, the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you, and our children, is more than I could have ever asked for. Thank you, Molly Hooper, for this extraordinary life." With that she wiped the tears from her face and kissed him with as much passion she could manage. That was all she needed to hear.
FIN. -Jess