Molly furiously dug through her drawer, unable to find the one shirt she needed.
"Sherlock!" she called into the air. The woman let her arms drop to her side with a frustrated huff. Gently, she brought one hand to rest atop the soft swell of her stomach, as had become habit over the past month.
Footsteps were heard coming down the hall, and Sherlock burst into the room, eyes wide.
"Molly! What it is? What's wrong? Is it the baby?" he asked, quite clearly panicked.
"Wh- No. Have you seen my blue blouse anywhere? I swear I washed it just a few days ago" she told him.
"Oh." He visibly relaxed. "Don't startle me like that. You know fetuses are fragile" he scolded her.
Ever since finding out that she was carrying his child, Sherlock had been fretting nonstop over her and the baby. Consulting websites, telling her what she should and shouldn't eat, and always escorting her around. Some women might find it overbearing, but Molly thought it was cute. It showed just how much he cared, which left little doubt that he'd be a wonderful father, even if he'd overthink it every step of the way. Already he'd begun preparing for when she'd be giving birth, researching breathing tactics even if she was nowhere near that point in her pregnancy. She could tell him time and time again that he really didn't need to stress about it so much, but it was futile. She'd married a stubborn man.
"I sort of need a shirt to go to the appointment" said Molly, motioning down to her bra-clad torso.
"You look just fine like that if you ask me" Sherlock answered impishly. A smirk adorned his face, making him look very boyish for a moment.
Molly gave him the look. "I'm not going to the hospital in a bra and trousers"
"Alright, alright. I'll take a look around" he conceded, leaning in to peck her quickly on the lips. The detective crouched down, bringing his head level with his wife's stomach. The bump wasn't awfully big, but she was definitely showing, if one didn't assume she'd eaten one too many sandwiches. The biological workings of life were intriguing to the man, though he hadn't gained an interest in it until his first night with Molly. Just inside this little bump, a little baby was growing. He could easily explain the scientific process to anyone who asked, but he preferred not to be precise on this one. This was their baby, and he would call it such.
His lips pursed, and he planted a kiss on Molly's smooth, stretched skin. "You better behave today and not give mum too much trouble" he said softly to the bump. Above him, Sherlock heard Molly giggle.
"I'm probably lucky it doesn't kick yet" she noted. Not that she'd mind, of course. Kicking was a sign of movement, of life. Even if it hurt, or kept her up at night, it would all be worth it in the end when they got to meet the little one.
Sherlock got to his feet again and vanished down the hall, on a mission to find his wife's shirt. Molly, in the meantime, entered the bathroom to comb her hair. It was looking a little disheveled from all the rolling she'd done last night. With an elastic band she pulled it into a simple ponytail.
"Aha!" she heard through the door. Smiling, she knew Sherlock had found what he'd been looking for. Seconds later, he appeared, grinning as he wiggled the piece of fabric. "I'd used it to clean up one of my experiments. You left it lying in the kitchen after… Tuesday night" he explained, smirking a little at the memory. Seeing his wife's sudden change of facial expressions, he quickly added, "But I washed it! I did! There was nothing else around for me to use, and you know those tea cloths are too small"
Molly just sighed and shook her head. "I'll buy you a set of towels. Will that get you to stop using my shirts?" Sherlock didn't reply, but she didn't need a response. She'd buy those towels on their way back from the appointment. Taking the blouse from her husband's hand, she slipped it on, carefully buttoning it up.
"Ready?" he asked once she'd finished. Molly nodded, and took Sherlock's hand.
The hospital was pretty busy today, filled with patients and nurses milling around the place. Molly, who was always cooped up in the mortuary, never saw most of this action during her work day. The majority of people recognized Sherlock, however. The detective had earned his high status in London through the many cases he'd so expertly solved. Some turned to smile and wave, while others merely observed. When she and Sherlock had first become an item, you could imagine the look on everyone's faces. No one wanted to believe that the rumor was true, yet everyone was shocked at the news. The Sherlock Holmes had settled down? Surely that had to be impossible! Molly couldn't help but smile proudly to herself every time she thought about it. He may be frustrating at times with his lack of comprehension on basic human emotion, but she'd managed to ring him in through all those walls of indifference he put up. He was hers.
They sat, waiting to be called in. At her side, Molly heard Sherlock begin to hum lightly. Her husband may play the violin exquisitely, but she also thought he had a lovely voice, from the few times she'd caught him singing alone.
"What's that one?" she asked curiously, unable to identify the tune.
The question seemed to take Sherlock off-guard. "I… This? This is nothing. Just some old tune I heard playing at the store the other day"
Molly saw right through him. "Right, now what is it really?" she insisted.
The detective sighed, but he didn't appear too annoyed or frustrated. His smile erased any harsh lines from his face. "I was going to wait until the baby's ears had properly developed…. I've done some composing in my spare time. You see, I've listened to a few lullabies; they say they soothe the children, but they're all so monotonous and repetitive. Some of the lyrics could use some work too. So I thought I'd make my own"
Molly's gaze had softened. In fact, she thought she might melt into a puddle, right in her seat. These small things were what made all of this worth it. Her marriage to Sherlock had been dotted with rough patches, but when he came out with something like this, to show that he was really trying… Molly was truly helpless. It was no wonder that he'd so easily manipulated her with compliments in the past.
"Oh Sherlock," she breathed, at a loss for words. She could have kissed him, and potentially done a lot more to him had they not been in a very public place.
"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes?" a voice called suddenly. Molly looked up to see a nurse facing them.
"Yes, that's us" the pregnant woman answered with a still-gooey smile. The pair lifted from their seats and followed the other woman into the examination room, where Molly was instructed to lay down.
"It'll be a little cold" the nurse warned, just before squirting some blue gel onto Molly's stomach.
The pathologist lightly gasped as it made contact with her skin, but adjusted quickly when the gel was spread across her lower abdomen. Sherlock held her hand with both of his at her bedside. She could see that he was anxiously watching the screen, which had yet to display anything.
Gradually, a grainy black and white image appeared. There was their little bean. Even when presented with the visual proof, it was difficult to believe that there was life blossoming in her tummy. It just didn't seem real, and likely wouldn't until the little one started kicking and actually letting them know of its presence aside from sending her to the bathroom several times a day. Smiling softly, Molly tore her gaze from the screen to look at her husband. Sherlock, however, was looking anything but happy. His stony eyes fixed the screen with intensity.
"Sherlock?"
"It's not moving" he replied tonelessly. Molly blinked, and looked to the screen again to see that he was right.
"The fetus is likely asleep" the nurse offered.
The words didn't appear to calm the detective. Molly squeezed his hand. "Relax, love. It's fine"
Silence reigned as the nurse proceeded to check for the heartbeat. "Now in just a moment, you should be able to hear the… "
"Heartbeat" Sherlock finished for the woman, a stern look on his face.
Seconds passed in silence. On instinct, Molly looked at Sherlock but found no comfort in doing so. His face was hard, but allowing just enough emotion to show for her to feel a tightening in her chest.
She was a pathologist; she knew this wasn't a good sign. "Uh, nurse? Are there any physical abnormalities…around t-the head or heart?" she stuttered lightly.
The other woman said nothing as she calmly took a closer look at the images. The nurse rolled her bottom lip between her teeth a few times, before opening her mouth, as though to speak.
"A word, please. Outside" Sherlock cut in before she could say anything. The nurse shot a glance at Molly, but followed the detective out of the room.
Alone in the room, Molly had never felt worse. Her baby was not okay. Her baby. Was not. Okay. A horrible tug in the bottom of her stomach kept intensifying as the dread settled in. This could be a false alarm, but on the other hand, this could be the worst case scenario. Right now, she was picturing the worst. Biting back fearful tears, Molly shut her eyes and focused on her breathing. This was not happening. Everything would be fine. This day had started great, and it would finish in the same manner. Like all pregnancies, there could be small complications.
By the time Sherlock and the nurse returned, Molly was a nervous wreck, a tear or two having already fallen. She was trying to be strong and vigilant, but it was so difficult. Her husband crouched down at her side, gently grasping her hand. He planted a kiss atop her fingers. The look on his face was heartbreaking, and any hope she'd clung to just shattered into a million pieces.
"We'll have to come back in a week or so, okay? Nothing's certain, but the nurse just wants to monitor it on a span of time for confirmation" he murmured, lifting his blueish green eyes to meet her brown ones.
"Confirmation of what?" Molly asked stiffly, beginning to frown.
"Molly" he started carefully. "There are simply signs of… potential fetal death. The nurse merely suspects"
"Simply?!" the woman exclaimed. Falling back against her pillow, she used her free hand to cover her face. Overwhelmed by emotions, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to be alone, or to be taken into Sherlock's arms.
"I love you, and we're going to make it through this" she heard him whisper at her side. She wanted to believe him, she really did. Feeling a weight atop her hand, she knew Sherlock had set his forehead against it.
The detective was struggling not to flip a table, because this was just as difficult for him as it was for her, but for Molly he tried to be strong. She was the one carrying the possibly deceased child, and so she needed all the support he could offer. He may not be the best at comforting people, or having the right words to say, but he would try. None of this was set in stone, but if the suspicions became fact, he needed to be ready for the emotional turmoil that would follow. So that they could heal.
Potential Part Two to follow in the future. For now, it sits as a one-shot.