In Which There is a Baby, and it is Not John's

"What do you think, John?" Sherlock braced his hand on the autopsy table, leaning closer over the body.

"I think just about everything that you guessed earlier is true."

Sherlock smiled wryly. "Heavy smoker. Not from London. Been here... three, four, no, five weeks. Unlikely a tourist, going by their laundry, but-"

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced up, leaving John to pore over the exposed body. Molly was hovering at the autopsy table opposite; Sherlock's eyes flew to the body there, but it was older, and already sewn back up. Unrelated to this case. "What?" he asked out loud.

"Uh... can I-"

"Can't it wait?" Sherlock interrupted impatiently, and then frowned when Molly shot him a look that said he was being ignorant and thick. He only knew that look because Molly had told him that it meant he was being ignorant and thick. Sherlock hadn't ever been able to figure out why her face did a thing. "Fine," he muttered, wiggling his fingers out of the latex gloves and joining up with Molly. "What's so important?"

"I... needed to talk to you," Molly muttered, leaning against the table. "I wasn't sure if I was going to get you later because of the case-"

"I always respond to your texts," Sherlock replied immediately.

"Yes." Molly smiled. "I know. But it's not really... texty."

Sherlock frowned. "... Texty?"

"I mean..." She sighed, glancing up as John joined them.

"Everything okay?" John asked, looking between them.

"Uh huh."

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "Molly was about to tell me something that apparently isn't something you are able to share over text message." He looked back at her expectantly.

"Oh," John said. "I can wait outside if-"

"No need."

"It's fine," Molly said, at the same time.

Sherlock almost smiled. "Molly," he said, tolerantly, much more tolerantly than he thought he ought to be expected to be right now. Whatever it was wasn't about the autopsy, so it could wait until later, couldn't it? He was working.

Molly swallowed and looked away. Nervous. Awkward. Embarrassed. Moreso than usual. A quick sweep down her form showed off the fidgeting and the way she scuffed her worn shoes against the morgue floor.

Attention piqued slightly, Sherlock broke the silence again. "Molly."

"I'm late."

Sherlock tilted his head. "Late for what?"

Molly met his gaze again. She looked annoyed - what did he do wrong now? he wondered - but she was starting to blush. Interesting, she hadn't done that since they'd gotten past the awkward 'new couple' part of their relationship, Sherlock had thought they had bypassed that...

"Wait..." John muttered. He frowned, looking inquiringly at Molly. "You mean..."

Molly smiled nervously. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Really. I mean, I think."

"What?" Sherlock interrupted, looking between them both. "What conversation are the two of you having that I'm not?"

John looked up at him. "Late," he repeated.

Sherlock looked down at him, and then at Molly, and then back. "Yes."

"Her period," John continued.

Sherlock paused. Something about that part of the female body clicked into his head, but then that meant... "She's..."

"Yes," John said.

Sherlock looked at Molly. "You're-"

"Pregnant." Molly's smile was growing, but she still looked nervous. Beyond nervous, actually, and Sherlock was beginning to feel that it was infectious.

"Pregnant," Sherlock repeated. The word felt foreign on his lips.

"Yes." Molly beamed.

"Oh, God."

Sherlock ignored both John and Molly's look as he spun away, staring towards the far wall of the morgue. The panic was infectious. It was already settling heavy into his chest, buzzing throughout his body.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock spun back around, looking at Molly. "It's mine?"

Molly frowned. "Who else's would it be?"

"I don't..." The words fell away from his lips. Of course it was his. He and Molly had been 'going steady' for over a year now, but he was sure... He was careful... "Oh, my God." He blew out a breath and strode back the few paces he'd stepped away, grabbing Molly's hand. "John, excuse us."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Molly mumbled as he dragged her out into the hall. "I should have told you when you weren't working but..."

Sherlock gripped her shoulders. "You're pregnant," he said again. It still felt just as foreign. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. He had to remind himself to breathe. "You're absolutely sure?"

Molly looked up at him, chewing her lip. "I mean, I'm not positive, I haven't taken a test, but... my period's always regular and-"

Sherlock drew in another deep breath, drowning her out. He knew all about her menstrual cycles; she was regular almost to a fault. That made it easy, though. That made it easy, didn't it, to be able to have an active sex life and still avoid the pregnancy aspect?

"How?" he breathed. "I realise, in retrospect, that that's a stupid question, but... we were careful. I was careful." He looked at her oddly. "Nothing broke. The condoms were fine, I made sure, and I wouldn't not tell you if something had broken."

Molly shook her head. "No, I know, it's just... I guess it did." She took a deep breath, but smiled up at him shyly. "Are you... okay?"

Sherlock blinked a few times. "What?"

"I mean... are you okay with it?" Molly repeated. "I'm not going to... abort it or anything..."

"No!" He said it so quickly that it startled both Molly, and himself. He took yet another deep breath and tried to regain his calm. "No. I'm... not sure 'fine' is the right word, but I'm not..." He shook his head. "... I'm not meant to be a father. You've seen me. You know me."

Molly sighed, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. Sherlock reflexively pulled away, stopping himself a half step away.

"Sorry..." They both said it at the exact same time, and they both ended up smiling because of it. Sherlock less than Molly, mostly because of the situation and, well, they were in the hallway of St Bart's hospital. Someone might see.

"It still doesn't change the fact," Sherlock said, straightening up. "I can't be a father."

"You think you're going to be a bad father just as much as I think I'm going to be a bad mother," Molly replied.

"Why would you be a bad mother?" Sherlock retorted. "You've everything perfect for... maternal... things." He waved his hand. "But then there's me, and I scare people away. I destroy relationships. Remember? We've all long since established that I'm a freak."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged. "Fine, I'm abnormal since you seem to take offence for me for the word 'freak'."

"Someone has to," Molly muttered, crossing her arms. "But... uh, you know. Your brand of eccentricity..."

"My brand?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Are we going to bottle up my crazy and sell it for profit?"

Molly laughed quietly. "You know what I mean. The way you are is the reasons we all love you."

"Shh!" Sherlock glanced around the still deserted hall. Wasn't the pregnancy announcement enough for one day? Why did she have to keep giving him small heart attacks? Especially in the middle of St Barts; he had a reputation!

Well, they're going to find out soon, anyway, said the logical voice in the back of his head. Sherlock ignored it for favour of following Molly's gaze around his shoulder and to the doors of the morgue.

John was not so subtly watching them through the window. He blinked and turned away when he met their gaze.

"Oh, for the love of-" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Stop trying to be coy, John, it isn't working," he called.

John waved through the window without looking back around.

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "Let's go back, before John has a brain haemorrhage." He hesitated for a moment before reaching down to entwine his fingers with Molly's. He studiously ignored how she looked surprised from the action and how she then smiled up at him.

"All good?" John asked when they'd joined him back in the morgue.

"Good," Sherlock clarified.

"We're good," Molly said, squeezing Sherlock's fingers.

"Good," John said. He cleared his throat. "Congratulations, you two. Mary'll be thrilled when I tell her, let us know if you need anything."

"Yes, I'm sure I'll be needing your... advice," Sherlock muttered. "Children, it's not really my... area."

John clapped him on the shoulder; Sherlock swayed slightly. "Oh, you'll be a great dad, Sherlock. You'll love it."

"Uh huh. I'm..." He glanced at Molly, dropping his gaze briefly to her stomach. "... nervous about it, obviously, but it's not a bad thing, seeing as how this child's going to have my genes. Obviously, it's going to be superior to most children just because of that regard."

John raised his eyebrows. "Is that the only reason you're happy? At least, I think you're happy. I can never tell, unless it involves death."

Sherlock flicked his gaze back to Molly's eyes. "... Of course I'm happy," he murmured, leaning over to peck Molly on the lips. "And it's not the only reason I'm happy." He straightened up and pulled away. "Now, can we get back to the murder before we get even more unduly sentimental? I'm not sure if I can handle much more of it without having some sort of panic attack," he muttered. "Can we get the toxicology report or isn't it in yet? Don't we have a rush order on these things?"

"And he's back." John chuckled. "Seriously, though, Molly, this is wonderful. You and Sherlock are going to be amazing parents."

"John," Sherlock muttered, leaning over the tub of intestines, "leave my... leave Molly alone. She has to fetch toxicology and then go urinate on a stick."

"Girlfriend?" John mused. "Is that the word you were looking for, you romantic sod, you?"

"Molly," Sherlock repeated.

"Your Molly?"

"John," Sherlock retorted. He heard Molly laugh as she left the room to presumably go get the report and then take a pregnancy test, and tried not to squirm on the spot.

John laughed. This time, Sherlock couldn't help shifting a bit.

"Really. Congrats," John said shortly, snapping on another pair of gloves.

Sherlock stayed immersed in the intestines. "Thank you," he murmured.

He was sure that wouldn't be the end of the conversation, not for awhile, anyway. He was grateful to have John there, really; he had no idea how to handle children and maybe it hadn't been planned - at all - but... a kid. He was going to have a child. With Molly. The concept of family had made him clam up barely five years ago, but now he had one, and a good one, even, of his own that he was about to welcome a new person into. It was as thrilling as it was nerve-racking. And he would need some help, he was sure, but it was something he was suddenly eager to try out.

Two months later, he was making a frantic phone call to John at eleven-thirty at night:

"John? John, she won't stop crying."

"Who?"

"Molly, you clot!"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. She was watching a movie and she started crying and now she won't stop. I don't know what to do with crying women, John, tell me what to do."

"What kind of movie?"

"What- what does that matter?"

"Was it sad? Or a romance movie?"

"Romance. I think? I don't know, it was stupid. Why?"

John just laughed at him.

"John? John, what's funny? Why won't she stop crying? What did I do wrong?!" Sherlock demanded, cringing as he hit a level of panic he would have preferred to keep to himself.

"Nothing, Sherlock. You're fine, she's fine. It's just her hormones."

"Hormones?"

"Yes. Give her one of her cravings. What was it now? Hot fudge sundaes? Or applesauce, whatever she's most keen on now."

Sherlock nodded to himself. "Yes. Good. Fine."

"Console her a little bit, too, Sherlock, can't hurt."

"What?"

"Hugs."

"... Oh. Obviously. Why didn't I think of that?"

Sherlock hung up without saying goodbye.

This didn't exactly go as planned, but I've decided to put it out there, anyway. o3o It's so difficult to write Sherlolly, mostly because I ship Lestrolly and only then in my head, but I've been in the mood for some of this fluffy stuff, so Sherlolly over Janlock (even though I like them both!) and... I just think Sherlock would be an amazing dad, okay?! /feelsy flail

I do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading!