He stood outside the door, staring down at the key in his palm. A single, innocuous silver key, the sole occupant of the keychain. Never before had it seemed so heavy, burdened with possibilities and uncertainty. It had been a gift, a token of trust; he had never needed a key to enter before, using his skills to gain entrance in whichever way was most convenient at the time. But she had insisted, saying that even if he didn't need it, he would have it and would always be welcome in her home.
Now, as he remained rooted to the doormat, he wondered if he had broken that trust once and for all. If this symbol of trust from the one person he had always counted on to believe in him, to love him, would be revoked. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, fisting the key as his hand started to tremble.
oOo
"Sherlock!"
A laughing voice sounded behind him and he spun around.
"Slow down, you numpty! Your legs are twice as long as mine!"
On the pavement, hurrying along beside a different, happier, version of himself, was Molly, in his favourite cherry cardigan and smiling, no sign of any lingering shadows of pain or sadness. His other self slowed down and waited while she jogged to catch up.
"Apologies," the other Sherlock said.
Molly simple rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, inserting her fingers between his own as if she had done so a hundred times. The other Sherlock sighed as if put upon, but Sherlock saw the way his thumb brushed Molly's and the pleased smile that teased the corner of his mouth.
"Anyway, as I was saying, she had a green liver! We had all of the interns come in and watch as we worked. One of them fainted, though, and three others turned as green as the liver…" Their conversation faded as they passed by and Sherlock stared after them until they faded into the nothingness they had come from.
oOo
A longing filled him and he clenched his fist at the phantom feeling of Molly's hand in his. His heart was split between the hope of a future with Molly at his side, forgiven and beloved, and fear that the future he was imagining was slipping away, leaving him alone to suffer his regrets.
oOo
"Come on!"
Behind him the door opened and he turned to see a little girl in a pink raincoat and yellow wellies just before she ran through him and up onto the street, where phantom raindrops splattered on the ground.
"Hurry up!" She shouted excitedly, jumping from puddle to puddle. Her twin brown braids were flailed around her cherubic cheeks as she leaped about.
"Young lady, where is your brolly?"
Sherlock looked back and down to see his other self, a little grayer around the temples, yet somehow younger, kneeling and buttoning up the coat of a wriggling little curly-haired boy in a pirate's hat who was trying to escape to follow his sister.
"I don't like it!" The little girl replied as if that was the logical answer. "It's got flowers on it."
The other Sherlock sighed. "That was the one you picked out!"
"It's a baby's brolly!" She declared. "I want one like Uncle Myc's! His has got a sword in it!"
The other Sherlock grimaced. "Absolutely not!"
"Oh, I'm sure we can find one that looks like his, minus the sword and pistol, of course," ever the voice of reason, Molly appeared, buttoning up a large coat that strained a bit over the swell of her very pregnant belly. "And who knows, twenty years from now, one of them might very well be taking after their Uncle anyway. They'll have us outnumbered soon enough."
"Over my dead body," both Sherlocks snarled.
Molly simply raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Like that would stop them."
Finally finagling his son into the proper outerwear, the other Sherlock released the boy to race outside. Standing, he eyed Molly with a mock serious frown and tugged her close, one hand resting reverently on her belly. "You, Mrs Holmes, are entirely too cheeky."
"What you going to do about it?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled sweetly.
Just as the other Sherlock was about to kiss her, a chorus of shouts from the street interrupted them. "Mum, dad, hurry up!"
"This is all your fault," the other Sherlock grumbled and rested his forehead against hers.
Molly swatted his chest. "Mine? If I recall, you were the one who insisted on 'putting a baby in me'. And with those eyes of yours, who was I to say no?"
One quick kiss and they followed their children outside, hand in hand. Sherlock watched as the growing, happy family, slowly made their way, puddle by puddle, down the street toward the park, disappearing into the air.
oOo
Sherlock swallowed thickly and ignored the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks.
oOo
The door opened once again and this time, Molly stood on the other side. Her brown hair was liberally streaked with silver, but her face and eyes were as joyfully youthful as ever. Contentment radiated from her smile and she called over her shoulder in fond exasperation, "Sherlock, stop your pouting! They'll be along any minute."
When the other Sherlock appeared, silver-haired, scowling, and old, Sherlock nearly stumbled back a step. Years of case work had kept him fit, but age still had its way. A long scar lined his left cheek and more wrinkles lined his weathered face. He pouted and continued to fiddle with his hair, which had lost quite a bit of its curly bounce over the years.
"Come here, you," Molly reached out for him and he shuffled over to her, gaze fixed firmly on the floor. She ran her hands up his cheeks, the light catching on the well-loved wedding band, and brushed her thumbs against his still-prominent cheekbones. At her loving touch, the other Sherlock relaxed and his face lightened until a chagrined smile tugged on his lips. "There's my Sherlock," she whispered.
He tried to pout, but the reluctant smile won out, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Even if he's no longer tall, dark, and handsome?"
Molly frowned slightly. "I never asked for tall, dark, and handsome. I only ever wanted you, you silly clot. You just happened to be all tall, dark, and handsome. And now, well," she drew out the word and looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye, "Tall, silver-haired, and drop dead gorgeous is just fine with me."
The other Sherlock preened and cupped her cheek, shaking his head in disbelief. "How did I get so lucky as to be your husband?"
"Maybe because you say the sweetest things," Molly teased and tugged him down into a sweet kiss.
"Nana! Granddad!" The shouts of children broke them apart and, with one last loving look, they left the flat, walking up hand-in-hand to greet the gaggle of children running down the street toward them, their parents following at a more sedate pace. As the other Sherlock hugged his daughter and lifted up one of the children, smiling widely, they faded from sight, leaving nothing but an empty street.
oOo
"Sherlock?"
It took a moment for Sherlock to realise the voice wasn't his imagination again and he spun around. Peering through the crack in her doorway, Molly stared up at him. Her eyes were red and swollen and she had clearly not slept well for some nights.
He looked down at the key still in his hand. Then back up at her in silent question.
She chewed on her lip, clearly debating whether to let him in. Or close the door on him once and for all. He prayed fervently that he had not lost her, that she would give him a chance to explain, to show her that the words torn from him in desperation were true. Oh, god, they were true.
She had every right to shut him out of her life. He had done nothing to deserve her love, her forgiveness, her trust.
He swallowed hard, bracing himself to be turned away.
But then. Oh, but then, she did what she had always done better than anyone else. She saw him. And so she stepped back and swung the door open, inviting him inside.
oOo
In that little garden flat, on that quiet London street, they would build a life together from the rubble of what they had come through, filling it with laughter and forgiveness, but most of all with love. And it was in that little garden flat where Sherlock would hear the words that would change his life all over again.
"Sherlock Holmes. You're going to be a daddy."