A little story inspired by all those lovely setlock pics of Loo holding a baby. The wonderful MizJoely beta'd this. Thanking you Miz. : )

I own nothing. Please enjoy ~Lil~

Sherlock Holmes wasn't prone to fits of envy. He possessed one of the greatest minds in all of England, if not the world. And although he enjoyed the occasional somewhat friendly argument with his brother about the fact that Mycroft was indeed smarter than him, it didn't really bother him… much. He'd never longed to look like someone else; to be more handsome or more fit. He was who he was: tall, thin, lithe. He had too much hair, an oddly shaped face and very distinctive eyes. But he had capable hands and was fast on his feet.

Oh, he could admit to wishing for things like better people skills, but he didn't let it worry him too much. It hadn't stop Martha Hudson from giving him a place to live. Or DI Lestrade from giving a junkie with an attitude a chance. And it certainly hadn't stopped John Watson from deciding that Sherlock was best friend material.

Money meant absolutely nothing to Sherlock. He'd never been envious of other people's wealth.

He'd never looked at someone's car and wished it could be his.

And he'd never coveted another man's wife or family.

So it took Sherlock quite by surprise when he realised what he was feeling as he watched his best friend holding his near month old daughter, his wife smiling happily at his side.

"Want to hold her, Uncle Sherlock?" Mary asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"I held her at the hospital," he said.

"And then stayed busy for the next three and a half weeks," John said with a hint of hurt in his voice.

"People don't stop committing crimes just because you two forgot to use a condom."

"My, you are grumpy today," Mary said as she walked up to the detective. "Something you want to talk about?"

"No."

She turned and looked at her daughter then back to her friend. "You could have one too, you know."

"I hope you're not still taking pain medication, Mary. You are breast-feeding, after all."

"I saw the look on your face just now, Sherlock."

"I need your loo," he said, ending the conversation. He knew he couldn't hide anything from Mary Watson and he certainly didn't want her knowing that he was, what? Jealous of her daughter… of her's and John's happiness.

He walked into the small first floor bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. How could he let emotions take over like this? What was wrong with him? He didn't want a child- a family! He splashed water on his face and took several deep breaths as he told himself that the last few months had been… difficult. Yes, that must be it, the exile, the drugs… everything suddenly changing. One more deep breath and he left the bathroom feeling a bit more like himself.

As he made his way down the hall he heard it: Molly Hooper's voice. He knew she was supposed to be here, they'd spoken about it actually. He'd offered to pick her up, but she'd said she wasn't sure what time she'd be getting off and had to run an errand.

He walked into the sitting room and saw her holding Emily, making a silly face and clicking her tongue. Suddenly that feeling he'd experienced earlier was replaced with something else. He no longer felt envy, no; now there was something warm in his chest, something… lovely. He was smiling even before he realised it.

Molly looked up. "There's Uncle Sherlock," she said looking back down at the baby in her arms. "Your Mummy said he was grumpy, but I don't see how that's possible with such a gorgeous girl in the room. No… no I don't!" She kissed Emily's cheek. She was holding the baby out in front of her on her lap, Emily's head resting in her hands. "Come on, you. Mary and John are working on dinner," she said, this time speaking to him rather than the baby.

Sherlock sat down and reached over to touch Emily's cheek. The baby's head wobbled toward him and he was suddenly looking at the bluest of eyes. They seemed larger and brighter than they had a month before. Her tongue darted out as drool escaped her little mouth. She had a light dusting of white-blonde hair covering her perfectly round head.

"Wanna hold her?" Molly asked, then bit her lip adorably. It used to annoy him, but that was years ago. Now, well...

"Ah, I held her at the hospital," he explained.

"Yes, for exactly fifteen seconds. She's your goddaughter, for goodness sake! Here."

Sherlock suddenly found himself holding a baby, quite against his will. "What if she cries?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Molly said with a laugh. "I won't leave you alone with the terrifying infant, Sherlock."

He sat there holding his best friend's daughter, taking her in- memorising her. He had already made a room in his mind palace for her… it was all but empty. Molly was right; he'd only held her for a few seconds, hardly enough time to make a full assessment. He'd not stayed away on purpose. He had been working for his brother, repaying a debt. Though in fairness, he could have found the time to visit his goddaughter, he simply hadn't. He wasn't even sure why.

"Do you think she'll like me?" he heard himself asking as he stared down at her.

"Of course she will. Famous Uncle Sherlock who solves crimes and wears the funny hat. What's not to like?"

"I'm not very likeable, Molly."

"You have a certain charm," she said as she wiped some drool off of Emily's chin.

"I have exactly five friends," he said as he adjust the baby in his arms.

"Does that include me?"

He looked over at her to see if she was serious or not. What he found completely stumped him. She was blank faced- utterly unreadable. That's my trick, he thought. "Yes, Molly. Of course it does," he said, still unsure of why she had asked.

"Just checking, Sherlock." She fiddled with the cloth in her hands. "One never quite knows…"

"Will you look at that?" John said as he walked into the room carrying three wine glasses. "How did you manage it, Molly?"

Mary followed right behind her husband. "Oh please, all Molly has to do is ask. Sherlock can never tell her no."

"What?" all three of the other adult occupants of the room asked in unison.

"I'm sorry, sometimes I forget the level of denial we all live in," she said rolling her eyes.

John looked from Sherlock then to Molly and finally to his wife. "Denial? Mary, what are you talking about?"

Mary looked around the room before sitting the bottle of wine she was carrying on the coffee table. "Nothing, never mind." She held out her arms to Sherlock. "Let me check her nappy, she's due for a change." He handed the baby over. "John, lend a hand?"

"Ah, sure," he answered then followed his wife up the stairs.

"They're acting strange," Molly said as she poured a glass of wine. "You want one?"

"I suppose," Sherlock answered. He had a very bad feeling that he knew exactly what Mary had been referring to. It was something she had no business meddling in… none whatsoever.

Molly handed him his glass just as they both heard crackling noises coming from the baby monitor on the table beside the settee. Then…

"What was all that about, Mary? And why did you need my help changing our daughter?"

"Dear God…" Baby fussing. "You must literally be the only one who hasn't noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"John... hand me a nappy and try to pay attention. Sherlock's lonely."

"Yeah? Okay, I probably knew that. I mean, not really surprising, I suppose."

"And?" There was a pause and more fussing from Emily. Mary huffed. "John, he has feelings for Molly. Whether or not he's ever going to deal with his feelings… who knows. He should, of course. But this is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about, so…"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I am. Here throw this out. Good girl, Emily. Don't you feel better now?"

Sherlock and Molly just stared at each other for a moment while Sherlock tried to assimilate what had just happened. He wasn't especially good at processing his feelings and even worse at dealing with them in front of people. He had no idea what to say to Molly- how to explain himself. Perhaps he should just leave…

She stood up. "You know what? Mary's not always right. You haven't even been around for weeks. How could she possibly make that kind of assumption?" She smiled. "Don't worry about it, Sherlock. I'm not."

Well, there it is. Molly to the rescue. He nodded. "Of course." He took a drink of his wine, as did Molly. Then he said something that surprised even him. "Except… I suppose, she is…. Right."

"There's no shame in feeling lonely. It's only natural."

I'm trying here, Molly, he thought. Stop giving me an out. "Not just about that."

"Okay, we have a clean baby. Who's ready to eat?" John announced as he walked into the room carrying Emily.

Sherlock and Molly were still locked in a staring contest.

"Told you we didn't wait long enough," Mary whispered, though Sherlock managed to hear her, and Molly too he imagined. That's when he realised he'd been set up.

"Yes," he said. "Dinner would be most welcome." He held out an arm to Molly and she took it with a small smile. He leaned down and whispered, "I will get her back for this."

She laughed. "I don't envy Mary Watson," she said.

"I can't decide. I'm torn between replacing all of her ammunition with blanks or sending her a dozen roses."

"I'd go with the roses. You might need that ammo at some point," Molly said with a cheeky grin.

"Have dinner with me," he blurted out.

"We're about to have dinner."

"Will you dinner with me… again?"

Molly tilted her head to the side and said, "Anytime."

Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think... love hearing from you all! ~Lil~