Prepare Ye the Way of Baby Holmes

Sherlock Holmes stood before his sitting room wall, his posture ramrod-straight and his hands clasped behind his back. That wall was covered with various documents and photographs, connected together by a maze of cherry-red yarn. The case before him was one of those complex cases that he always welcomed. With his help, the Yard was finally honing in on an elusive conman. Sherlock was sure that they could catch him for good very soon; he only had to piece together a few tricky things first.

His concentration was broken for the best reason when he heard the door to 221B open. Turning his head, he smiled at the sight of his wife entering the flat. Molly Holmes balanced a small, cardboard box on her hip with her free hand. After she had closed the door behind her, she beamed at her husband. "Hello," she said brightly.

Sherlock returned her smile and approached her. "Hello," he returned, cupping her face. After softly kissing her, Sherlock took the box from her grasp and placed it on the coffee table. Thankfully, it wasn't heavy, and contained just a few items from Molly's office. He then turned back to his glowing wife (for she was indeed glowing), unbuttoned her autumn coat, and knelt down before her seven-month-pregnant belly.

"And hello to you, too, little bee," Sherlock murmured, caressing Molly's round tummy. Beneath his hands, he felt the fluttering that could only be their baby, kicking a greeting in return. He kissed the spot where he'd felt the kick, his heart full and warm.

He looked back up at Molly when he felt her fingers run through his curls. "How are you both doing?"

"We're just fine," said Molly, smiling sweetly. "And we're happy to be home."

"Me, too," said Sherlock, standing up again. After helping her take her coat off, Sherlock began to lead her towards the sofa, but Molly turned them in the direction of the armchairs.

"No, Sherlock, I'll use the sofa a little later," she said. "It's getting harder and harder to get up from sofas without a helping hand."

Sherlock nodded, and they both sat down in their respective chairs. Beside his was hers: a pretty, comfortable, yellow chair. He'd gotten it as he'd been repairing Baker Street, knowing perfectly well who he wanted it to be for. Every moment of every day, Sherlock thanked whatever deity existed that the trauma of Sherrinford had truly hammered home to him just where his heart rested.

"You don't seem sad at all," Sherlock observed, holding her hand between the chairs.

Molly shrugged. "I know I'll be back, and truth be told, I know that it was the right time to start my maternity leave. I'm beginning to waddle more than I walk. Also, this is a job where I'm on my feet most of the time. My ankles and back have begun screaming at me for a break."

"Well, you have one now," said Sherlock, kissing her fingers. "Two months before we meet our daughter and we forget what it is to sleep."

Molly laughed, leaning her head back against the chair. "Yes," she breathed when she got her breath back. "And it can't come soon enough…I can't wait to meet her."

He kissed her wrist this time, his eyes drinking in the sight of his beloved. For a long time, he'd scorned (as he'd scorned so many sentimental ideas and notions) the saying that pregnant women had a glow about them that enhanced their beauty. Mary had initially disproved that for him, though it was only after she and John had reconciled their marriage that she appeared more radiant in her pregnancy (for understandable reasons). Molly, though, removed all doubts about it from his mind. From the moment that they first suspected her condition, Molly had grown more beautiful with each moment that followed. She was already the epitome of Sherlock's construct of beauty, and Sherlock knew by now that there was no limit to how much this woman would surpass all expectations in every way.

Molly's eyes had drifted to Sherlock's makeshift evidence board. "How is the case going?"

Sherlock too looked at the board and let out a huff. "Making progress, but I haven't yet found that crucial piece of the puzzle. It's up there, I know it is, but…"

Molly turned her head to look at him and squeezed his hand. "If I know you, and I do, you've spent all day looking at and organizing that board. Am I right?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Well, why don't you take a little break from it? I'd like to take a long soak in the tub. While I do that, why don't you take care of supper for the both of us? After we eat, you can go back to it with a fresher pair of eyes."

Sherlock couldn't deny the appeal of that idea. Since Molly had moved in together, and especially since she had become pregnant, Sherlock had become a little more regular in his eating and sleeping habits. This wasn't only to please her, but also to better himself. He'd always known, in a back recess of his mind palace, that he couldn't go on with such habits forever. And now that he and Molly were together and building their family, he wanted to do everything in his power to be sure that he would be around for as long as he could.

So, in reply to her suggestion, he stood up from his chair and then helped her up from hers. "Well, what is the baby craving this evening?"

"Hmm," Molly softly moaned, resting her hands on her belly. Then she smiled again. "Chinese take-out from Wing Lu's would be loverly."

He kissed her nose. "Ask and you both shall receive."

An hour later found the expectant couple finishing a fantastic meal of the best Chinese take-out in London (according to Sherlock, and Molly had to agree). Molly had double portions – pregnancy cravings, Sherlock had discovered, were no exaggeration – and still managed to finish before he did.

"Eleven minutes and forty-one seconds," teased Sherlock. "Impressive, Molly."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but the corners of her lips were turned up.

He chuckled and then asked, "Any plans for your first day of leave?"

"Well, I think I'll pop over to Creamery Yarn a few blocks over and pick up some new skeins. I want to get started on some things for our little bee. I'll decide what I'll make first when I find a yarn that really grabs me." Crocheting was one of Molly's favorite hobbies. To her, it was a great stress-reliever that kept the hands busy and produced lovely things. She turned her gaze past Sherlock to the evidence board and smiled. "Glad you're still making use of the yarn that I got you, though."

Sherlock smiled in return. In the past, he'd always used string or whatever he had to link the pieces on the board. After Molly moved in all of her things, including a big canvas bag of her crocheting supplies, he would "borrow" a few (dozen) yards of yarn for his evidence board. Molly noticed, of course, and solved the problem in a simple way: she went to Creamery Yarn, returned with a very large skein of bright cherry-red yarn, and given it to him. "I'm saving myself future frustrations and arguments with you," she'd said when she'd handed it over. "If you run out, or if you need other colors, just let me know." To show her his gratitude, he'd swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom for a very nice evening in.

"It does help, Molly," he reassured her. He got up from the table and began throwing the cardboard containers and plastic bags into the bin. "Any particular piece that you want to start first?"

Molly thought for a moment, leaning back in her kitchen chair. "Well, I think I'll start with some beanie hats. I already know that your mother has started knitting a baby blanket, so not an afghan. Then again, when the weather gets cold, it wouldn't hurt to have another one…" Molly sighed and rubbed her forehead. "There's so much to get and organize before the baby comes…"

Sherlock looked at Molly with just a drop of worry and a desire to help. "Well…isn't it about that time of pregnancy when women have a baby shower? You should have one, Molly. Surely the gifts you would get would help to –"

"No," Molly said so firmly that she nearly snapped, sitting up in her chair. "No baby shower."

Sherlock was surprised by such a vehement response, and it showed in the way he looked at her.

Molly blushed, embarrassed, and lowered her gaze. "You know how I hate to be the center of attention, and I don't like being made a fuss over. So, the charms of a baby shower would be lost on me. Though any gifts that we get after the baby is born would be more than welcome."

Sherlock knew right away that Molly wasn't telling him the whole truth, but he could also see from her tone and body language that she didn't want to discuss the subject any further. Remembering the case that he had to return to, Sherlock decided that it would be for the best not to push her. So, he approached her, lifted her face to his, and kissed her. "Can I get you anything else?"

Molly gave him a tiny smile in gratitude that he wasn't going to press the issue. "No, love. I'm just fine. I think I'll retire to the bedroom and read my book for a while. You have a case to work on."

"Alright, dearest. Just call for me if you need anything."

"I will."

The next morning, Sherlock and John were at the New Yard's headquarters. Molly had been right: seeing the evidence board with more refreshed eyes had been the key. He'd found the missing piece of the puzzle that he'd been looking for long after Molly had gone to sleep, so he decided to wait until the morning to take his discoveries to Lestrade and the Yard.

As the two partners in crime-solving left the New Yard building, John couldn't help but notice that there was still a worry line creasing Sherlock's forehead. He waited until Sherlock had flagged down a cab for them until he spoke. "Something bothering you, mate?"

Once upon a time, Sherlock would have scoffed or disregarded John's question altogether. But he was a different man, a better man, than he once was when it came to the people he loved. "It's Molly."

John sat a little straighter in the cab, worry tinging his expression. "Is she alright? And the baby?"

Sherlock nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, they're both as well as they can be. It's…well, it's something she said last night in response to a suggestion I made."

"What was the suggestion?"

"That she be given a baby shower. She refused before I'd finished the sentence. Said that she didn't like being the center of attention, which I'm sure is part of the reason, but…I don't think that's the only reason that she doesn't want one."

John took this information in, and after it had settled, a truly somber expression colored his face. His posture sank into the cab's seat cushions as he said, "It isn't."

Sherlock turned his head sharply to look at John. "What do you know?"

John heaved a deep, sad sigh before he began telling Sherlock the memory that had come to his mind…

For January, the day had been pleasantly mild and dry. John walked up the front path to his door and let himself in quietly. He'd received a text from Mary saying that the baby shower was over and that he was allowed back in the house. However, he didn't want to accidently disturb her if she'd chosen to take a nap after the exciting afternoon.

After he'd hung up his coat, that thought was proven wrong, for he heard two familiar voices coming from the kitchen. Tiptoeing closer, letting his curiosity get the better of him, John distinguished both his wife's voice and also Molly Hooper's.

"Honestly, Molly, you've already done so much, I can handle a few dishes."

"I know you could, Mary, but just as no child should clean up after his or her own birthday party, no woman should clean up after her own shower."

"Alright, Molly, I surrender. You're stronger than me in my present condition. However, you are setting the bar very high for me."

"Bar? What do you mean?"

"I mean, when the time comes for you to have your own baby shower, I'm going to have to make sure I not only meet, but exceed, the precedent that you've set here."

"Oh, Mary, I…I don't know if I'll…I mean, there's no guarantee that –"

"Molly, listen to me: You are a strong woman who fights for her beliefs, her dreams, and those she loves. When you wanted to be a pathologist, you defied all of the sexist and class expectations by working your arse off and putting yourself through both university and medical school. I know how much you want to be a mother someday, and you'll find a way to do it when you're ready. And when that time comes, giving you a wonderful shower will be the smallest way in which I'll be there for you."

Smiling, John had entered the kitchen to the sight of Molly and Mary embracing. That night, he'd made no objections whatsoever when Mary proposed that the pathologist, as well as Mrs. Hudson, be their daughter's godmother…

His recollection finished, John looked at Sherlock. The detective, who usually had impeccable posture even in cabs, was slumped in his seat. His expression was just as sad as John's, now that he understood the situation. No wonder Molly didn't want a baby shower…because Mary couldn't be here to give her one.

The two men remained silent for a while in the back of the cab. When Sherlock noticed John discreetly wiping his eyes from the corner of his own, he patted John's arm awkwardly. It wasn't much, but it was significant coming from Sherlock, and John knew that.

When the cab pulled up outside of Baker Street, Sherlock broke the silence. "I still want to do something for Molly. She's going to be a mother, the mother of my child – our child – and that deserves some kind of…significant acknowledgement if not typical celebration."

John nodded, a small smile coming to his face. "Well, whatever you decide, count me in. Rosie and I will come around six for dinner. That ok?"

Sherlock nodded and exited the cab.

It was the next day, after his current case had been officially wrapped up, that the idea came to him. Sherlock was taking down his evidence board while Molly napped in the bedroom. He had just stuffed all of the photographs, papers and yarn into a garbage bag when his eyes landed on a door that led upstairs. This door was closed right now, as the room it led to was a bit of a mess. Once it had been John's room; now it was in the beginning stages of being converted into a nursery for the upcoming arrival. Not much progress had been made up there, however; between Molly's work schedule, Sherlock's cases, and Sherlock trying to ensure that Molly didn't exert herself too much, their nursery was dreadfully behind schedule.

Looking at that door, Sherlock suddenly got the fantastic idea that he'd been hoping for. Smiling, he proceeded out of 221B, both to throw away the trash and to talk to Mrs. Hudson.

One month later, Molly was more beautiful than ever in the eyes of her husband. With just weeks to go before their new arrival came, there was no hiding her very pregnant belly. Of course, her style didn't change with her switch to maxi-dresses and maternity clothes. Bright colors, prints and patterns were always abundant, and Sherlock wouldn't have changed it for the world.

On this early evening, Molly wore a beautiful yellow and blue print dress with comfortable sandals. She was returning to Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson and Rosie. The two godmothers and their goddaughter had just experienced a wonderful "girl's day out." First, they'd gone to a long and lovely brunch at a lovely restaurant in the West End. Second, they'd been shopping for both adorable outfits for Rosie and adorable outfits for the baby (the three-year-old Rosie, walking and talking, was ecstatic that she would be getting a godsister). Thirdly, the three had gone to a high-end but child-friendly salon; all three of them had received manicures and pedicures (though John had said that no color beyond a pretty pink was acceptable as nail polish for Rosie right now), a fantastic shampoo and trim to their hair, and massages for their necks and feet (which eight-months-pregnant Molly absolutely reveled in).

The three women returned to Baker Street refreshed and exhilarated after a wonderful day of being pampered. John was with Sherlock at Baker Street when they arrived. He greeted them in the main hall with a big smile and open arms to Rosie.

"Look at you, my lovely girl!" exclaimed John, lifting a very happy, giggling Rosie off her feet in a hug. "Did you have a good day with your godmothers?"

"Best day ever!" she said (she spoke well and clearly for a three-year-old, and John had no doubt that she got that gene from her mother). This statement of joy was immediately followed by a very big yawn.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson 'awwed' and John chuckled. "Oh, yes, it's definitely someone's naptime."

"I told our cabbie to wait for you two," said Molly, rubbing Rosie's back.

"Thanks, Molls," said John, kissing her cheek. Then he kissed Mrs. Hudson's, the two women kissed a very drowsy but happy Rosie, and the Watsons left the building.

"You go on up to him and put your own feet up, dear," said Mrs. Hudson, a sparkle in her eyes. "I'm sure he's missed you."

Molly smiled, hugged Mrs. Hudson, and turned towards the stairs. But before she could take even the first step up, Sherlock burst from 221B's door and hurried downstairs to intercept her. "What do you think you're doing? Give me those bags right now so you'll be able to use the railing!"

Molly rolled her eyes but smiled. Sherlock had taken to being an overprotective mother hen with her even before she'd begun to show. She was used to it, and truth be told, she found it sweet. Who would have thought that the man who had once been worse than a cold fish to her advances was now better than a soft teddy bear to her needs?

Once the two of them were inside 221B, Sherlock stood in front of her with a curious expression on his face. "I have something to show you," he said.

Molly raised her eyebrows. "Really? Because after a lovely day out on Mycroft's bill, the day could end now and I'd be more than satisfied."

Sherlock kissed her forehead and said, "Believe me, it's worth it. Follow me."

To her surprise – and excitement – Sherlock motioned towards the door that led to the upstairs room. She followed behind with a warm feeling starting to flood her chest. When they both had reached the top, Sherlock stepped aside so that she could go in first. She did, and when she saw the interior, Molly gasped. One hand went to her mouth, and the other went to her tummy.

This room was now a nursery, completely and totally. The walls were now painted a soft yellow; the majority of the dark hard-wood floor was covered by an even softer, flower-and-bumblebee-patterned rug; a beautiful white crib was perfectly assembled, complete with a musical-notes-themed mobile hanging over it; a small chest of drawers stood beside a fully-stocked diaper-changing station; and the most comfortable-looking rocker stood in the corner by the window.

Tears blurred Molly's vision, but it didn't matter; she'd made her verdict. "Oh, it's perfect…" she breathed.

Turning around, she saw Sherlock standing by the door. He had put down the shopping bags full of baby things that he'd carried for her. He now walked to her and brushed the happy tears from her face. "I must say, I'm glad that we're of the same opinion."

Molly laughed. "Did you do all of this today?"

"John and Lestrade helped," Sherlock said. "Tried to get Mycroft to do some of the labor, too, but he insisted on pitching in by covering all of the expenses you and Mrs. Hudson charged today. John quite liked that idea, and made Mrs. Hudson promise to find more than enough expensive things for Rosie."

Molly giggled. "So, she was in on this, too?"

"I hope you don't mind," said Sherlock, his arms resting gently around her. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Of course not," said Molly, cupping his face. "And you were successful. Oh, Sherlock, thank you so much!"

Sherlock rested his forehead against hers, a softer look coming to his face. "There is one last thing, Molly."

Molly wanted laugh and say she didn't know if she could take any more wonderful surprises, but she saw a sadness in the softness of his expression, so she kept quiet and waited.

"In our bedroom is a Moses basket for when we bring the baby home. It was Rosie's…the one that you helped Mary pick out."

Molly felt like crying again, but she kept it under control as she listened to her husband. He told her that he knew why she truly didn't want a baby shower, his conversation with John, and why he'd wanted to do something special both for her and their child. By the time he was finished, Molly wasn't holding back her tears. But she was smiling after she'd given him a heartfelt kiss.

"I love you so much," she breathed, pressing one of his hands to her belly. "We both do."

And as he felt their daughter kicking her affirmation of what her mother had said, Sherlock knew two things:

One, he was the luckiest man in the world.

Two, he was just as excited and impatient as Molly was to meet what they had made together.