Molly did a lot of half-thought decisions in life. But it would never include this.
She remembered being eleven years old, home from her first year in boarding school carrying a small stray pup she found on the train station. Would have been fine and safe, if said pup didn't contract rabies days later, almost killing a teenager in the neighborhood. Then a year after that she gave her grandmother's locket—wasn't much, not even real gold, but her mother was rather fond of it—to a gypsy who told her she could predict Molly's future. Fast forward to eighteen years later, she bought her small flat because the broker told her she won't get a better deal in London and she believed the bastard, so now she was making-do with the long commute and the repairs while paying a demanding upkeep.
Truth be told, she hadn't been the wisest when it came down to decisions. But looking at the little bundle of joy cooing peacefully in her arms, she wondered why she almost didn't push through when people told her she couldn't do it; but mostly she was glad she didn't listen. "Hello there, my little prince."—she said, tired and spent because reading and learning about child rearing in medical school didn't prepare her for the real thing.
"Oh Molly, he's precious." Mary cooed as she entered the room, John keeping up Elizabeth tried to wiggle out of his hold. An adorable energetic tyke the little Watson turned out, and she was draining all of her parents' energy all the time. The pair had never been happier though.
Molly held her arms out so they could better see, "He is, isn't he?"—she said proudly. He was born with a few tufts of curly, dark hair on his head—not from her—and his eyes were inexplicably blue—also not from her—she wondered how much of the unknown dad had made it into her baby boy. Not that it matters—she told herself. Whoever the dad was, she was thankful.
"Named him already?" John asked, giving up on his quest to keep his daughter still and placed her on the foot of Molly's bed, holding her by the hem of her shirt so she wouldn't fall.
"Yes, he's William." Molly announced happily.
John looked surprised, "William, as in after…" He was about to say Sherlock but why would Molly name her son after Sherlock Holmes anyway, so he stopped himself short. "…after someone I guess?"
"My dad, actually." She smiled in remembrance of her father; quite the best dad in the world, if Molly had to decide on a global scale. "Margaret after my mother if it was a girl, but then here he is."
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Ten months earlier
"Wow, Molls…I—I don't know what to say." Mary skimmed through the brochures Molly plucked out of her sling bag. Her baby daughter reached her hands up, fighting for Mary's full attention. "Are you sure you want to push through?"
Molly heaved a deep breath and smiled, "I don't know, Mary. Thing is, I've always wanted a family, you know? A husband and children in that particular order preferably…but I…well, I don't see that happening to me anytime soon. It might be too late for me to find someone to spend the rest of my life with, but it's not too late for me to have a child." Her words felt rehearsed, like she had written it down, memorized them and said it out loud to her friend. Like somehow Mary's approval was the green light to her plan.
"Oh come on, surely it can't be too late for you to find a nice man?" Mary smiled, more sympathetic rather than encouraging, and Molly snorted. "I'm not joking, Molly Hooper! You're a wonderful woman and anyone should be lucky to have you."
Molly smiled weakly then, because 1) She knew the things she were and the things she weren't, and 2) Even if she did find somebody, she can't ever give her full heart to them because, 3) How can she give something she didn't have? If people were given once chance at one great love—a bit cheesy, even for her—then that one love would be Sherlock Holmes, and she knew right from the beginning that that was a lost cause. There was no rule saying that they will eventually love you back if you wish it hard enough. That was just the way the awful cycle goes.
Mary put on hand on Molly's on the table in between them, "Hey, listen…you'll be a great mum, Molly. No doubt 'bout it. But motherhood is…the hardest thing I've ever done, and I have John to help me. You'll have us of course, but most of the time…"
"It'll be just me, I know." She sighed again, but this time with a small smile. "It'll be like it had always been; just me. But this time…"—her smile spread across her soft features, and to Mary it couldn't have been clearer. "…well, I won't be alone. Not really."
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Nine months earlier
Molly couldn't help the smile that kept tugging on the edges of her lips. That day she had been called for an appointment at the fertility clinic, and at first she thought the procedure didn't work—because everything in her life just didn't work—but when the doctor presented her with the results and told her she was pregnant, Molly couldn't believe it. It worked! It was rare for artificial insemination to work on the first try, so Molly had reason to believe that this was meant to be.
"…do indulge us, Molly." Sherlock broke her out of her thoughts then went back to stabbing the mushrooms on his plate. She must have looked so clueless then because John had to take it on himself to repeat Sherlock's words. "Sherlock was saying how you haven't stopped smiling since you sat down. Care to share the cause?"
The others—Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson—tuned in for her answer and Mary's eyes lit up, already in the know of what she was about to tell the group, though Sherlock thought that separating the peas from the carrots were far more interesting…
"I'm expecting."
"Expecting what, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, clueless. Mary let out a gleeful squeal and covered her mouth with her hands in excitement. Sherlock looked up at her then, giving her an once-over with wide eyes.
"No…"—he mouthed in disbelief.
"Yes, actually. I'm pregnant." The words came out hushed, the joy of it all overwhelming her. Somehow spreading the news to her friends made it all real, and their happiness stacked up to hers brought happy tears to her eyes.
Lestrade raised a glass, "You're going to make one hell of a mum, Hooper."
Then Mrs. Hudson smiled so wide Molly thought her jaws would lock, "Oh dear, I'll make you one of those knitted bonnets I gave to Mary and John's little one. Oh! It will be wonderful!"
"Jasmine tea works wonders for morning sickness." Mary advised, and then John chimed in, "—our OB's fantastic, Molly. If you want her number, just say the word."
And Sherlock…well, Sherlock had been awfully quiet during the whole ordeal. His brows were furrowed, his eyes not leaving Molly as he sat frozen in his seat and probably pissed as hell he didn't see it first. He found out Mary was pregnant before anyone else, but failed to see it on Molly? Plain, predictable Molly Hooper managed to surprise him, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
"Who's the father?" Sherlock managed to say after some time of silence, effectively stealing everyone's attention away from the mother-to-be sitting across him on the table.
"Couldn't have been Tom since you ended the relationship three months ago and by the looks of the pregnancy, you're obviously not far along because believe me, I would have seen the signs. You haven't met someone new either because you have been spending extra hours in the laboratory, leaving no time for social calls such as that of a romantic date or a night out for drinks. So, Molly Hooper, would you be kind as to divulge the identity of this new, secret lover and the father of your future child?"
Molly was shocked; of course she knew Sherlock would have other things to say about the matter; he was Sherlock Holmes after all. But she didn't expect him to sound so…angry. "Well, actually I don't know."
Mrs. Hudson spoke up, "Did you at least catch a name, dear?"
"No, god, it's not like that." Molly chuckled, "I went through artificial insemination. Picked out an anonymous donor from an album of some sort, and all I cared about was the impressive intellectual quotient and quite remarkable physical attributes. And of course, no history of hereditary abnormalities or you know…sociopathic tendencies."
"Hmm." Sherlock hummed and tapped his fingers, his gaze faraway like he was deep in thought. After a while he spoke again, and smiled at Molly. "I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper."
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Terrible? Cheesy? Let me know what you think in the reviews!
x CF
