"Sherlock, if you are not ready to leave this flat within the next five minutes, I swear to all that is holy -"
"Oh, do calm down, Molly." He was sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, his hands steepled under his chin in a pose that Molly had seen far too many times. "We wouldn't want you having a conniption, now, would we?"
She gave him a hard glare, slapping his feet to the floor from his position on the couch as his eyes popped open.
"Do not irritate me," she warned, hands firmly planted on her hips – in a position that Sherlock had seen far too many times. "Not today. My patience is only wearing thinner as the weeks go by."
He rolled his eyes, swinging his body until he sat upright. "I'm ready to go, darling, so can you please cease manhandling me?"
She gave him a disbelieving stare, her gaze running over his pyjama and robe-clad body. His bare feet completed the look.
"You are not going to this appointment in your pyjamas and no shoes, Sherlock. My doctor already thinks you're barking mad from when you showed up at the first appointment fifteen minutes late and covered in blood."
"In my defence," he drawled, standing. "It wasn't like it was human blood, so there really was no reason for her to call the police."
Now it was Molly's turn to roll her eyes. "That's not the point. The point is clearly that –"
She was cut off by the tell-tale ring of the Consulting Detectives phone, a sound in which she had become increasingly familiar with – unfortunately. More often than not, it was the sound that meant it was time for Sherlock to become completely withdrawn into his latest case, eat one meal over the course of a week and possibly even leave London, only to return when the case was fully solved.
The sound featured heavily Molly's nightmares.
He pulled the phone from his robe pocket, and she noted the twitch in his eye as he read the caller ID that could only mean one thing. He glanced at her uncertainly, an expression that did not mar his face often, for the great Sherlock Holmes was hardly ever uncertain.
Molly knew that Greg Lestrade was on the phone with a case for Sherlock. She knew that he would explain the details, the twist that Scotland Yard just couldn't figure out. It would be an eight or a nine, according to Sherlock, and it would require his immediate assistance. He would change quickly, more quickly than he ever could to accompany Molly to a appointment, send a text to John, and don his coat before sweeping out the door as if he had never even been in the room in the first place.
That was how it had been for years – Molly knew that. Sherlock would drop anything for his work, and Molly accepted that, she really did. She would never want him to change. She fell in love with the temperamental, stubborn, irritating and often thoughtless man and she would be damned if entering a relationship with her changed the core of who he was as a person.
That was before she had found out she was pregnant, though. Before they were about to leave for her first scan.
Even then, Molly knew the right thing to do would be to let him go.
"Go on," she said softly, a small smile on her face. "Answer it. I know you're dying to."
He searched her face intently for a moment, obviously finding her statement sincere. He answered the call – it was an eight – and asked her one last time if she was okay with him missing the first scan.
"There's going to be other scans. Besides, our baby isn't going anywhere," she smiled, rubbing her hand over her small protruding belly.
He cradled her face in his large hands, staring at her intently. "I will return as quickly as possible."
One of her hands reached up to cover his. "I'll bring back pictures of the scans."
He kissed her sweetly, longingly, before pecking her forehead and leaving 221B Baker Street.
Molly jumped as the obstetrician began to spread the cold, sticky gel used for ultrasounds over her stomach.
"Your partner wont be joining you today, Molly?" Dr Karsharni asked, eyes intently focused on the screen.
"Ah, no. Something came up at the last minute," Molly replied.
The doctor glanced at Molly sideways and said, quite insincerely, "Oh, that's a shame."
Molly only smiled, knowing that she must've been relieved she wouldn't have to call the police this time. Her doctor began running the probe over her stomach, searching the screen.
"Well! What do we have here?" The doctor started. "Yes, everything looks quite good."
She gave Molly a mischievous smile. "I can see twenty little fingers and twenty little toes."
Wait, Molly thought with alarm, twenty? Her baby had twenty fingers and toes? Sherlock was a very handsome man, although he always did sort of look like an alien. Was she dating an alien – that would explain so much! Or, oh God, it was all those chemicals that she had been exposed to. Sherlock and his damn experiments in the kitchen and all over the flat, really, all those chemicals that she would have undoubtedly inhaled at some stage. Or what if he had experimented on her? What if he had somehow slipped her something just so he could discover the effect it had on a pregnant woman? Surely he wouldn't do that - well, at least not to his own child.
The doctors voice broke through her thoughts. "Molly! You look panicked, please –"
"Am I having some sort of mutant baby?!" Molly cried, sitting up.
"No! Look at the screen," demanded Dr Karsharni calmly. "And tell me, what do you see?"
Molly did as the doctor said, taking a moment to make sense of what she saw on the screen. It wasn't long before she noticed.
"Is that -" she whispered. "Is that… two babies?"
"Yes," the other woman nodded. "You're having twins, Molly. Congratulations!"
Oh boy, this changed everything.
She barely heard the door to the flat open some hours later, so lost as she was in her own thoughts.
She had returned from her appointment, plopped herself on the couch and hadn't moved since. Her thoughts had turned to matching baby clothes, double prams and double the amount of nappies. She had been slightly nervous at the responsibility of caring for one baby, but now two? She had definitely gotten more than she bargained for.
But then she had thought of the good things. The unbreakable bond that her children would have. The instant playmate and companion that would be with them throughout the rest of their lives. The two incredible human beings that she and Sherlock would have created all by themselves. Molly found herself growing accustomed to the idea of twins very quickly.
She remained lost in these thoughts, even as Sherlock started speaking.
"Oh, Molly," he exclaimed, dropping his coat onto the lounge and pacing the living room floor. "This case was a first for me."
He hadn't even noticed that she wasn't really even listening, a pensive smile on her face, hands rubbing her stomach, as she continued to think of the new life that was ahead of them. Oh, matching christening dresses, that would be so sweet…
"A man, found dead - stabbed fourteen times - with a witness who saw the killer flee and could describe him thoroughly. The police thought they had him but no, the suspect had an alibi and was at work at the time of the murder -"
It will be so sweet, she thought, to watch them start their first day of primary school together, and all the other firsts that they will have together in life.
"- at first I looked for a way that the suspect could be in two places at the same time, but I must, admittedly, say that I was wrong – you know how I always miss something – and after not long it became glaringly obvious that he had a secret brother -"
She really couldn't believe it. This was the greatest thing that could've happened to them, an absolute blessing that she could share with the man that she had always loved. Sherlock would be just as shocked as she was at first, but he would quickly become accustomed to the idea and be just as thrilled as she was now. He would make a great father, she knew, as he had a protective streak reminiscent of a lion protecting his pride. He may not always be around, but this man was who she would raise their perfect family with - the man that had been speaking to her for quite some time now, and she who was now desperate to tell.
"- and it was quite a surprise, as I had told John numerous times, it is never -"
"Twins," Molly interjected suddenly.
He gave her a startled look, as if he had forgotten she was there.
"Yes, twins." He echoed.
"No, Sherlock," she shook her head, grabbing his hands and pulling him back to the couch. She kept hold of them, rubbing small circles into his skin with her thumbs.
She gave him a dazzling smile. "Twins. We're having twins."
He was silent for a long time, and Molly could tell that a million thoughts were racing through that brilliant mind of his.
Finally, he spoke.
"There are…two of them, in there?"
"Yep," she giggled. "We have two completely, happy healthy babies. Though if they're anything like you, they are probably going to start competing for their own space soon as they grow larger."
He was quiet, staring at her abdomen in awe.
"Sherlock," she said gently. "Talk to me. Good, or not good?"
"This…is good," he said. "Very good – although I did not see this coming."
She released a breath she didn't even know she was holding.
"I'd find myself content even if our child had turned out to be some sort of alien being with five heads," he declared.
She laughed loudly, not missing the fact that she had initially thought their baby was part alien.
"Even if they'd had twenty fingers and twenty toes?" She asked cheekily.
"Although everyday tasks and learning to write would be an enormous feat – yes, Molly. Our child - children – are already perfect to me."
"Here," she reached into her handbag, pulling out the scan the doctor had given her. "Take a look and see how perfect they are for your self."
She looked on fondly as he examined the scan carefully, sprouting off facts about twins and babies, proclaiming that they were going to be tall just like him, and brilliant just like their mum and dad.
Molly knew that everything would be okay.