Sherlock and Molly Holmes were expecting a baby. Molly, though she never considered herself particularly maternal, had begun discussing baby names and considering paint colors for the nursery. She briefly considered taking up knitting, but Mrs. Hudson assured her that Molly did not need to bother herself on that front.
Sherlock, for his part, behaved pretty much as he always did. If he were excited about having a baby, only Molly knew. As with his courtship and his marriage, impending fatherhood was something he did not care to discuss with just anyone.
Sherlock was rather prim and proper about many things. He and Molly were very private people when it came to their marriage and any intimacies associated with it. This was partly an act of self-preservation. Mycroft's cameras were everywhere. Sherlock was something of a minor celebrity—the published account of his life story by Kitty Reilly followed by his "suicide" ensured this. Discretion was necessary lest they give Mycroft an unintentional eyeful (it had nearly happened before) or end up in a blurry photo on the cover of a trashy tabloid (that had also happened before—they were caught in a rather chaste kiss outside of St. Bart's), but the fact remained that there were people observing them, and frankly, it was none of their business what Sherlock and Molly got up to.
In a way, not talking about Molly's pregnancy was an extension of this. Molly's belly was a confirmation that they did in fact have an intimate relationship. Sherlock was shy. Congratulations on impending fatherhood embarrassed him. It could have also been that he was simply terrified, and discussing the baby meant he ran the risk of revealing that fear. Moriarty had threatened his friends before. Now, he had something even more precious to protect, and while Moriarty was dead, who knew what madness still lurked, watching him and his family? Well, besides Mycroft, of course.
To an outside observer, Sherlock may have appeared cold and disinterested in the coming child, but Molly knew differently. He did not outwardly say much about the baby, but the frenetic energy he threw into solving as many cases as he could before the February due date, researching security systems with Mycroft, making more of an effort to pick up after himself, all indicated that he was thinking and planning. Sometimes she would find him lost in thought, staring into nothingness, plucking his violin—a strange new expression on his face, soft and tender, not unlike the looks he reserved for her in their most private moments. At those moments she knew without a doubt he was thinking about the baby, making room in his head and in his life for this new person.
Molly had been frightened the first time they saw an ultrasound of the baby, waving little arms and legs peacefully on screen, its little heart a rapid flicker. Molly felt any uncertainty about her pregnancy vanish as a grin stretched her mouth wide. She laughed, a delighted little chuckle at the sight of that little flicker of life. She turned her head to look at Sherlock who was focused intently on the screen. He held himself erect, very still, not touching anything, not even her. His face was a blank mask, though his eyes were very bright. Molly's grin faded as she watched her husband. What was he feeling? There was no indicator that he was feeling anything at all.
"What do you think?" she asked him softly, reaching out to touch his sleeve. The doctor continued to move the probe around her gel covered belly, taking measurements. Sherlock flicked his eyes down to her and back to the screen again.
"Is it developing normally?" he asked the doctor, so clinical and cold. Molly could tell the older woman was taken aback by the tone, but she kept her response cheerful—for the mother's sake, Molly could tell.
"Absolutely perfect! Exactly the right size for 14 weeks. Too early to know the gender for certain, of course, but look at that heartbeat! Would you like to hear it?"
Sherlock nodded shortly, before he glanced at his watch.
Molly, who had drawn in a delighted breath at the thought of hearing her baby, felt a surge of anger.
"Don't let us keep you if you have somewhere to be," she said quietly but her hurt was all too clear.
Sherlock looked down at her in surprise.
"Of course not. Lestrade has a case for me, but he won't be available until 2. I have plenty of time. I did want to get some time in at the lab before, however." She stared at him doubtfully, but he was watching the doctor wipe off Molly's belly and take out the fetal Doppler. The rushing sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the room.
"Oh!" gasped Molly. The doctor smiled and looked sharply at Sherlock.
"And what do you think, Papa?" she asked.
Molly saw Sherlock's throat work as he swallowed. His face was still expressionless, but his eyes—his eyes were wild. He was in the grip of something profound and trying hard not to show it. He looked at his watch again before nodding to himself and glancing toward Molly.
"It sounds very strong." Sherlock commented shortly. Molly tried to catch his gaze, but he stared at the swell of her belly as the doctor manipulated the machine.
"Oh, yes! A fine heartbeat." The doctor confirmed. Despite Sherlock's behavior, Molly could not suppress her grin. That was their baby inside of her, a reality. It seemed that the reality was hitting Sherlock as well. In that long neck, his pulse was jumping. He did not say another word.
The doctor wrapped up the examination and with an odd backward glance at Sherlock, bustled out of the room telling Molly she would see her next month. Sherlock stood stiffly in the corner as Molly buttoned up her trousers and pulled her shirt down. She sat on the edge of the examining table and stared up at this unfathomable man before her.
They considered each other in silence for a long beat. He reached into his pocket to glance at his phone, fiddling with the buttons.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently. He looked up at her.
"I think I'm supposed to ask you that," he remarked drily, "even I know that much."
Molly's lips turned up in a small smile. "What did you think?" she pointed to her belly where a tiny fetus was currently rolling and waving. She could not feel it, not yet, but she'd seen it. There was a person inside of her. He had seen it too.
"I think—," he fidgeted with his phone before shifting his gaze to her belly, "it's—good. Healthy." He gave her the polite smile he only took out when he was trying to pass as a "normal" member of society.
Molly looked down and pressed her lips together, "Okay," she mumbled.
"If we leave immediately, we'll have time to run some tests in the lab before I head over to the Yard," Sherlock remarked extending his hand to help her off of the table.
"Sure," she answered quietly. He held on to her hand firmly and walked with her out of the doctor's office hand in hand. He did not let go until they hailed the cab and got inside. Once seated, he looked out the window, but he reached out and held her hand in a tight grip. He did not speak. She looked at their entwined hands and then his profile. There was so much she wanted to say to him, to ask. She held her tongue.
Once at St. Bart's, he let go of her hand but he followed her closely, hand on her back, until they were in the lab. Conversation centered around the experiments at hand until his phone chimed. With a glance at the number, he pulled on his jacket and headed out the door.
Molly locked her herself in her office and rested her forehead on her desk. She was not crying, but she felt a cold tingle in her stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with the fluttering little creature she had seen today. Or rather, it had everything to do with it and its father. He had been moved—that much was clear. But was it joy or fear or some combination of both? Not for the first time, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.
She sat up straight and took a deep breath. Molly knew her husband. She believed in him. He was just having a hard time dealing with his emotions, but she was not going to make it any more difficult for him to come to terms with this situation. As for her, she had some bragging to do. She was going to go to the break room and show off her baby. She reached for her bag to take out the pictures of the sonogram. The doctor had printed off four of them. She could only find three.
After a thorough search of her admittedly large and overstuffed bag and after tipping the brown envelope containing the images upside down, Molly suddenly stopped and brought a hand to her mouth. Oh! She felt a prickly sensation in her eyes and nose— Perhaps she was not the only one who was going to show off pictures of junior at work today.
Later that evening, Molly was home and showered long before Sherlock made an appearance. She was in bed reading a pamphlet on pregnancy she had picked up at the doctor's office, when Sherlock threw open the door and flopped on the bed next to her, fully dressed.
"Good evening," she said and he turned from where he was face down in the pillow, one blue eye boring into hers. "Must have been a good one to keep you away so late," she commented setting her reading material aside. Sherlock nodded, his face in the pillow.
"Lestrade says it's a boy," he mumbled into the pillow. Molly froze. What?
"What?" she said aloud.
Sherlock's face was hidden, but there was a smile in his voice, "I said, Lestrade thinks it's a boy—he said he could see his—"whatnot" in the picture."
"Penis?"
"I know what it's called Molly. I was quoting the good detective inspector. " He turned to look at her, face controlled but the smile was lurking in his eyes now. "The heartbeat was rapid. That is often a sign that the fetus is a male."
"You showed Lestrade the picture?" she confirmed. He looked shy but he lifted the corner of his mouth in a sheepish smile.
"And John. I don't know why…" he trailed off.
"Fatherly pride?" she teased him.
"Maybe?" He seemed surprised.
In spite of her earlier doubts, Molly wasn't surprised at all.