The months passed, Molly grew, and Anthea found she was genuinely happy for one of her dearest friends. If anyone deserved to be a mother it was Molly. She even helped Mary organize a baby shower. Sometimes, on very bad days, she allowed herself to feel sorry for herself. Her bouts of melancholia worried Mycroft, and he would work from home on these days. Still, Molly's due date crept closer and closer, and Anthea pushed her own worries aside, busying herself with setting up their nursery, happy to do so, and truly enjoying spending so much time with Molly, who was roly-poly as a beach-ball and twice as amusing.
"Has Violet called you?"
"Oh, every day," Molly laughed, sinking into John's chair. "Tells me what works for back-aches, what's good for indigestion, and nags Sherlock to treat me right,"
"Someone should," Anthea added.
"He does," Molly promised. Anthea sank onto the couch, putting her feet up with a sigh. "You feeling alright?" Anthea shrugged.
"I'm expecting my monthly; I know that's got to be it."
"Bane of existence when you're trying for a baby," Molly said and Anthea smiled, amused.
"Literally a big red 'You failed' sign." Molly's smile fell somewhat and the PA shook her head. "Don't listen to me though, it's frustrating is all. The doctors all said to just keep trying for a year, it'll be eight months next week. They've already run a couple tests on me, I'm still waiting to hear from them, and if they're inconclusive, they'll run more tests. God, I hate this."
"I know how you feel," Molly said, soothing circles over her belly. Anthea gave a small nod, there was some comfort in that. It still didn't change the fact that she was still not pregnant. "Sherlock and I were told the same thing, he-"
Speak of the devil, the Consulting Detective came barreling in, a foul stench wafted behind him. John, weighed down by two buckets, remained on the landing.
"Sherlock Holmes, I am not bringing buckets of chum into the same house as your pregnant wife!" he bellowed.
"Wait outside!" Sherlock answered, waving his hand. John called hello up to the women before trudging back outside.
"What are you doing here?" Molly asked, accepting a kiss from him.
"I knew you'd forget," he took the headphones from the desk, plugging them into the media player. Placing them over her belly, he scrolled through the playlists. "There,"
"What's our Nicholas listening to this afternoon?" Molly asked.
"Verdi, Macbeth," Sherlock answered. "Never too early, turn the volume down at 'Vieni t'affretta', Lady Macbeth makes quite an entrance. I'll be late coming in, don't wait up!"
"Bye, love you,"
"I know," Sherlock called over his shoulder, hurrying out, shutting the door behind him. John's voice was muffled by the outer doors, still shouting about being left outside with the buckets of chum.
"He means 'I love you too'," Molly explained.
"You don't have to explain Holmes behaviour to me," Anthea laughed.
"That reminds me," Molly shifted herself in the chair, adjusting the volume on the headphones on her belly. "I was talking to Sherlock, and he agreed that we'd like you and Mycroft to be his guardians." Anthea was clearly touched. She looked at her skirt, pinching the fabric until it wrinkled.
"Has he told Mycroft?"
"He will be tonight, that's why he's going to be late."
"I think he'd be very proud to accept," Anthea said at last. "As would I." The kettle whistled and she got to her feet, Molly remained where she was, not even bothering to try and get up. At eight months she stayed where she sat. Someone would inevitably fetch whatever was making noise for her.
As Molly's due-date crept closer and closer, it seemed that everyone leapt on the phone whenever it rang, hoping it would be the call. Anthea and Mycroft were in a conference when the call came. She checked the text twice; to be sure she understood her brother in-law's message correctly.
"Sir," she leaned over and Mycroft inclined his head so she would speak into his ear. "There have been developments," she tilted her phone under the table so he could see the message:
BABY IS A GO – SH
Nodding slightly to her, he turned his attention to the table before him.
"Gentlemen, I trust you can solve this trial at a later date, for now, I have urgent business to attend." No excuse was needed when Mycroft Holmes left a meeting. Calmly, Anthea and Mycroft stood, gathered their things and he opened the door for her.
The double doors closing behind them they broke into a jog, heading for the car park.
"Call the driver, have him pull around,"
"I already have, I've sent messages to the hospital staff, they've got a room for Molly all set,"
"See that traffic is clear for them; let Sherlock know we're on our way. Find that Doctor Harcourt, I'd prefer he handle this,"
"Done," Anthea confirmed. The car pulled up to the curb and they leapt in.
By the time they reached the hospital, Mary and John were in the waiting room.
"How is she?" Mycroft asked. John, looking grim, glanced between Mycroft and Mary before he started filling them in.
Fourteen Hours Later…
In a private waiting room, Mycroft paced restlessly. Every now and again, his hands searched his pockets briefly before recalling whatever he was looking for was not on his person.
"Stop looking for your cigarettes, you know I left them at the office," Anthea murmured quietly. John and Mary shared the sofa, sitting at opposite ends, their feet propped on each other's laps. There wasn't much to say amongst them, no one wanted to bother with stupid questions about how long the labor was, or that the doctors were grim when Molly was wheeled into the hospital. At long last, the door to the waiting room opened, and a capped doctor appeared. The group turned with a start, all holding their breath until the doctor smiled tiredly at them.
"She is perfectly fine,"
"And the baby?" Mycroft demanded, before anyone else could.
"Nothing we will worry about right now, he's checked out so far, but we'll keep close tabs on him," the doctor promised. "You may all go and see them now."
In the warm room, Molly was nestled cozily amid the pillows and blankets. She only had eyes for the bundle Sherlock was so very tenderly cradling in his arms. John breathed a sigh of relief, he'd half-expected to see the baby in an incubator. He had seen the baby's chart, and for having been carried to full term, Nicholas Hamish Holmes was a small baby. But everything must be alright, or the doctors would have said something. With Mycroft Holmes in the building, every precaution would be taken, and sloppiness and shirking of even the smallest detail would not be tolerated.
"Sherlock, let them see him," Molly said gently, reminding her husband there were others who wanted to meet the baby. Sherlock grumbled reluctantly before carefully handing the baby over to John and Mary.
Mycroft watched Anthea as the others cooed and fussed over the baby, speaking quietly of the birth and how everything had gone. His wife only had eyes for the tiny bundle in Mary's arms. Full of longing and wonder, she worried her hands, trying to wait patiently for her turn. After a few moments more, Sherlock took the baby from John's arms, and turned to Anthea. Carefully, oh so carefully, he settled her nephew into her arms. Mycroft's arm went automatically around her waist, assisting her into the chair behind her.
"Oh…" she murmured. Her eyes brimming with tears, she tucked the blanket under Nicholas' chin. "Heavens isn't he lovely, Mycroft?"
Mycroft had never seen anything particularly wonderful about babies, especially newborns. But seeing Anthea so moved, Mycroft put on a smile for her, coming to kneel beside her to peer at his nephew.
"Very much so," he agreed. "Just the same as his mother," he said to Molly.
After a few moments, John and Mary excused themselves, promising to return with food from a nearby restaurant, as everyone had quite had their fill of whatever the cafeteria was offering.
"Oh," Anthea realized that the room was quiet, and she was still holding Nicholas as if he were her baby. "I'm sorry, I- here, Sherlock, take him before I go all to pieces." She passed son back to father, who cuddled the boy, making a rather charming picture. "I'm just going to wash my face," Anthea excused herself. "Get the dirt of the day off." She left the room and Mycroft did not pursue her, not right away, knowing she wanted a moment to collect herself.
He found her in the ladies' room, pressing a paper towel to her face.
"You'll agrrivate your skin," he said and took out his silk handkerchief. "Here,"
"I'm sorry," she stuttered through her tears. "I just…" she trembled, her free hand dropped limply to her side. "More than anything I-" she sighed heavily, trying to relieve the pressure in her chest, trying to calm her fraying nerves that seemed to leap from happiness for Molly and Sherlock, excitement at being an aunt for the first time in her life, to enormous grief that she couldn't quell, grief at the thought that she would never be a mother. "I wish…"
He tugged her into the circle of his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"I know."