Oh dear god. He really didn't know.

Until fifteen minutes ago, it had all seemed perfectly clear. Molly would arrive, he would dismiss John, and then when she 'broke' the news to him, he would explain how it had all gone exactly per his plan. But now, seconds before he came face to face with Molly, this suddenly seemed like the worst thing that could ever come out of his mouth – and that was despite a lot of fierce competition. John was right – of course he was right. He was right about everything.

Sherlock deduced that he had around 46 seconds between Mrs Hudson answering the front door and Molly Hooper appearing on his threshold – perhaps a little longer if Mrs Hudson wanted to make 'chit-chat' (he still didn't understand the value of 'chit-chat'). But Molly wouldn't be in the frame of mind for small-talk, he realised, given the message she had come to convey.

"You'd better come up with something," John told him as he shrugged his coat on. "And no hiding in the wardrobe or out on the window ledge. You need to face this."

Sherlock ignored him – he was using up his valuable seconds.

How should he react to her 'news'? Surprised? No, he knew he wouldn't pull that one off – Molly knew him too well and would see it in his face.

"Sherlock," John said, more insistently this time. "Finish what you've started. And if I hear from Mrs Hudson that Molly has run out of the front door in tears, I'm going to come up here and kick you right in the balls – I mean it."

Sherlock let out a sigh.

"How should I be?" he asked, realising that he was admitting defeat and that John was going to remind him of this moment again and again (although, dear god, he'd better not blog about it).

John stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and gave him a crooked smile.

"The woman you clearly love – who undoubtedly loves you - is coming to tell you that she's pregnant with your baby," he said. "The only thing you need to 'be' is honest about how that makes you feel."

That was exactly what he feared John would say, but yet again Sherlock grudgingly accepted that he was right. He nodded his thanks, and John turned to go. At that moment, they both heard the soft rapping on the door to the flat.

His hand on the latch, John turned round to face him.

"In the balls, Sherlock," he half-whispered, half-hissed, fixing Sherlock with a warning glare. "Hard."

John swung open the door and Sherlock felt his heart rocket up into this throat before plunging several storeys through the floor. Molly's gaze connected with his and he realised he'd been holding his breath.

"Molly, hi," John said, in a tone that Sherlock recognised as 'breezy'. "Just on my way out with Rosie. Are you here about a case?"

Molly shifted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Nervous, Sherlock noted, unsure – frightened? His immediate instinct was to try to assuage all of that, but he knew he had to let her do what she came to do.

"No…I…er, just came to see Sherlock about something," she replied, distractedly. She shook her head slightly, adding, "Sorry – how is Rosie doing?"

"Fine. Well, thank you," John said. "She's been enjoying Sherlock's entry-level chemistry lessons."

Molly's face contorted into a confused smile, as she looked from John over to him.

"Just the basics," Sherlock said, mildly annoyed at yet again more pointless chit-chat. "Making a solid product through recrystallization, measuring an enthalpy change."

Molly nodded, still clearly confused and distracted.

"Anyway, I'll be about an hour," John said, pointedly checking his phone before pocketing it in his coat. Sherlock knew that was code for TEXT ME.

Immediately, Sherlock felt a jolt of terror course through his veins – John was actually leaving him to muddle through this situation on his own. Of course, logically, he knew that they couldn't really have this conversation with John in the room, but even Molly looked slightly bereft as the latch clicked shut behind him.

Molly was fiddling with the strap on her bag, and shifted from one foot to another.

Think, think, say something! Sherlock urged himself.

"Hi," he said, finally, softly. It's a start, he reasoned with himself. Their recent meetings, when alone, had followed a certain course, and so he made a couple of steps towards Molly, intending to kiss her. Yes, he needed to keep up appearances, but mostly, he acknowledged, he just wanted to – that was the effect she had on him these days.

Her kiss was brief, slightly awkward, as though someone else was in the room with them.

Normal. What would be normal?

"Tea?" he offered.

Tea? Tea?!

"Um, no, I'm fine," she replied, toying with a toggle on her duffle coat. "Thank you. I'm really…I couldn't."

She looked pale, Sherlock realised – actually more than pale, more like grey. He was about to suggest she sat down, when she spoke again.

"I have to say something," she began. "And I don't know how I'm supposed to say it because I've never had to say it before, but I need you to give me time and let me speak and not interrupt me, and just…"

It was then that Molly caught his gaze, and he saw her face contort – she was trying not to cry, and Sherlock felt a sharp twinge deep in his chest. This wasn't what he'd imagined – and now he felt incredibly stupid for not foreseeing it.

"I'm sorry for not replying to your texts, Sherlock," Molly continued, having regained some control. "I don't know why I haven't. Well, I do know why – I just didn't know how to without lying to you, and I don't want to lie to you – and anyway you'd know if I was lying – so it was easier just…not to. They always say that when you have to give someone news – good or bad news – you should just do it, but it's hard, it's really hard, and that's why I haven't been round and why I told you I was going to be out that night two weeks ago, I…"

He wanted to save her from this, but felt trapped – he felt his heart contort as he watched her struggling to find the words.

"I'm pregnant, Sherlock."

There it was.

He stared at her, suddenly realising that the words from her lips still had power, despite telling him what he already knew. And immediately he wished he hadn't known – he wished it had been a surprise, because it would have been a wonderful, astonishing, life-changing surprise, and all he wanted to do now was to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her and reassure her – but he knew that he couldn't lie to her.

"I'm pregnant," Molly repeated, more quietly this time, looking at him, her eyes entreating a reaction from him.

Sherlock swallowed and took a step closer to her.

"I know."

Molly's brow wrinkled, she blinked quickly.

"You…know?" she repeated, and Sherlock could almost see her brain cycling through a full range of possible reactions and trying to settle on the right one. She let out a short, choked laugh.

"Of course you know," she said, and she swiped the first tear from her cheek. "I should have…of course you'd work it out."

Sherlock nodded slowly. He could barely look at her face: pain, confusion, fear, doubt.

"Yes. But I…I need you to know something too," he ventured. "And this time I'm going to need you to hear me out, and please, please, Molly, don't walk out of the door before I finish, however much you want to, because I'm still working all of this out in my head and it might not sound right, but I need you to understand that I'm not the same man as I was seven weeks ago."

He saw another tear fall before Molly dashed it away.

"No. No!" he quickly added, realising how it could be misconstrued that he no longer felt whatever he felt that had kept driving him back to her night after night.

"What I mean is, that night – the first night – it was wonderful, it was incredible, it was right. But I hadn't thought beyond that night."

"S'okay, Sherlock," Molly said carefully. "That happens. I mean, people don't always think beyond…"

There she went again, trying to make him feel better, always trying to lessen his discomfort when it was the last thing he deserved at this moment.

"After everything, after all you've done for me, after all the care you've given me, after Eurus, I realised that I wanted to make you happy, Molly, but the method I arrived on, I know now, was entirely foolish."

"Method?" she replied, her voice suddenly sounding hard. "Is that what you call what happened between us?"

"No, that's not what I meant. That was – at the time it was – a means to an end. The truth is, Molly, that I thought that having a baby would make you happy, that it would give you what was missing in your life, but what I now realise is that not only was that incredibly, unforgivably arrogant and presumptuous, but it wasn't even the truth behind why I did it. The truth – and all the planning – it was not for your benefit, it was for mine. My feelings frighten me, Molly Hooper, they always have, and when I finally accepted these feelings – the ones I have for you - for what they were, I had no idea how to channel them, but also no idea how to stop myself from losing you. It was easier to tell myself that I was doing it for you, but selfishness is a habit that dies hard, Molly, and I know now that it was all for me."

The relief that he had come to the end of his speech was immense, but Sherlock was not convinced that any of it had made any sense. Feelings, sentiment, had the effect of making him sound like a blundering, gibbering idiot.

He watched Molly cross to the sofa and wordlessly lower herself down onto it.

"Molly…?"

"Planning," she said, eventually. "Did you say planning?"

"Yes. As far as I could."

"You planned to get me pregnant? Turning up at the lab, taking me out to dinner, coming back to my flat – it was all part of a plan?"

He was a terrible human being – with the truth laid bare in front of him, nothing could be more clear.

Molly shook her head, visibly trying to process it all. She had probably rendered herself sick with worry over this conversation, only for it to take a course for which she could never have planned.

"I'm so stupid," she said, finally. "I should have seen this – in fact, I think I almost did see it, but convinced myself that I was wrong, that you wouldn't…What if I had been on the pill, Sherlock, what then?"

"I knew that you weren't."

"Okay, what if I had made you use a condom? Would you have tried to talk me out of it? Jesus, why didn't I? You know that was the first time in my life I've ever…that I didn't…And you know the stupid thing, Sherlock? I thought about going to the chemist's the next day, after you'd gone – I thought about it several times, but I never did it. For some stupid reason I decided to ignore science and consequences and being a grownup, and just leave it to – I don't know – fate."

She said the word 'fate' like it was a bad taste she needed to expel.

"You don't get to take the credit for this one, Sherlock, not all of it," she added, a tone of bitterness in her voice.

"I'm going to go now."