A/N: Oh sweet God, here it is... the chapter. The chapter I've been teasing you guys about for the past three, and I'm so nervous for you to read it. I'll shut up now, go forth and critique.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I know. Get on with reading.

Tomorrow evening rolled around and Sherlock had not come back, not to Baker Street or Molly's flat as he usually did when returning from a case. Instead she received a short text message.

Did not go as planned, updates later - SH

That was now two days ago, apparently the case had mutated into something with more twists in it than she could imagine. Instead of being disappointed she focused on work and decided that it would make a hell of a story for him to tell her when he got home.

At work as she was writing up a patholgy report when her mobile rang and she looked at the screen, it was John. She slid the unlock bar and pressed speaker, "Hello?"

"Hey Molly," John said and in the background she could clearly hear the sounds of a car.

"What's up? Solve the case yet?" Molly continued to work with the report while listening.

"Not quite," he sighed, "but I'm headed back to Baker Street, Sherlock said he could finish up on his own and he'd be back by tomorrow night. He asked me to call you, he was pretty immersed in thought when I left him,"

"Okay," she clicked save on the document, "has he been eating? It's been a few days,"

"I forced a couple pies on him," John assured and laughed, "how have you been?"

"Feeling a bit run down to be honest," she sighed, "but I've been working a lot, the weekend will help I'm sure,"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, there was a pause and he added, "Well, Molly I'll be back home in a few hours, you can always come by if you need anything. Otherwise, Sherlock will be back tomorrow,"

"Ta," she murmured, "I'll see you soon then,"

"Bye,"

"Bye John," she waited a moment and then clicked off the call, returning her attention to the half finished pathology report. With each word she typed she felt increasingly listless, checking the clock she realised she had been awake almost 36 hours now, unable to sleep the night before.

"Screw it," Molly murmured to herself and saved the file, closing the laptop and packing up her things, staying so late wasn't worth it if everything she wrote was a garbled mess. She was home in under twenty minutes, and without bothering to remove her clothes she crawled into bed and settled into sleep. She would have to wash the sheets in the morning, they would smell of death, but she hardly cared as long as she got to rest.

She woke at eleven the next morning, thankful that it was Saturday and she wouldn't have to tear through her flat like a dirvish to get ready for work. As she was lying in bed her mind began tracing over the past six months. Sherlock dead, Sherlock alive, Sherlock in her bed night after night. She relished in the little ways he would show affection in public, a touch on her back, a squeeze of her hand, though they never held them for more than a moment. He would kiss the top of her head when no one was looking, and when people were, they would share a private, knowing smile. He knew how to comfort her on a bad day and she understood his limits better than most now, they became accustomed to each other quickly and easily. Stretching out her sore body amongst the pillows and white comforters she was starting to feel somewhat refreshed, thinking about Sherlock's kisses and playful nips.

Her mind suddenly stilled, her brain was flipping through pages of her mental calendar, her internal body clock, and anxiety suddenly flooded her veins. How many days had it been? She counted, and then she counted some more, and for good measure she pulled out her day planner and checked again. And there was the proof, weeks back she had underlined five dates in dark red pen, but as she counted the days there was too much time, she was late. For a body that worked like it was on a train schedule, this was highly unusual - fear gripped her.

She stood in the middle of her room, day planner in hand, and put a hand gingerly to her lips. This was certainly not part of the plan, she thought to herself as her hands trembled and her knees felt increasingly weak. She had to be sure.

Moments passed as she sketched out a plan, still rooted to the spot, but eventually she shook herself out of the stupor. "Jesus, Molly, move!" she shouted at herself and broke into action. Tying her hair up quickly she moved around the flat pulling on fresh clothes and hastily brushing her teeth, popping in some gum and slipping on a pair of shoes she practically jogged out of the flat at to St. Bart's.

The cab ride took too long because of mid-day traffic and about a block away she tossed some bills at the driver and rushed to work. Blood test, she decided. It was easier and more decisive so she grabbed herself a kit and hustled into an empty section of the lab.

Shutting herself in she drew a vial of blood and began the necessary tests to determine a yes or no. She waited nervously to discover the results and when she began reading them off the computer she blanched. Elevated hCG levels, positive. Again she felt frozen.

The door to the lab opened and Molly immediately closed out of the results and turned around hastily.

"Molly," her colleague Audrey said, "I didnt know you were working today,"

"I'm not," Molly stood and grabbed up something off the counter, "just needed to pick something up, I'm just headed... home," she gave a false smile and pushed past the woman, "I'll see you after the weekend," she called back.

"Okay," Audrey replied, "Have a good one!"

"Yeah," Molly half-heartadly called back, but she was already in the elevator and on her way to hail another cab. She needed to tell someone, she needed to tell John. Surely he would be able to help her decide what to do, how to tell a man who wouldn't even let her be called his girlfriend this news.

Her dream felt like it was cracking, a spider web of problems bursting on what was once a pretty picture. She threw her arm out into the street and hailed a cab, thankfully she didn't have too much trouble getting one to stop.

"221 Baker Street," she said quickly, "quickly, please,"

The driver grunted in reply and stepped on it, but no matter how quickly he wove through traffic it still felt like it took a year. She checked her watch 12:04, her stomach was churning and her mind whirring with thoughts and scenarios.

It was highly unlikely that Sherlock would sweep her into his arms and proclaim it was the happiest day of his life. Under any circumstances this would be highly unlikely, so she ran through another one. Perhaps he would agree to help her raise the baby? There was no way he would marry her, that she knew for sure, but perhaps contribute? Doubt played in her mind even at this. She could almost read the personals ad now: Single mother of toddler, enjoys long walks around London and dates with people who don't spit up baby food on her blouse.

"Miss?" the cabbie broke through her thoughts, "We're here,"

She thrust some bills at him and pulled herself from the cab, "Thanks!" she called as he drove off and turned to put her key in the door of 221B.

She entered the apartment and immediately called out, "John? Are you here?" quietly adding, "please be here,"

He rounded the wall from the kitchen, "Hey Molly, I didnt know you'd be..." he trailed off at her expression, "What's happened?"

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, the personals ad flashed across her thoughts again, this time "Loves Cats" was added at the end - the kiss of death. She took a shuddering breath and pressed a hand to her lips, tears finally making their way down her face, "John," she managed.

"What's going on? Is it Sherlock? Did something," he began

"No," she shook her head and reached out to take John's outstretched arm, leaning on him for some support, "I've got some news,"

"What is it?" John prompted again, leading her to the couch and urging her to sit.

She looked up at him through wet lashes, "I'm pregnant," there it was. Out in the open it was a scary word, saying it made it instantly true and took in a sharp broken breath.

John paled, "Oh I see," he rubbed her shoulder gently, "Molly, it'll be alright," but even as he said it, he wasn't sure it would be.

"God, it's awful," she hiccuped

John stilled and worked out a few things in his mind, "Will you keep it?" he asked gravely.

"Of course!" she was no longer sobbing, but tears were still burning down her cheeks, "I could never... I would never,"

"Okay," he soothed again, "all right,"

"He's going to hate me," Molly whispered.

"No, he's not," John squeezed her knee gently, "he could never hate you, he'll be surprised," he was still having trouble believing his own words.

Molly ran her hands over her face and wiped away the tears, "How do I tell him? He just got used to acknowledging us in public let alone being a father,"

John paused at this, "Sherlock, a father," the words sounded insane to him at first.

"I don't even know if he'd want it," she confessed, "if he'd..." she trailed off and started to think through scenarios again, none of them were ending well.

The floorboard outside the flat's front door creaked loudly and Molly's eyes slipped closed, Please don't let it be him, she thought.

John stood, his hand leaving her knee and crossing to the door, "Sherlock?"

And then he was there, standing in the doorway wondering if he should stay or go, a smooth expression of calculating coldness across his face. He cleared his throat, "Yes, right, case solved,"

For a moment John thought he might not have heard the conversation held just a moment ago, but as he studied Sherlock's face he realised he knew, his eyes were full of pain and discomfort, and they were locked squarely on Molly. "Good... good," John awkwardly murmured.

"Well," Sherlock murmured and Molly turned around finally, he noticed her eyes were red from crying. He locked eyes with her, "Well that's that then," and he disapperared down the hall, his bedroom door shutting tightly.

Molly's breath hitched, "Oh God,"

John searched for some comfort to give her, if it were any other man he would have said it was just shock, he'll come round in a moment... but this was Sherlock Holmes, and John was having doubts.

There were a few moments of silence and finally she stood, "I should," she knotted her fingers nervously, "talk to him,"

John breathed a sigh of relief, he was worried she would say leave, and then nothing would be resolved. "Right,"

Molly walked to Sherlock's door and took a few breaths to steady herself, she could do this, she absolutely could. She knocked, "Sherlock,"

There was no reply and she rapped again, "Sherlock, please, we need to talk,"

Again there was no reply and she finally locked her jaw and pushed in the door to the room that she had slept in dozens of times before, a room that know felt foreign to her as she stepped over the threshold. Into the lion's den, as they say.

He was seated on the bed, fingers tapping on his knees, clearly in thought. He looked up, "Molly," a curt greeting.

"Sherlock we have to talk about this," she pressed, "I know neither of us planned for it, but it's happened and,"

"And what?" he snapped.

"And we need to decide something, arrange... something," she swallowed, "I've obviously never done this before, I don't know what needs to be done, I just know... we have to talk, we have to..." she was losing her train of thought, she just needed to know what he was thinking, feeling.

"Why do we?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

She steeled herself, "Because I'm pregnant and because you're the father and I thought you would want some say in this," she paused, "I know it's a shock but now that it's on the table we should just,"

"You should have been more careful," the words cut her, physically pained her.

Her eyes began to fill with tears again and struggled for words, finally she swallowed and said, "It takes two, Sherlock,"

He gave a small snort of derision, "This is not my problem,"

Her eyes watered, "What? Of course it is,"

He shook his head quickly, offering no verbal reply.

She took a steadying breath and looked down at the man she had shared a bed with, bared her soul to. She could no longer recognize him now as he spat the painful words to her, their baby wasn't a child to him, it was a problem, and not even his own. She fished her key ring out of her pocket and unhooked the key for 221B, she gripped it fiercly in her fingers, "You unimaginable bastard,"

Sherlock's eyes flicked upwards at her words and she continued, "After what I did for you, keeping your secret for months. Putting up with you for longer, telling myself you did care about someone other than yourself, about me. But I was so wrong, Christ, I was so stupid to think that the Great Sherlock Holmes could ever love anyone but himself," her voice was steady and low, full of anger, "and here you sit, nothing but a clever little boy playing grown up, experimenting with detective work, with friendships, with sex. But when responsibility comes around you throw up your hands and cry 'not my fault'. Well you can stay that way for all I care," she threw the key down on the bed beside him, "and you'll never have to think twice about me or my child, I won't come after you. I want nothing from you Sherlock Holmes, not a God damned thing,"

She turned on her heel, the tears falling after she crossed into the living room and saw John patiently waiting by the end of the hall, his jaw locking when he saw her tears.

"Goodbye John," she managed, "I don't think we'll be seeing each other again,"

"Oh Molly, no," John shook his head and reached out to comfort her, "he's an idiot, a fool,"

"I know," she hiccuped, "and so am I," Molly Hooper turned and jogged down the steps and out the door, turning off Baker Street and hailing a cab as quickly as she could. She never wanted to step foot on that street again.

Upstairs in 221B John was growing furious, after she had gone he pushed into Sherlock's room, "What did you say to her?"

"That it is not my problem," Sherlock responded cooly after a moment.

John wasn't sure whether to hit him or walk out, he settled on something in the middle, "You arrogant prick,"

"John," Sherlock warned, "don't,"

"Why? Because you don't want to hear that you're wrong?" John shouted, "You've just cost her her life and pushed her away because you didn't want to get your hands dirty. You take responsibility for your mistakes, that's what adults do, they accept them and fix them, and stay in for the long haul," John swallowed, his fists balled at his sides, "After everything she's done for you, everything she means to you and you can just shrug it all off, calculate the damage and file her as an old memory. You're not human,"

"John!" Sherlock boomed, "I will not justify myself to you, I have made my decision and I have my reasons, now if you would kindly get out of my room,"

John bristled but stepped out of the door, "I hope you know you've lost her," he said over his shoulder, "even if you try to get her back, she won't come, not after what you've done, this is... this is bloody unforgivable Sherlock,"

There was no reply and John disappeared into his room, furious and wanting to text Molly to see if there was anything he could do. He decided against it, for now he could at least try to let her get some peace.

When Sherlock was sure John was asleep he rose and pulled on his coat, silently exiting the flat like a phantom, and fading into the darkness of the London night. There was only one thing hammering in his thoughts and he had to make it be quiet, he had to silence the look on Molly's face, her stinging words, his gutted feeling when she dropped the key. He couldn't allow himself to stay close to her, severing contact now was the right thing to do, but he had to make her be quiet in his mind. He had to.

He walked and walked until he found the familiar corner he had frequented so often before he began his work as a consulting detective. The man on the corner looked so unchanged, Sherlock felt himself taking a step into his past, a chill ran up his spine.

A prostitute with overly made up eyes and an obvious case of genital herpes bit her lip and tried to beckon him over, an invitation which he happily ignored and pressed on up the street. It didn't take long for him to slip some money out of his pocket and press it into the man's hand, placing his order quickly and gruffly.

"Long time no see," the man said and cheerfully obliged

Sherlock nodded and turned on his heel, slipping the packet of white dust into his pocket and striding back to where he came, his past chasing him, biting at his heels.

A/N: So there you are. A bit (a lot) of drama and a minor cliff hanger, and I hate to tell those of you that enjoyed it that you'll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon for chapter five. I'm sorry, but there is no way I have the energy for another one. This chapter was particularly tricky for me to write, and I know that Sherlock seemed cold, hateful even, but I have a reason and it will all be explained in detail in a chapter or two. I hope you liked it, I really do, and I hope you don't hate me for getting Molly pregnant.

Love you all, drop me some reviews.

-x