The Right Time

Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Eight weeks pregnant.

She was due March the 6th.

No complications.

No health concerns.

No indications that hers pregnancy was at risk.

But the morning sickness started the morning after she found out she was pregnant.

But as Sherlock knelt over Molly, rubbing her back and consoling not only her but a worried Jonathan who stood in the doorway to the lavatory, he knew Molly was taking this in stride. After all, Molly was a firm believer that she was blessed to be pregnant at all, and complaining would just make her feel and seem ungrateful.

"Should you stay home from work today?" Sherlock asked, helping her to her feet. Molly shook her head and leaned against the sink as she filled a cup from the tap.

"I've missed quite a bit of work lately, even though I still have weeks of vacation time left. I'd rather just struggle through it." Once she gargled and rinsed her mouth out, she smiled weakly at her husband and Jonathan. "Everything will be alright."

"I hope you feel better, Molly." Jonathan said, wrapping his arms around her legs. "I don't like it when you're sick."

Ten weeks pregnant, and Molly had her first craving.

It was 2:30 in the morning, Sherlock was playing his violin to help think, and Molly was standing barefoot and only wearing her knickers and bra, frying bacon. Soon she was cracking eggs to eat with her bacon, and then she found cheese that was still good in the fridge.

An all-star breakfast at almost three in the morning? Molly didn't mind. She had an evening shift at St. Bart's that day, so she could do whatever she wanted until she went to work.

As the weeks passed, Sherlock took note of the things Molly was craving and did a bit of research. When she was craving bacon, he learned that her body just needed extra protein. He encouraged her to eat almonds, which was a healthier option.

She didn't mind almonds.

Apples were her next craving. These were healthy, but Molly knew that if she ate too many, her blood sugar would sky rocket. So she allowed herself an apple or two at a time, but no more than four in one day. She was in control of her cravings.

Until she wasn't.

It was another early morning, and all Molly could think about were onions. She rolled over in bed and poked Sherlock in the side. "I'm so sorry Sherlock, but we need onions."

At sixteen weeks pregnant, Molly no longer had a flat belly.

She was sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the table in front of her. She had her shirt rolled up to right beneath her bra, and she was running her hand over her small bump. Her thoughts were flooded with many different things ranging from getting the bedroom upstairs ready for the baby to what she was going to make for dinner that night. Eventually she decided on Chinese takeaway. If Sherlock finished his case that night, she knew he would be hungry so she ordered extra.

Molly jumped when she heard the door downstairs slam, and she didn't have enough time to roll down her shirt before Sherlock and Detective Inspector Lestrade burst into the flat. "Will you look at this?" Lestrade said, grinning broadly and crossing the room. He plopped down beside Molly. "It's doing alright in there? Can you feel anything yet?"

"Not really. And it's fine. We'll find out if it's a boy or girl next week!"

"Do you have a nickname for it?"

"We call it our Consulting Pathologist. It was Sherlock's idea, since it's a bit of both of us."

Her cheeks were pink, but she was smiling brightly. Lestrade leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'm glad everything is going well. I wish the same could be said about this bloody case. It was supposed to be a four on his scale, but it jumped to an eight pretty quickly."

"MOLLY, HAVE YOU SEEN—never mind! Lestrade, let's go. I'll be back late. Please don't wait up." Sherlock managed to remember to kiss Molly before he dashed out of the flat.

"We're seventeen weeks pregnant with a little girl."

Molly looked away from her book and stared at her husband. He was lying beside her on the bed, staring wide eyed at her abdomen. "We are," Molly murmured, marking her page and discarding her book in favor of cuddling beside her husband. Mary warned her that as she got bigger, cuddling would become a nuisance rather than a pleasure.

"When can I tell everyone?"

Molly laughed and kissed him lightly. "I wanted to do something special."

Sherlock huffed. "I don't want to have one of those gender reveal parties like John and Mary did for Jonathan. I hate parties."

"It doesn't have to be a party. But something cute would be sufficient."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, and Molly nuzzled against his chest. "We could send everyone a picture of—"

"If your sentence ends with the word 'vagina' I will throw you out of this flat," Molly warned, and she heard him chuckle.

In the end, Molly and Sherlock purchased hundreds of pink peanut M&M candies online. The two of them spent one entire Sunday afternoon taking a few handfuls of sweets, putting them in their individual cellophane wrappers, and tying them off with a pink bow. Molly made little cards, and each one said,

"Our darling Consulting
Pathologist is a girl!
Thank you for all your
support and encouragement!

Love,

Sherlock and Molly xx"

Even though he tried to hide it, Sherlock enjoyed traveling around with Molly later that evening after supper and delivering the sweets. The reactions from their friends was something Sherlock knew he would never delete, from Mrs. Hudson's happy tears to Mary's squeals of delight, to John's firm hug and Lestrade's energetic cursing to any bloke who would lay a finger on his "sweetheart".

When they were home and cuddling in bed, Molly murmured, "It's nice to know that she'll always have a Consulting Detective, a blogger, a Detective Inspector, and the British Government protecting her."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me of Mycroft, Molly. You're killing the mood."

Molly pulled away from him with her brow furrowed. He just waggled his eyebrows at her in response, and she giggled, her laughter only silenced after he kissed her.

The first time Molly felt the baby kick, a true kick and not the butterfly like feelings she'd been feeling for weeks, she was twenty two weeks pregnant and in a room full of students who were observing her as she completed an autopsy. Mike Stamford was in the room with her, and between the two of them, they were answering questions and posing questions of their own.

Molly was in the middle of describing the reason why the man's stomach was twice as large as it was supposed to be when the Consulting Pathologist gave a hard kick or punch to Molly's insides. She gasped and dropped her scalpel on the floor.

"Are you alright Doctor Holmes?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine!" she squeaked, her eyes as round as saucers. After taking a few deep breaths, she said, "I just felt my baby kick for the first time."

As soon as the students were gone and they were all washed up, Molly and Mike shared a brief hug. Then Molly excused herself to her office, called Sherlock, and promptly began to cry. "It's real!" she sobbed into the phone, one hand rubbing her stomach. "This isn't some bizarre dream. She's really in there, Sherlock!"

The first time Sherlock felt the baby kick, Molly was twenty four weeks pregnant and he was in his Mind Palace, clearing out a room and setting it up for his Consulting Pathologist. Molly was watching the news and running her fingers through his hair, and his head was nestled in her lap.

When he first felt the nudge against his cheek, he ignored it. It was a few moments later when he felt it again, and he shifted his head. The third time it happened, he snapped at Molly, "Will you please stop touching my face? I'm trying to think."

"I'm not touching your face. My hands are in your hair!"

He scrambled onto his knees and stared at Molly's stomach with wide eyes. It took him a second to realize his mouth was hanging open, and he promptly slammed his jaw shut. Then he looked at Molly, and she was grinning at him, as if she knew the baby had been kicking him the entire time.

Of course the first thing his child would do is kick him in the face.

"Everything is swollen. My ankles. My feet. My legs. My body. My brain. My bladder! I'm hot all the time and it's two days before Christmas! If it was socially acceptable, I would be naked right now!"

It wasn't until Molly was thirty weeks pregnant that she hinted at any discomfort during her pregnancy. Mary sat beside her, patting her leg apologetically while Mrs. Hudson sat across from her, nodding her head encouragingly. "Oh, I know sweetheart. But it gets better. Just think, in about ten weeks, this will all be over!"

Molly smiled and rubbed her stomach. "Thank you for listening. I know I shouldn't complain—"

"I was worried you were trying to keep it all to yourself!" Mrs. Hudson said, cutting Molly off. "No woman in her right mind can go through a pregnancy without complaining every once in a while. That's why I brought the chocolate! Complain until your heart's content!" Mrs. Hudson indicated the sweets that were resting on Molly's engorged tummy. The three women laughed, and for the first time in thirty weeks, Molly really let everyone know how she was physically feeling.

It was also two days before Christmas, as Sherlock and John were finishing the last minute purchases for their Christmas dinner, that Sherlock let John know that Molly was having mood swings, and even something subtle that he might not observe immediately set Molly off.

John laughed and said, "Welcome to the club of having a pregnant and slightly terrifying spouse. You can be Vice President."

Thirty four weeks pregnant, and Doctor Molly Hooper Holmes was not taking shit from anyone.

"Come on Mycroft!"

"Doctor Hooper—"

"Holmes!" Sherlock corrected, not glancing up from his newspaper.

"Doctor Holmes, apologies. This is not my area—"

"Well make it your area!" Molly snapped.

Even Sherlock's eyebrows lifted at Molly's tone. He carefully lowered the paper and watched as his older brother crossed the living room and sat down in an empty seat across from him. Molly was sitting at the table, having already finished her breakfast. "She's been active all morning, so you'll be able to feel a kick or a punch easily."

Without further ado, Molly grabbed the older Holmes's hand and pressed it against her stomach. She moved it around slowly, and after a few seconds, the Consulting Pathologist gave a heaving kick, knocking the wind out of Molly and startling Mycroft. He snatched his hand away with wide eyes. "Does that hurt?"

"A little bit."

Mycroft was quiet a moment, and then hesitantly placed his hand back on Molly's stomach. Molly covered it with her own, and the Consulting Pathologist responded to the weight, this time with a little less force in her kick. "I remember the first time Mummy let me feel Sherlock kick."

Molly wasn't going to take shit from anyone, but that didn't mean she was going to do it without sobbing, especially if her brother-in-law utters sentiment for the first time in her presence.

Finally, thirty six weeks along in her pregnancy, Molly was going on parental leave from St. Bart's. She had spent the last two weeks training her replacement, informing him of her husband and his sometimes erratic behavior, and showing him around the hospital.

Her first day home from work, Molly kept herself busy; all of the baby's bedding, clothing, and toys had been washed, dried, and carefully stored away. She had her bag and Sherlock's bag packed and by the door. Sherlock and John had taken it upon themselves to paint John's old bedroom yellow, with the door frame and windows painted white. Once the paint dried, her furniture was assembled and moved into the room.

Their precious Consulting Pathologist had a beautiful nursery.

But by the time the room was finished, Molly was only thirty six and a half weeks pregnant. She expected the set up and cleaning to take much longer, but it didn't. So she took the time to catch up on reading, friends, and cuddling with Toby.

Thirty seven weeks pregnant, and she was bored.

Sherlock wasn't even thirty seven weeks pregnant but began his self-proclaimed parental leave at the same time as Molly and he was really bored.

"You don't have to do this, Sherlock. The both of us being bored is detrimental to the structure of 221B Baker Street. Take a case."

"You could go into labor at any second, Molly. I don't want to be in France if you go into labor!"

"I said work a case, not go abroad!"

"Do you want to go on a date?" Sherlock suggested, after sitting in silence for nearly two hours.

"A date?" Molly asked skeptically.

"Yes, you remember what those are, correct? Get dressed up fancy. Go somewhere and eat. Maybe dance or see a late showing of a film at the cinema."

"You hate cinemas. And I can't see my feet. I'll mutilate your toes."

"I'll suffer through anything for you, Molly."

Once Molly finished crying at Sherlock's admission, she decided that a night out for dinner, deductions, and possibly a walk would be good for her, since she knew she would be cooped up in the flat for a while after the baby was born.

Dinner at Angelo's was pleasant, especially when Sherlock managed to get a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and as they ate, Sherlock murmured his deductions of the other patrons to her. They sat side by side in their booth, which was romantic in a sense, but also more logical since Molly needed quite a bit of extra room for her belly.

It was on their little walk home from Angelo's that Molly felt her first strong contraction.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

The couple found that lying in bed was a common thing to do while they were bored. Especially in the evenings. They would retire early, Molly because she knew she would spend most of the night getting comfortable, and Sherlock because he didn't want to leave her alone for long periods of time.

"Do you think we could have a bit of a party? As a last get together before she's born?"

Sherlock sighed and reached for her hand. "I hate parties."

"What about dinner? Mrs. Hudson can help me cook, and we'll invite over John and Mary and the boys, Lestrade, Mycroft if he has the time, even Mike and his wife! It would be nice."

Sherlock mulled over the idea in his head, and then he said, "I'll text everyone in the morning." He then shifted around until his head was pressed against Molly's stomach, and he began talking to the baby. Molly smiled and closed her eyes, willing herself to get some sleep.

Thirty nine weeks pregnant, and Molly was exhausted. She was beginning to doubt the decision to have a little dinner with her friends as her pregnancy came to a close. She hadn't done much that day, she and Sherlock went to an appointment bright and early that morning, where they were informed by their doctor that, "The baby will be here any day now! You're two centimeters dilated. Just take it easy, and call me when your contractions are about five minutes apart and a minute long, or if the pain is intolerable."

"Here Molly," Sherlock whispered.

Molly opened her eyes, unaware that she began to doze. Sherlock was standing before her with an armload of pillows. "You've been having contractions for three days. Just relax, and I'll handle the preparations for dinner." After Sherlock helped Molly get situated on the couch, he began a light cleaning of the flat; it was nearly spotless in anticipation of bringing home the new baby, but a little bit of dust had collected in a few places.

Then he began arranging furniture as quietly as he could, moving chairs out of the way so he could pull the larger table to the middle of the living room.

While Sherlock worked, Molly was in and out of sleep, only getting up to use the bathroom and get drinks of water. The day sort of floated around hazily for Molly, until an hour and a half before their guests were supposed to arrive, and she determined it was an appropriate time to get off the couch.

"Everything smells delicious, Sherlock," Molly murmured, leaning against the kitchen doorway. He looked up from the potatoes he was peeling and smiled. But his smile started to slip and he said,

"How far apart are your contractions?"

"An hour apart," she answered promptly. "I've been in and out of it, so I'm not entirely sure."

"And pain?"

"Same as earlier, nothing to worry about."

Sherlock didn't look appeased with her assessment, and Molly waddled her way to him, leaning down to kiss him gently. He sighed when she pulled away and rested her forehead against his. "I doubt we'll be having the baby during our dinner party, Sherlock. Relax."

Molly spent the remainder of her time getting ready, changing out of her comfortable t-shirt and yoga pants to a simple black cotton wrap dress she purchased for this occasion. She applied light makeup and braided half of her hair and swept it to the side in a bun.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw Sherlock in the bedroom, and it looked like he returned the pillows to their bed. "Do you need help with anything?" She asked, feeling a little guilty that she didn't help him prepare for a party that was her idea in the first place. "I can finish the potatoes or something?"

Sherlock looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw her. He swallowed thickly and gave her a small smile. "You look very beautiful, Molly." He sauntered over to her and placed one hand on her stomach, stroking the material of her dress. His other hand cradled the back of her neck, tilting her head upwards. "I could ravish you right now," he murmured, dropping a chaste kiss on her lips. She gasped and giggled, looking up at him.

"I am in no condition to be ravished."

"I'm sorry we have to leave, but someone has to be in the morgue bright and early tomorrow!" Mike Stamford joked, kissing Molly on the cheek. "Thank you for dinner, and hopefully we'll be seeing you soon!" Bidding farewell to Mike and his wife, Molly slowly moved back to the table and observed the rest of her friends. Sherlock was playing his violin as Lestrade, John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson cooed over Jonathan and sleeping Nathaniel.

Her contractions had been growing closer together all evening, but she didn't have the heart to interrupt their dinner, especially since the pain was still bearable.

"Molly, are you alright?"

Molly opened her eyes; she could fall asleep anywhere if she was comfortable enough! "Yeah, sorry. I'm a bit tired." She smiled apologetically at her friends, and Mary shook her head admonishingly.

"You're so close to bursting, don't apologize! We should probably help clean up and get going anyway. Don't want to make this too late of a night."

Molly tried to protest as her friends began to slowly clear the table and put away the leftovers. Mrs. Hudson held Nathaniel and moved to the couch. Jonathan moved to sit beside her, content to watch as everyone cleaned.

Sherlock put down his violin as Molly struggled to her feet to follow everyone into the kitchen. He gently pressed a kiss to her cheek before joining the melee of cleaning.

It was quiet as everyone talked amongst themselves, until Molly let out a high squeak then there was the sound of something spilling on the floor. Her eyes widened as she stood in the doorway of the deathly silent kitchen.

"Uh oh!" she whispered, looking down to see that she was standing in a puddle of what she perceived to be water that had previously been inside of her. "No one panic. It'll wipe up easily on the linoleum," she joked weakly.

"Molly, don't make jokes."

No one dared to mention that Sherlock's voice was higher than his normal baritone. In fact, no one dared to do anything, just staring at Molly. Mary was the first one to break from her stupor, saying, "Surprise!"

Even though her heart was pounding, Molly tried to keep everything light. "Just watch your step. I don't want you to step in this water." She scrunched up her nose. "That would be disgusting." Then she took a few steps back and said, "Sherlock, be a dear and call the doctor. My contractions are about ten minutes apart now. Everyone else," she said, looking at John, Mary, and Lestrade, "stay calm. John, you've seen worse things as an army doctor! Mary, you've been through this twice. Greg, you've shot people."

Sherlock was on his mobile in seconds, and Lestrade and John were on either side of Molly. "Can you walk?"

"My legs are shaking pretty terribly."

"Let's get you to a seat, then."

Even though Sherlock had plenty of time to research what exactly he should do once Molly was actively in labor, putting what he learned into practice was much harder. He was surprisingly nonverbal in the delivery room, and between contractions, Molly had a bit of time to be worried.

"Sweetheart, talk to me, please," she begged, clutching his hand. "Everything is alright. The pain isn't even that bad."

"Molly, stop trying to coddle me!" he snapped unintentionally. "You're giving birth without pain medication; of course the pain is bad!" The nurse in the room with them glared at Sherlock's outburst, but Molly once again took it in stride, only flinching slightly from his words.

"Don't be scared. Talk to me, please, about anything."

Sherlock exhaled shakily and kissed her forehead in apology. "You're doing a very good job," he murmured, remembering vaguely of the advice John had given him before they left for the hospital.

"She's crowning! Molly, just one more push!"

Molly's chin was pressed against her chest and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly against the blinding pain coursing through her body. She felt Sherlock tighten his grip on her thigh as he helped hold her leg in the air. Then she felt his lips peppering against her cheeks and forehead. "Very good, Molly. You can do this. You're almost done, almost—"

She let out a cry as she gave the final push. Cries erupted into the room as Molly collapsed backwards and their daughter was born, screaming. She took heaving breaths as the nurses around her were scrambling to help the doctor.

"Oh Molly, she's beautiful. She's absolutely gorgeous!"

Molly felt like the entire world was weeping with her as the nurse placed the warm baby on her chest. She could hear Sherlock as he gasped for breath and leaned over her, kissing her head over and over as she stared wide eyed at her pink and angrily screaming baby.

Penelope Ava Holmes was born early this morning.

Her parents have politely asked that you give them their privacy as they settle into their new lives together.

I am demanding that the press, paparazzi, and fans leave the new family alone and to not swarm the hospital. Stress like that is not good for a new baby or mother, and I know that because I'm a doctor. Besides, having the world's only Consulting Detective on your heels because you're bothering his wife and daughter is not something I would wish on my worst enemies.

Thank you for your support and kindness over the past 39 weeks.

But please respect their privacy.

-John Watson

Molly smiled sleepily as Sherlock finished reading aloud John's latest blog entry. Then all was quiet in their hospital room as their daughter fought to stay away. Sherlock found he couldn't stop touch Molly or the baby, which is why he found himself curled very gently around her, careful not to bump or jostle her in any way that could cause pain.

"She has your eyes," Molly whispered, turning her head to look at Sherlock, or at least she thought she said it. There was a disconnection between her mouth and brain, but Molly didn't quite mind it because their child was finally here.

Fin.

BB/N: Thank you so much for reading this story! I hope this ending was filled with all the feel good feelings that were missing in the first three chapters. Thank you, again! :)

-Janet