Chapter Seven
Oh, yes! I finally got back to my story!
Sherlock stared at John for a moment before moving his confused gaze over to Molly, who was smiling sheepishly at him. "You're…"
Molly nodded. "I am."
Sherlock's frown deepened as his eyes became slightly unfocused, his mind no doubt searching through the last few weeks for any clue as to Molly's condition. "But you haven't—"
Molly quickly shook her head to reassure him that he had not missed anything. "No, I haven't."
They could instantly spot the moment when it clicked for him, for his brows unfurrowed, and he raised his head slightly to respond.
"Ah, you're one of those women," said Sherlock.
Molly gave a shrug. "Apparently."
Sherlock's confident gaze abruptly froze as the implications of their conversation hit him. "You're pregnant…"
John gave a small chuckle. "Finally sink in, did it?"
Molly gave her fiancé a small smile. "I am. We're having a baby."
John watched as Sherlock just stared at her, Molly waiting with bated breath and bitten lip. John seemed to be holding his breath with her, both of them unsure as to what Sherlock's reaction would be. John would like to believe his friend had grown as a person the last few years, but truth be told, he'd never thought Sherlock had been particularly fond of children. Then again, Sherlock had just proposed to her, so…
Please don't let him break her heart, John begged.
After another moment, a slow smile began to appear on Sherlock's face. The two doctors released their held breaths as the smile grew.
"That's wonderful!" chuckled Sherlock, reaching forward and pulling Molly into a hug.
Molly wrapped her arms around him, sharing in his laughter. That's when Mary made her reappearance.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as she walked into the morgue with Emma in her arms. "Did she tell him about the baby?"
"No, apparently, I did," John told her as he walked over to Mary and gaze his daughter a hug. "You get hold of Mrs. Hudson?"
"Yeah, she's delighted," Mary answered.
John glanced back at the celebrating couple. "He's catching up quick."
"Well, we'll just have to get to work on that, won't we?" said Mary suggestively.
"Would you two give it a rest?" Sherlock called out. "You're ruining one of the only sentimental moments I'm willing to allow."
John chuckled. "And once again, it's all about him." He walked back over to Sherlock and Molly. "Better get used to it, mate. You're going to have a lot more sentiment from now on."
The morgue doors opened, and a nurse came in with a wheelchair.
"Okay, Dr. Watson, the room is ready," said the nurse.
"Thanks," said John as he gestured for the wheelchair to be brought over.
"No."
John looked up at Sherlock. "No?"
"I am not getting in that," Sherlock told him, actually crossing his arms in defiance.
"Sherlock, you have to," John argued back.
"It's a wheelchair, John," Sherlock sneered.
"It's hospital policy," said John. "Besides—"
"I refuse," said Sherlock as Molly rolled her eyes next to him.
"You can't walk, Sherlock!" John yelled.
Sherlock stared at him for a long moment before he rolled his eyes and began to take a step towards the wheelchair. As soon as he left the support of the examination table behind him, his legs gave out, and he tumbled to the floor.
John darted forward and helped pull him back up. "Don't wanna say 'I told you so,' but—"
"Yes, John, you're a genius," Sherlock grumbled as they helped him over to the chair.
"Being the only one smart enough to actually recognize that you were still alive, I'm gonna take that at face value," said John as Sherlock dropped into the seat.
The nurse proceeded to wheel the detective out of the morgue and towards the room waiting for him, Sherlock silently grumbling the whole way.
They had finally gotten Sherlock into his hospital bed and to stay there, probably only due to the fact that he was still too weak to walk out. But Molly had managed to placate him by agreeing to an ultrasound while they were there. And surprisingly, the staff had agreed to Sherlock's next demand: an ultrasound in his room.
"It only makes sense," Sherlock had argued. "I am the father, and I should be present for it despite the fact that I can't walk."
So, here they were, with Molly settled next to Sherlock on his hospital bed and the attending physician passing the wand over her stomach. Sherlock and Molly were staring at the screen, Sherlock with narrowed eyes. He had never studied a sonogram before, but surely it couldn't be very hard.
"All right, and there's your baby," said the doctor, a smile forming on her face as she held the wand in place.
Sherlock stared at the static-filled screen in front of him, searching for what he'd heard John once refer to as the "peanut-shaped blur." However, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't see it.
"Oh, it's beautiful…" breathed Molly, her hand tightening in Sherlock's grasp.
Sherlock glanced over at her teary eyes, just slightly worried now. If Molly could see it, why couldn't he? Any parent should be able to pick out their child from that screen, and he was no ordinary parent.
The doctor pressed a button on the machine to freeze the image and print out a picture before placing the wand on the tray and turning to them. "I'll leave you two alone a moment." She then left the room.
Molly's gaze moved to Sherlock momentarily, smiling at him. "Isn't it amazing?" She looked back at the sonogram's screen, a tear falling down her face.
Sherlock only stared at the image, desperate to find his child.
Molly looked back at him, frowning at his lack of response. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock huffed out a frustrated sigh, muttering under his breath.
"What?" asked Molly.
"I can't find it," Sherlock muttered miserably.
Molly began to smile a little at him.
Sherlock frowned at her in hurt. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Molly."
"No, I'm not laughing," Molly responded, placing a hand on his face to reassure him. "You're just…incredibly adorable."
"Am not," Sherlock grumbled, but with slightly less of a frown.
"You are to," said Molly, leaning forward and grabbing the monitor to wheel it closer. She pulled on his hand to get him to lean closer with her. She used her other hand to point at the screen. "You see all this around here? That's the womb. And that right there in the middle…that's our baby."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he stared at the miniscule blip in the middle of a small black area surrounded by more gray static. "That's it?"
"Yes, Sherlock, that's it," said Molly, huffing out a laugh as she tugged him closer.
Sherlock's stunned eyes stared at the proof of their child in front of him. "It's so…small. I mean…I know it's small; it's only five weeks old, but…" He trailed off, unable to find the words to explain what he was feeling.
"Hmm, I think we finally found the one thing that renders you speechless," said Molly.
Sherlock finally broke out of it as he glanced suggestively over at her.
"Well, okay, maybe not one thing," said Molly, blushing beautifully.
Sherlock chuckled before his gaze moved back to the monitor, his smile slowly turning from amused to amazed.
Our child…
Sherlock looked at Molly, smiling as he wrapped an arm around her and gave her a kiss. The two of them went back to staring at the sonogram, holding each other close.
"Oh, wow, it's true," said Greg as he looked down at the sonogram picture. "Holmes Junior."
"Technically, Hooper-Holmes Junior," Sherlock told him from his spot in the hospital bed.
"No, Holmes," Molly replied, sitting next to the bed and holding Sherlock's hand.
Sherlock looked over at her.
"It's a Holmes," Molly told him.
Sherlock smiled and squeezed her hand before looking back at the others in the room.
Greg passed the picture back over to John, who gave it to Molly. "So, when's the wedding?"
"How about mid-October?" suggested Sherlock.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"Sherlock, that's only a month and a half from now," said John.
"I thought Molly would want to get married without having to worry about buying a maternity gown," Sherlock answered.
Molly smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "That's so thoughtful. October is perfect."
Mary opened the door and stepped inside. "Ooh, sorry! She insisted on an ice cream. I didn't have the heart to tell her no."
"Still not feeling well?" asked Molly.
"No," said Mary. "Thankfully, it's not bad." She spotted the picture in Molly's hand. "Ooh! Baby pictures!"
As the two girls ogled over the ultrasound picture, Greg and John stepped over to the other side of Sherlock's bed.
"You know the guy that did this?" asked Greg.
"No," said Sherlock. "I saw him, but stuck in this dreadful place—"
"It's a hospital, Sherlock, not a death camp," Molly spoke up from the other side of the bed.
"—I can't track him down," Sherlock finished. "Who knows what other poor victims he might poison out there."
John stared at Sherlock at his use of the term "poor" in reference to the victims. Hadn't the man just this morning told John not to sympathize with the victims? He supposed it was hard not to do so now that he had almost shared the same fate.
"Well…" said John, suddenly getting an idea as he glanced at Greg, "if it's okay with you…" he looked back at Sherlock, "I may have a way of drawing him out."
He rounded the corner of the hospital, looking towards the nurse's station. It was so early in the morning that only one nurse was at the desk at the moment. He only needed to wait for her to get distracted, and he had the perfect solution for that. He had to get to that room.
He had been watching the news, waiting for the report that told of the detective's unexpected murder. Instead, he had been met with a story stating that Sherlock Holmes was in the hospital on his way to recovery.
How had he survived?
It was impossible. He had designed that poison to paralyze and kill. No one should have been able to tell he was still alive, and no one should have been able to figure out the antidote for it. The only person that could possibly have done that was Sherlock himself, and he had been slightly incapacitated at the moment.
Sherlock Holmes has to die.
Any moment, he could wake up and describe him to the police. Something had to be done.
He grabbed hold of a cart of hospital supplies next to him and gave it a good shove, slipping into a janitor's closet as the cart crashed into something down the hall. There were then hurried footsteps, and he peered out to see the nurse rushing to investigate. He slipped back out of the closet and around the corner towards the desk, grabbing the logbook on top of it and searching it.
Sherlock Holmes, room 423.
He put the logbook back and rushed down the hall towards the correct room. When he reached it, he pulled the door open and peered inside to see that the detective was asleep in the hospital bed, lying on his side and facing the door. He closed the door behind him and reached into his pocket, pulling out another syringe of the paralytic. He slowly approached the bed, trying not to make any noise.
He reached the head of the bed, gazing down on the man to make sure he was still sleeping. His eyes were closed, his breathing was slow and even and the heart monitor was holding at a steady 67 beats per minute. He raised the syringe, lowering it down towards the detective's arm.
Sherlock's arm shot up and caught his arm, stopping the downward motion of the syringe. He opened his eyes and looked up at him. "You've got to be a dumbest criminal in history."
