Sherlock chuckled in his sleep remembering John's reaction to Sherlock and Molly's relationship. John, who was always one for good advice seemed to be at a loss. From that point on, Sherlock went to Mary when he was confused by Molly or something in their relationship. Mary was Sherlock's good friend. It pained him to think of her gone, just like Molly. But at least at that time, Molly had been there for him, for both of them.
Molly always had a kind word or a gentle touch to reassure those she cared for. The children had been especially cherished by Molly's loving nature. She was made to be a mother. It was a truth Sherlock had to admit grudgingly admit to himself as he watched Molly play with other children. On a day even Sherlock had to admit was beautiful for a March day in London, he had reluctantly acquiesced to a walk through Hyde Park. There was not a cloud in the sky. Sherlock's parents had come for a visit and were anxious to greet the young woman who seemed to have finally caught one of their son's eyes. Mycroft also unenthusiastically joined them on this particular event because he could think of no other excuse he hadn't already used in the recent past. It was Sunday, and the park was filled with people. Mary and John had joined them with little Emma being pushed in her pram. It had been little over a year since her arrival, and just over 9 months since Sherlock and Molly had become lovers. Lovers, Molly thought, that is what he called them. He detested the terms boyfriend/girlfriend, felt it was juvenile given the very adult things they did to each other a very regular basis.
Sherlock's parent's walked behind Molly and Sherlock, who were locked arm in arm as they walked the pebbled pathways of the park. Sherlock was dressed in a crisp navy suit which fit his form perfectly. Molly was in a dark navy cotton dress that fit at the waist and flared out in beautiful folds. She had sensible kitten heights on in a nude tone and a small cross body handbag in navy and white. She never really indulged in such coordination, but since she had to rebuild her entire wardrobe from scratch, Sherlock insisted that she have some fine, pretty things. He had asked Mary to see to that Molly have those fine things. Secretly he lamented the loss of her cherry cardigan, and some of the garish colored jumpers that were uniquely Molly. However, Molly had seen fit to replace some of her bright colored jumpers and blouses. It made Sherlock happy to see his Molly return. As for the living situation, well, Molly was against moving into Sherlock's bedroom. But she did agree to let out John's old room from Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had only 'hmmpfed' in indignation when she did in fact move into the room, although the situation worked to their mutual benefit. It had been 6 months they had lived together, and for Molly she was never happier.
They walked silently, arm in arm, only Mycroft without someone to escort, which did not seem to bother him much, since he was talking on his mobile. John paused to pluck a fussy Emma from her pram.
"Excuse me, Molly." Sherlock immediately stepped forward to take charge of the pram from Mary, pushing it along as Mary and John fretted over little Emma. Molly was left standing alone, watching Sherlock. Sherlock's father moved in gracefully and offered his arm to Molly. Molly smiled and looped her arm into the older Holmes and began to walk. Molly peered behind her and saw Sherlock's mother smacking playfully at Mycroft as he lamented having to play escort. Molly grinned foolishly at the way their mother could rein in both Holmes' boys with a simple look.
"You have made my son very happy." Sherlock's father whispered, patting Molly's hand lovingly.
"I hope so. He makes me happy." Molly responded shyly. She knew Sherlock did not like his parent's meddling in his affairs, but they seemed so genuine, so normal to have two extraordinary children. Molly must have had a wistful look upon her face, because Sherlock's father chuckled softly, but it faded as he looked to where Molly was gazing at. Sherlock had gathered little Emma Watson in his arms, and was walking briskly forward, pram forgotten as he spoke to her and held her in his arms. He swung his body this way and that, eliciting a childish laugh from the fussy baby. John and Mary walked ahead, safe in knowing their daughter was in safe hands, the best of hands. Molly watched how good Sherlock was with the babe. He did not seem to mind the spittle that was being spread upon his pristine suit.
"Do not fret, my dear. You have but to ask and he will provide whatever it is you want." The elder Mr. Holmes stated softly in Molly's ear. Molly gazed up at him in surprise, shaking her head in the negative.
"No. Sherlock, he wouldn't…..want…" Molly's voice trailed off sadly, looking at her feet.
"He would want them. I promise you."
"But Sherlock…he's…Sherlock. He enjoys his freedom. He loves his work, his puzzles to solve. He would feel trapped in a life of even partial domesticity."
"Ah, but what better and more continuous puzzle to solve for the great Sherlock Holmes that the puzzle of children and family." Sherlock's father nudged Molly lightly, both of them laughing. "My wife and I would be very pleased if you were the mother of our future grandchildren."
"I suppose. But….it's too….thank you. You have been both very kind and sweet to me." Molly glanced at Sherlock, who was carefully replacing a very happy Emma into her pram. "I do love your son."
"As he would tell us of you if we were to ask I am sure of it."
"Sherlock has yet to tell me he loves me. But that is okay. It's not his way, but I know he cares for me. In his own way." Molly stated pleasantly.
"I think he more than cares for you, but you are right he is a bit of an odd bird." They both chuckled lightly as Sherlock walked back towards Molly and his father, casually wiping the spittle from his shoulder and arm of his expensive suit jacket with his handkerchief.
"Thank you, Father. You may go now." Sherlock waved his father away with an absent hand, taking care to hold Molly's hand lightly on the crook of his arm. Mycroft seemed relieved that he would no longer have to listen to his mother discuss the gardenia bushes in the solar.
Later that evening, the night had settled in. Molly rarely slept in her own bed, although there had been times when Sherlock and John had been away that she had decided to sleep there. But typically, she would fall asleep in his bed and he would join her much later in the evening.
But this evening, Molly sat on the lounge sofa and Sherlock was in the kitchen experimenting on some body part Molly had brought home to him. It was quiet at 221b Baker Street. Almost too quiet. Sherlock peered around the corner, the safety glassed perched on his nose, blow torch in one hand, a crispy ear in a pair of tongs. Sherlock watched as Molly read her book silently. She had been quiet most of the day. He wondered what she had spoken about with his father. He cringed at the idea that his parents were once again meddling. He stepped back into the kitchen, his decision made.
"Molly, could you come in here and assist me please?" Sherlock called without affect.
Molly rose from her seat, dropping the book she was reading on the sofa absently. She padded through the doorway of the kitchen and paused.
"Is that an ear you are hold with the cooking tongs?" Molly asked curiously. Sherlock looked down at the tongs and the ear, removing the safety glasses.
"No good?" Sherlock asked curiously. Molly just smiled and giggled at her odd little lover. She walked over to the makeshift laboratory seemingly always present in the kitchen she was expected to eat and cook in. She would have to take the tongs to work and have them sterilized.
"You needed me for something?" Molly asked as she leaned on the kitchen table peering over the bottles, beakers, cylinders of all sizes filled with things even she could not tell what they were.
"I have been very quiet most of the day since were returned from our little outing today. Quite delightful I must say. However…..I wanted to ask….you…what you and my father spoke about today?" Sherlock stood looking at Molly. Her hair was in a loose braid over her right shoulder. He loved it when she worn it that way. He loved to unweave it right before they retired for bed. She would begin to unwrap the band holding it, and Sherlock could never resist running his hands through it. He would gladly brush it for her, but Molly seemed to enjoy his fingers in her hair as he knelt behind her. Tonight would be no different.
"We just talked. He said you looked very happy. That I made you happy." Molly answered honestly.
"And you spoke about children." Sherlock finished directly, his breath catching seeing the shock and confirmation in Molly's gaze.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. He brought it up, I told him…" Molly stated anxiously. Sherlock moving around the kitchen table, a serious look on his face. He paused before Molly, looking down at her.
"You told him what?" Sherlock whispered softly, his hands behind his back. Molly was nervous. She did not want to talk about this. She knew Sherlock was not happy about the discussion, but it was too early to talk about anything a serious as children.
"I told him the truth, that you loved your work and solving puzzles. You would not be satisfied…." Molly's voice trailed off.
"And what did my father say to that?" Sherlock asked tilting Molly' bowed head with his finger to look at him.
"That you might surprise me, someday." Molly said a bit breathlessly.
"Indeed." Sherlock stated plainly, kissing Molly chastely on the lips. "Now, what do you think of my little experiment?" Sherlock pulled the crusted and crispy ear between them, and right in front of Molly's face. She tried to hold in her laughter, but she could not. Both she and Sherlock began laughing in earnest.
Weeks, months fly by. Morarity is no more. Just the same dumb, simple criminals to track down. Sherlock was so bored, well not entirely bored. He found Molly was a delightful distraction to his everyday boredom. He had started to document their love play in earnest and was finding some intriguing anomalies in some of Molly's reactions to him. Molly enjoyed it more when he was dominant with her, but not rough. Sherlock too seemed to enjoy this type of love play, so of course he started to research it. As part of his documenting their love play, he was also documenting Molly's menstrual cycles. He could always tell when she was about to begin as she craved sweets and was more tired than any other time. However, he had also detected a pattern of increased arousal and stimulation on Molly's part about 12 to 16 days after her cycle had restarted. Ah, Sherlock thought, in must be when she is most fertile. Her hormone levels must spike then. He had tried to convince her to give him a blood sample to confirm his suspicions, but she had flatly refused. She was accommodating to his research, but she had to draw the line.
Fertility. Sherlock stroked his fingertips across his lips in silent contemplation. He knew Molly was on oral contraceptives, which may affect his research a bit. A child by Molly Hooper. Would she acquiesce without the benefit of marriage? He was not John. He loved Emma dearly. She was fascinating to him. She learned so quickly and her mind so clear and unfilled with useless knowledge. A child of his own was intriguing. Sherlock mused about what a child of himself and Molly would look like. Would it have hair dark as a raven's wing or the color of chestnut with threads of gold? Would it have straight or curly hair? Would its eyes be the color of the sea or soft brown? Would he desire a son or daughter? Was there a way to choose? All these thoughts flew through Sherlock's mind as he thought of the possibilities. He would ask Molly straight away for a child.
Sherlock strode through the morgue door, Molly elbows deep in an autopsy, a protective face shield over her face. Sherlock strode towards her from around the corner, smiling at her. Molly could see he was going to say something to her, but she started to shake her head seemingly hoping from stopping him from speaking as he rounded the corner, his eyes bright with mischief and seriousness all in one. It was too late.
"Molly! Wonderful you are here. Excellent! I have something to ask you," Sherlock clapped his gloved hands together and rubbed them briskly in seemingly anticipation, "..I've given this a lot of consideration….no don't shake your head until you hear me our…I think our relationship has progressed adequately to consider the conception of a child." Sherlock announced out loud as he rounded the corner, a group of 10 medical students standing there watching him and Molly in amused surprise. Molly wanted to crawl inside the dead man right then, but then her heart secretly sang with joy at what Sherlock had just asked her, in the presence of God and everyone.
