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Sherlock had calculated the exact time Molly would arrive at his flat. Accounting for the time she dropped Will off, her short shift at Bart's, the travel time going to the mall and the average duration of Mary and Molly hanging out, up to the heavy-ish traffic going back to Baker Street, he anticipated her return at around two thirty in the afternoon.
But the clock had ticked past 2:30, and still there was no Molly. Shame. He was looking forward to…no. Will was looking forward to seeing his mum again. That's it. Nothing else—oh bugger, Sherlock. Since when did he miss Molly? This had to be a symptom of missing someone. The term, although relative, and does not depict a much deeper meaning, was unfamiliar to him. Sure, he missed John sometimes because he was Sherlock's partner and best friend. He missed Mrs. Hudson too whenever she went away to her other simpler, quieter properties outside of London, but was because she made him tea every morning and made sure his flat was dust-free.
Mycroft—sure, although Sherlock would definitely go to his grave first before admitting it to himself.
But Molly, why was he suddenly missing Molly? He never thought much of it till that day, when he was in his living room keeping an eye on William playing with toy cars in the playpen, with his very being itching for just a glimpse of Molly Hooper.
She's your friend! Yes, indeed. But isn't Lestrade his friend, too?
She's the mother of your child! Yes, but when Sherlock thought about it, he'd been feeling this way since before he found out that William was his.
In fact, he missed her when she went to the Americas for the stupid convention, and hated himself for not asking Mike Stamford to send someone else.
He needed her here.
For Will's sake, and for science…and for other things entirely unclear.
"Da!" Will squealed. The little boy has figured out that if he screamed loud enough, he would get the toy, the food, or the changing he wanted. Sherlock sure wished Will was better equipped at expressing which one of his needs were needed to be taken care of.
He got up from his chair and went to Will, his chubby arms held up in the air.
Will's eyes were blue like his, but warm like Molly's. Warm, as in the feeling Sherlock got whenever he saw his son, or his son's mother.
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Molly needed a well-deserved rest and relaxation after everything that's happened recently in her life. First, finding out that Sherlock was her son's biological father and then the little thing with the assassin. So when Mary invited her to a weekend away from the boys and the kids to a lovely cottage in Sussex Downs, Molly couldn't wait to pack her bags.
But then as the weekend grew nearer, she felt unsure of leaving Will with Sherlock again…after all, bad things did have a way of happening to the Holmes bloodline.
"I don't know, Mary…"
"Oh he'll be fine, Molls. Besides, John will be staying at 221B for the weekend so he could look after William too." Mary insisted, holding up a yellow sun dress on Molly's chest. It had short sleeves, was made out of soft fabric and had dainty embroidered flowers at the hem. "I think this is the one."
"You're right. And I'm sure he's learned his lesson after what happened two months ago."
"Exactly." Her friend beamed. "Oh! It's on a discount, too. You have to get it."
Molly resigned and grabbed the dress. She was never the girly girl kind of person, but she was open to one more change in her life. "Yeah, sure. Why the hell not."—it would look good with her nude flats and oversized hat anyway.
"So the cottage is all ours for the weekend. There's a drive-in theater we can go to in the evening, and oh there's this lovely restaurant John and I found on the internet. Hope it's as good as they make it out to be." Mary couldn't keep her excitement to herself after almost two years of being a stay-at-home mom to Lizzie. Molly understood; being a mother was both the best and most tiring thing that could happen to anyone, ever.
Molly handed the elderly cashier her bills, "Sounds like we're going to have lots of fun, Mary."
"Hell yeah we are!"
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"Where is she?" Sherlock said to himself as he paced the length of his living room. Will was amused with it, though—clinging on tightly around his neck and giggling, as if his dad was a ride at the amusement park.
Mrs. Hudson perked up, "Where's who now, dear?"
He snapped out of his thoughts and focused on the woman before him. Sherlock told himself to be more careful of his inner ramblings around Mrs. Hudson. She was more inept than she made herself out to be.
"Nothing." He huffed out a long breath. "Bathroom break, watch him Mrs. Hudson."
He was gone before Mrs. Hudson could protest.
Purging Molly out of his system would be pointless now. Whether he liked it or not—though he was more on the 'liking it' side—she was family. He, Molly and William were a family now. So what could he do about this new found…crush? Teenage Sherlock would gag. He never had this feeling, and whenever he was on the verge of getting too involved, he could always rely on Mycroft to him straight.
He reached the door to the bathroom but heard the door to his flat open. Immediately he could tell it was Molly by the sound of her trusty loafers and by Will's heart-melting giggle that followed after.
Sherlock turned his steps around, and would have stepped into view if it weren't for the conversation he overheard from the other side of the wall.
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Molly hurried back to 221B after a long day of being separated from her baby boy. God, she just couldn't get enough of his adoring smile, curly hair and dazzling blue eyes—okay, okay…she wasn't just talking about the little Holmes. Molly realized that any efforts at getting over Sherlock would be moot, and so she would have to settle with them being just friends who have a son.
Ppsssh. Easy.
Sherlock texted her all day like she requested, from the least interesting details like Will's bowel to his napping schedule. He sent photographs too—except for the bowels of course, that would just be a bit too much—which got Molly through work and through the afternoon shopping with Mary.
The taxi couldn't get there sooner, unfortunately. What with London's traffic and everything. So she fished out her phone and scrolled through the messages Sherlock sent.
10:05 am: New hat courtesy of Lestrade. He sends his regards.
Molly couldn't help but smile at the adorable shot of Will propped up against the leather chair, wearing only his diapers and a miniature version of Sherlock Holmes' trademark hat.
12:03 pm He refuses to eat his greens.
12:20 pm We've made an agreement. He gets to play his musical toy only if he eats the greens.
12:40 pm Never mind, Mrs. Hudson made him soup. He likes it. It is also quite nutritious, I assure you.
Sherlock wasn't kidding when he said he'd keep her updated.
Not that she was complaining.
He kept his word and made drastic changes in his life for Will, like turning down cases lower than an eight and clearing out John's old room and turning it into a play room slash nursery for when Will sleeps over. Little by little, Sherlock built his life around the boy, and everyone who ever knew Sherlock knew that he gave his 101% to the people he cared about.
And this was his son—probably the only child he'll ever have, God knows—after all.
Each time Molly came to Baker Street, she was sure she found more and more baby-related things. First it was Will's crayon scribbles on his fridge. Then a rocking horse Will won't even get to use till he's at least two, but then there's Lizzie Watson to take care of that problem.
It was all so…domestic. Like a portrait of a family straight out of her cheesy romantic novels—except they weren't together, and they didn't live in the same house with picket fences and a nice lawn. Sherlock was a consulting detective—onf of his kind—and Molly cut up dead people for a living and Will would just have to get used to living in two places for the rest of his life.
No biggie!
Finally, Baker Street. Molly fished out bills from her wallet and paid the cabbie, and didn't stay for a longer time to wait for her change.
"Oh, look dear! Mummy's here." Mrs. Hudson beamed as Molly pushed through the door.
Molly opened her arms, "—come here you cute little thing!"
Mrs. Hudson looked on adoringly as Molly swayed on her feet. "Molly…" the old woman sniffled and tried to hold back her tears, but of course she was too emotional for anything of the sort.
"Mrs. Hudson, are you…" Molly asked worriedly. Was it her hip? Again? "…okay?"
Mrs. Hudson waved a hand and smiled sheepishly "I only wish to express how happy I am for you. Truly. All these years, I've come to know you as the beautiful, and wonderful person who deserved to be happy. It's about time you got what you deserved."
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson…" Molly couldn't help but be grateful for being mothered. Her own mum wasn't the warm, mothering kind to start with.
"But not quite everything yet, I think." The landlady picked up the empty kettle and headed for the door. Then she leaned forward and spoke in a hushed whisper, "—but don't worry. I'm sure Sherlock will come 'round and realize what you two should be. That is if you still...you know, like him that way."
Molly's face flushed red, not anticipating the turn of the conversation. Before she could formulate a response, she was alone with Will on the flat with no Sherlock in sight. Where was he, anyway?
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First of all, what did Mrs. Hudson mean? Molly didn't show any indication that she was seeing someone else, romantically or otherwise. These past few months had been Will-centric, and if did date someone, Sherlock would've been the first to know.
"Sherlock?" Molly called out.
He sighed and stepped into view. "Molly."
Molly almost jumped at the sight of him, and at the thought of him overhearing hers and Mrs. Hudson's conversation. "…oh hi, have you uhm…how long have you been…standing there?"
"I was in the bathroom." He lied. "You're early. Didn't Mary want to take you out for dinner?" He lied again. Sherlock had been waiting for Molly to return and she knew it. Damn it. Gladly, Molly decided to shrug it off.
Sherlock eyed the small paper bag she was holding. Clothing store for women. Must have been Mary's doing since all Molly bought from stores these days were clothes for William or toys for William or books for William. Molly Hooper was a full-throttle mom.
"It's a dress I could use for the weekend." Molly said, noticing his interest. Good work, Molly Hooper—Sherlock thought. "Speaking of the weekend, I was wondering if you could babysit. Mary arranged for a quick getaway to a paid-for cottage in Sussex and movie nights and stuff…but if you have other things to do, I won't do it. Just say the word."
Sherlock visibly slumped. A weekend without her? That would be dreadful. "Of course you can go, Molly. It's a weekend."
She smiled, "Okay then, it's set. Thank you, Sherlock."
They stood there, within short distance of one another, comfortable with the silence that they were in. They were thinking the same thing, about how this felt like the most natural thing in the world, but both of them had their doubts. Molly was thinking of how she could never mean more to Sherlock than a friend and Will's presence in their lives can't change that. And Sherlock was thinking how he could never be good enough for Molly Hooper, and that one way or another, he would end up hurting her like she did many times before.
"So, are Will's things all ready? I better…" Molly said, breaking the moment.
Sherlock blinked, taking a lot longer to gain his footing. "Oh, yes." He reached for the baby bag and hung it on Molly's shoulder. "All set."
Molly smiled one more time, "See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow, yes." Sherlock smiled half-heartedly. He ruffled Will's hair and kissed the top of his head; the distance allowing him to smell the floral cologne on Molly, and bade them goodbye.
Later that night as Sherlock laid on his bed, he received a text message from Molly. At first he thought Will had gone down with a fever and was about to change his clothes, but relaxed as he saw the message.
Never mind the weekend plans. Lizzie's sick, Mary can't go. :(
Sherlock smirked. But soon wiped the smile off his face after reading the part about his goddaughter. Poor Lizzie.
Sorry about that. –SH
Don't be. Was looking forward to a quiet weekend at home. :)
I have something better in mind.
Sherlock had no idea why he was suggesting it; he only knew that it was the right thing to do. For once, he was going to kick logic to the backroom and let his emotions decide.
Let's go to Sussex. -SH
What?
You. Me. William. It's a date, Molly Hooper. –SH
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Soooo, there's that! I hope you liked it. Please review? I'm a sucker for those and it keeps me going. Also, sometimes I think my view of Sherlock is getting a bit OOC, though I try very hard to write him the way Moffat and Gatiss does (duh of course I can't do that), so apologies for any OOC moments.