Chapter 10

The weeks following Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon were blissful ones. Molly had found it hard to leave their castle getaway, but knew that things could not continue on as perfectly as their marriage had begun. Sherlock was content as husband, and had proved so many times over during their stay, but as they returned to 221B Baker Street, things began to return to normal.

Normal being a strange word to use, Molly believed. Lestrade, Mycroft, John, and Sherlock had all helped to pack up what little Molly owned in her own little flat and moved it to 221B Baker Street. She had made sure that John didn't plan on moving out, and John reassured her that if they were happy having him in house, he'd be more than happy to stay. Molly believed that things would not be the same without John Watson at the flat and was happy to have the live in medical assistance if needed. She had been sad to say goodbye to her little flat, but she could think of no place she'd rather be than with her husband, her Sherlock Holmes.

She had been attending her aggressive chemotherapy appointments for over two weeks now. Frankly, as she had gone in for her first appointment she had been terrified. She had refused to allow Sherlock to accompany her, for what reason she could only think was that she did not want him to see her afraid, or weakened in any way. He had not fought her on the subject, perhaps not fully understanding the undertaking, and John had been gracious enough not to worry him with the details at Molly's request.

She remembered the first time she had sat in the office, going over pamphlets of what to expect, wondering what ravages the chemicals would take on her body. Would she waste away to nothing? Would she loss all of her hair? She had heard horror stories of chemo patients and she wondered if the pros outweighed the cons. Her doctor had reassured her that chemo was different for each person. It depended on their health as well as their body's ability to take on the chemicals as well as dealing with the cancer. She had prayed long and hard and had finally taken a deep breath and allowed herself to sit in the chair, bringing along one of her lab diagnostic manuals to keep on track with her work at the lab.

The IV had been inserted into her arm and the chemotherapy had begun. It hurt a little at first, but then it simply felt awkwardly cold going into her veins. She had been offered snacks and juice to keep her appetite at bay and keep her strong. By the time the day was done, as it took many hours in a sitting for a treatment, she had felt completely and utterly exhausted. She'd taken a cab home and Mrs. Hudson had met her at the door, knowing she would probably be fatigued, and had helped her up to bed. After a rest she had felt better, but a bit tired from then on out.

She had proceeded to continue the chemo three times a week. Each and every treatment left her exhausted. Sherlock and John would often come home in the evening after helping Lestrade or, reluctantly, Mycroft on cases and find her in Sherlock's chair, watching the telly or curled up with a book. Sherlock would loving plant a kiss on her cheek or her forehead, sometimes noting she felt quite warmer than she probably should and chalking it up to the chemo doing its job.

Molly especially enjoyed the evenings when they would gather around the table for dinner, as Sherlock took to preparing meals more often now, and was quite good at it. Then Sherlock would usually prepare a nice warm bubble bath for her and sit with her in the tub, allowing her to lean back on his naked chest as he soaped her up or washed her hair, rattling on about the days happenings and how clever this criminal had tried to be and failed, or how John had been valiant and drawn his gun on the perp as they attempted to escape. Just another day of catching the bad guys. These wonderful evenings usually ended with Sherlock and Molly making love in the bed they shared, Sherlock being gentle and loving, as though he were afraid Molly would break if he were anymore passionate. Molly could not help but admit that her life was perfect, if not short lived it seemed.

Sherlock did not quite understand the toll the chemo was beginning to have on his newlywed bride until the day he came home and found her on the couch, seemingly near death. He had been at the lab, gathering some work to bring home to Molly, as he knew she hated the fact that she was on a medical leave and unable to work within the lab. He had taken to doing this often, as it pleased her, and he loved to see her happy. John was away to visit his sister for the day and this left an entire afternoon of possibilities for them to explore, which excited him.

As he had entered 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson had met him in a fluster of worry coming down the stairs. "Oh gods! There you are! I tried your mobile but you didn't answer!" She was stricken with panic, and Sherlock's heart leapt into his throat immediately at the sight of her. He took her by the shoulders.

"What?! What's wrong?!" He shook her a bit, not meaning to but realizing that something must be terribly wrong if she was this worked up. Mrs. Hudson pointed up the stairs at the flat.

"It's Molly. She came home from chemo today completely washed out. She couldn't make it up the stairs. I tried to get her to hail a cab to the doctor, but she insisted she was fine. I helped her to the couch and tried to feed her a bit of lunch but she wouldn't take it!" She turned and started back up the stairs, Sherlock on her heels until they reached the flat. Inside, Molly lay on the couch, pale and limp.

"Molly!" Sherlock called out and rushed to her, on his knees beside the couch and taking hold of her hands and feeling of her forehead. She was burning up, and a sweat had broken out on her skin, although it didn't seem to be cooling her down. He turned to Mrs. Hudson. "Get the thermometer." and she scurried off to find it. "Molly, love, answer me." Sherlock tried to wake her. Her eyes flitted open and relief washed over him like a chilling wave.

"Sherlock..." Her voice was weak and mousey, and not anything like Molly, which frightened him. He took the thermometer from Mrs. Hudson as she brought it and took her temp. 102.3 F. "I took some Tylenol when I got home..." Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson once more.

"Yes, she did. That was about fifteen minutes ago though-" Mrs. Hudson answered. Sherlock thought that it was bound to kick in at anytime and decided a tepid bath was perhaps the best thing for her.

"Come on, love. We've got to get you to the bath." He pulled Molly up into a sitting position, giving her a moment to get her bearings, thankfully coming around a bit more. She looked up at him, her face a show of agony. She was in pain, and it ached inside Sherlock to see it painted across her pretty face as so. She made to stand and he beat her to it, sweeping her up off of the couch and carrying her into the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson followed. "Mrs. Hudson, phone John. Alert him to the situation and ask of any advice." She nodded and hurried off. He shut the door behind them as he sat her down on the toilet. He began to run the lukewarm water, knowing it wasn't going to be a very pleasant experience but once that was needed. A knock came at the door as Molly slid herself into the floor. Sherlock made to help her back up but she shook her head and laid down upon the cool tile.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and handed him the phone before backing out and shutting the door. "John?"

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John sounded panicked himself in a way. He could hear John's sister Harriet in the background questioning him.

"It's Molly. She's completely washed out. Temp of 102.3 F. She's not herself." Sherlock rambled.

"Did she have the chemo today?"

"I believe so yes."

"Why do you never go to those with her? She needs your support."

"I've offered but she's adamant that I don't attend. That's not the point, John I need your advice, what do I do?"

"Well, has she had any medicine?"

"Tylenol about twenty minutes ago now. I'm running her a tepid bath."

"Good, good. Any other symptoms?"

As if on cue, Molly sat up off of the tile floor and hurried to the toilet where she promptly began to retch and heave into it. Sherlock reached to pull her hair back and turn off the bath at the same time as he balanced the phone between shoulder and cheek.

"Well, she's throwing up now." Sherlock's heart was breaking at the sight of his love in such a state.

"Okay, don't panic. These are all normal symptoms of chemo. They were bound to hit sooner or later. Look in her medicine cabinet. She'll have some anti-emetics there to give. Phenergan I believe is what she has, but if there's any Zofran give that to her. The Phenergan is going to make her really sleepy when she takes it."

"Okay." He brushed back her hair over her ear as she finished her retching and she sat back against the wall. Sherlock pulled back his hand to see a few strands of her lovely hair had come out as he did so and he grimaced with a look of distaste. What is happening to my Molly?

"Put her in the tepid bath. Remember, it's going to be very uncomfortable for her until the temp breaks. If it doesn't break, rush her to the hospital before it gets worse. Otherwise, she should feel much better once the temp breaks." John stated. "Is there anything else going on with her?"

Sherlock turned to Molly. "Can you speak to John?" She nodded and reached for the phone. John was at once in her ear.

"Is there anything else going on, Molly?" John asked. He shushed his sister concerned in the background.

"Well, I've been bruising a little bit here and there more often than I used to. The doctor says that will happen though, so I'm not too worried about it. Also, I've missed my period this month, but he said that would happen as well."

Silence for a moment. "How long has the nausea and vomiting been going on?"

"That just started. I've not had to deal with that right away before." Molly put a hand to her mouth, a sudden flip inside her stomach. It subsided, much to her relief. Sherlock sat beside her and watched her intently.

"Okay, I'm on my way back. Sherlock's going to have to try and break your temp, love. He's going to give you your nausea pills and then stick you in that bathtub. We need to discuss some things when I arrive, if you're feeling up to it." John sighed on the other end and Molly wondered what had spurred it, or if it had simple been one of relief. She didn't know.

"Okay. Thank you so much, John." She smiled tiredly as she hung up the phone and placed it on the floor. She felt dizzy. For once the headache was gone, but the plethera of symptoms she had received in exchange made her long for the migraines back.

Sherlock took her flushed and feverish face in his hands and gazed into her tired but still mostly Molly eyes. "You ready, love?" She nodded, giving him her best smile, and he kissed her lovingly. He stood, rummaging through the cabinet for her pills, choosing the correct ones, and handing them to her to swallow with a glass of cool water. He then offered his hand and helped her to stand and also to keep her balance as she stepped into the lukewarm water. She cried out, as if a bucket of ice had been dumped on her. She began to hitch her breath as she forced herself to sit in the water. Despite the warmth of it, she felt submerged in the waters of Antarctica thanks to her fever. She sat and began to shiver and Sherlock became more anxious. She can't suffer, why do things have to be as they are?

Without another thought, Sherlock kicked off his shoes and socks and climbed into the tub behind her, not bothering to remove his suit. He took her up in his arms and dipped the water in hand over her, which caused her to cry out more, but she understood it needed to be done. After she had been properly doused, he took her in his arms and she leaned back against him, trying to calm her breath, to slow her thoughts and the shivering that ravaged her. She felt nauseated again. Oh please, don't let me throw up in the bathtub on my husband. I don't think I have the strength to get out to the toilet in time...She closed her eyes, feeling Sherlock's loving embrace as he spoke softly to her, telling her how strong she was, how she could beat this, how much he loved her. She took deep breaths, and calmed herself. Within moments, she felt a cold sweat erupt on her brow and the ache in her body subside.

"Thank gods..." She laughed. "I think it broke finally." She sighed. Sherlock ran his hand upon her brow, realizing it was considerably cooler and leaned back against the tile with a wash of relief as well. They lay in this way for half an hour, relaxing, taking in the calm and the quiet and the feel of each other in the water.

John had arrived an hour later, finding Molly sitting in the armchair with her book in hand and Sherlock sitting in John's usual seat, attempting to study a newspaper. John could see him peering over it occasionally, checking up on his love as she sat reading. She appeared to have a little color in her cheeks, and he grabbed the thermometer off of the table as he approached her. She obliged and allowed her temperature to be taken. 98.8 F. Much better. John smiled and congratulated her on the disappearance of her fever.

He pulled up a chair from the table and sat. "We need to have a discussion." Molly was all ears, Sherlock leaned forwards, elbows on thighs to listen. "Molly, you've had the chemo for what, two and a half weeks?" Molly nodded. "And you were informed off all of the side effects, correct?" Molly nodded again. "Did you ever take time to discuss this with Sherlock?" Molly looked at her husband and regrettably shook her head no. Sherlock did not seem upset.

"And you, did you not think to try and include yourself in your wife's treatment?" John berated the consulting detective. Molly hung her head. Sherlock looked appalled.

"I tried to accompany her, but she told me she wanted to do this on her own. If she needed me she'd tell me. I was respecting her space. Molly is severely independent in some things." Sherlock smirked at her, letting her know that he found this a respectable quality within her. Molly blushed a little redder in her cheeks. She loved the wide array of looks he gave her now that they were husband and wife and very much in love.

"Okay, well, I respect that, Molly. But he still needs to know what to expect if this is going to continue." John seemed saddened. "There will be exhaustion, fatigue. Loss of appetite, nausea and vomiting, hair loss, bleeding problems, bruising, memory problems, increased risk for infection. There's a lot to look out for." John explained to Sherlock. His face was a mask of indescribable confusion as he listened and Molly felt a pang of regret in her heart.

"I- I didn't know. She seemed to be handling it fairly well..." Sherlock commented as he looked over to her.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't want you to have to see me in such a way." Molly felt the tears coming but was doing her best to hold them back. "Now do you see why I didn't want you to attend with me?"

"I understand, but I'm your husband. I'm here to make you comfortable in any way I can." Sherlock seemed on the verge of tears himself and John had to look away from the pained look upon his face as he watched Molly fight her own urge to cry.

"Bad enough I have to go through with it, why drag someone through it with me..." Molly sobbed and began to cry. Sherlock was in front of her in an instant, pulling her close into his arms. She cried silently into his shoulder as he stroked her hair and held her tightly.

"I will be there for you always, Molly Holmes. In sickness and in health, remember our vows?" Sherlock whispered in her ear and her heart swelled at the utterance of those words.

"Gods, I love you." She whispered back and he kissed the side of her head in response. John stepped back into the conversation and cleared his throat. The two separated and looked towards their mediator as he stood, hands behind his back, still solemnly observing.

"One more thing, and I ask this purely from a professional point of view." John stated. The two looked on at him in silence. "Are you using protection?'

Molly blushed and amusingly so did Sherlock. John imagined he wasn't questioned often about his sex life. Molly shook her head. "No, we're both in good health in that department, we've never seen a need to. I was on the pill at the start, but once we were married..." John's face fell into a frown. Molly crinkled her brow. "Why is that such a bad thing?"

"You're to be warned to be on birth control while taking chemotherapy, Molly. If you were to becoming pregnant..." John wondered if he should finish the sentence and thought better of it. He pulled a test out from a sack he had placed on the table earlier and handed it to her. "I do find it strange that you were showing hardly any symptoms and now all of a sudden they've seemed to come on all at once. That and the fact that you've missed your period. Of course, that is a side effect but to be sure..." John shrugged.

Molly stood and nodded, heading into the bathroom to take the test. Oh gods...what if I am? The last thing we need is a baby being brought into the middle of everything. I've no idea how much longer I have, with or without the chemo and Sherlock left alone with a child to care for when I pass? That's cruel. Nonetheless, she took the test and laid it on the counter and left the bathroom to allow its time to pass.

The three stood in the living room with little to say. Sherlock put his arm about her shoulders and held her close once more. Molly wondered what was going through his head at the moment. John checked his watch many times, until Molly took a deep breath and entered the bathroom to check the results.

Sherlock watched John cautiously, wondering what would become of them. Is pregnancy such a bad thing? I've never dreamt of having children, but Molly would make such a wonderful mother...Why is John so upset? Sherlock's mind began to race, thinking of why pregnancy in Molly's condition would be so horrible of a thing to experience...

Molly exited the bathroom with reddened, tear stained eyes and she looked to John. "It's positive. I'm pregnant." John's eyes grew wide for a moment and then he released the breath he'd been holding. "There can't be a false positive with chemo can there?" She choked out.

"I don't believe so. We need to contact your doctor straight away. You cannot be on the chemo whilst you are pregnant." John took up his cell phone and dialed her doctor and went into the next room to speak with him. Molly broke down into a waterfall of tears. Sherlock came to her, wanting to pull her in close but she avoided his touch and started into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Molly collapsed onto the bed, hugging her pillow close. I'm pregnant. I'm a month married, almost three weeks into chemotherapy, and now I'm pregnant. Not only all of this, but I have brain cancer and I'm dying. Will this baby die with me if I don't live long enough to have it? I can't be so cruel to Sherlock...I can't do this. I can't. Her heart was shattered. She had been so happy, so content in her life as Sherlock's wife, and now she had been careless and gotten them into another painful predicament.

Molly awoke to the squeak of the door as it opened behind her. The bed dipped and she knew it was her husband that was crawling into the bed next to her. He did not touch her, although now that she though about it she wanted nothing more. She reached back behind her and pulled his arm about her and he scooted up close to her, enough to spoon with her and hold her tight. He spoke quietly and cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not." Molly stated, no longer crying as she felt she had no more tears left in her. "I'm pregnant. I cannot put you and a baby through this with me."

"You aren't putting anyone through anything." Sherlock stated matter of factly. "We should have been more careful. We've been so caught up in finding each other that we didn't think. But we are in fact married, Molly, and you'd be a wonderful mother." Molly's temper flared at Sherlock's lack of understanding. She turned to face him.

"Do you not see?" What if I die before the baby comes? What if the baby kills me or I injure it? What if the cancer progresses. I can't take the chemo now, you know." Molly tried to calm herself from berating him without due cause.

"I know. John explained to me the presidence of birth defects while on chemo. He's already informed the doctor and set up an appointment for your consultation." Sherlock informed her. Her mouth dropped in awe.

"Consultation for what?" She asked. Sherlock looked pained to tell her, as though she'd rejected him already.

"The surgery." He watched her eyes intently, begging her from within to not balk at this.

Molly was livid. "You signed me up for surgery without even...how could you?" Molly was taken aback and hurt. "I only agreed to chemo because your brother paid for our wedding and it was too much. I- I'm not ready for surgery. I don't want to die a vegetable." Molly wiped a stray tear away and Sherlock could not help his wounded expression.

"Molly..." Sherlock was panicked once more. He'd never considered it before, but knowing that his son or daughter was growing within his wife's belly made him overjoyed.

"No, I'm not talking about this anymore tonight." She turned over, frustrated. She felt him make to move away from her and give her her space, but she changed her mind and took hold of his hand, pulling him back around her. "Just let me think on it...overnight. Don't leave me."

"I won't leave you." Sherlock kissed the back of her neck and she relished the feeling of his warm lips upon her clammy skin.

"Don't hate me." Molly sobbed.

"I could never hate you. I just ask you to consider the possibilities." Sherlock answered and nuzzled into her hair. Molly calmed herself and hugged his arms close about her as she took to considering the possibilities of the child within her and the cancer that resided in within her like a parasite, threatening all of her wonderful opportunities once more.

Angsty. Sorry. It's an angsty night, and after this wonderful last few chapters of happiness, we need to be reminded that what Molly faces ahead is going to be a long hard road out of hell.