Thank you everyone for your kind words. I am glad everyone is enjoying the story. More fluffly goodness coming your way.

Sherlock, unshaven and unkept, wandered about the halls of Baker Street, searching. Upon Mrs. Hudson passing away she left Baker Street to Sherlock and John collectively. Sherlock refused to allow anyone to remove any of Mrs. Hudson's belongings from her 1st floor flat after her death. He even went to far as to find someone who would hum and whistle annoyingly, scrub pots and pans, and make tea a few times a week, although he would grudgingly admit the tea was nothing like Mrs. Hudson's. How he had come to rely on so many inept people? He would often wonder. But his children, they were magically.

Sherlock flopped onto the sofa, rubbing his hands over his rough stubble. God, he felt old. Sherlock looked at the coffee table strewn with papers, newspapers, what he knew not. His flat was a mess. Sherlock saw a glint of light poking out from under a newspaper, a reflection of what little sunlight was present in the room seem to shimmer and glow. Sherlock reached across the papers, tossing them indifferently aside, focused on discovering the source of the offending light. His hand absently grabbed the flat object and he brought it in front of his face. A small gasp escaped his tight lips as he remembered.

In his hands was a lovely family portrait taken 10 years ago. Sherlock still had much of his youth still present and Molly was as beautiful as ever. Sherlock glanced at her smiling, happy face, stroking the picture in reverence as he stared. Sherlock looked at his eldest son in the picture, Cyril, who was 15 in the picture, then Camille, 13, Cecelia, 10 and Cillian, 8. They were so beautiful, all of them. Sherlock smiled and leaned in to kiss the picture gently, laying the portrait against his heart, as he drifted back into his mind palace, remembering….always remembering.

Molly rolled over in her sleep to the opposite of the bed, flinging the down cover off her. It was the dead of winter and she was burning up. She had been having trouble sleeping of late as well. At least she didn't have to be to work anytime soon.

Molly weakly sat up, moving her legs over the side of the bed, her eyes still closed. She was so uncomfortable right now. Her hands went to her distended belly. I guess you had other ideas, Molly thought as she felt the strong movement within her womb. Normally he wasn't too bad, but in the last few days he had been restless, moving this way and that. Well, she was close to her due date and it was getting very difficult for her son to get comfortable it seemed. Molly brushed her hair out of her face lazily. One thing about pregnancy, your hair gets awesome, Molly thought. But not your feet, Molly winced as she stood and walked quietly to the bathroom.

Another pit stop to the bathroom. She felt like she lived in a bathroom nowadays. Sherlock was even amazed. He was so amazed he wanted to collect her urine to see just how much she was discharging.

"Absolutely not, Sherlock Holmes!" Molly answered as she dried a cup and put it back in the cupboard there at Baker Street. Sherlock looked hurt by her refusal to participate in his experiment.

"But Molly, you aren't drinking that much fluid and Charlotte can't possibly be producing that much waste, so…." Sherlock was absolutely certain it was a female Molly was carrying in her womb, so he had taken to calling her different girl names as a way to try them out. Recently it had been Charlotte. They had agreed not to confirm the baby's sex after Sherlock had made the announcement that they didn't need to confirm it, he already knew. Over the months he had measured, probed, articulated, and massaged Molly's belly to investigate and determine what the baby's sex was. Molly was tolerant, and she enjoyed Sherlock's eagerness for the child joining them.

"Sherlock don't you think you have examined me enough already?" Molly stated as he wrapped a measuring tape around her heavy belly.

"I have to capture all the relative data, Molly. You wouldn't want me to be wrong about it being a girl, would you?" Sherlock teased as he tapped the measurements into his spreadsheet.

"Ahh! You see, it's a girl. Definitely a girl." Sherlock smiled broadly, the tape measure hanging from his hand. Molly only smirked at him.

"It's a boy, Sherlock." Is all Molly said with the smirk on her face as she faced him for the 100th time.

"You don't know that." Sherlock stated with a bit more irritation that he intended.

"I think I would know. He's inside me!" Molly laughed as she saw Sherlock's unamused response.

"Her! It's a girl, Molly. I have the data." Sherlock pointing to the computer then huffed into the kitchen. "Oh what would you know?" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder, Molly smiling. Molly walked over to Sherlock, pressing herself up against Sherlock's back, wrapping her arms around him middle.

"I know I am having your son. And a mother always knows." Molly whispered teasingly. Sherlock turned in her embrace, looking down at her bright smile.

"Daughter. You are having my daughter." Sherlock saw Molly roll her eyes a bit, but relented. Sherlock kissed Molly sweetly, holding her close.

"It did all happen rather quickly, don't you think." Sherlock commented absently, remembering how he had asked her to have a child with him in the morgue in front over everyone. Their argument about his request. Her joy and her fear of what Sherlock was asking of her. The week after their argument, Molly carried her oral contraceptives into the kitchen. Sherlock was once again doing another experiment. He noticed what she was carrying her hand, the perplexed look at her face. Sherlock watched as Molly held up the packet in front of her with a smile, and summarily chucked them into the rubbish bin. Sherlock remembered rushing into her arms and kissing her fiercely.

"Yes, it did happen rather quickly." Molly smiled at Sherlock. "Oh! I've got to dash, Mike Stamford wants me to go over a few things with me before I am officially gone." Molly wrapped her scarf around her neck, started pulling on her gloves.

"And I think your parents want to come for a visit…" A loud groan was all Molly heard from Sherlock as she continued, "...I think they said they were going to stay with Mycroft since the baby could arrive….any day now." Molly smirked as she saw Sherlock's face lite up with delight at his brother's certain anguish over a parental visit or maybe the impending birth of his son, Molly wasn't quite sure which gave him greater joy.

Molly shuffled down the hall. She was hungry…again. Molly reached up to open the cupboard and a sharp pain radiated across her lower back and to her front. She had felt something similar a few days ago, but nowhere this intense. The feeling made her eyes water a bit and she had to brace herself against the counter, breathing through the wave of pain. This has to be labor pains, Molly thought. She was only a week from her due date, so she was right on schedule. The pain subsided and her body relaxed. Molly took a few deep breaths to calm herself.

"I guess I am going to meet you very soon, huh?" Molly whispered as he stroked her belly softly.

"Who will be meeting at this ungodly hour?" Sherlock asked from behind her, his hair wild and untamed, his dressing gown hanging loosely from his lean frame. Molly gasped in fright, spinning around to look at where the voice was coming from.

"Jesus, Sherlock! You scared me!" Molly shouted, her hand over her heart and belly. Sherlock moved pasted Molly to the cupboard behind her. Her late night trips to the kitchen had become a regular occurrence in the last trimester. Sherlock was sometime awake when she awoke, and would make her scrambled eggs and toast. Sherlock started to take out the fry pan to cook Molly her eggs and toast, when another contraction hit Molly. Sherlock only heard her sharp intake of breath, causing him to turn curiously. Molly was holding onto the kitchen table, a very pained expression on her face, she holding her breath.

Sherlock moved toward Molly, concerned and touching her hand.

"Breath, Molly. You have to breathe." Sherlock whispered softly, his hands disengaging the death grip Molly had on the table.

"It hurts to breath." Molly responded with a slight wobble of uncertainty in her voice.

"Watch me." Sherlock took a breath, and Molly watched and began to mimic his breathing. Soon she found the pain was gone and her body relaxed. Sherlock pulled her into his arms.

"When did they start?" Sherlock asked into Molly's hair.

"That was only the second one." Molly responded, shaking a bit, anxious.

"I knew something was wrong when I didn't hear the cupboard door open and shut." Sherlock responded felling Molly shake. Molly moved back a bit, smiling widely.

"Sherlock, we're going to have a baby." Molly stated in almost whimsically. Sherlock smiled that smile as if to say "Silly girl."

"Go rest in the lounge. I'll collect your hospital bag. Change and escort you to the hospital." Sherlock moved Molly calmly to the sofa, but under all that calm he was a nervous wreck. But he had to be calm and strong for Molly, and his child.

"Make sure you call…..everyone." Molly asked Sherlock as he walked away, he winked at her as he turned the corner to the kitchen.

Several hours later, Sherlock wasn't so sure having a baby was such a good idea. Molly was in such pain, which he understood was natural, but he was amazed at the length and breadth of the waves of pain wracking Molly petite frame. The nurses assured him Molly was progressing perfectly, however Sherlock was not sure about how much more he could stand to watch her in such pain. However, he stayed with her, he would not abandon her as she did this thing, for him, for them. Before long, it was time for Molly to push. The nurses had instructed Sherlock to sit behind Molly and support her. As she pushed in conjunction with each contraction, Sherlock held Molly's hands. Her grip was strong and he could feel her strength as she tensed her body to push forth their child.

Molly fell back against Sherlock, who was dressed in a hospital gown the hospital staff had given him. Sherlock smoothed Molly's hair from her sweat streaked face.

"You are doing magnificently, Molly." Sherlock stated a bit awkwardly. The nurses had told him to encourage and support, encourage and support.

"Oh, god. Sherlock…it hurts so much." Molly stated with a bit of fear.

"Well, the relative size of the average woman's…." Sherlock was cut off as another contraction gripping Molly, who groaned and pushed. The contraction seemed to last longer than the others

"The baby is crowning." The doctor announced. "Come on, Molly, give me one more good solid push and your baby will be delivered." The doctor explained encouragingly.

Sherlock kissed Molly's sweaty forehead, "You can do this. You can do this." Sherlock whispered, holding Molly against him. The contraction hit and Molly pushed, but she did not have to push very hard for the baby to be born. A wave of released pressure fanned out through Molly's tense body. It was a wonderful feeling, euphoric almost. Molly fell back against Sherlock, her body relaxed, then they heard it, the wail of a newborn. Molly looked to between her legs, Sherlock following her gaze. There it was. Sherlock had never been more terrified in his life, not during the Fall, not in Prague, not when facing down Magnusson. This tiny being was more terrifying than them all combined. Things happened quickly after than moment. And then suddenly….

"You have a beautiful baby boy." The nurse gently laid the pink, squirming baby into Molly's arms. Sherlock looked in amazement at the being before him. He was the sum total of Molly and himself. It was strange to gaze upon a being that was made up part of your genetic history. Suddenly the reality of what he had done hit Sherlock. What had he done? He thought. It was too late to turn back now. He never had any doubts before now, up until now it seemed like a game, a puzzle. Now a wholly new type had arrived for him to solve. His son.

"I told you it was a boy." Molly whispered cooing tenderly at the drowsy infant.

"Well, you are the mother. I would expect that you would be fully aware of the offspring you would be carrying." Sherlock responded as he watch his son fall asleep. Molly's mouth opened in mock outrage.

"All those times I tried to te…." Molly outrage was cut off by Sherlock's kiss.

"Shhhhh, Cyril is sleeping." Sherlock whispered, nodding towards the dozing infant.

"Hold him." Molly gave young Cyril Holmes into his father's caring arms. The nurses started to talk with Molly, checking her vitals, getting this re-arranged. Sherlock walked away holding his son, Molly watched him gazing down at the baby who had just arrived, biting her lip to keep from crying any more. Sherlock seemed lost in his own world as he stood with his son in his arms.

"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes? We….we need to…check his vital signs and make sure everything good with him." The young, kind nurse explained, hold her arms out for the baby.

"Why wouldn't everything be okay? He's fine. Everything's fine. He's perfect." Sherlock replied in irritation by the nurse implying there as anything wrong with Cyril.

"It's just protocol, Mr. Holmes. You are welcome to join me. Over here." The nurse seemed to understand Sherlock's hesitancy to relinquish his newborn son. Molly watched the entire exchange, smiling how the nurse easily handled Sherlock. Clearly he was not the first first-time father she had encountered.

Sherlock walked to the exam table. His brow furrowed at the obviously cool surface. He glanced at the nurse in annoyance. The nurse smiled and responded to his unasked question.

"The surface is heated. See. Feel it." The nurse put her hand on the surface. Sherlock reached over and found the surface pleasantly warm. He looked warily at the nurse again.

"I promise I'll take good care of him. But you can stay with him if you like."

Sherlock turned to Molly, who had been tidied up nicely and was almost asleep. Molly smiled and waved her hand, shooing him off. Sherlock smirked and placed his son on the examination table.

"Now I won't guarantee he won't cry. But who wouldn't cry being out here in the world, when he was just a bit ago warm in safe inside his mummy." The nurse spoke baby talk to Cyril, Sherlock cringed a bit. He would never speak that way to his son.

"What's his name?"

"Cyril. Cyril Matthew Holmes." Sherlock responded. They had agreed on a boy's name, but only under duress had Sherlock agreed to even discuss it. Sherlock laughed softly as he watched the nurse manipulate Cyril's legs, arms, check his heart rate.

"He's a good weight. 3.5 kilos. 50 centimeters. Very good. Excellent."

Cyril started to cry again, and the nurse let him a bit. It was unnerving for Sherlock to hear his son cry like that.

"Sorry. We have to let them cry a bit to get an idea of their lung function. Only way you really can tell. So I think he's 9, not bad." The nurse smiled.

"9 out of what?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"10, he's a 9 out of 10."

"Why isn't he a 10?" Sherlock asked conceitedly.

"No baby is never a 10, Mr. Holmes. A 9 is very, very, very good." The nurse explained reassuringly, but a bit nervously.

"Then why do you even have a 10 rating?"

"Mr. Holmes, it's just a way to categorize if there are any concerns."

"Does Cyril display any of these concerns?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

"Well, he did seem to be a bit unfocused." The nurse explained softly.

"He's a 10. He does not have any thing of real importance to be focused on. Maybe he's just bored." Sherlock explained very unswervingly and in rapid succession leaning in on the nurse.

"Ah, yes. Yes, perhaps I was mistaken. He's definitely a 10. Thank you. Thank you for correcting me, Mr. Holmes." The nurse began to scribble on Cyril's chart, Sherlock leaned back with a self-satisfied look on his face. Molly's son was a 10. He was perfect. Just like Molly.