A/N: A continuing round of applause to my lovely beta Claudia, who is the most fab person to walk this planet. And possibly others. A huge "thank you" as well to all you lovelies reading and commenting! Keep 'em coming!
Sherlock stood on the side of the oddly quiet street for all of fifteen seconds before deciding it would take too long to wait for a cab. "We can just walk, come on!"
"Sherlock, it's at least an hour's walk. There's a tube station right down the street." Molly laughed lightly before setting her bag comfortably on her shoulder and starting down the steps, only to trip on the last one over her heels. She landed with a twist of her ankle and plopped on the step, wincing.
At the sound of her small cry of pain, Sherlock whipped around and returned to the steps, sinking down to his knees next to her. Molly had removed her black pumps and was grasping her ankle in pain.
"Is it broken?" asked Sherlock, his hands hovering over her ankle uncertainly.
"No, it's probably just a sprain," said Molly, her voice straining against her desire to swear loudly. "Sorry, this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't tried to wear these heels."
"No, it's…fine. They look good. I mean, on you." His eyes flitted up to Molly's face just as she looked up. They shared another awkward moment of eye contact before Sherlock took the shoe out of her hand and removed the other from her uninjured foot, sitting both on the stoop beside her. Crossing his arms in front of him, he took both her hands, her right in his left and vice versa.
"Sherlock, what are you-"
She was cut off by his quick movement. Twisting his body while remaining low to the ground, he pulled her arms up and around his neck. He then stood effortlessly, pulling Molly gracefully into place on his back. She made an undignified noise as Sherlock reached down to heft her legs up onto either side of his waist.
"What are you doing?" Molly finally finished asking, involuntarily clasping her hands together in front of Sherlock's neck.
"I thought we established that we were taking the tube?" said Sherlock, bending his head backwards but not quite able to see her.
"Yes, but I can just stay here," she said, getting somewhat embarrassed by the close contact.
"You need an x-ray of your ankle."
"It's just a sprain, I'll be fine."
"Molly, do you really wish to miss out on John Watson holding an infant and myself forced into feigned interest?" he said as he leaned down to pick up Molly's discarded shoes on the stoop.
"You are not feigning interest. You can't wait to see that little girl."
"Human children are absolutely useless until they can start taking care of themselves. Until then they are nothing but screaming, crying, defecating nightmares."
He turned around enough to make eye contact, Molly settling herself in for a long ride.
"…and you can't wait to meet her."
He smiled coyly. "Absolutely."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
John Watson held in his arms the perfect infant. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Stunningly beautiful.
"That girl is a mere two hours old and already has you wrapped around her finger," said Mary wistfully from the bed.
"Takes after her Mum. Only took her about two hours as well," he smiled and returned to sit on the edge of the bed with Mary, both of them continuing to look down upon the sleeping baby. After another ten minutes, there was a light knock on the door, followed by muffled giggling. John handed Abigail back to Mary in order to answer the door.
It took about thirty seconds for John to process what he was seeing. Sherlock Holmes (was that Sherlock? What the hell happened to his hair?) was carrying a rather flirtatiously dressed Molly Hooper piggy-back style, both with the most enormous grins on their faces.
"What the hell happened to you two?" John asked at a whisper, not wanting to wake his daughter.
"Molly sprained her ankle." John looked down to see a pair of crutches leaning up against the wall.
"Yes. That was obviously what I was referring to," John responded, unable to take his eyes off Sherlock's straight, highlighted hair.
"Just trust me when I say it was an interesting little mission Mycroft sent us on," said Molly, tapping Sherlock on the head so he would let her down. "We'll explain everything later. How's Abigail? And Mary?"
"Oh, right! They're both brilliant! Come in!" John ushered the two of them into the room, noticing the steadying arm Sherlock put around Molly's waist as she hobbled over to the bed.
"Molly, you look amazing!" said Mary, giving her a wink. Molly's hands flew to her mouth as she caught her first glimpse of the pink bundle in Mary's arms, tears already pooling in her eyes.
"Me! Look at you! Just had a baby and absolutely gorgeous!" Though Molly addressed Mary, her eyes did not stray from the bundle held in Mary's arms.
Behind her Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes, causing Mary to finally get a good look at him.
"And what do you call this look, Pauly-D?" Mary and Molly both giggled.
"Excuse me?" Sherlock folded his arms and wrinkled his brow, trying to look uninterested in the now squirming pile of pink in Mary's arms.
"Never mind. Molly, would you like to hold her?" John asked, approaching the bed again.
"Oh, yes please!" squealed Molly, accepting the infant like a pro and immediately beginning a gentle sway back and forth as she cooed softly to the little girl. Sherlock tried to ignore a faint fluttering sensation in his chest at the sight, as he turned back to John.
"Decided against 'Sherlock,' I see."
"It's not a girl's name," smiled John, not taking his eyes off Molly.
"Abigail Jane?" asked Sherlock, attempting to not sound eager himself.
"After my mum and grandmum," answered John, a blissfully stupid smile plastered over his face. The smile was strangely contagious as Sherlock felt the corners of even his mouth creeping up without warning.
Molly had her head down close to the baby girl's face. "Oh, I just love that baby scent! John, she looks just like you!"
"Human infants are genetically programmed to smell pleasant to reduce abandonment by their mothers. Their appearances tend to mimic the father for the first months of life to reduce the question of parentage." Sherlock spoke without really looking at anyone. When he did look away from the tiny girl's face it was to see the three adults in the room staring at him.
"Of course, you'll have to teach her the finer points of crime scene behavior-I'd love a new assistant once you're too old," Sherlock joked, relaxing his arms and switching his weight back and forth between legs restlessly.
"Oh, I'm sure she'll learn everything she needs to know about solving crimes from her godfather."
Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet John's, a look of sheer terror mixed with some sort of emotion he was unfamiliar with crossing his features.
"John, I- Are you certain you want…?" He stammered, unsure of how to proceed.
John rolled his eyes and grabbed Sherlock's upper arm, pulling him over to where Molly was holding the baby.
"You're my best friend. Of course I'm certain. Molly, do you mind?" John asked, holding out his arms to receive Abigail.
"Not at all!" Molly smiled hugely, seeing what was about to happen.
"All right, Abby. Time to meet your Uncle Sherlock. Don't worry, he's all talk and no bite."
Before Sherlock had any chance to protest, John placed the slightly wakened child into Sherlock's arms, guiding him to support her head and not letting go until she was comfortably tucked against his body. Throughout the process Sherlock had made several small squeaks and stammers, but stopped the moment she opened her eyes and looked up at him.
"Look at you, Sherlock, you're a natural," said Mary, smiling and giving Molly another wink.
Abigail, now fully awake, focused her blue eyes directly upon Sherlock's, who hadn't looked away yet. One tiny fist broke free from the blankets to reach up, and instinctively Sherlock brought his free arm up to offer his index finger for her to grip.
"Well, what do you think, Mr. Consulting Detective? Is she a genius?" John asked, sitting back down on the bed beside his wife, shooting her and Molly a joking look.
"She's perfect."
All three of the others glanced up in surprise at Sherlock's words. A tear finally worked its way down Molly's cheek and Mary took John's hand in hers.
"What?" Sherlock asked, looking up, suddenly confused. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, mate," replied John, "that was actually good."