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Chapter Ten – A Solemn Vow

With this ring, I thee wed.

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The countdown had officially begun. Molly was in her last trimester and she was ready for it to all be over. Never had she been more uncomfortable in her entire life. She also had never felt so huge! She had always been called petite, but now she felt anything but! And to top it all off, Sherlock was completely on edge.

For the passed week he had hardly spoken a word; which for Sherlock wasn't all that surprising. The one worrying factor was that during her entire pregnancy, up until now, he had been fully supportive. Which is why the fact of him now shutting down almost completely was slightly worrying.

When Molly had approached John for suggestions of what to do he had told her that she should just talk to Sherlock. Draw him out; get him to tell her what was bothering him. Molly had an idea of what could be the source of this new worrying habit, (all right not exactly new), but a habit that hadn't reared its annoying head in quite sometime. The thing was, Molly wasn't so sure if she wanted to broach the subject. Fearing that if she did, the dam which she had so perfectly built may come crashing down. But it had finally come to the point; it was now or never.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, eyes closed and fingers steepled under his chin, as she approached him.

"You might as well open your eyes and look at me. I know you're not in your Mind Palace. You haven't gone in there in days."

His eyes snapped open, focusing directly on her face, "How can you possibly know that?"

She smirked, "You have a Mind Palace face."

He blinked, "A Mind Palace face?"

"Yeah. You make a certain expression when you're in your Mind Palace."

He grimaced slightly.

"Mmm … and that's your 'stop talking rubbish, molly!' face."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She threw her hands up, "I'm just kidding! But yes, the Mind Palace face is real." She stepped closer to him, "Can we talk?"

He looked up, studying her for a moment, "You're scared."

She nodded, glad that she didn't have to speak the words out loud. He reached out for her, helping her to ease down into his lap. She curled into him as best as she could. He laid his hand protectively over her belly. She balled her hands into fists, holding tightly onto his dressing gown.

"You are too, aren't you?"

Several beats passed before he replied.

"Yes. I am."

She rubbed her forehead against his chest, "Why?"

He breathed in deeply, slowly letting it out before answering, "Because I am worried that I will be a horrible father."

Molly raised her head, his eyes locking on hers.

"Why do you think that? You're a perfectly adequate husband! Perhaps not to an outsider, but to me you are. You're going to be a wonderful father."

He looked down for a moment, "You think that you are going to be a terrible mother because you grew up the majority of your life without one."

Molly nodded, "I am. I'm terrified that I won't know what to do. I've had so little womanly influence in my life. My dad didn't have any sisters, and his mother passed away when I was ten."

Sherlock tightened his hold on her, "You're going to be a wonderful mother Molly, just look at how you are with Amelia!"

She buried her face back into his chest, "I know. I kind of think that probably all women get like this as the time of the birth grows near." She lifted up her head and looked him squarely in the eye, "Are you ready for this Sherlock? Do you truly know what we are about to do?"

He didn't say anything, just blinked rapidly, so Molly continued.

"We are about to become parents. A tiny little life is about to enter into this world; a tiny little life that will be solely dependent on us, for everything. I believe in you Sherlock, I know that you can do this. Do you know that you can?"

She had brought her hand up to his face, her fingertips resting on the apple of his cheek. He moved his hand to cover her small one.

"Yes. I know that I can. I know that I can because you will be right here with me. We can do this, together. I can't promise that I won't frustrate you and I probably will be more of a nuisance than a help at times, but I will try. I want to try. She's my daughter as much as yours. We both took a part in creating her, so we should both take a part in raising her."

Molly closed her eyes and leaned into him, "I love you."

He gently pressed his mouth to hers, "Mmm … I love you too."

A few days later a large package arrived at 221B Baker Street. The outside of the box gave no indication of what the contents were inside.

"Who is it from?" Molly had asked.

Sherlock had eyed the box warily as two large, muscular men carried it up the stairs and deposited it in the living room. They had handed him an envelope before they departed.

"Mycroft." He spat out, handing the note to her. She took it from him and read it out loud.

"For the new Holmes addition."

Sherlock proceeded to open the box, revealing that it was a crib.

"Anthea must have put him up to it. He would not have sent it fully assembled if it had been up to him." Sherlock sneered.

Molly rolled her eyes, "Whether Anthea played a part in it or no, this is a very kind gesture of him. It's beautiful. I do admire your brother's taste."

She was rubbing her hand along the side of it. The wood was dark, covered in intricate carvings of cherubs and flowers. She had never quite seen anything like it. Sherlock was still standing still off to the side from it, eyeing it suspiciously. His eyes widened suddenly as a realization hit him.

"This isn't new."

Molly turned and looked at him, "What?"

"The crib. It isn't new. It's mine. The crib was mine."

She turned back to it, looking at it in a new light, "Really?"

"He must have gotten it from our mother. I had no idea she kept it."

"The note didn't say her name on it though. It was just from Mycroft. You're mother has given us so much already, perhaps Mycroft wanted it to just be from him?"

Sherlock had the same look on his face that he did when he was first forced to wear the abhorred deerstalker hat. Molly walked over and wrapped her arms around him.

"Just accept it Sherlock, your brother loves you. And I know that you love him. You both just have a very strange way of showing it!"

He humphed, but relaxed in her arms.

"Do you think they'll be enough space in our room for the crib? We can move it upstairs when she is a bit older, but for now it would be too much of a hassle to be constantly going up and down."

He rested his hand on her hip, "You do not need to be climbing any stairs after giving birth. There should be plenty of space. And if there isn't, well I'll make some. Don't think I can move this on my own though. I'll just call John and have him help me."

Molly shook her head, knowing that to get Sherlock to do anything on his own was nigh near impossible.

John came by a little while later, with Mary and Amelia. Mary was helping Molly organize the baby things that Mrs. Holmes, Lestrade, Mike Stamford and of course the Watson's and Mrs. Hudson had given them. For the most part everything was already organized. Sherlock had taken it upon himself to do so, storing everything in the order that they would be needed. But Mary and Molly wanted something to go and it gave Molly a little thrill to handle the things that her own daughter would soon be wearing and using.

"How have you been feeling?" Mary asked as she unfolded an already folded blanket.

"Quite all right. My lower back has been bothering me quite a bit, but Sherlock has become rather adept at giving me massages."

John and Sherlock returned from the bedroom, John was panting slightly.

"That blood crib is solid wood! Can't believe how heavy that thing was!" John huffed.

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and drawled out, "I told you if you just put your back into it you wouldn't have any trouble."

"Sherlock! Don't tell me you had John move the crib all on his own?" Molly glared at him.

He hesitated for a moment, "I helped. A bit."

Judging by the look on John's face this was not entirely true. He shoved his hands into his pockets, Sherlock carefully avoiding his gaze. After having tea, John and Mary rose to leave. As John was pulling on his coat he pulled out from his pocket a small black box and held it out to Sherlock.

"Here's what you asked me to pick up for you."

Sherlock grabbed it up quickly, casting a sly glance towards Molly, "Oh uhm, thank you." He tucked the box away.

John narrowed his eyes, not accustomed to receiving any form of thanks from him, "Riighht. See you both later. Don't hesitate to call me, Molly if you are feeling any abnormal discomfort."

As soon as John, Mary and Amelia had left the flat Sherlock had hurried off into the kitchen. Molly stood there for a few moments, pondering. She had caught sight of the exchange of the small black box. What was the man up to now? She followed him into the kitchen where he was looking for something; or at least trying to make it look like he was doing that. Her quick eyes caught onto a flash of silver.

"Sherlock."

He paused, his back to her, then continued to move about.

"Sherlock, what's that on your hand?"

He stopped again, holding up his left hand, "What? I don't see anything?"

She stepped closer to him, "You're other hand."

He had shoved it into the pocket of his dressing gown. She pulled his hand out, holding it up in front of her face.

"Are you … are you wearing a ring? A wedding ring?"

His eyes met hers, "Ye-es?"

"You bought a ring? You want to wear a ring? Why?"

He had turned so that he was fully facing her, her hand still holding onto his.

"Isn't that what married people are supposed to do? I'm simply following custom."

"Fibbing."

He swallowed, "I've received some rather flirtatious emails as of late. Normally I ignore and delete them but they got me thinking. Thinking that perhaps I should make it more public that I am a taken man. I don't exactly care what others think, but I thought that my wearing a ring would be best."

Molly quickly blinked back tears, "Just because you wear a wedding ring won't keep women from flirting with you!"

He let out an exasperated sigh, "I know. But it still seemed like the best thing to do."

"Thank you." She pressed her lips to his ring adorned finger.

"I don't want anyone to think that they can take me away from you. There is no one that could possibly ever appeal to me more than you."

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking and kiss me."