All of that research long ago from another story paid off for this case and the last one. :) Also, many thanks to living-in-my-own-AU for the review! I'm glad you like this Sherlock, and I hope you like the rest of this story :D It's about half-way through at this point.

Enjoy!

It's this love that I most fear

"Sherlock, we need to talk—please." They were leaving today—John had caught a ride back to London with Lestrade after they'd solved their problem at Baskerville, and soon enough he and Molly would be checked out and on their way home as well. The case had interrupted John's packing, he claimed. He was moving out to live with a woman named Mary, someone Sherlock hated fiercely because she was taking John Watson away from him. Sherlock was just out of the shower and in just his pants, his trousers not quite part of his day yet, toweling his hair as Molly packed the single trunk they'd brought with them. She was nearly finished with the packing, leaving out a few shirts for him to choose from, sitting next to the selections on the bed and waiting for him. Sherlock walked over to Molly, reading instantly from the placement of her hands and the stress lines on her face that she was in need of a large show of physical affection from him.

Her tense shoulders showed that it was most definitely not sex, but something more reassuring—so Sherlock nudged her knees apart and stood between them. He took the warm, damp towel from his head and circled Molly's shoulders with it, pulling her forward in the same motion to rest against his abdomen. Sherlock calculated every touch to encourage her to speak her mind and to relax, getting what he wanted almost instantly—sometimes he wondered if he could play Molly better than he could play violin.

"Sherlock, I'm…I'm afraid," she said softly, almost too softly to be heard which had him dropping to his knees in front of her. He needed to look into her eyes, to see the striations flexing in her irises to understand why she was nearly inaudible with fright. He tried to keep his mind from racing—who had hurt her, what had they done? He also kept his lips sealed, he would not frighten Molly further with deducing anything—he always missed something, he reminded himself, and he did not want to miss something here. Sherlock stroked his hand along her cheek, thumb just catching on her nose, index and middle trailing directly down her cheekbone, ring and pinky curling inward to catch her jawline right as his thumb slipped from her nose to her lips. Tell me.

"Sherlock, I think that I'm pregnant—I know we never talked, never planned, and it's okay I can lea—"

He'd taken in what she'd said, completely and utterly still in shock up until she tried to tell him that it was "okay." Sherlock knew that his eyes were hard as malachite as he spoke, but he couldn't help it.

"You will not leave me, Molly Hooper," his voice was fierce as his hand turned from cupping her cheek to gripping her chin to make sure her eyes stayed on him. "If you feel the need to talk and plan, I believe we will still have several months to do that. But. you. will. not. leave me." He waited until Molly nodded before putting both hands at her hips, his thumbs at her abdomen, slanted a little downward to where his knowledge of human anatomy told him his semen and her egg had found one another, become one, and found a home for the next several months. He smirked as the thought came to him, a microparallel to himself and Molly—such a tiny creature had taken complete control of such a large cell, bending it to its will completely. Molly had been so independent, educated and strong, and all it took from Sherlock was mere words to control her within months of their introduction.

His thumbs swept a few arcs across her lower abdomen before he raised both hands to bring Molly's lips down to his own. He always missed something. He had missed the same thing Molly had missed—her menses had been on the same regular cycle for the last six years, but it was only because she had to expect them that she noticed. Sloppy, sloppy. They slept in the same bed, even, so it should have been acutely, painfully easy to figure out.

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