So sorry for how this chapter begins, the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone it forced me to write it like this! I swear it gets better though! It starts with angst, but ends with fluff!

Chapter Eleven – Till There Was You

There was love all around

But I never heard it singing

No, I never heard it at all

Till there was you!

- Till There was You, The Beatles

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This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. There shouldn't be so much blood. There shouldn't be so much pain.

Molly was crying out. Every nerve ending in her body was filled with agony. Sherlock was crouched down beside her, desperately trying to bring her some form of comfort. She had her hand locked on his in a vice-like grip. Her knuckles were white, his palm and fingers were growing numb. Her forehead was drenched with sweat, her face deathly pale.

"Molly, stay with me, listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on my voice Molly! Stay with me! Stay with me!"

He was begging her. Sherlock Holmes never begged. But he was begging now. He didn't know if she could hear him, but if she could he wanted to make sure that she knew that she wasn't alone. He was here, with her. She would not have to go through this alone.

The ambulance arrived. The journey to the hospital was a blur. Molly still hadn't let go of Sherlock's hand. She still hadn't stopped crying out. Her throat had to be screamed raw by now. There was still so much blood.

The nurses had to pry her fingers from his hand, even though Sherlock didn't want them to. John had to step in and be the voice of reason. Sherlock had to let Molly go, he had to let them take her away for the emergency c-section. Sherlock could barely see straight. His usual logical, puzzle-solving brain was no longer functioning properly. John wrapped his arms around him, leading him away as Molly was rushed through a pair of double doors.

For an hour and a half straight Sherlock sat huddled in a chair in the waiting room, repeating only one word over and over again.

"Molly."

He was oblivious to all that was going on around him. He never noticed when Mycroft arrived with their parents, or Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade. John tried to get him to drink a cup of coffee, but he only continued to stare blindly ahead. Mary put her hand on her husband's arm.

"Just let him be."

Another half hour passed before the doctor came to the waiting room to tell them that the surgery had been a success; that both mother and child were doing well. And that the father could go and see them now. Sherlock made no response.

John knelt down in front of him, taking his face in his hands, "Sherlock! Look at me! Molly is all right! She and the baby, your daughter, are all right! You can go and see them now."

Sherlock's eyes came back into focus as he took in a great, deep breath. John stayed kneeling; wanting to make sure that his best friend had fully understood what he had told him.

"Molly. She's ok?"

"Yes Sherlock, Molly is ok.

He took in another deep breath, "I can go and see her now?"

"Yes."

John let go of him and stood as Sherlock slowly rose from the chair. A nurse stepped forward.

"I'll take you to her."

He followed her down the hall, the noises slowly dying sway. The nurse opened the door to one of the rooms and beckoned him in.

"She may be resting," The nurse spoke softly, "I'll bring your daughter in a few minutes." She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Sherlock stood still. He had seen thousands of crime scenes, many of them murders. Hundreds of corpses, blood splatters, bullet and knife wounds. But nothing had ever brought him to a complete stand still like the sight of his wife lying in a hospital bed did. She looked so small, so fragile. Her eyes were closed, but he could see that she was breathing. The beep of the heart monitor was another sign of assurance. When she started to stir, he at last moved forward.

"Shheerrrrlloooccccckk." Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. She peered at him through heavy eyelids.

Upon reaching the bed he collapsed to his knees, taking her small hand in his and bowing his forehead to the mattress of the hospital bed. He was crying. Sherlock Holmes never cried. But he was crying now.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He babbled this into the sheets. She moved her one free hand and laid it down on the back of his head.

"What are you sorry for?"

He raised his head slightly so that their eyes could meet.

"I don't know."

Molly ran her hand over his face. She had never seen him look like this. So undone, so nearly broken.

"Sherlock, neither one of us did anything wrong. It's not your fault, and it isn't mine. Sometimes these things just happen."

He let out a ragged sigh, "I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you. Now I know why you never came to visit me after I got shot. I'm so sorry for what I've put you through."

He stood up then, placing a desperate yet gentle kiss upon her lips. She clasped onto the back of his head as tightly as she could, her own tears mingling with his.

"Where is our daughter?"

He smoothed her hair back from her face before answering, "The nurse is bringing her."

"She was born without a heartbeat."

Sherlock's eyes widened, "What?"

"Her heart had stopped. The stress upon my body, and hers was too much. But they got it to start again. She's ok now. She's fine. Perfectly healthy."

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead into hers.

"We are all ok now." She spoke to him soothingly.

They stayed like this for several minutes, basking in the quiet and the nearness of each other, taking in all that had happened. Sherlock was filing it in his Mind Place, locking it away, slamming the door shut. That was a room he need not visit often."

The nurse returned with a little bundle. Sherlock watched in complete and utter awe as the nurse laid the baby into his awaiting arms. This was his child. He and Molly had created this beautiful little girl.

Molly's eyes filled with tears once more as she watched father and daughter. He was swaying ever so gently. She knew for certain that he was just as in love with their daughter as she was. He walked over to the bed, carefully sitting down beside her.

"She's incredible Molly. Our little girl. Our beautiful little girl."

Molly leaned her head against his arm, "She is, isn't she? Our little Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth." He stroked her cheek with his fingertip, "Hello Elizabeth."

A week later both Molly and Elizabeth were released from the hospital. Mycroft had sent one of his cars. There would be no cabs for the Holmes offspring's first ride home.

Sherlock had Molly wait in the car while he carried up Elizabeth who was sleeping. Leaving her with Mrs. Hudson's watchful eye, Sherlock returned to the car and helped Molly slowly up the stairs. She had regained most of her strength, but her stitches were still extremely sensitive. Any excess of movement was rather unpleasant.

He gently removed her coat and scarf then helped her ease down onto the sofa. She let out a satisfied sigh, glad to be home. After taking off his own coat and scarf he took Elizabeth from Mrs. Hudson. After a whispered thanks to her she made her way back downstairs, promising to bring them tea in a short while.
Sherlock settled himself down beside Molly. She let out another satisfied sigh leaning in to him, her eyes gazing lovingly at their daughter.

"Welcome home Elizabeth."

It was quite an adjustment for the pair of them. But an adjustment that they welcomed with open arms. For the first few weeks Sherlock had Molly rest as much as possible. She wanted to argue but knew that it was futile. For hours on end though, they would lie together on the bed, one of them holding their daughter.

Elizabeth wasn't a fussy baby, more often than not she was perfectly content to lie in her mother or father's arms. She would stare wide-eyed, drinking in her surroundings. She loved the sound of Sherlock's voice. He often found himself reciting chemical analogies to her. When Molly held her, as she nursed, she would sing her lullabies; the ones her own mother used to sing. Elizabeth would always drift off to sleep when Molly did this.

Sherlock had just laid Elizabeth down in her crib. As he returned to bed he curled himself up against Molly, careful not to touch her tender stomach. They kissed quietly for a time. His body ached for hers but he knew that it would be quite awhile before they could make love again. For now they would have to be satisfied with passionate kisses.

He had his face buried in her neck, his arms draped across her torso when Molly broke the silence.

"I didn't know it would feel like this."

"Hmmm?"

Sherlock shifted upwards so that his head was resting on the pillow beside hers.

"I didn't know that it would feel like this. I didn't know that I could feel so much love for such a tiny, sweet little person."

Sherlock smiled, nuzzling her face with his nose, "I didn't either. John had somewhat hinted at it, but I didn't think much of it. The fact though, that I almost lost her, and you, makes me love you both all the more."

Molly turned her head, kissing him fully on the mouth, I love you too, Sherlock Holmes."

He hummed as he kissed her back, "Oh! I have something for you!" He quickly, yet quietly, got off the bed then proceeded to rummage through his wardrobe. "Aha!" He returned to the bed holding what looked like a large book. He set it off to the side before helping her move up into a seated position. He then held it out to her, "Happy anniversary."

She looked at him with wide eyes, "Is it really? Already?"

He nodded his head from side to side, "Give or take a few weeks, but yes."

She took the offered book, which was in fact a large leather-bound journal. In the very center of the cover was carved the initials E M H.

"And you told me you would be rubbish at remembering these things." He leaned forward and kissed her, "It seems that when it comes to you, nothing gets deleted."

She kissed him back, "I didn't get you anything."

He pressed a very gentle kiss to her lips, "Our daughter is gift enough."

Molly would have kissed him again but he urged her to open the book. Leaning back into the pillows she opened it up to the first page.

"To the best of my ability, a complete and full study of the growth and birth of Elizabeth Marie Holmes, by her father William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Molly read out loud.

She turned the page then proceeded to read. He had written down everything from the moment he had deduced her pregnancy. He noted the pattern of her weight gain, her morning sickness, her cravings, every little thing.

"Sherlock … this is … this is beautiful." She turned and looked at him, her eyes overflowing with tears, "I love it, thank you." She kissed him, wishing that she could show him with her entire body how much she appreciated this gift.

He cradled the side of her face in his hand, "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it."

She went back to reading, flipping through the pages here and there. She would read it in full, most definitely, but not now she was more curious to see how in depth he had gone.

"Oh. You really did write about everything didn't you? Even down to my mood swings. Ohhh … I forgot I said that to you. That was rather harsh." She grimaced slightly.

"I guess we both are capable of saying horrible things."

"Mmmm … oh my! You even wrote about how our having sex changed? Gracious Sherlock! You should write romance novels on the side."

The look on his face was that of pure disgust, "I simply wrote what took place, no embellishment."

She kissed him, "With you no embellishment is required." She could have sworn his cheeks turned faintly pink, "Perhaps though you could make an edited version to give to our daughter when she is a bit older? She doesn't exactly need to know that we had sex, while I was pregnant with her, on nearly every surface in the flat."

He hummed in agreement before settling down into the pillow, "Perhaps not."

Molly went back to reading, the minutes passing by in silence. Sherlock was running his fingers up and down her arm, his eyes closed. Molly was certain she had never seen him so relaxed.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"When did you do all of this? It must have taken you ages, with you hand-writing it and all! I never once saw you with this journal."

"No. You wouldn't have because I always wrote in it while you were asleep."

She stopped reading and stared ahead, "But I always wake up when you leave the bed. I would have known if you weren't here." She looked at him and his eyes shifted away from hers.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! Did you drug me?" She hissed.

His gaze returned to hers, "I'm a graduate chemist, remember? You were perfectly safe, as was the baby. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"Twat!" She muttered underneath her breath.

He smiled and curled himself into her, "There's empty space in the journal, for me to continue to record her growth and progress." He started to press kisses onto Molly's shoulder, "I'm looking forward to watching her grow."

Molly closed the journal and placed it on the nightstand before slowly laying herself down on her back. He laid his arm across her again as she turned her head to face him.

"I'm looking forward to that as well. She's already changed so much since we brought her home from hospital. It's going to be quite an adventure."

Sherlock moved forward, pressing his lips to hers, "It's going to be an exciting adventure. An adventure that we will take together."

Molly closed her eyes, leaning in to him, "Yes. Together."

THE END

*sniffles* Ahhh me, we have reached the end! :( I really enjoyed writing this and greatly apprecciate everyone's kind comments! :)

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