Anonymous said: "you've been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated and we aren't even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh, "i'll go" i feel like we might as well be married" Baker St being remodeled (experiment gone wrong), Molly is taking care of J&M's baby for a week. Rated K
A/N: Slightly tweaked but the salient points are covered. Enjoy!
It wasn't his fault the ingredients were a bit older than advertised, but the noxious fumes that had driven both him and his landlady out of Baker Street for a week had left him stranded. John and Mary were off on a bit of a baby-break – a second sex holiday, Sherlock privately termed it – and Mycroft wasn't an option, so Molly's flat it was.
Only he'd forgotten one crucial fact: Molly was watching three-month-old Lizzie Watson, and had therefore taken up temporary residence at the Watson's. Once he retrieved that information from his mind palace, he had promptly headed over, ostensibly to offer his assistance (since he doubted Toby, Molly's mangy, bad-tempered, one-eyed marmalade cat would be of any use).
He arrived to find that his assistance was actually needed, as it appeared that Lizzie was colicky and Molly was adamant that they not interrupt John and Mary's holiday. "She'll be fine, Sherlock, there's nothing they could do that we – uh, I mean, I – can't do to help her," she insisted when he pulled out his mobile and stated his intent to summon the Watsons back to London.
"Lizzie is my god-daughter, Molly," he replied crisply. "Of course I'll help you take care of her. In fact, I insist." He then plucked the whimpering infant from Molly's arms and cradled her against his shoulder, rocking her back and forth. "I'll hold her so you can go take a shower and relax a bit, I can tell you've been up all night with her. Why you insist on doing this alone when you know very well how capable I am of helping you, I don't understand."
Molly gave him an odd look that he attributed to exhaustion, shook her head, mumbled something about him just not getting it, then shambled off to the bathroom to do as he'd instructed.
Two hours later, after a long, hot shower, a short nap curled up next to Toby (who had finally come out from hiding under the bed, where he'd stubbornly remained since their arrival the day before) and changing into clean clothes, Molly came downstairs to find Sherlock and Lizzie both dozing on the sofa. Lizzie was lying on her stomach with her head on her god-father's shoulder and her little bum in the air, with one of Sherlock's hand on her upper back and the his other arm curled protectively around her. Molly felt her heart swell with love; who knew the consulting detective would be so good with children? If only…
No, Molly, don't go there, she silently chastised herself. She'd long given up any hope of being more than a friend to Sherlock Holmes, and counted herself lucky to be as close to him as she was.
While he continued to sleep she put on the kettle and got the tea things ready, as well as Lizzie's bottle, knowing the little darling wouldn't sleep for much longer. Sure enough, as soon as Molly had opened a packet of digestive biscuits and placed them on the tray next to two mugs of tea, an unhappy cry started.
She hurried over and lifted Lizzie up while Sherlock was still blinking himself awake. "Thanks," Molly said with a smile as she tried to soothe the cranky infant in her arms. "Tea's on, I'll feed Lizzie and you get some fortification in you before you head back to Baker Street."
Sherlock shook his head as he sat up and swung his legs down to the floor. "Staying here," he said. "Flat's uninhabitable for the foreseeable future. And you could use some help, not just for now but until John and Mary get back. Barring cases, of course," he added as he dropped a kiss on the top of Lizzie's head – and shocked Molly by doing the same to her. "Are there biscuits? Never mind!"
Molly, a bit dizzy from the flurry of words (not to mention the unexpected kiss!), stood there for a minute, until Lizzie began fussing in earnest. She settled into a comfortable armchair with baby and bottle, trying to process everything that had just happened.
Sherlock brought the tea things into the sitting room, placing her mug on the end table before plopping himself back on the sofa. "Problem?" he asked when Molly just stared at him.
She shook herself. "No, no problem." She grinned. "Just taking it all in: Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Nanny!" She giggled, surprised when he joined in instead of taking offense.
"I am rather good with children," he mused between sips of tea and bites of biscuit. "Perhaps I've gone into the wrong field."
"You could have one of those television series, where the nanny comes in and sets the children and parents straight in a week!" Molly agreed.
"Mmm, it would be a challenge I suppose. If this detective thing doesn't pan out, perhaps I'll consider a career change!"
As Molly laughed, Lizzie finished her bottle and promptly spit a great deal of it back up when she was being burped. Which lead to Sherlock once again taking charge of her while Molly changed shirts and started a load of laundry.
That turned into their rhythm for the next week; Lizzie would fuss or spit up or, on one memorable occasion, poop all the way out of her diaper and up her back, and Sherlock would pitch in without comment or complaint. Even during the night, he would wave Molly back to bed (somehow he always ended up snuggled next to her, just like he had when using her flat as a bolt-hole) while mumbling, "I'll go." Then he'd shamble off to take care of Lizzie, while Molly drifted back to sleep and more often than not dreamed of a life where it was her own baby he was caring for. Hers and, of course, his.
But that was only in dreams. She refused to allow her nighttime musings to become daydreaming; that way led only to dangerous feelings she'd gone to a great deal of trouble to box up and hide away. She even fooled herself into believing she'd successfully converted her emotions from 'wistfully romantic' to 'steadfastly friendly' until John and Mary returned from their week in Scotland.
Sherlock gave them the run-down on Lizzie's colic, which thankfully had begun to ease, explained how he'd been staying there and why, and assured them that Molly had done the bulk of the hard work. "He's lying," Molly countered with a fond grin. "He's a natural, don't let him kid you. He was made for baby care." Then she shut herself up before she said anything about how she couldn't wait to see him as a father, got her things together, and made it out the door and to the waiting cab without further embarrassing herself.
However, her rush to distance herself from Sherlock and the confusing feelings he was causing was cut short as the man himself dashed into the cab before she'd fully closed the door. "221B Baker Street," he told the driver as Molly shifted over and lifted Toby's carrier onto her lap.
"Sherlock, I'm going home," she said, somewhat crossly. "I haven't been back in a week, so whatever experiment it is you need help with will just have to wait."
"No experiment," he told her, leaning one arm along the back of the seat so that his fingers brushed against her shoulder. "Not unless you consider the two of us living together an experiment."
She gaped at him; what had he just said? "Yes, Molly, I said living together," he answered her unspoken question with an exasperated huff. "Living together, eventually getting married, and at some point have a child of our own. Or possibly two, but probably no more than that. Else we'll have to move out of Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson would be devastated if we took her grand-tenants away from her…"
"Sherlock," Molly interrupted, now that she had her scrambled brain cells and frozen voice box back under control, "what are you…what do you…why…"
"I love you," he said matter-of-factly. "You love me, we're clearly both interested in parenthood and spending time with one another, and even Toby has learned to tolerate me in his life." They both glanced at the cat-carrier, where Toby was quietly growling to himself at being both confined and placed into a moving vehicle, two of his least favorite things. "So why waste time?"
"You-you love me?" was all Molly could say, knowing that her eyes were as wide as the proverbial saucers. Sherlock's fingers continued to rest on her shoulder – no, they were curled around her neck as he impatiently urged her closer to him, leaning down to kiss her. Oh, her first kiss with Sherlock and it was in the back of a cab with Toby hissing angrily inside his carrier and the driver ogling them in the rearview mirror.
In other words, it was as perfect as she'd always imagined it would be.
"You kissed me back," Sherlock murmured when the eventually broke apart. "Does that mean you'll move in with me?"
"Yes," she replied, knowing that it would be pointless to hem and haw and pretend to need to think it over. "Of course."
"Good." Sherlock smiled contentedly as he glanced down at his mobile. "Because Wiggins and the others have already moved your personal belongings over to my flat, and your landlord has been given notice that you'll be vacating the premises in two weeks' time."
The cab driver spent the remainder of the drive alternately chuckling at the outraged way Molly berated Sherlock for making those decisions without her input, and smiling fondly at the way the two of them so obviously loved one another. Clearly they'd work things out – and if the way they were snogging after the bloke apologized to her for being high-handed was anything to go by, they'd soon be well on their way to making the first of those sprogs they'd been talking about!