Rosie screamed when Molly told her the news. "I'm so happy for you, you have no idea. Oh my god I can't believe it, congratulations!" Her voice reached a pitch she didn't know it could. With her heart pumping, vision blurring, fingers squeezing the phone, and feet begging to jump, she could only imagine how Molly must be feeling.

"Thank you," Molly said. "I'm sad I have to quit my job, but at my age this stuff is riskier, so I need to take it easy and avoid chemicals. But Rosie, listen. I wondered if you would bake something for me."

Was she kidding? "Of course, anything!" Rosie said happily, ignoring the looks her waiting customers were giving her. "Name your dish."

"Oh you know me, I can never decide between carrot cake and brownies," Molly laughed.

"I'll make them both."

"You will?"

"Of course! This is huge. Your dream come true. When do you want it?"

"A little before Christmas," Molly said. "Maybe a few weeks before. Between the two of you, I'll have the perfect presents." Rosie could hear a suppressed happy sob in there.

"You got it. Can I go shopping with you sometime too?"

"It's a date."

Waiting until December was hard, and if Rosie had only had the money, she would have bought Molly everything on her registry. They and Molly's wife Stella shopped for everything: clothes, shoes, hats, a crib and sheets, a bassinet, blankets, a high chair, a play pen, car seats, toys, carriers, strollers, bottles, nappies, wipes, rocking chairs, a changing table, and anything else they could think of. Dad and Sherlock were drafted to help paint and set up the nursery. Once Stella showed up at Rosie's bakery just before closing time and apologetically begged her to sell her a fresh batch of snickerdoodle biscuits, as Molly's cravings were wild.

"She told me I'd better come back with snickerdoodle biscuits or not come back," Stella said. Thankfully Rosie still had some left. That wasn't the last time Stella showed up at odd hours either.

The only downside to all this was Sherlock's uneasiness around Molly. He had always made an effort to sort of be on his best behavior where she was concerned since that disastrous comment he'd made at a Christmas party decades ago. Now that she was hormonal, he was even more cautious. They rarely heard a deduction out of him and he minded his pleases and thank yous.

Eight months in, Molly was very pregnant and beginning to get moody. Her days were increasingly spent on bed rest with little to do and none of her sweaters fit anymore, which was a problem since it was November and freezing outside. The one she wore now constantly rode up her stomach. Stella was working a lot of hours at the Yard to save up money and time off, and since Rosie and Dad had to work most days too, that left Molly with only Sherlock for company at times. Now Rosie was working on the baby shower invitations just outside of the nursery, where Molly was rocking in her new chair and Sherlock was applying the second coat of pale pink paint. Rosie could feel the tension radiating from the two of them.

"Ow," Molly said, and when Rosie stuck her head in, she saw Molly rubbing her humongous bump. It was hard to believe she still had a whole month to go.

"You all right?" Sherlock turned from the wall, roller dripping into the paint container. Rosie thought not for the first time how odd it was to see him in an old T-shirt and sweat pants, but posh boy would never risk getting paint on his suits.

Molly winced. "Yes, it's just nonstop kicking. Right in the ribs. And my feet are swollen too."

Sherlock nodded and turned back to painting. "You're unusually quiet," Molly said.

"I'm…focusing," Sherlock said. "Want to make sure I do a good job." Well, that may have been half true. Rosie had no doubt he wanted to do a good job.

A few invitations later she heard Molly grunting and Sherlock saying, "No no, don't get up. Tell me what you need; I'll bring it to you."

"Just help me up. No, not my arm. My hands, Sherlock. Take my hands and pull me up." He must have done so, because then she groaned. "Oh god, it's so heavy when I stand up, and it's making me need the loo again. And I'm hungry too, but I know if I gain any more weight I might explode. God, some days I just want this to be over."

Rosie peeked inside again. Molly was standing up and pulling her sweater down again to no avail. She sighed and waddled to the other corner where Sherlock had just been. "Sherlock, what's this?"

"What's what?" he asked nervously and followed her finger. "Oh. Looks like I or John may have accidentally left a bubble."

"A bubble?" Molly asked, and to Rosie and Sherlock's shock her voice sounded thick with tears. "There's a bubble in the nursery wall? Why did you—" She covered her face and began to sob. Rosie started to stand up but paused when Sherlock began speaking in a rapid, panicky manner.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean for that to happen please don't cry. I'll redo it; it'll look like it was never there. Please. Molly, I'm sorry." He looked it.

Molly sniffed and surprised them both by pulling Sherlock to her, paint-stained shirt and all. "I know. It's not a big deal, I know it's not, I just…"

"Right," Sherlock said. He lightly patted her shoulders with the tips of his fingers, the bump between them making it difficult. "You've got a lot to carry." She hugged him tighter and his eyes got big. "And I see what you mean about the kicking."

Molly laughed a little and let him go. She wiped her eyes. "God, this is embarrassing. I don't know why I lost it over something so silly."

"Really, it's okay. You're not the first pregnant woman who has lost it with me." When he and Dad mentioned Rosie's mother at all, it was often to say how horrible she'd been, and one of their favorite grievances to list was how she'd acted when carrying. Before they'd even known about Rosie, her mother had snapped at Sherlock when he suggested her morning sickness might be something other than nerves. During her last few months when she and Dad were speaking again, she had demanded he sleep on the hardwood floor, insisting she needed the full bed but that he still had to be near her just in case. On a really hormonal day when Dad had been at the store (and taking his own sweet time with it according to her), she had thrown everything from dishes to hair products to furniture at Sherlock and then let Dad think Sherlock had broken it all. The stories always made Rosie thankful she couldn't remember her. Dad said every time that the only part of their relationship he didn't regret was having a daughter.

No wonder Sherlock was terrified around Molly; he had probably assumed all pregnant women acted like that. Now, however, he accompanied Molly out of the nursery and helped make her comfortable on the sofa with pillows propping her up and a heating pad for her back.

"When she's born, I'll expect you to pay me back for all the times I babysat Rosie," Molly said jokingly.

"Course," Sherlock replied. "And I'm sure John will give her free medical care and Watson will spoil her rotten with all the food she can eat."

"I can't wait," Molly sighed happily. Sherlock and Rosie returned to their respective tasks while Molly leaned back on the sofa with her hands on her tummy, murmuring about first times.

The next time Rosie was in Molly's house, it was jammed full of friends and family from both her and Stella's side. Sherlock and Dad were helping Rosie carry the cake she had starting preparing days ago, which she was quite pleased with.

Molly had just begun her ninth month and was the picture of maternal bliss, surrounded by presents with the lights from the Christmas tree falling softly on her face. By this point even her cheeks and chest were beginning to bulge, but she didn't look like she minded at all. The décor in the room ranged from Christmassy to pink and frilly for the shower. Rosie could tell by Sherlock's slight eye roll that he didn't think the two went well together at all, but at least he had learned better than to say so.

"You're here—oh my god!" Stella greeted them first; Molly rarely did much standing and walking these days. "It's huge. Oh Rosie, you shouldn't have."

"Yes, but she does it anyway," Dad said, and if Rosie hadn't been holding the cake she would have swat him.

"Well it's good; we have a lot of people to feed. Molly, look!"

Every head turned along with Molly's, and the amount of exclamations of "oh my goodness" and "wow, doesn't that look delicious" had Sherlock closing his eyes and muttering under his breath. Rosie giggled. Even for people he knew and loved, the man did not do parties.

"Can't we leave after we deliver the cake?" he had whined to Dad. "That's all we're really there for anyway."

"It's only a few hours, love. Then you can invent an excuse for the both of us." They could certainly do that, but Rosie planned to stay the whole time. She wanted to see every outfit unwrapped and give out as much cake as she could.

Speaking of which, Molly's attention was on them now. "Oh Rosie, it's beautiful! Just like my wedding cake was."

"This is the same woman who designed your wedding cake?" someone asked.

"Yup," Rosie said. "This one is carrot cake with brownies in the center."

"What's that on top?" Molly asked, leaning forward.

Much as she hated to make her move, Rosie wanted Molly to see it up close. "The result of a lot of sculpting and fondant." Taking her cue, Stella helped her wife rise and stand in front of the cake. Molly smiled and pointed appreciatively at the pink borders, but began to tear up when she saw the top of the third tier. It had a sculpted sleeping baby with a pink blanket as the centerpiece, with closed eyes and writing underneath it that said, "To the very best mother-to-be, and 2nd mother to me."