Molly lay in the hospital bed curled up on her left side, as it was better for the baby. She was hooked up to various monitors and an IV, which she hated. Nothing was more uncomfortable than a piece of plastic within a vein in your hand. One hand curled about her belly, rubbing it lovingly, the other under her pillow where she rested her head. She waited, listening to the sounds of the bustling hospital outside her closed door, as well as the city sounds of London outside her window. The sun had given way to hide behind the clouds that were threatening rain. Let it come. It's exactly how I feel.

John entered quietly, sitting in the chair across from Molly's view and leaning forward. "Are you doing okay?" He asked, concerned. She didn't respond, only stared ahead through the window, watching the dark grey of the roiling clouds as the storm approached. He took the silence to mean no. "I've spoken to the doctor. He's on his way down from radiology to share your report with you."

"Where's Sherlock?" Molly asked quietly. She hadn't seen him since she'd fallen asleep earlier on that morning. It had been a long night of bloodwork and scans and tests. She imagined he had gone out for air, but it had been what seemed like hours since he'd disappeared.

"Downstairs. Lestrade came by." John answered. He leaned back in the chair, hands clasped together in his lap. "He really ought to be up here with you, but Lestrade is trying to distract him before he worries himself to death."

Molly stared on out the window. She longed to be back in 221B Baker Street, laying in their bed, watching her telly, visiting with Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson had swung by but it was only for a brief period, as the poor woman couldn't stand to see Molly in her condition and often ended up in tears, which only reminded Molly of her condition. John seemed to be the only friend she had in the world at the moment that didn't give her a poor pitiful Molly expression everytime they talked to her. She respected that. At least he was giving her her dignity. Sherlock tried, but often was found with a solemn expression upon his face, especially since their latest predicament.

The doctor entered, coming round to Molly's side of the bed. She met his eyes as he came to lean up against the window and flip through her file. "Well, Molly, I've gotten the report of the CT scan back. It turns out you've got a rogue lesion growing."

"I thought you'd said you were able to remove them all." Molly piped up.

"I was able to remove all that were present. Considering that you had to stop the chemotherapy due to your pregnancy along with the reduction in your medication, there was always a small chance that another lesion or two would be able to appear. We didn't expect one to pop up so quickly though." The doctor gave it to her straight, and she respected him for that too.

"So, what exactly does this mean?" Molly asked with a sigh as she continued to rub her belly to remind herself that there was a little life inside of there that was still fighting for a chance to meet its parents.

"It means a gradual increase in your medications to slow the growth until you're able to deliver. If the lesion grows too rapidly we would be forced to take the baby sooner than expected. I know you want to deliver naturally, but in the case when it comes to your life and the baby's we would have to discern what would be best for you both." The doctor flipped another few pages. Molly nodded her understanding. "We are going to do our best to prevent having to do that. I'm confident if we push your medication levels to just under risk level we would be able to slow the lesion until immediately after birth, then start you on an especially strong dose of chemotherapy to shrink the lesion back down."

"Okay." Molly nodded. Her heart was breaking. It was going to come down to a race against time. Another four months of outrunning a brain lesion to make it to birth. Then a strong dose of chemo to attack it after the baby was safe. Hell, the chemo alone might kill me. John watched her carefully, noting her reactions to the doctor's words. He wished that Sherlock would hurry his ass up and get back to the room where he was needed. Whether he was finding it hard to deal emotionally or not, he needed to support Molly as he had promised to do. Lestrade was a distraction, and that was all and well, but now the news was being delivered and things were going to be a teeter totter from here on out.

"Do you have any questions?" The doctor asked. Molly shook her head no. The doctor made to leave after explaining what medications he would increase and when she would expect to start. "You will be able to leave in the morning if the medications do not affect you in any adverse way. Oh, and I have the results of your ultrasound." This peaked Molly and John's interest. "Would you like to know the sex of your baby?"

Sherlock wandered up to Molly's hospital room with a heavy heart. He had not expected the after effects of a shock such as they received to be effecting him so. He noted Molly on her side facing away from him and snuck in, thinking she was asleep. "I was wondering where you'd gone." She spoke firmly but softly, sadly. Sherlock closed his eyes but continued into the room.

"Lestrade asked me to accompany him to a crime scene for input." Sherlock answered as he neared the bed. He stopped as he reached it. "I apologize for being gone so long. I got caught up in the case."

"It's okay." Molly said. Sherlock's mouth was cotton, his stomach tied into knots. John had relayed the doctor's words to him after leaving Molly to doze after an hour or so. Sherlock didn't know what to say. He had thought that the surgery would be a quick fix but he should have thought that more lesions would be able to grow. This genius brain and even I didn't see the possibility of that? I was blinded by the joy of having my wife and my baby in good health, not the future of her possible demise and an early delivery.

"Have I angered you?" He asked as he removed his coat and scarf and laid them in the chair. John had gone home to check on Mrs. Hudson and have a rest. They'd both been spending a lot of time at the hospital lately and it was nice to have a rest in your own bed once and a while so that Molly wasn't left alone. He climbed in slowly behind Molly in the bed, running his warm arms about her and resting them on her pregnant belly. Molly closed her eyes, loving the feeling of loving arms about her, especially since they were her Sherlock's.

"No. John was here for me." Molly took a deep breath, her excitement once more rising inside of her. "I do have a surprise for you though." Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the mention. "Reach under your pillow and have a look."

Sherlock did as instructed, pulling out a pink onesie with the words 'Daddy's Girl" embroidered on it. Mrs. Hudson had taken the liberty of doing one in pink and one in blue, decidedly not knowing which it would turn out. Sherlock simply stared at the onesie, not knowing what to say, his mind racing. We're having a girl! He feared his heart would leap out of his chest as his own excitement grew. "So we've decided a name then as well?" Sherlock had hoped for a girl, he couldn't name the reason why, but it looked as though he'd gotten his wish. Molly had allowed him to decide on the name if he was correct about the sex. Molly nodded. He smiled as he said it out loud, as if merely saying it made it all the more real: "Abigail."

Molly felt a tear slide down her cheek. They were having a little girl, which pleased her as she didn't really mind which sex the baby was, just as long as they were healthy and she was able to meet her little one before something happened to her. She had imagined Sherlock holding their child, cradling it in his arms as though it were the most valuable thing in the world and deserved to be touched and kissed and loved. "You know about the lesion."

Sherlock's smile faltered at the mention. "Yes. But you are a strong woman, Molly. You can beat this. You've got to give it a go, and not give up."

"I won't give up, Sherlock. The baby needs me to be strong in body and mind so that I can deliver her to us safely and healthy." Molly was getting a bit choked up. "But you have to face the fact that after she's here I may not be long after."

Sherlock didn't want to hear this. He couldn't imagine a world with Abigail and no Molly. Who would teach her the womanly things she'd need to know? He was almost certain that John would help to raise the baby, but that should be Molly's job not a makeshift uncle's..."I won't think about it until it's a reality."

Molly was agitated. Abigail responded with a stiff kick that Sherlock and Molly both felt. "You will plan for it now. It may not happen, but I will not leave Abigail in the hands of someone so overcome with grief that he can't look after her."

Sherlock sat up, also becoming frustrated and a little bit wounded. "What? Are you saying that I wouldn't be able to care for her if you were dead?" Molly winced at the words.

"What I'm saying, Sherlock, is you have to be somewhat prepared-"

"I would be able to care for a child by myself. I'm not incompetent." Sherlock rolled out of the bed and made to reapply his scarf and jacket. Molly rolled onto her back to view him. "I'm going back to the flat. I need some air. I'll send John." And with that he was gone.

Molly turned back over on her side, curling into a fetal position and letting loose the tears. She hadn't meant to upset him, but she agreed she could have come at him a little more delicately about it. Now she was all alone without John, Mrs. Hudson, or her husband to keep her company. All alone with her Abigail, whom she sang to, a little lullaby that her mother had once sang to her many years before, to calm herself and her kicking little girl.

John flew up out of the armchair from a deep sleep as the door to 221B Baker Street flew open and slammed shut. He heard the heavy footfalls of Sherlock ascending the stairs and looked at his watch, noting the time to be almost eleven o'clock at night. Sherlock came through the doorway and angrily removed his scarf and coat to hang it upon the door. "What are you doing here? Thought we were taking shifts."

"I had to leave before I became too angry. She doesn't need that now." Sherlock scoffed and wandered into the kitchen, banging about to preparing himself a drink. He felt he deserved one. John watched him confused.

"Angry at what?" John questioned.

"She doesn't think I can care for the baby if she's gone." Sherlock stated and slammed the glass onto the counter, nearly cracking it with the force.

"She said those words?" John asked, not believing that Molly would say anything as callous as that.

"Not exactly, but you get the meaning." Sherlock leaned on the counter, considering pouring himself a taller glass of the bourbon that sat before him in the bottle, mocking him.

"Exact words then, Sherlock." John was becoming a little frustrated himself. He wondered of Molly, who lay all alone in her hospital room with no one to keep her company, possibly frightening, and worried for her little one.

"I will not leave Abigail in the hands of someone too overcome with grief to look after her." Sherlock mocked as he spoke the words and grabbed the bottle to pour the drink. John put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"Sherlock, you son of a bitch." John was heated towards his friend. Molly was being realistic, and Sherlock was too overcome with being bullheaded about her possible death that he was taking things too personally. "She didn't mean you were unable to care for your own child. She's wanting you to be prepared for anything in case something happens to her."

"She could have put it more plainly." Sherlock downed the drink and considered another, but thought better of it. "I'm not incapable of caring for a child."

"Gods..." John went to grab his coat and put on his shoes. "She never said that you dullheaded dimwit." He walked up to Sherlock and took hold of his shoulder for a serious moment. "I understand that this is hard for you, Sherlock. It is, and it should be. You've put yourself in a very delicate position with Molly. But you have to be realistic. She is. Now you've left her alone with the same thoughts as you've had and no one to comfort her when she needs it the most." John glared at him, feeling a bit sorry for him, but knowing he needed to play mediator. He hurried down the stairs and out of the flat to hail a cab.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, alone with his thoughts, feeling horrible for storming out on Molly as he had. The more he mulled it over in his brain, the more he realized she wasn't trying to insult him, but to get through to him about her condition. I'm a shit husband. He realized one more drink would probably lessen his melancholy and poured it. He took to drinking it as he heard someone ascending the steps. He turned, wondering if John had returned to shove him out the doorway instead, to run back to his Molly and beg her forgiveness. To climb back into that bed with her and put his hands upon her belly and love them both once more.

He turned the corner out of the kitchen and into the living room to find none other than Irene Adler standing in his living room, wearing none other than a form fitting leather mini dress and holding a riding crop in her hand. She smiled at him with her devilish eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes. Miss me?"

Alas, you requested I fan this story out a bit, I've come up with plenty more angst for you all to writhe in. Well, as well as some happy moments too so don't hate me too much.

Next chapter will bring us to see if Sherlock can once again convince Irene that she's not welcome, as well as the possible reconciliation between Molly and her husband.

I have college graduation tomorrow as well as family down so I will not be posting tomorrow for sure. Sunday is a possibility, but let it be known that I will definitely post the next chapter as soon as I have a free moment to do so. I hate to leave this chapter hanging as it did but a cliffhanger brings anticipation. Will bad ass mo fo Molly get to kick some Adler ass? More to come. :)

As always, thanks for reading and please don't be too upset with me!