Time went by. Molly learnt to live with Sherlock's presence, trying to forget all they had shared. Sherlock went back to his normal self. The friendship continued, though. Molly still sat on his chair and read her books and more than once fell asleep on the couch to wake up on her own bed. Sherlock got used to make tea for both after dinner, a gesture of peace. They used to play the violin and piano together, him on the living room and she upstairs, like before. Sometimes he would go up and meet her and they would play together for a long time. Molly hadn't forgotten, the feelings she had always felt for him were still there, untouched. But she had learnt to avoid them when necessary. Shane had finished the stage and had found a job in another hospital. They kept in touch and went out for dinner sometimes, but he never tried to get her back and Moly was happy with that. Sherlock would sometimes disappear to take care of his cases, working for Mycroft or Inspector Lestrade and sometimes to private clients, when the case was interesting. John helped whenever he could and he would have dinner there sometimes as well, but mostly the only people on the apartment were Molly and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson paid a visit sometimes but she was now carefree about the flat. Molly would take good care of it and always made sure Sherlock ate at least one time per day. Her work was now the same and again alone and Sherlock would show up sometimes, always making sure his charm worked on her, to have anything he found necessary. He had taken fish and chips a few more times for lunch and had keep her company. That had been nice.

Also for Sherlock it was still strange to share the days with Molly after all that had happened, but he focused on his work and on the words he had heard from Mycroft and he knew it was all for the best. He had given up on his smoking habit for good, recurring to one nicotine patch one time or another, when the lack of cases bored him to death. He had, somehow, become a calmer person, Molly had helped in that. He tried not to hurt her as much as he could and tried, at least to her, to be polite. Well, most of the time, not always. But Molly was already so used to his moodiness that she didn't really feel offended anymore. She would just shrug the words away and move on. She had learnt that ignoring him was the best solution. He would eventually quiet down.

Molly hadn't seen Sherlock for a couple of days straight. She knew he was on to a new case and that when that happened he could not rest until he cracked it. Two nights before she saw him pacing around the apartment, looking for a solution. Then she had suggested something and he had stopped on his spot, grabbed her by both arms and spun her around, finishing with a kiss on the cheek. He had then stormed out of the apartment to never show up again. He had still not returned home when she left for work in the morning but had left a note, which suggested he had come home during the night, when she was sleeping. She had finished her work for the day and, from the silence of the house, he hadn't yet returned.

Molly placed her purse on the couch, as she usually did and picked up the package she had fetched on the way from work. She checked Sherlock's room, to make sure she was alone. She put the kettle on and took a deep breath. She decided to took a shower, avoiding what she had to do. Dried her hair and brushed it. She came to the kitchen and made a tea, heating up the water again. Her hands were trembling and she threw more than a half full cup on the sink, unable to finish the tea. There was no use in delaying it. She locked herself in the bathroom and removed the test from the box, following the instructions. A few minutes later she curled up on the cold floor of the bathroom, her head between her knees, considering that, if she didn't see them, maybe the two pink stripes on the indicator would simply disappear.

0

Sherlock arrived home a few hours later, satisfied with the case he had just solved. What a beauty of a murder! Clever and almost perfect. If the police hadn't come to him they would have never found the assassin. He was thrilled and ecstatic! He almost swirled about himself as he hanged his long coat on the handle behind the door and kept the gloves away, one in each pocket. Only when he was removing the scarf did he notice Molly's presence in the flat. She was curled up on the chair, her knees to her chest and her arms hugging her legs. She didn't look at him when he entered the apartment. In fact, she did not seem to have noticed him at all. He approached her carefully and touched her arm, kneeling close to the chair. Molly's big eyes gazed upon him.

"Are you okay?" He asked, a genuine worry in his expression.

Moly did not say anything. She bit her lip and passed him the positive pregnancy test. Sherlock held the little piece of plastic she was giving him but did not understand.

"What is this?" He asked, afraid of her reaction.

Molly let go of her legs and stood up, getting close to the window. She plucked on the strings of his violin and mumbled something Sherlock was unable to decipher. She realised her voice had been too low for him to listen and repeated.

"I am pregnant, Sherlock."

She let a sigh, crossing her arms.

Sherlock looked at her and at the piece of plastic in his hand that he understood now was a pregnancy test. The two pink stripes must mean it was positive. He froze in place.

"You're…"

"Pregnant. Yes." Molly repeated, still not able to look at him.

"But," Sherlock asked, frowning. "Who?"

Molly turned around, facing him for the first time.

"What do you mean?"

"Who is the father?"

Molly sensed fear in the way he asked and she realised he just wanted to hear the words from her mouth. In fact, he already knew the answer.

"It's you, Sherlock. You're the father."

She bit her lip again, supressing the tears from falling from her eyes. God, crying seemed like something she kept doing the last few months.

Sherlock looked at the pregnancy test again and then at her and at her belly.

"But, how?"

"You know very well how, Sherlock."

Despite the desperation Molly couldn't help but roll her eyes. She looked at him. Sherlock was the vivid image of a child who doesn't know what to do with what he was put in his hands. It went far beyond shock, it was fear. He had panicked.

"I am going to have the child." She announced, making sure he understood.

"Of course you will."

The words came out of Sherlock's mouth before he realised it. His mind was a big wild swirl of thoughts. He didn't know what to make of it. He could not give them proper sense. He dind't know what to do, what to say, what to think. Molly was pregnant. With his child. He was going to be a father. He stood there for an infinite amount of time, looking straight at Molly without really seeing her.

Molly got closer to him, taking the test from his hand and holding it in hers. She then went to her room and left him there alone, to give him a chance to absorb it all.

She came down the stairs about an hour later, a little less nervous. It all came down to it. She was going to have a baby. His baby. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was not one to give up. Sherlock was still in the same place she had left him. For what she could see he hand't moved an inch.

"Sherlock?" She called, taking a step towards him.

She grabbed his arms and turned him to her. His eyes were red. Had he been crying? Was it so bad to him that, for the first time, Sherlock Holmes had cried?

Sherlock swallowed, his Adam's apple moving up and down. He seemed to get out of the state he had been for the last hour.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"No, I don't think I am."

He sat down now, and she sat beside him, scrutinizing his features.

"I…" He choked on the words. "I was not… I was not prepared for this."

Her heart sank deeply and she closed her eyes for a brief moment.

"Neither was I." She raised her chin to him, in an attitude of defiance. "But it is my child now and, even unprepared, you know what I will do? I will have it and I will love it with all my heart. With or without you."

Sherlock got up, passing by her and took off, not even bothering to put on his coat. Molly let herself fall on the chair, holding her still flat belly. She would not cry for him again. No, not now, not anymore. She had a life inside of her that deserved her happiness.

Sherlock went to the street, pacing fast and with no fixed destiny. He didn't know what he was feeling right now. Feelings was not something he was used to define. Scared? Yes. Worried? Very. Of all things, of all news, this would have been the last one he would expect. Molly pregnant. With his baby. Father. He repeated the word in his head until it stopped making sense. How was he supposed to raise a child? Kids needed love, didn't they? Someone who cared? Would he be able to do that? He had once heard John saying how you are supposed to leave all your needs aside and think about your child's needs. To stop thinking about yourself in the first place. He wouldn't be able to do that. Babies were supposed to cry and throw tantrums and be noisy all the time. And they needed taking care of. What was he going to do with a baby? His baby. He would not know how to hold it or feed it. And, most important, would he be able to love it?

He put his head between his hands, trying to stop the questions from coming to his head. He then realised he hadn't brought his wallet with him and there was someone he needed to see. John, he needed to see John. Only he would be able to clear his mind and tell him the right thing to do. As he stepped away in the direction of John's working place he could not help but imagining what kind of father he would become.