Sherlock opened the door of the flat, looking for some signs of Mrs. Hudson. The lights on her apartment were turned off, she had gone to sleep. He let Molly go in front of him up the stairs and closed the door behind him after entering the living room, hanging his coat behind it. Molly sat on the couch, breathing deeply. She was exhausted. The bunch of bags of things she and Mrs. Hudson had bought was placed on the floor next to the couch. It had been nice of Mrs. Hudson to bring them with her.
"Tired?" Sherlock asked, removing his coat as well and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and the buttons of the sleeves. He ruffled through his hair, smiling at her.
Molly's heart gave a slight jump that she ignored.
"Yes, a little bit. It was a long day." She placed her hand on her belly.
"Well, there's still my present to… open." Sherlock said, his eyes fixed on her.
"What do you mean, your present? I took your card, which was more than enough presents for the day."
"That was not my present." He said. "That's my duty."
He extended his hand to her and she took it, getting up off the couch as he lifted her. She steadied herself.
"Okay, so where is that present then?"
"Upstairs." He let go of her hand and went up the stairs, taking a glance at Molly. She followed him, intrigued. What on earth could he have gotten her?
Sherlock opened the door of her room and let her in, without turning the lights on. Molly looked at it. It should all be dark, but it wasn't. Somehow, on the ceiling, she could see hundreds of stars shining. On one of the walls were also shiny things that she could not define what they were. She asked, in a whisper.
"What is it? It's shinning."
Molly could not see the satisfied smirk on his face as Sherlock turned on the light. As he did so, Molly's mouth fell open and, instinctively, she used one hand to cover it. She was not able to talk for a few minutes.
"My god." She finally said, entering the room. "This is beautiful."
It was all changed. Apart from the piano, placed where it had always been, everything was different. Molly looked around, not believing what her eyes were seeing. It was no longer her room; it was a baby's room. As she looked to the ceiling she could recognise now the source of light she had seen when the lights were off. There were little stars placed on the ceiling that shone in the dark. Hanging from transparent threads were planets falling and other stars. A big lamp with the shape of a moon was hanged on the right wall, where a baby crib had also been placed. A mobile was hanging on top of it, also with little stars and planets. Molly looked to her left and was even more mesmerized. All over the wall, with bright beautiful colours and a beautiful work art, was the painting of the solar system. It had been hand painted, graffiti, she recognized. She got closer to the baby crib, spinning the mobile. It started playing a lullaby. There was also a new wardrobe, with beautiful bright colours where her old wardrobe had been and right next to it a shelf painted with the same colours, filled with fairy tales. There was a place to change the baby, with diapers and towels. On the floor, next to the piano, was a small playground, made of fabric and with many toys inside already, cute toys, for a little baby. It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen and even better than any she could have ever imagined. She approached the wall painted with the solar system. The colour of the background resembled the one of the night skies and there were also tiny points to make it look like stars. There were magnets with the alphabet placed on a box on the floor.
Sherlock came close to her, showing her the magnets.
"It's magnetic paint." He said, pointing out the wall. "I had a friend get this painted with it. This way, when he or she grows up they can make the names of the planets with the magnets. We can't place them on the wall yet, the paint isn't completely dry"
Molly looked at him, lost for words. He smiled.
"Do you like it?"
Molly smiled back, unable to contain the tears now. She turned her back on him. Sherlock's smiled faded.
"What's wrong?" He asked, getting close to her and touching her back.
"It's just…" She looked at him. "I am just so happy!"
Sherlock laughed, removing a strand of her hair from her face.
"Well, that was the point."
She made a gesture, as if embracing the room.
"It's so beautiful. The colours, the wardrobe, the crib… It's so perfect. I would have never imagined something as perfect as this for our baby."
She sighed, unable to find other adjectives to express what she was feeling.
"Thank you." She said simply, looking at him.
Sherlock felt his heart shrink a little bit on his chest with the way she was looking at him. He swallowed the lump on his throat and turned his gaze away.
"You're welcome. I just wanted it to be special for you. I saw you looking at rooms on magazines and thought this would be just what you were looking for."
"It is." She said, pacing around and enjoying all the things he had bought. Even the placement was perfect. She wouldn't have made it better herself. And the painting on the wall was magnificent. Then she realised something.
"Hum… where is my bed?"
"Well, we had to disassemble it. It wouldn't fit in the room."
"Where am I going to sleep then?"
Sherlock ruffled his hair again.
"In my room."
Molly's stomach gave a slight jump. Sherlock explained.
"I moved all your things there. The sofa can turn into a sofa-bed in the living room, and it will be just fine for me. At least until the baby can move upstairs. It's a good idea, actually. Because it will cry, right? And if we are both downstairs then I can check on it during the night, when it cries. If you teach me how. So, we both better be close to each other."
Molly nodded, embarrassed to have thought they would actually sleep together. Of course that had never been Sherlock's plan. Still, his plan was good and, mostly, thoughtful.
"Thank you." She repeated.
"You're very welcome."
"And, where are my clothes?"
"In my closet now."
She smiled at him, taking a look at the room again. She would not get tired of looking at it, she was sure. She paced in the direction of the shelf. There were so many books to choose from. She let her fingers run through the binders and finally decided for a small one. She liked reading stories to the baby.
"I'll take this one." She said, pointing the book to Sherlock. He nodded, understanding.
"Do you want to sleep?" He asked, as she tried to supress a yawning.
"Yes." She admitted. "I am tired and it's been too many emotions for one day."
They went down the stairs, one after the other. Molly checked her things on Sherlock's room and picked her pyjamas up, going to take a shower. When she came back, fifteen minutes later, Sherlock had assembled the couch to become a bed and was trying to place some sheets on it. Trying was the right word, because he seemed to have trouble with it. Now Molly understood why her bed was also made fresh sometimes. Mrs. Hudson had never stopped making Sherlock's bed and would make her as well.
"Want some help with that?"
"No." He refused. "I got it."
"Don't be silly." She said, getting closer and helping him out. In less than three minutes the sheets were in place.
"Yes." Sherlock said, looking at the now made bed. "This seemed easy enough."
Molly laughed. She then asked.
"Wouldn't you like to read the baby a story?"
Sherlock looked at her, surprised.
"Read the baby a story? Are you sure?"
"Yes, of course I am sure. He has to get used to the sound of your voice, not only to the sound of your violin. The baby loves it, by the way. When you play."
Sherlock nodded again, unsure of what to answer that.
"Okay, then. I will read."
Molly smiled, pleased and Sherlock followed her to his own room. He was now getting used to give his things to Molly, give up on them for her. First, his chair, now the bed. And it was just fine.
Molly half sat, half laid on the bed and passed the book she had chosen to Sherlock. He opened the first pages and, as Molly started to stroke her belly in small movements, he started to read.
Molly delighted herself with the sound of his voice. It was low and deep, at a constant pace, with interjections when needed. The baby started to move in her belly and she smiled, surprised. Apparently it liked the sound of his voice as well. Sherlock continued, unaware of the effects his story telling was having on the baby. He had a gift to read stories. The baby kicked. Molly gave a little jump.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, closing the book and putting it down.
"It just kicked." She affirmed. "I am sure it likes to hear you read to him. Why don't you talk to it, maybe it will kick again and you can feel it."
Sherlock felt a bit ridiculous. Why would he talk to a belly? But he didn't want to disappoint Molly.
"What should I say?"
"Just tell a story, or call its name. I don't know."
Sherlock stared at the belly again. Molly, following his gaze lifted her shirt up, so he could see any movement. He decided to pick the book up again and continued with the story. As his voice read it out loud he saw some movements on the belly. He stopped reading, looking at it mesmerized.
Molly saw his open wide eyes and picked his hand, placing it on top of the belly, where she had felt the kick for the first time that evening. She then nodded at Sherlock and he continued to read. A few minutes later the baby kicked once more. Sherlock dropped the book and got closer to Molly.
"Oh my god, it kicked! I felt it!"
The emotion in his voice was clear and he placed both hands on her belly now, scanning for movement. He talked to the baby. Molly laughed as he started asking how the baby was and how was it like to live there. As she laughed the baby kicked again.
"Oh my god!" Sherlock repeated, this time looking at Molly. "It's amazing."
Molly smiled, tenderness in her eyes. Yes, it was amazing. But the most wonderful thing was the way Sherlock was reacting to it all. Like a child that had discovered a long lost toy. The movements stopped eventually and Sherlock, realising they would not continue anymore, removed his hands from her.
"That was amazing."
"He has been moving quite a bit, but today specially. I think it is proven that he likes your voice indeed."
Sherlock looked at her.
"Thank you." He said.
"For what?" Molly asked. She didn't see what he should thank her for when he was the one who was doing so many things for her.
"For this." He pointed at her belly. "For everything. For letting me be a part of it. For being patient."
She smiled and covered herself, tired. She really wanted to stay there and talk to him, but she was so tired.
"Do you mind if I continue reading for the baby?" Sherlock asked.
"Of course not." She said.
She laid down and Sherlock continued his story, sitting next to her. When he finished the book, which didn't take long, Molly was already sleeping profoundly. He planted a kiss on her forehead and left the room, lying down on the couch. He could get no sleep for a long time, not just because the couch was not comfortable at all, but because Mycroft words kept revolving on and on inside his head and the way he had felt the baby kick and move was too overwhelming for him to stop thinking at all.
