Author's note: My apologies on the long hiatus from this story. The pandemic and resulting decision to write a sub-series that includes life for my Sherlock and Molly during this time of COVID-19 meant that continuing the diary publishing kept getting pushed back. I hope I still have a few readers left who are interested in continuing to read it.

Some of you might know this past weekend marked the 10th anniversary of the airing of the first episode of Sherlock, (amazing, huh?). I must say, I am heartbroken over Steven Moffat's continuing cavalier attitude about Sherlock and Molly and their future after TFP (there's a YouTube Q&A session where it was talked about). Having heard what he had to say, I have decided I have no wish for season 5. If it airs, and I am still writing Sherlolly (which I don't know if I will be), I will continue my own post TFP storyline for them and pretend season 5 does not exist. Molly and Sherlock deserve better, and I will continue to give them that.

That being said, to get out of my depression over this, I'm finally returning to this story.

Saturday, September 30th, 2017

Sherlock was home alone, as it was Molly's weekend to work.

He listened to the almost silent hum of the new fridge in the kitchen. The old fridge had been successfully removed to 221C to be kept for storing any body parts he might want for experimentation. It was a major step forward. He had not done any experiments since becoming engaged to Molly, as he had promised the fridge would no longer be used for storing human organs and the like. With a baby on the way, this was even more important. But now he would be able to enjoy himself in returning to testing out various theories, along with the help of his wife who would, he hoped, resume her former practice of providing him with the occasional available body part from a cadaver that had been donated to the hospital for science, or a John Doe with no family to claim the body.

Mrs. Hudson had invited Molly and himself for dinner that evening so that she could introduce the couple to her line-dancing teacher and see if he could identify the woman's national origins. He had texted Molly about the invitation, and she had responded in the affirmative. It was rather convenient actually, because this way there would be no need to order take-away or for Molly to have to cook dinner as soon as she got home.

For now, as he waited for the new fridge to get cold enough to restock it with the fridge items currently residing in a cool box on the floor of the kitchen, he had time to continue reading Molly's diary.

Within a short time, he was engrossed in reading the next entry.

…/…/…/…/…/…/…/

March

Well, diary. Today was a very sad day. I'm sure you know what I'm about to talk about. Yes, it was Mary's funeral.

It was so hard to be in the same church where only a few short weeks earlier we had celebrated Rosie's baptism. Mrs Hudson and I sat on either side of John and Rosie to provide support for him. Unfortunately, his sister was unable to attend the funeral, and we are the closest thing otherwise to family. Under any other circumstances, I'm sure Sherlock would have been sitting with John, but whatever it is that happened, John still refuses to talk about it and doesn't even want to see or speak to him. I noticed, though, that Sherlock did turn up with Mrs Hudson, but he slipped into the back of the church. I have to give Sherlock credit for the respect he showed in wanting to be there because he was Mary's friend, yet to stay well away from John and any potential confrontation. When the service ended, Sherlock was gone. I only glanced at him briefly when he arrived, and he looked miserable. I just don't know what could've possibly caused John to blame Sherlock for Mary's death. Maybe John had assumed Sherlock had special powers of protection and found that he failed to uphold them. After all, Sherlock made that vow during the wedding reception to protect them. Really though, Sherlock is only human like anyone else. He can't be everywhere at once, and I think it is most unfair for John to hold Sherlock responsible for something that I'm sure could not have been his fault. However, as I don't know the details of what happened, and it seems unlikely at this point I will ever be given that information by either Sherlock or John, I shall just have to keep my thoughts to myself.

After the service, I took Rosie back to John's flat so he would not have to deal with the baby as well as Mary's cremation. Before I left with Rosie though, John gave me a note. He said some things that were not very nice about Sherlock, and that he had noticed him in the back of the church. He wanted me to give Sherlock the note if he turned up at the flat. Sherlock did not come, and I'm pretty sure he was respecting John's grief. I wonder if he will come at some point, though? I would certainly not rule it out. If there is one thing I know about Sherlock, he genuinely cares for John, and he cared for Mary too. I wish I could be there for him, as well as John. I just hope that Mrs Hudson is a good shoulder for Sherlock to lean on. Well, it has been a long, rather depressing day, except for the time I spent with darling Rosie. Poor little motherless babe, my heart aches for her. It's hard not to question God on why this happened, but I know God has plans we are not aware of, and that they will be eventually revealed. I just pray that somehow good will come out of this tragedy. Off to bed now.

Do you know one of the things I most love about you, Molly? It's your continuing faith and the way you express it in this diary. In addition, you are so selfless, always thinking about others rather than yourself. You didn't talk much about your own sorrow about Mary's death. Instead, you talked mostly about the estrangement between John and myself.

I appreciate the fact that you understood why I attended the funeral out of respect for Mary. Of course, I didn't want to make the day worse for John, which is why I sat at the back and left early, as you know. I have to say, that was a difficult day for me also. I was missing Mary, blaming myself, and there was nobody to offer me a shoulder to lean on. Oh yes, Mrs. Hudson didn't blame me at all, of course, but she also wasn't aware of the whole story. I sat in that church, and I felt lost, alone. Now, thinking about it, I realise I was also jealous that you were up there at the front of the church, comforting John so I couldn't even lean on you. The thought also crossed my mind that you looked so good with Rosamund, that maybe the loss would bring you and John closer, and you might end up together. I guess I never told you that before. It was just a passing thought after all, but it was there, and now you know. XOX

March

This was another difficult day. I volunteered to take care of Rosie and took another day off so John could get some much-needed rest after such a difficult day yesterday.

John had gone to lay down, and I had just fed Rosie a bottle for lunch when I heard a knock at the front door. I peeped through the blinds and saw that it was Sherlock. Of course, I wasn't surprised. I put on Rosie's hat and wrapped her in a blanket so that I could go outside with her and speak to Sherlock. I gave him the note from John that was in my pocket. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, to tell Sherlock that John didn't want to have anything to do with him. I've never seen Sherlock look so hurt, although he tried to hide it. It tore me apart. Oh, my maternal instincts came out, and I wished I could've held him in my arms, told him things would be okay, that I loved him, but of course I didn't. I went back inside.

I feel like I'm caught in the middle between Sherlock and John. They have been friends for years, and I don't want to choose sides, but I can't help feeling a little disappointed that John won't even try to talk to Sherlock, to resolve things. Again, I have to wonder what could have been so terrible that John blames Sherlock for Mary's death.

Oh, I just can't write about this anymore; my heart is too heavy.

You know, Molly, I didn't even know you'd be at John's that day. I'm not sure I even expected an answer to my knock. I have to confess, I was glad to see you, even if only for a few moments. Oh, my darling, you were born to be a mother. I saw it by the way you held Rosamund. After you gave me that note and such a look of sympathy, then turned away, I felt even more lost than before. That was also my final attempt to set things right with John before I embarked on the dangerous path I had decided to undertake in order to honour Mary's wishes in her DVD, to save John Watson.

On a side note, I am so looking forward to seeing your belly swell with our child, sweetheart. I hope you will not mind if I spend a lot of time touching your abdomen as it gets bigger. I cannot wait to see you show our baby the same love you showed to Rosamund. XOX

March

Happy birthday to me. I spent it alone, as usual, well at least once I got home from work. If I were a drinker, I would have probably drowned my sorrows in a few glasses of white Zinfandel. But I rarely drink, and never alone. It's kind of ironic that Sherlock once implied I liked a drink just because I happened to accept a glass of wine for social occasions. I'm 37 years old and facing the prospect of being alone for the rest of my life.

My darling, you will never have to feel neglected or unloved on your birthday again. Even if for some reason I am away on a case, I will text or FaceTime you, and we will celebrate it properly once I am home. And I am truly sorry for inferring you liked a drink, but hey, you did get me back by saying you were having quite a lot of sex. That well and truly shut me up. I still find it remarkable that it wasn't true and that the only man you have shared your body with is me. I rather wish you were here right now to do some more sharing of the delights of your sweet body. Oh well, we have tonight - and every night - and sometimes during the day too. I had better quit right now or I will need a cold shower. XOX

…/…/…/…/…/…/…/

Sherlock set aside the diary, pencil, and reading glasses. It was time to put items into the new fridge. That would cool him off, literally, he thought with a wry smile.

Once this had been done, Sherlock spent a little time tidying the flat, removing the dirty coffee cups he had forgotten about into the sink and washing them.

He then decided to play his violin for a little while. He found himself composing a little piece that spoke of the joy he felt about the baby he and Molly were expecting. He really enjoyed expressing himself through music. He knew Molly enjoyed her singing and thought again that sometime they would have to do a duet together as she had suggested. That would be rather enjoyable, he reflected. Even if it was just for fun, the idea of singing something with Molly was appealing. Perhaps there was some opera duet out there that would suit both their voices.

Feeling a sudden urge to find out, Sherlock set down his violin and went over to his laptop, then did a search for opera duets for baritone and mezzo soprano. The top of the list he discovered was one from a Mozart opera called Don Giovanni. The duet was entitled "La ci darem la mano" and he looked up the information about it. It was a piece where a notorious rake named Don Giovanni was trying to seduce the lovely peasant girl, Zerlina, who was about to marry a young man named Masetto. Sherlock found a clip on YouTube with the duet. He imagined how much fun it would be to sing with Molly, perhaps even act it out. The idea of singing a song of seduction with his wife, oh yes, that definitely sounded like a most enjoyable activity. Well, it was something to discuss with her, he reflected with a smile, hearing a tread on the stairs. Apparently, Molly was home.

He went to the door and opened it, welcoming his wife home with a kiss. "How was work?" he asked, helping her off with her jacket and hanging it up.

Molly shrugged. "Nothing much to tell. Sitting at a computer isn't very interesting, and that's the way it usually is when I'm working on the weekend." She made a slight grimace. "I really hope the morning sickness passes once I reach my second trimester. I miss doing post-mortems."

Sherlock grinned and teased her. "You miss slicing up cadavers?" He remembered using that phrasing with Molly many years earlier.

Molly folded her arms and gave him a mock frown. "Don't think I don't remember you saying those words about slicing cadavers to me. I still remember it, because it was the first time you complimented me on changing my hair, and I knew very well you were doing it to manipulate me." She tossed her head. "But yes, I do miss 'slicing cadavers,' as you so eloquently put it. I'm good at my job, and I like being a detective in determining causes of death." She gave him a questioning look. "So, how has your day been? Did you put things into the new fridge?"

Sherlock took her hand and led her to the kitchen so she could see the new fridge. "All done," he proclaimed proudly.

Molly looked at the fridge and then the unnaturally tidy kitchen. "You even did the dishes. I'm impressed."

Sherlock smiled. "I thought I should make myself useful. There's something else I was thinking about just before you got home, too."

Molly glanced at him warily. "If it's making love, I think it had better wait until after dinner."

Sherlock chuckled. "For once, I was not thinking of that, my lovely wife. I was thinking about something else that would potentially lead towards that activity when we sing it together."

She looked at him curiously as he led her over to his laptop. "Remember how you said a while ago that we should do a duet together sometime? I thought I'd do a little research on it, and I found an opera duet you might like that we could potentially do. Are you familiar with the opera, Don Giovanni?"

"Of course," responded Molly. To his surprise, she added, "I know a lot about opera, actually." She looked at the laptop screen and saw it was still open to the YouTube clip Sherlock had been watching. "Oh," she breathed. "I love that duet. I've seen it performed at uni, and it is very sensual. Don Giovanni is trying to seduce Zerlina."

Sherlock smiled smugly. "Exactly. What do you think? Should we work on this as a little side project sometime?"

He stood behind Molly as she leaned towards the laptop screen, and he placed his hands on her waist, then slowly, deliberately, bent his head to feather kisses to the side of her face and down her neck. Her casual ponytail made it unnecessary for him to have to move her hair away from that delectable part of her body.

Molly tilted her head to allow him access and made a little sigh of pleasure. "Oh, I do very much like the thought of doing that duet with you." Then she spun unexpectedly in his arms and said sternly, "But we are not doing it now. We need to make sure we get downstairs for that dinner, and if we keep going this way, we will be late. I need to go take a shower."

Sherlock huffed, but he knew she was right. "Alright then. I don't suppose I could join you?" he asked hopefully.

Molly rolled her eyes at him. "You of the one-track-mind, Sherlock Holmes. I'm going to take a shower alone, and if you need something to do, why don't you find a way to get the music for that duet?"

Sherlock sighed. Shot down again, he thought in some disappointment. "Very well." He gave her bottom a little caress then a love tap, and with a laugh, Molly moved from the circle of his arms to take her shower.

Sherlock returned to his laptop and was pleased to discover there was a website where he could obtain the sheet music for free and print it out, which he summarily did. He printed two copies.

As he waited for Molly to reappear, he hummed through the music and read the Italian lyrics. It was fortunate he was fluent in the romantic languages as well as having knowledge of the basics of several others. He wondered about the woman he would be meeting tonight, Ida. A European, probably Scandinavian name, he reflected. Well, he would find out more soon.

Sherlock smiled as Molly joined him once again. "Practising already?" she asked, noting the sheet music still in his hand.

He grinned back. "I don't like to let the grass grow under my feet. Ready to head downstairs?"

"Yep," she responded, tucking her hand through his arm.

He dropped the sheet music from his other hand onto the desk, and they went downstairs to 221A.

When Mrs. Hudson answered the door, and he entered with Molly, Sherlock observed the brown-haired woman already sitting at the dining table. Instead of a handbag over her chair, he could see a small backpack.

"Ida Eldridge," said Mrs. Hudson, and the woman, who he estimated to be in her late twenties, stood. "This is Sherlock Holmes and his wife, Molly."

She walked forward and extended her right hand, upon which Sherlock could see a wedding band and engagement ring. That immediately discounted several countries from his mental catalogue of her heritage.

"Oh, Martha has been telling me so much about both of you," said the woman in a lilting, musical accent. Sherlock listened to the inflections of her voice and searched his mind palace for matches, filtering out Scandinavian countries where wedding and engagement rings were worn on the left hand.

He didn't have much to go on, and her name gave no clues either. Her surname showed her husband was presumably British even if she followed the tradition of her own country in using her right hand to display her married status. He extended his own hand. He was certain she was either Norwegian or Danish, but felt the way she spoke was more likely to indicate she was from Norway, so he spoke accordingly. "Det er hyggelig å møte deg, Fru Eldridge." Norwegian was definitely not a language he was fluent in, but he knew enough to understand and speak a little of it as well as Danish and Swedish, which were quite similar. He might have to amuse himself and learn the languages properly sometime in the future.

The woman smiled delightedly and shook his hand. "Snakker du norsk?"

Sherlock gave her an apologetic smile. "Bare noen uttrykk her og der." Sensing Molly's enquiring look he translated. "I said it was nice to meet her in Norwegian, and she asked if I spoke it. I answered that I know a few expressions here and there."

Ida turned to Molly and shook her hand as well. "Your husband's accent is perfect, even if he does not speak my language fluently. It is nice to meet you both. I am amazed he was able to determine my country of birth with so little information."

Molly grinned. "Sherlock is used to making deductions with very few clues. He's a master of observation."

"Well, you young folks get acquainted while I get the lasagna out of the oven," instructed Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock saw the table was already set for four. He took a seat opposite where his landlady always sat, while Molly sat to his right.

"Mrs. Hudson tells me you are a line-dancing instructor. That must be enjoyable." Sherlock began, to initiate the conversation. He noted Molly's smile and knew she was proud of him for making the effort to talk first.

"Oh, yes," answered Ida. "I do enjoy teaching, but unfortunately it is not something one can really do to earn a living. I also work at Harrods in one of the clothing departments."

Molly looked impressed. "I've only been inside Harrods a couple of times. It's so beautiful, but everything is so elegant in there. I tend to be a little more casual in my style." Here she cast Sherlock a quick glance and smirked. "Although I should probably try to add more refinement to my style now that I am married to someone who is so well-known."

Sherlock brushed his hand over hers where it rested on the table. "Sweetheart, your style is fine. Only change it if that is something you wish for yourself."

"Well, if you did want to come in sometime and visit me at work, I'd be happy to help you out, Mrs. Holmes," put in Ida.

"Molly and Sherlock, please," said Molly with a smile. "Sherlock and I aren't really ones for formality. And I'd love to do that someday. Perhaps you could help me find something for a special occasion if the need arose."

"And please do also call me Ida," returned the other woman with a smile of her own. "I'd be happy to do that. I can let Martha know when Harrods is having a good clothing sale too."

"Oh, that would be lovely," responded Molly as Mrs. Hudson brought the lasagna over to the table. She then brought over a filled tea pot to join the cups, milk and sugar already on the table.

"Would it be too much trouble for me to have a glass of milk instead of tea?" enquired Ida.

"No trouble at all," assured the landlady, heading to the kitchen and returning with a glass of milk, while Sherlock poured tea for Molly and himself.

Soon afterwards, the four were enjoying Mrs. Hudson's very good lasagna.

Sherlock was quite impressed with Molly's own powers of observation when she enquired about Ida's husband, having obviously accurately deduced the rings on the Norwegian's right hand.

"He's out of town on business. He's a buyer for Harrods," explained Ida.

"They met at the store," supplied Mrs. Hudson, rather unnecessarily.

"Our first wedding anniversary is coming up next week," said Ida. "I'm hoping we can go away for the weekend when Matthew returns. I just have to try to find somewhere quiet."

Mrs. Hudson's face lit up. "I own a small cottage in Cornwall that I let out during the summer, but it is empty right now. You're welcome to use it."

Sherlock stared at his landlady, and he noticed Molly doing the same. In all these years, he had had no idea she owned property outside London.

Noticing his rather stunned expression, she said, "what? I own property in central London, an Aston Martin and had a wealthy, drug dealer husband who left me with a lot of money. Why wouldn't I own a holiday retreat?"

"Why not, indeed?" he managed.

"I even have pictures online," said the elderly woman proudly. "Here, I'll show you."

She rose to retrieve her phone, then returned to the dining table.

Within a couple minutes, the three guests had left their seats to peer at the images on Mrs. Hudson's phone.

The cottage looked cosy and romantic, thought Sherlock, even as Molly spoke his sentiments out loud. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, it's so lovely. What a romantic-looking place, perfect for two. That fireplace looks so cosy and inviting."

"It is lovely, Martha," agreed Ida. "I would be happy to accept your offer."

Mrs. Hudson beamed and set down her phone.

After dinner, Sherlock and Molly remained for a while longer, then excused themselves to go back upstairs.

As soon as Sherlock closed the door and locked it, Molly turned to him. "Doesn't that cottage of Mrs. Hudson's look absolutely darling?"

Sherlock slid an arm around her waist. "We are definitely going to have to persuade her to let us use it sometime when we want to get away from London, just the two of us."

"I can see we are on the same page as usual," replied Molly, reaching up to kiss him.

Oh yes, they were always on the same page.

Author's note: I must confess, there's a lot of stuff in this chapter that either references earlier stories of mine or provides some foreshadowing for future stories that will be revealed as time passes, such as the duet, Ida and her job at Harrods, and the cottage in Cornwall.

What did you think of the backstory I created for the events surrounding Mary's funeral? Do you have your own head canon? Feel free to share it!

Thanks to my wonderful reader and friend, Penelope Chestnut, for assisting me with some Norwegian references.

If you are still reading my stories and enjoying them, I'd love to hear from you.