Author's note: My plans to publish this on Saturday went belly-up as I had some side effects from my second COVID-19 vaccination. Hours of nausea and uncontrollable vomiting. Oh joy! But still worth it if it will help to protect others from getting the virus or from getting sick myself.

12-17th April 2021

Sherlock watched Molly through half-closed eyes as she got ready for work on Monday morning. He understood that she needed to get back to work. Hadn't he said to Martha years earlier, after Mary's death, that work was the best antidote to suffering? But for some reason, he couldn't motivate himself to do the same right now. At least he had an excuse. He needed to look after Victoria and Christina in his wife's absence.

Well, maybe they were only destined to have their two daughters, he thought, feeling sadness wash over him again.

Before he had time to dwell on those morose thoughts, Molly bent over him, and he smelled a whiff of her usual jasmine vanilla fragrance as she kissed him goodbye.

"Have a good day, honey," she told him.

"You too, sweetheart," he said, watching as she left the room.

He went about his day once the girls woke, getting them dressed, feeding them. He was used to the routine by now, and he was pretty good at it, even if he did say so himself. But despite taking care of their needs, he still saw signs that reminded him of the lost baby, the discarded pad in the tiny rubbish bin in the bathroom, the sticky note on the fridge that had the reminder of the date of their first appointment for the pregnancy. He'd cancelled the appointment but neglected to remove the note.

Savagely, Sherlock tore the paper into tiny pieces and threw them away. Fortunately, Victoria and Christina, occupied with eating their lunch, did not notice.

And then Sherlock noticed a magnet that had been on the fridge for a long time. Molly had brought it home from Gabrielle's, the place where she had had her hair done for the wedding and had continued to frequent afterwards. Molly and Nikki, the hairdresser who had done her hair that first time, had become quite friendly since then. Molly had told Sherlock she was Gabrielle's daughter, and her actual name was Dominique. Although she was always called Nikki, Sherlock secretly thought Dominique a much nicer name than Nikki, but then, he had never been fond of nicknames. Pet names for Molly and his daughters, yes; nicknames, no.

Gabrielle's had been closed for many months, but he recalled today was the day hairdressers were set to re-open. Had Gabrielle's even survived the months of enforced closure? He knew Molly had recently commented on how desperately she needed a haircut, and he recalled a conversation from quite some time ago, where she expressed a wish to do something different with her hair, like getting highlights. He thought about his own overly long curls. Molly had consented to trim his forehead curls a little because they were interfering with his vision, but she had some kind of issue in trimming the rest of his hair. He really needed to contact the exclusive barber he and Mycroft had used for years, to ask if he was doing home consultations, or if his barber shop was open again.

Sherlock thought a little more. If Gabrielle's had an employee who did men's hair, he supposed he could get his cut at the same time. He just had to make sure Martha would be available to babysit until his haircut was complete.

Sherlock looked over at his daughters, who were almost finished with their lunch. He had a cut-up apple ready to divide between them.

He brought over a bowl of apple pieces for each of the girls, setting it before them.

Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in the numbers for Gabrielle's

It rang three times, and he was wondering if perhaps the hairdresser had been one of the many casualties of the pandemic. But then the phone was answered with a rather breathless voice.

"Gabrielle's, this is Nikki. How may I help you?"

Sherlock smiled with relief. "Hello, Dominique," he said, eschewing the use of her nickname, "this is Sherlock Holmes. I am pleased to hear your business has apparently survived Covid."

Dominique chuckled. "Well, we did resort to doing some in-home hairdressing to help, but it wasn't easy. And now we are going to be busy for a while, I think."'

Sherlock felt deflated. "I suppose that means I wouldn't be able to reserve an appointment for my wife, Molly, this week."

Dominique sounded regretful. "I'm really sorry, but we are booked solid all this week. I could put her in next week, though. Monday, Tuesday and Friday are completely booked, but I have some open times on Wednesday and Thursday afternoon."

"I don't suppose you have a male hairdresser who could take care of giving my own hair a trim?" he asked cautiously.

"Joe's here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. We don't have a big customer clientele for men, but Joe's great."

"In that case, would it be possible for me to retain both your services and Joe's on Wednesday afternoon next week?" Sherlock asked.

"Let me just get into the computer and see if we can line up an appointment at the same time," said Dominique. "Just a moment."

Sherlock waited patiently, as she put him on hold and the usual boring hold music played.

About a minute later, she returned to the line. "I can book you both in for two o'clock, if that works, or four o'clock. Does Molly just want a haircut?"

"Actually, I think she might like to have some other service. Months ago she mentioned highlights."

"In that case, two o'clock would be better, so I'd have time for more than a cut. I can give her highlights or even a colour, if she wants," Dominique responded.

"Two o'clock would be fine, in that case," said Sherlock. "And I only require a trim."

Sherlock heard her tapping a few keys. "Great, I've got you booked in. I'll see you both next Wednesday."

"Thank you, Dominique. See you then."

Sherlock disconnected the call. He was pleased to have done something productive. Should he tell Molly about the appointment, or leave it as a surprise? In the end he decided on the latter.

After changing Christina's nappy and taking Victoria to the toilet, then depositing them in the playpen, Sherlock called Martha.

"Hello, Sherlock," she responded on the second ring. "Is there a problem with me coming over on Friday to watch the funeral with Molly?"

"Not at all," Sherlock assured her. "Actually, I was wondering if you would mind babysitting the girls for a short time next week on Wednesday. I have booked hairdressing appointments for Molly and myself at Gabrielle's. My appointment shouldn't take too long, and I thought I'd just return to your flat to await Molly afterwards."

"No problem at all, dear. What time?"

"Our appointment is for two o'clock, so perhaps fifteen minutes before that? I'll find a park on Baker Street, and Molly and I can walk to the hairdresser after we drop the girls off. But please don't tell her about it. I thought I'd let it be a surprise for her."

Martha gave a happy sigh. "Still such a romantic with your wife. Don't worry, I'll keep mum about it." She paused, then asked, "And how are you both doing?"

Sherlock knew she was too tactful to mention the miscarriage directly. "We're doing okay, Martha. Molly was happy to go back to work; it provides a good distraction for her. Her friend, Kaitlyn, is also back at work today after her maternity leave."

Saying the words brought a sudden lump to his throat. Maternity leave. Molly wouldn't be needing that in a few months' time, after all.

"That must be nice for her to see her friend again," Martha said. "She was Molly's bridesmaid, wasn't she? And didn't she perform in that magic act when you and Molly sang the duet for that hospital talent night fundraiser?" Sherlock was glad she had tactfully omitted any comment about Kaitlyn's baby.

"Correct on both counts," he affirmed.

"Well, I'll let you get on with your day. Give those babies of yours a kiss from Nanny Hudders."

"Will do," said Sherlock, looking over at them. As was often the case, Victoria was helping Christina put the shapes into the wooden cube. But Christina was also improving, searching for the correct shape cut-out and finding it more easily now.

Shortly before Molly was due to arrive home from work, Sherlock took a frozen pizza from the freezer, as well as some chicken nuggets and chips. He would eat the pizza with Molly, but he put extra chips on the baking tray, knowing he'd want to have a few of those as well.

He was in the dining room, getting the girls situated for dinner, when he heard the front door open.

A surge of love washed over him as Molly appeared, hair a little wind-blown.

"I smell something cooking," she said as she reached him and lifted her face for a kiss.

He complied with a quick brush of the lips, tucking one of those wayward strands behind her ear. "Just stuff in the oven for us and the girls. How was your day?"

Molly smiled, although Sherlock saw it did not reach her eyes. "It was good. I didn't have any post-mortems today, so Kaitlyn and I were working together in the lab, and we were able to catch up on a lot of things. I've missed her a lot too because she seems to know whenever I need something, and she knows how I like things ordered in the lab. Stacy, who replaced Kaitlyn for the past three months, is really nice, but she doesn't always put things away in the same places I like them, and I have to go looking for them."

Sherlock vaguely remembered Stacy. She had been an intern at the hospital during Sherlock and Molly's engagement. He had even had one rather embarrassing experience when he had been trying to act sexy for Molly, had put on his new reading glasses and had spoken to the blurry image of the brown-haired woman in a ponytail, assuming it was Molly. A shriek was the reaction to his "Hey beautiful. Do you like what you see?" and he heard Molly coming up behind him. She had been highly amused, but he had been mortified at his mistake. Fortunately, Stacy had only been there temporarily, but it sounded like she was now back on a more permanent basis.

Keeping his tone casual, he asked, as he reached into the oven with oven mitts to withdraw the pizza, nuggets and chips, "Is this the same Stacy who I met when we were engaged?"

Molly's lips quirked. He knew she was remembering that day. "Yes, it is. But now that Kaitlyn is back, she won't be working with me as often."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, and Molly noticed, even as she took out plates for the meal. "You're not still a bit embarrassed about that case of mistaken identity, aren't you? That was so long ago I barely remember it."

Sherlock began to place nuggets and chips on the plastic plates for Victoria and Christina. "Apparently, you still remember it enough to make mention of it."

Molly giggled as she started pulling apart the chips and the nuggets into smaller pieces so they would be easier to eat and not as hot. "Well, it was rather funny to see you flirting with another woman."

Sherlock took out the pizza cutter from the drawer. "Glad you found it amusing, Molly."

She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek before taking the plastic plates over to their daughters. "I love you."

He grunted, but felt pleased anyway as he put three pieces of pizza on his plate and two on Molly's.

After Victoria and Christina were tucked into bed and cot that night, Sherlock climbed into bed beside Molly and pulled her close. "So, how did your day at work really go?" he asked, stroking her hair.

She sighed a little and relaxed against him. "It really was a good day, but Kaitlyn couldn't help talking about Simon. You know what it's like. When you are a new parent, you want to share everything about your experiences with your baby. I was happy for her, but I couldn't help thinking about how we would have been enjoying those experiences again in a few months if I hadn't lost the baby."

He kissed her forehead tenderly. "I'm sorry, love. We'll try again. Speaking of which," he drifted a hand down to her knickers, "how are things going down there?"

She gave him a small smile. "Well, I was able to change this morning to wearing just a liner, so I think my body will be back to normal very soon."

"I'm glad there don't seem to be any complications in that department, at least," he said, feeling relieved. He'd had a niggling worry that Molly might be one of the people who suffered from excessive bleeding and need further treatment. She had told him about her mother's haemorrhaging after her birth, and then the need for a hysterectomy. He hoped Molly wouldn't ever have to endure anything like that.

"Sherlock?" Molly's voice was hesitant.

"Yes, love?"

"If...if my bleeding is completely gone by tomorrow night, can we make love?"

It was funny, for more than a week now, he had not even thought about it. He'd been more concerned with Molly's comfort and getting over the loss, but now, he too longed for a return to their usual intimacy. He moved his hand to link it with hers. "Of course, love."

The next day, with Molly home, Sherlock decided to motivate himself into using his laptop to catch up on his emails and see if there were any new cases for him to tackle. He couldn't mope around and do nothing forever. But Zoom consultations were also not ideal.

In the end, he set up three morning Zoom consultations for the following day, leaving his afternoon free in case he needed to do some on-site investigation. None of the cases involved anything particularly juicy, as far as crime was concerned. They involved missing objects that may have been misplaced or stolen.

At least he had been somewhat productive, he thought, as he helped Molly give Victoria and Christina their bath that night.

He and Molly read through a Mr Men story, followed by the story of David and Goliath from a book of children's Bible stories.

Victoria's eyes were growing heavy before he even read how David had used a stone and slingshot to kill the Philistine.

He and Molly kissed their daughter goodnight, and Molly settled Christina, who'd fallen asleep in her arms, into her cot. Sherlock felt a little pang, looking at her peaceful face in slumber. Was she destined to be the baby of the family forever? Even as he thought it, he felt guilty. He should be grateful that God had blessed him and Molly with two beautiful daughters already.

Together, Sherlock and Molly went downstairs to enjoy a cup of tea and watch some television.

When her tea was finished, Molly said, "I think I'm going to go take my shower now and get ready for bed."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll put our cups in the dishwasher and get it ready to run for after we've had our showers."

By the time he went upstairs, he could hear the shower running. Should he wait for Molly to emerge before having his own shower?

Deciding it would be nice to join her in the shower, he undressed, slipped on his dressing gown and walked to the bathroom, opening the door quietly.

Molly's head peered from around the shower curtain even as he removed his dressing gown and spotted the purple babydoll she had hung over her own dressing gown, apparently to surprise him. "I was going to surprise you with lingerie," she said with a pout, obviously noting he had seen the babydoll.

He smiled. "I'm not stopping you from putting it on, but I thought you might like me to scrub your back. It's been awhile since we've shared a shower."

She gave him a suspicious look. "You promise your intentions are innocent? When I asked last night if we could make love tonight, I wasn't talking about a quickie in the shower."

He chuckled. "I know, my love, nor is that my intention. I promise I'll behave."

"In that case," she batted her eyelashes at him, "you may join me."

He drew aside the shower curtain properly to step into the tub with her.

Sherlock kept his promise, scrubbing Molly's back and allowing her to scrub his own. But he did take the opportunity to kiss her several times and in several places before they stepped out of the shower.

"Don't look," she ordered him, as he covered himself with his dressing gown.

"Very well, I will allow you to dress while I run downstairs to turn on the dishwasher and then return to the bedroom," he told her, doing just that.

He hung his dressing gown back on its hook and slid under the covers, anticipating seeing Molly in lingerie again. He appreciated the fact that she wanted to look sexy for him, but she needn't have worried. Having that shower together and sharing those kisses had been quite sufficient to get him into the mood. His libido, which had been dormant for over a week, was most definitely back on track and ready for action.

He smiled as Molly came in and turned her back to him as she took off her own dressing gown, and he placed his hands behind his head to wait.

Then she turned and advanced slowly so he could drink in the sight of her in that enticing piece of lingerie. He felt his heartbeat accelerate.

She was so extraordinarily beautiful, and he had missed being with her.

Instead of going to her side of the bed, she walked to sit on the edge of the bed near him.

He was about to remove his hands from behind his head to take her into his arms when he saw her expression change to one of anxiety as she bit her lip. "Sherlock, are you really ready to make love again? I don't want to push you into it. I know we just lost our baby, and-"

"Molly," he interrupted her flow of words, "are you really telling me you couldn't feel my desire for you when we were in the shower? I should have thought it was-" he raised a brow, "fairly obvious."

She blushed. "Well, I know how you get in the shower. You can't help yourself."

He laughed at her. "So, you think getting out of the shower cooled my ardour?" To prove his point that he still wanted her, he lowered his hands to the duvet and pushed back the covers then held out his arms to her. "Now come here, silly woman."

She bent forward to place her hands on his shoulders.

He caught hold of her waist and rolled her so he was above her, pinning her body beneath him, moving his against hers suggestively. "Do you believe I'm ready?"

She nodded mutely, and he kissed her, gently at first, then deepening the kiss to an extent they hadn't shared since the night before Easter, moving his hands along her body with practiced ease.

She responded with her own eager hands, fanning the flames of their passion until their hearts beat as one in a joy of perfect union as they consummated their love. For once, he hadn't even bothered to remove the babydoll, aside from the G-string.

But afterwards, Molly removed it herself, knowing he preferred them to be skin-to-skin.

Sherlock knew that it would take time for them to heal from their loss, but he loved Molly, he needed her, and he cherished her. At night he would show her how much, as had always been their custom.

The next day, Wednesday, Sherlock did his Zoom consultations while Molly looked after their daughters. The cases were altogether too easy, although one required a quick visit to the client and a second explanation of her activities from the day the large diamond earring studs had disappeared from her dressing table. What she had not revealed in her Zoom conversation that led Sherlock to the most likely solution, was that she owned a dog. A friendly golden retriever wagged its tail at Sherlock when Mrs. Collins opened the door. He had instructed her to wear a mask, and he was wearing one also.

The elderly widow obviously lived alone with her dog, and he was sure she allowed the dog into her bedroom.

He did a perfunctory examination of her house. No sign of forced entry.

A few questions and he learned that yes, of course Toby slept with her each night, he was her companion. He almost laughed out loud at the name. What was it with people calling their pets Toby? First, Molly and her cat, then Toby the bloodhound.

"But Toby wouldn't eat my earrings!" she insisted, when he delivered his deduction on what had happened. "He's a good dog."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He may be a good dog, but this is the logical conclusion. I suggest you keep an eye on his faeces for the next several days. If you're lucky, the earrings will pass through his system." His lips quirked. "I just suggest that if you wish to retain the use of those earrings, you sterilise them thoroughly first. If they don't turn up, I would hypothesise that he has already passed them. I do not believe there is any evidence to support an unwanted entry into your home."

She still looked sceptical, but promised to let him know if Toby did indeed pass her earrings.

It was an amusing story to tell Molly when he arrived home.

And the next day, while Molly was at work, he felt validated when he received an email that confirmed his deduction had been correct, and Mrs. Collins told him she was sending him a cheque for £200 as thanks.

Well, now that Molly was back to two days a week, Sherlock wasn't going to turn up his nose at earning a little income himself.

When he and Molly were getting ready for bed that night, he told her the news of the "pooch poo", and Molly laughed. "I'm glad she found her earrings, although I don't think I'd want to wear them again after they'd been through a dog's body, sterilised or not," she commented.

"Well, I don't know what she plans to do, and it isn't my concern. I have much more important things on my mind."

And he demonstrated those more immediate concerns with Molly quite thoroughly.

Friday afternoon, a little before two o'clock, Martha arrived to watch the funeral of Prince Philip with Molly. She brought a batch of fresh scones with her, which pleased Sherlock immensely. Molly didn't have as much time for baking as his former landlady, and her scones were always a favourite.

Sherlock had agreed to keep Victoria and Christina occupied if they needed distraction, although he planned to check in on the funeral himself. A royal funeral didn't come along every day, and he was rather curious to see how it would be handled due to the continuing Covid restrictions. Hadn't the last royal funeral been for the Queen mother? He hadn't paid close attention to that one, being involved at the time with some MI6 mission or another. The timeline of his twenties had blurred into vague memories of his drug addiction, followed by rehab and training to become an MI6 agent. Then had come several death-defying missions he didn't care to relive, in between establishing himself as a consulting detective.

With the television being occupied for the funeral, there would be no putting on a film for Victoria to watch, so Sherlock laid out the pieces of one of her puzzles to occupy her. He sat on the floor with Christina in his lap, not sure how long she would cooperate. Sometimes, she'd be content to pass pieces to Victoria, other times she would want to go off and do something else.

Molly tuned the television to the BBC broadcast and sat with Martha. Sherlock glanced over at the television from time to time as the broadcast progressed. He noted the masks people were wearing, all black, of course.

Not surprisingly, within ten minutes, Christina protested her confinement on his lap, and he released her.

Molly and Martha were quietly discussing various aspects of the pre-funeral broadcast, making their own observations about the wearing of masks, the uniformed marching officers in perfect formation.

Victoria was still concentrating on her puzzle, and Sherlock put Christina into the playpen when she pointed at it. He winced a little as she banged wooden blocks together and then moved to the xylophone to press random buttons.

Molly discreetly turned the volume up on the television.

With a little over half an hour before the official start of the funeral, Victoria had completed her puzzle. "Would you like to do some colouring?" asked Sherlock, indicating a stack of colouring books beneath the coffee table. Miscellaneous crayons were in a little basket beside the books.

"Yes, Daddy," she responded.

"Let's put the puzzle away first, and then you can put the book on the table," he told her, and together they returned the pieces to the box.

Sherlock then took out a Frozen colouring book for her as well as the crayons.

Even as Victoria began to colour a picture containing Kristoff and Sven, Sherlock noted that Christina was no longer making any noise, and he glanced over into the playpen. Not surprisingly, she had fallen asleep as she often did.

He took a seat beside Molly on the sofa and looked at the television screen as the Land Rover that would bear the coffin appeared, and music played. He had heard over the past few days in numerous broadcasts that Prince Philip had chosen the details of his own funeral service in advance, including the music and the use of the modified Land Rover, even the Bible readings for the service.

"What piece of music is that?" enquired Martha, looking between Molly, who Sherlock suddenly noticed had silent tears running down her face, and himself.

Molly sniffled. "I've heard it before, but I can't remember the name of it. I just know it always reminds me of the hymn Jerusalem, because the first few notes are the same," She turned her head to look at Sherlock. "Do you know the piece, honey?"

"I do. Give me a moment." He closed his eyes and accessed his mind palace, seeking out the title of the piece, finding the information within seconds. "It's part of the movement of Jupiter, by Gustav Holst," he said, opening his eyes and slid an arm around his sensitive wife.

Molly gave him a tearful smile. "I was sure you'd know it. I was thinking it was called Galaxy or something like that, so I guess I wasn't too far off."

More pieces played, ironically, one of which was the hymn Jerusalem, that Molly had mentioned. He had to smile at the way Molly clasped her hands in rapt attention during that piece. He had to admit, that hymn was a beautiful one, resplendent in majesty.

Following these pieces, which Sherlock conceded were extremely well-played, the covered coffin was placed onto the Land Rover by masked military men, soon after which, "God Save the Queen" was played as a car was shown carrying the queen and who he figured was Prince Charles's second wife, Camilla.

Sherlock continued to glance between Victoria's colouring efforts and the television as the funeral procession began. He observed that Prince Charles, Princess Anne, Prince Andrew and Prince Edward were walking behind the Land Rover, as were Prince William and Prince Harry, along with other male members of the extended Royal family he'd never bothered to familiarise himself with.

Even as sad funeral music played along with a constant drumming sound and occasional tolling bell, with the report of a gunshot at times, Sherlock found the words of the commentator particularly poignant. "And the last journey begins. After a lifetime of carefully keeping two steps behind the Queen, today, on his final journey, the duke takes precedence for the first and the last time."

"I'm hungwy," announced Victoria, when she had finished her colouring a few minutes before the service was due to start. Sherlock removed his arm from around Molly's shoulders and stood. He had promised to keep the girls occupied, after all. At least Christina was still sleeping.

"Come with me to the kitchen, Victoria," he said, reaching out his hand towards his daughter, who took it. "I'll get you a snack."

"And some chocolate?" She gave him a hopeful smile. She still had some of that left from Easter.

He grinned and ruffled her hair. "And some chocolate."

As Sherlock prepared to leave the room with his daughter, he saw Molly's grateful smile and heard, "God save the Queen" playing again as the hearse arrived at St. George's Chapel.

Author's note: Quite a lot going on in this chapter. The hairdressing appointment has a direct bearing on the cover image for this story if you take a look closely at Molly's hair.

Details of the talent night duet can be found in Journey to a New Home. The embarrassing incident with Stacy is in A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage. I often draw on my personal post-TFP canon. as my regular readers know :)

Did you like the little "pooch poo" case? I know, a bit too easy for Sherlock.

And the funeral - I watched it and took notes for this story. Anyone out there watch it as well? What did you think about it?

Leave your review in the box below and spread some love. Thanks!