Summary:

Molly has a difficult morning, but Sherlock makes it as pleasant as possible, despite circumstances. Both Sherlock and Molly have reasons to pray, albeit very different reasons. Molly is desperate for her wish to finally come to fruition, and Sherlock doesn't know which result to wish /for/.

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The next morning Sherlock is awoken by Molly hurriedly leaving her bed. He looks worried and quickly follows after her to the loo. She immediately wretches into the toilet; Sherlock kneels behind her and holds her hair back as she vomits.

After a moment she groans. "How can you see that and not get sick yourself?", she mutters.

"I've seen much worse than vomit, Molly", he chuckles and dampens a washcloth at the sink then wipes down her face.

Her cheeks turn red, and he smiles. "What?"

"N-nothing...you're just being very...", she trails off, searching for the right word.

"Domestic?"

"You could say that", she blushes more. "Why are you being so nice? Because I'm pregnant?"

"No. Yes. I don't know really. I didn't think about it. Just seemed like the right thing to do. Does it bother you?"

"Why would it bother me? It's sweet, it's just different coming from you."

He snorts. "Yeah, I don't think 'sweet' is what most people would describe me as."

"Probably not", she giggles weakly.

They sit on her bathroom floor for a moment while she catches her breath. Sherlock looks over her, making sure she's alright. "So...that's what was happening during the phone call then."

Her face falls a bit, and she looks at him. "Hm?"

"You wretched into the sink, you were making lemon tea to settle your stomach, am I right?"

She sighs and nods. "Of course you're right. Though it's deeper than that. That was the day I found out...I was completely panicking. Looking back of course I was pregnant, but I just didn't want to face it for so long...until I had to. All the signs were there."

Sherlock closes his eyes as the realization strikes him hard. "That's why you were having a bad day and were grumpy. I get it now."

"Exactly", she says softly, falling silent.

"I am sorry. Again. I know we've been over everything; I just know that I owe you more than an apology. I know that it affected you, especially because of y'know...that night that we shared. I didn't want to hurt you like that. I honestly thought I was saving your life. I was so worried about you that I missed all of the subtle signs that it was a setup and I am so so sorry, Molly.

He watches as tears appear in her eyes, and his heart breaks a little. She's been crying so much already, and he's only been at her home for less than twelve hours. Scooting over to her, he grabs a piece of tissue and wipes her eyes, disliking that he's the cause of her tears.

"You know I've forgiven you. But as I said before, it doesn't just make the impact of it disappear. It still hurt me." She mumbles something under her breath and Sherlock just catches it. Suddenly he feels even more awful.

'Especially because it was all fake on your end'

He clears the lump in his throat and stands up, taking her hand and helping her stand as well. "Come, we should get you some toast and tea at the very least."

Nodding, she allows him to drag her down the hallway and into her kitchen. She notices how every time he sees it now, he freezes for a split second. He scrambles around for a moment, gathering items like a scavenger from her cabinets and counter. Jam, tea bags, bread, utensils, a lemon...she can't help but let out a chuckle at just how ridiculous he looks, so domesticated but out of his element at the same time.

Turning to her he pulls a face. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. You just look so out of your depth. It's only toast and tea", she laughs, feeling a bit better.

He snarls playfully and rolls his eyes. "I'm not prone to breakfast-making. That's all."

"But it's toast."

"I don't like toast."

"Liar."

"Okay fine, I always burn it."

"You're saying you can't even cook bread?"

"There is a reason I have a Mrs. Hudson."

"She's your landlady, not your housekeeper."

"Mhh, if that lets her sleep at night."

"Sherlock!"

"Whatttt? She does up-/keep/ my flat, no?"

Molly can't help but erupt into giggles at his ridiculousness, and his laughter soon follows suit. He does have a point.

"Ugh, I'll just do it. You make the tea. At least that is something you CAN make. I'm not so sure what your standing would be as a Brit if you couldn't."

Smirking and reveling in their comfortable conversation, he begins preparing the tea for her.

"I told Mike I wasn't feeling well last night, I have loads of days I could take so he said I could take whatever time I need."

"I presumed as much."

Molly makes Sherlock some eggs to go with his toast, though stopping a few times with nausea that comes in waves. Finally, they settle at her table and eat their breakfast. Molly nibbles at the toast, trying to eat as much as possible.

"We should ask if there is anything you can do for nausea. It seems a bit excessive, from what I know about pregnancy. Which is limited, but I was around Mary before she had Rosie."

Molly smiles weakly but gratefully and nods a bit, too nauseous to form a coherent answer or a snide comment.

"I'll have to do some research and keep it in my mind palace for further use while needed", he mumbles to himself, causing Molly to blush.

Once breakfast is finished, Molly leaves Sherlock to stew by himself, knowing that he probably needs time to process everything. She lets the hot water stream down her body, taking a deep breath of the swirling steam around her, relieved that the nausea has subsided for the time being.

Washing her body, she pauses for a moment, splaying her hand over the bump in her abdomen, tearing up a bit.

"Hi, baby...I just want you to know that I am happy about you. The situation is difficult for me no matter who your dad is, but I love you", she chokes up. "None of my regret or my anxiety is because of you, it's because of me and them. You were meant to be here, and I know that. You mean the world to me. You always will. I know what it's like to have a mother who despises you and I could never ever do that. I fell in love with you the moment I knew about you, it was just overrun with the terror of having to deal with your father...but I know I can do this. Without them. You're my baby and everything from now on is going to be about making you happy and healthy, I promise", she sniffles as tears fall down her face, intermingling with the water droplets streaking down from her wet hair.

Closing her eyes, she leans against the cool tile and focuses on the sound of the shower stream as she rubs her bump lovingly. "I've dreamed of you for so long...and now that you're here, I'm scared. But this time I'm going to get it right. I'm going to keep myself healthy and you healthy and I'll get to hold you the way I never got to hold your brother a long, long time ago...I was still a kid myself", whispers brokenly. "I'll get to see you and raise you; I just have to be careful and remember to eat and do everything right, I promise I will for you. I hope our guardian angels will look after us", her voice trembles. "Your grandfather, great-grandmother, and big brother...they'll keep us safe. I know they will, I just know it. The way they looked after me and your uncle. I helped raise him and he-he's a good man now. I didn't do so terribly with him even though I was young too."

Her mind flashes back to when she was just eighteen and left raising her brother when their father died, the troubles they went through, and then her assault and the resulting pregnancy with her son. She had ended up miscarrying from her terrible physical and mental health at the time.

Her lip trembles and a small sob escapes her as she squeezes her eyes shut, letting the water fall over her form. "Please...please don't let anything happen to my baby this time. I'm older now. I'm able. I have the money. I have a good home. I can do it now. I can do it", she whispers in quiet prayer as she begins to rinse the suds out of her hair.

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Sherlock paces around Molly's sitting room over and over, figuratively burning a hole in her rug. His mind is racing with all the possibilities that could come from today. Yes, he realizes that there are only two possibilities. Either the child is Tom's, or the child is his.

Honestly, he doesn't know which outcome he would prefer more. Of course, it angers him to even think about the child being Tom's after Molly had told him that she had broken the engagement because Tom wanted her to quit her job to raise children, and he wanted to become the breadwinner "the way things should be".

Sherlock snarls in frustration, shaking that thought out of his head and then focusing on the other option. If this child is his. What the hell is he to do if that happens?

"I am not fit to be a father", he grumbles to himself, running his fingers through his wild curls, distraught.