A/N: abluewrites prompted: "What's behind the door? Why is it closed?"
Rated K+
"What's behind the door? Why is it closed?"
Molly rolled her eyes, blew her newly-cut fringe away from her eyes, and gently but firmly grasped Sherlock by the arm and tugged him away from the door in question. "It's a surprise," she said. "So no deducing it, got it?"
He allowed himself to be dragged, reluctance and curiosity warring for dominance on his expressive (beautiful) face. "It's never closed, it's the door to your spare room, better known as your junk room, and you never close it because you don't want to forget how messy it is, you don't want it 'out of sight, out of mind' even though you never - oh!" His eyes lit up and he turned to her. "It's a lab, right? For experiments? That's what you were doing all week while I was in Scotland, you were building me - us - a lab, is that it?"
Molly gave a rueful smile and shake of the head as she continued to tow him - head craning over his shoulder to continue staring at the new door that had been installed - into her sitting room. "Sit," she ordered, shoving lightly at his chest so that he fell back onto the sofa. She proceeded to straddle his lap, hands on his shoulders as his cradled her waist. "It's not a lab, Sherlock, I told you I'm not zoned for the type of equipment we'd need. Experimenting will have to stay at Baker Street." Sorry Mrs. Hudson, she mentally apologized, knowing just how noxious some of those experiments could be.
His hands tightened, pulled her closer. "All my experimenting?" he murmured as their lips came within kissing distance.
Molly pretended to consider his words. "Well, maybe not all your experimenting," she finally conceded, then sealed the deal with the kiss he was so clearly expecting - and which she was all too happy to give. "But you don't get to open that door - not even a peek! - until I'm finished."
He pouted, he wheedled, he whined, he sulked, but in the end she extracted from him his solemn word that he would not so much as go near that particular room until she was ready to open the door for him.
Which, luckily for his (limited) patience, was only a single day longer. He stood impatiently as she held out a pair of scissors for him to cut the ribbon she'd taped across it. When he made to just yank it down she shook her head and offered the scissors again. "You've painted," he announced after accepting them. "Low VOC, but still obvious to the trained nose-"
"And trained trash-picker," Molly muttered good-naturedly; after all, she hadn't forbidden him from going through the debris she'd removed from the room after his early return from Scotland.
Pointedly ignoring her, he continued, "And new carpeting, you can just see it from under the door although the color is difficult to discern and," he scowled down at her, "you made sure to dispose of any remnants elsewhere. So. A redesign of your junk room, most of which you had hauled away - donated, discarded, or distributed amongst friends - before I returned home. Why the mystery, Molly-mine, hmm?"
She went a bit misty eyed at the nickname, one he used only when feeling particularly loving - or when trying to trick her into giving something away, she reminded herself. Not that there was much to give away now that it was time for The Great Reveal - but still. "Be nice, Sherlock," she chided him.
He took her in his arms, scissors held carefully away from them both. "I'm always nice," he rumbled in his deepest, sexiest voice. Then he kissed her, curling her toes and stealing her breath before setting her abruptly back on her feet and cutting the ribbon. "So, let's just see what…"
He opened the door. Molly held her breath.
He took in the contents of the room, from the cheerful yellow curtains to the soft green carpeting to the yellow-green-and-blue striped walls. There was only one piece of furniture in it at the moment, but as he turned to her, eyes shining, she knew he understood - he deduced - the future use of the room.
"When did you find out?" he demanded as he ushered her carefully over to the pretty white glider with its yellow and green cushions.
"The day you left," she replied, smiling through her sudden - happy, ecstatic - tears. "I had the door installed so you would have a mystery to distract you from deducing it. Did it really work? Truly?"
He nodded, kneeling down and taking her hands in his, gazing up at her adoringly. "Truly," he confirmed. "I had no idea. Now, if you'd been vomiting every morning, well, that would have been a different story."
"Happy?" she asked, although she already knew the answer; after all, they'd stopped using birth control six months after he'd explained Sherrinford and his sister Eurus to her.
"Happy," he echoed, no question in his voice, only certainty. He leaned over and kissed her belly. "Ecstatic," he added, kissing her between the breasts. "Awed." He kissed her lips, sweetly, and then not so sweetly as she toppled into his arms.
Later, they agreed never to reveal to their soon-to-be-born child how they'd 'broken in' the carpet in their future nursery.