Chapter 102 — You've Probably Got Some Questions

The air became stilled for a moment, before Molly replied, "Sorry. What do you mean? W-what… how…"

"...The usual way," Sherlock said, slightly miffed. Wasn't it obvious?

By Molly's expression, perhaps it wasn't so obvious. It began to dawn on him just how Molly Hooper saw him. Capable of human emotions, yes, but Sherlock Holmes stopped short at romantic entanglements. And why wouldn't she think that? He'd shouted it from the rooftop enough times.

With a tilt of her head, Molly asked, "So… you've had a baby… with… someone?"

She spoke as if those words had no business referring to Sherlock.

"Yes."

"A woman."

"Y-es. Yes! A woman." Christ! What did she think? But it wasn't a question, was it? "Look. Molly. I've been in a relationship," he began slowly, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. "I am in a relationship… I've known her for years. It sort of developed into a… well… it's a long story, like I said. But we've been in some sort of… thing... since I came back from the dead. It's been on and off again. Mostly on, but occasionally off, because I'm such a… well, you know me… a bit of a… dickhead."

He attempted a smile, but Molly's expression was unchanging, with the exception of a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks. Or was he imagining it?

"And…" he said, looking away. He needed to keep talking. "… and obviously this last month, you saw how I was. To her, I was an utter… utter… wanker. She was in her third trimester, for Christ's sake. And I was off my tits on drugs… Ended up in hospital attempting to entrap Culverton Smith, while my… my…" He paused to clear his throat. "Well… she was in hospital giving birth to our daughter that same night. And now, here I am, scrambling to make it up to both of them. She's forgiven me, of course, because…" He returned his gaze to Molly, his eyes slightly moist. "Because… she's a saint."

Molly gave a vague nod and focussed her gaze everywhere else but on him.

"So…" Sherlock began. "May I…?"

He left the question hanging, unsure of Molly's frame of mind. It wasn't usual that he couldn't read her. But it was always his own emotions that disrupted his logical processing abilities.

When her eyes finally rested on his once more, she seemed to sit a little taller.

"You said you understood if I didn't take your word it wasn't drugs," she said, her voice struggling to remain even. "Why should I trust you when you say you have a baby?"

Why indeed!

He blinked, deep in thought, then nodded in agreement.

"Yes. Yes, you're right, of course. How stupid of me." Gesturing to her, he said, "Come with me."

"What?"

"Right now," he said, his heart lifting a little. He could be seconds away from leaving, again! "St George's Fields isn't too far. A half hour walk at the most."

"Sherlock, I don—"

"And then I might have to get you to stay the night, because I won't have you returning here in the middle of the night. Not by yourself. There's a spare single bed in the nursery, and we can move—"

"No, Sherlock. If…if what you're saying is true, then the last thing you should be doing is to turn up on a doorstep at midnight with a complete stranger. Not if you're trying to get back into somebody's good books."

"You're not a complete stranger."

"To… to her I am… unless…" Molly's eyes widened in astonishment. "Oh, God. It's not… I mean, she's not… Janine, is she? Mary's bridesmaid?"

Sherlock gaped a little, momentarily stunned.

"Dear lord, where did that come from?" he said. And then it dawned on him. Of course. His little charade and Janine's revenge. "Don't believe everything you read in the newspapers, Molly. I've never even touched her… well, perhaps I touched her… a bit… but not in that way. Christ, no."

"Okay, right, well," Molly said, clasping her hands together. "I didn't actually mean I wanted to see the baby for myself. Don't all new parents take loads of baby photos?"

"Oh!" Sherlock said, blinking rapidly in realisation. Stupid! He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out his phone. "Yes, of course they do," he murmured.

He swiftly navigated to his photo gallery. When confronted with quite an alarming number of photos of his daughter, he clicked on the first one taken. Rose had snapped a few using his phone the first night he'd met Grace, because her phone was still upstairs.

Sherlock handed the phone to Molly. She cradled it in both hands, her focus on the screen in quiet contemplation.

In the photo, Sherlock was gazing down at Grace, his face in profile because he didn't want the left side, with its injuries, to feature prominently in a picture with his baby daughter.

He suddenly felt very self-conscious with Molly studying the image. He gave a light cough.

"If you swipe across," he said, his throat tight and strained, "You'll see a close up of her. Grace, that is. We… we named her Grace."

Molly emitted a tiny "Oh" before swiping across the screen, only to find a similar photo to the first.

"Oh, you'll have to…" Sherlock said, but Molly had already navigated to the next photo, which was also in the same vein as the first two. Bloody hell, Rose. How many did she take?

Molly kept moving through the photos, which Sherlock remembered now contained Grace waking and yawning and gazing up at her daddy. At the time, Sherlock had smiled and chuckled at her before he became aware of Rose's constant photo taking—in between her sniffling, that is. She'd been quite emotional. The last one in the set had him frowning up at the camera in mock irritation.

But finally, Rose had stood over him to snap a photo of Grace in close-up, her eyes wide open, as she stared up at him.

"Do you…" he began hesitantly to Molly, "Do you think she looks like me? A bit?"

He had to know. Another person's opinion was very useful to him. Especially one who also knew him well. Rose said Grace looked like him, as did Justine. Bob had quickly agreed, but Sherlock knew the man had no opinion either way. Rose told him Lisa commented that Grace had her father's eyes, an odd comment for someone who had never met him, to which Rose said Lisa qualified her statement with the fact that Grace's eyes were nothing like Rose's. Indeed they weren't. The shape, anyway. She had Sherlock's almond-shaped eyes. The slate-grey eye colour would change in a few months' time, becoming a blue-green like Sherlock's, most likely.

Rose didn't say any of her other friends gave an opinion on who Grace looked like, except for a comment from Ade, she said. Grace wasn't a ginger, he pointed out, which confirmed for him that Rose's baby wasn't his. Sherlock hadn't appreciated that snippet of information at the time.

"Yes, a little bit," Molly said in a tiny voice in response to his question. She swiped again, her hand frozen over the image now displayed, before she swiftly navigated back to the previous photo. She cleared her throat and stood up, holding out Sherlock's phone to him. "She's beautiful," she said, her eyes glistening a little.

"Thank you. But I can't take all the credit. She also has Rose's genes, obviously."

"Rose?"

Sherlock's mouth eased into a smile.

"Coincidence," he said. "Nothing to do with Rosie's name."

"You once called me 'Rose'."

"Did I?"

Sherlock had absolutely no recollection of that. A slip of the tongue, perhaps.

"A long time ago," Molly added. "After you came back to London. I wondered who she was, for you to have her name on your mind. Is that where you met her… abroad?"

"No, no," Sherlock said, clearing his throat. "Here in London." He stepped back and rubbed a hand across his nape.

"Does John know about her?"

"John? Well… um… yes. Yes, he did. Ages ago. When we were… when we… ah… There was a thing. A case," Sherlock attempted to wave a dismissive hand. "Long story. Not important. But he doesn't know about her now. And… and definitely not… the… baby."

Sherlock gave a light cough and tugged at his collar. Small tells, gestures that gave away his deception, he knew that, but hoped Molly did not.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because…" he began slowly, "Rose doesn't want him to know. Not yet, anyway. She's a bit… upset.. with… him."

"With John? Why?"

Sherlock began to shrink under Molly's scrutiny. He didn't know why that was. Something about her seeing through his bullshit, and now the padlocks had flown off the hidden trunks in his Mind Palace and all sorts of secrets threatened to spill out.

"Ah… because he hit me."

"John's always hitting you."

"He did this."

Sherlock gestured to his face. He didn't show his torso, of course, but that was what set Rose off one night when he was changing into pyjamas to join her in bed—the multicoloured bruises where John had repeatedly kicked him.

Molly's expression wasn't as aghast as Rose's had been, but then again, she was only privy to half the information.

"I just thought that was done by Culverton Smith's bodyguards," she remarked.

As did Rose, Sherlock thought. Initially. Until she'd demanded the truth.

"No," he said to Molly, his shoulders drooping a little.

"And what about Mycroft?" she asked.

"No. Definitely not." He knitted his brows together. "Molly. I just want a bit of time to spend with Rose and Grace, and no interference from my brother. You know what he's like. I know I can trust you on this, and I appreciate your confidence."

Molly drew her dressing gown tighter.

"Well, you should go… to them, I mean. Just… just be back before dawn in case Mycroft checks up on us."

"Thank you, Molly."

She gave him a half-smile that didn't quite meet her eyes and turned for the kitchen.

Sherlock pocketed his phone and strode over to the living room door. Just as he was lifting his coat off its hook, Molly said, "Sherlock."

She'd come back into the living room, her nose a little red, he thought.

"Congratulations," she said, her mouth twitching into a smile.

Before Sherlock could utter his thanks, Molly swiftly vacated the room.

Was she upset, he wondered as he drew on his coat. But why? He then recalled her freezing at the next photo, before hastily returning to the close-up of Grace. What was it? What had she seen?

Sherlock pulled out his phone once more. Grace's face filled the screen, and his heart stuttered. He swiped to the next photo. It was a selfie he took of the three of them. He had his arm around Rose, who was now holding Grace. They were leaning towards each other as they looked up at the camera, faint smiles on their lips.

Oh. So she'd got her first glimpse of Rose. But why would Molly be upset about putting a face to the name? The knowledge of him having not only a girlfriend but also a baby would be quite a shock to some people, but Molly's demeanour seemed more than just pure surprise.

Surely she didn't… no, of course not. Molly cared for him, and that…that silly crush she had on him all those years ago had disappeared, hadn't it? Her self-consciousness around him had long gone. She didn't take any of his nonsense any more. She saw through him. Their relationship had become something of a friendship based on mutual respect, or so he'd like to believe… when he wasn't being a complete dick to her. From her perspective, it couldn't have developed into… well, something more, could it? Not… not Molly. They were friends.

But as Sherlock's heart became heavy, he knew his take on things was quite erroneous.

Molly may have given up on any kind of romantic notions where Sherlock was concerned because he always gave the impression he wasn't interested in that kind of thing. With anyone. But that didn't mean she didn't love him. And now he'd shown he was perfectly capable of becoming involved with someone romantically. Someone else, though.

"Oh, dear God," he murmured. She was hurting, because he had just heartlessly flaunted his new relationship status in front of her. And his new family.

Sherlock backed away from the door and gazed toward the kitchen.

He should go to her. Explain. Tell her it all happened by accident. It grew out of circumstances beyond his control. He hadn't intentionally decided to enter into a relationship. There were many factors. A past history together, for one thing. His need to be in the company of someone upon his return, since his friends were all busy with their new lives, was another. John had Mary. Molly was engaged to Tom. It wasn't their fault he felt the world had moved on without him, but he was bereft of company in those first few days. And Rose was…

Rose was…

But as an ache dulled his chest, he knew going to Molly now would be a mistake. If he knew Molly Hooper, and he was sure he did, letting her know he had deduced not only her feelings towards him, but what effect his revelation had on her, would only make matters worse.

Sherlock bowed his head and inhaled deeply. He had to leave Molly to process her feelings in her own way, without interference from him.

He shook his head, his chest heaving.

Molly.

I'm sorry.

I'm so so sorry.

With a heavy heart, Sherlock slipped out of his flat and into the cool night air, headed for St George's Fields.


"Look, Sherlock," Rose said, attempting to keep her voice quiet and steady since she'd just put a sleeping Grace into the pram. "I've just changed Grace's nappy twice, and her singlet and onesie again in the space of ten minutes. I have to work out what layers and blankets and things to take with us. The last thing I need is a toddler having a tantrum about his outfit as well."

Sherlock spun on his heels and headed back upstairs, his head bowed.

Rose's stomach twisted as she listened to Sherlock's footsteps on the floor above her. Perhaps she should feel a tiny bit guilty for snapping at him, but he was a grown man, for fuck's sake! He should be able sort out his own wardrobe! And if he didn't like the "civilian" clothes she'd bought him, then he should've bloody well gone shopping himself.

Rose gently rocked the pram to ensure Grace stayed asleep until they at least got as far as the Italian Water Gardens. It was their first outing as a family and Rose had been looking forward to strolling through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens with Sherlock and Grace.

The newly minted father had finally been released from his home detention and had stayed the night. It would've been wonderful to have woken curled up next to him, but it wasn't to be. Sherlock had decided he'd try to extend Grace's sleeping time by taking the single bed in the nursery and patting the baby back to sleep without waking Rose for at least one of Grace's nightly awake times. He wanted to give Rose one six hour stretch of sleep—a luxury!—instead of the broken three hours at a time she'd been getting lately.

It was very thoughtful of him. Still, it would've been nice just to lie in bed together, wondering what their lazy Sunday would bring, as they had done what seemed like a hundred years ago. Not that her ideal day would incorporate any of the antics they used to get up to on a Sunday. All she wanted to do these days was sleep. It was the most desirable commodity in the world.

But Sherlock had to duck out back to Baker Street, he said, to retrieve a signal jamming device, or something, and had taken hours to return. He was in a foul mood by then.

He emerged on the staircase, having changed out of the hated t-shirt that dared sport a commercial logo. She didn't know why he objected to it. He'd worn something similar in Edinburgh. He now wore a plain white tee underneath a blue chambray shirt, paired with black jeans. He tromped down the stairs in new boots, unsubtly letting Rose know he still wasn't happy. With what part of the ensemble, she didn't care to know.

Rose glared at him, hoping he'd understand she'd turf him out if he dared wake the baby. Sherlock brushed past her, striding across the living area to retrieve the cap and jacket he'd irately discarded earlier in his bid to protest the inferiority of the clothing items.

Rose turned her back on him as he finished dressing. It was best to ignore undesirable behaviour in a child. She unlocked the front door, and shifted the pram out of the way so the door could swing inwards.

"Do you want to push?" she asked, without looking at him.

"Yes."

Of course he did. It would be just like Sherlock to want to control the steering of the pram as well.

Rose held the door open and waited for Sherlock to bring the pram around.

"Are you sure you can manage?"

She heard Sherlock's scoff as she stared resolutely out onto the estate gardens.

As he navigated the pram through the doorway, he muttered, "I once commandeered a Super Puma L2 helicopter and prevented us crashing into the North Sea. I'm sure I can push a fucking pram."

Rose's stomach dropped and she felt pressure on her sinuses. She brought her sunglasses down to cover her eyes which were rapidly pooling with tears. As she pulled the door shut behind her, she couldn't help feel responsible for the ice that hung heavy in the air around them. She was on a short fuse herself these days. This wasn't how their first outing together was meant to be!

Sherlock suddenly stopped in front of her, and pulled the pram back towards the front door.

"What have you forgotten?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her emotions.

He turned to her, pushed the brake on the pram with his foot, and plucked off his own sunglasses.

"This," he said, pulling up in front of Rose.

He pushed her sunglasses up, propping them on top of her head, and planted a gentle, if a bit scratchy, lingering kiss on her lips.

Pulling away a little, he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, Rose. I'm a fucking arsehole. Please forgive me."

Tears now streamed down Rose's cheeks. She was a mess. Sherlock left one hand cupped to her face and he wiped away one track of tears with his thumb.

"I'm… sorry… too," Rose said, sniffing.

"Don't be," he said, he eyes glistening with affection. "You've got too much to think about already." He dropped his hand and straightened up. "I didn't tell you this, because I didn't want to add any more to your plate this afternoon, but my annoying arse of a brother set a tail on me as I left Baker Street earlier. Took me hours to lose them. And I stopped by Craig's to get another jamming device. Couldn't find mine. I'm sure Mycroft will start tracking me via my phone if he can't get a visual on me. He removes the babysitters, but still doesn't trust me enough to leave me alone." Sherlock searched Rose's eyes before he lifted a hand to caress her cheek again. "I'm sorry for my meltdown earlier," he went on, his tone softening. "You and Grace are my whole world, and I don't want to waste one second making our life together miserable."

Rose tried to offer Sherlock a smile, but his little speech caused her to choke out a sob.

A smile stretched wide on his face, and he gathered Rose up into his arms. He chuckled in her ear as he held her tightly.

"I love you," he murmured, causing a fresh round of tears to pool in Rose's eyes. She tried to compose herself while Sherlock smoothed a comforting hand over her back.

Finally putting a stop to her tears, Rose eased back.

"I love you, too," she said, wiping at her eyes. Over Sherlock's shoulder, she had observed movement underneath the blanket in the pram.

"Someone's waking," she said.

Sherlock tutted as he shifted to examine their daughter.

"You always want to be the centre of attention, don't you?" he said, as Grace let out a hiccuping protest. "I have no idea where you get that from."

Rose's heart sank. They hadn't even left the front door!

"We should go back inside," she said as Sherlock scooped Grace out of the pram and rearranged her and the accompanying blanket over his shoulder. "I'll give her an early feed," she added, sighing.

"Nonsense," Sherlock said. "You push, and I'll pat. I'll have her asleep before we even reach the road."

Rose wished she had faith in Sherlock's confidence, but as they were all set for an afternoon walk anyway, she wearily acquiesced. They wended their way through the estate's garden paths, with Rose pushing an empty pram, and Sherlock patting Grace over his shoulder.

By the time they reached the Bayswater Road access gate, Grace had succumbed to her father's soothing pats. Sherlock gestured towards the gate with a tilt of his head, prompting Rose to retrieve her fob key as he gently lowered Grace back into the pram.

Once they were out onto Bayswater Road, with Grace's face relaxed in sleepy repose, Sherlock held out a hand to Rose.

"I'm quite adept at this pram pushing business," he announced, "I can even do it one-handed."

Rose chuckled lightly as she threaded her fingers into his. The little family eventually crossed Bayswater Road near Albion Street, and continued their journey into Hyde Park.

.


Author's Note:

Thanks to thedragonaunt for checking over my Molly-Sherlock interaction yet again! I highly recommend her Sherlolly sagas! Sweet, realistic, dramatic and highly fulfilling. Do check them out!

In my story, Sherlock accidentally called Molly 'Rose' way back in Ch. 26, when he was waiting to hear back from Rose after he sent her flowers—very early on in their relationship. Just thought I'd let you know that, as I'd almost forgotten myself!

More family fluff to come! And someone else finds out about the baby