The Balance of Probability

Genre: Family, Friendship, with minor humour and a little romance

Pairings: Greg and Molly

Main characters: Greg, Molly, Sherlock

Greg Lestrade, of late being a man of contentment and full appreciative awareness of his good fortunes, hadn't considered that his little family might still have room to grow.

Sherlock, later on, would simply point out, "Really, Greg, don't be an idiot. You are still in full possession of your virility and Molly is yet well within her childbearing years. The balance of probability suggests that this was bound to happen again sooner or later."

It wasn't that he and Molly didn't enjoy their marriage in full – in fact, their wedded bliss, though it had always maintained a steady spark of romance, had found something of a solid reboot with their move to 221C Baker Street. Upstairs, between Sherlock, John, and Mrs Hudson, they had a trio of babysitters more than willing to take on the challenge of twin boys. In Rosie Watson, they found a playmate for little Scott and Johnnie Lestrade, with the patience of an angel and a willingness to share even her most treasured toys. Thanks to their upstairs housemates, Greg and Molly had managed to not only keep the embers glowing steadily, but on occasion they had managed full weekends of stoking the fires into a roaring blaze.

It shouldn't have surprised anyone then, least of all Greg, when Molly, on the second Sunday in June, presented him with a Father's Day gift from a particular set of offspring.

The plaster plaque, made from a craft kit and including a small stand so it may be displayed on his desk at the Yard, unsurprisingly featured several handprints. His – he now realized Molly's request on the pretense of making a birthday gift for Mrs. Hudson "from her three Baker Street Boys" had been a ruse – Molly's, the two much smaller ones, identical in size, of his sons, and the pawprint of what surely must have been the most patient and forgiving house cat in London. What caught Greg unawares, however, was the carefully drawn heart, within the borders of which had been placed a question mark.

Molly watched expectantly as her husband's face first lit up with a glowing smile, and then his eyebrows shot up, his jaw growing slightly slack as the meaning of the small drawing sunk in with a solid thud.

"You… we… how… no, I mean of course I know how, but… Molly!?" Greg finally managed to stammer.

Molly simply sat serenely, with an expression akin to the cat that had just stolen the canary. She stood up, walked over to him, and planted herself on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and planting a solid and lingering kiss.

Once he had adjusted to the idea of a third little Lestrade, Greg spent little time considering if he would prefer another son, or a daughter this time. The honest truth was, Greg was just happy that the offspring that had eluded him for so many years had actually come into existence, even if he was a little older than the average new dad. If he was really pressed for an opinion, Greg steadfastly refused to give one.

And so, when they found out what their third was – and he was grateful that it was only their third, and not their third and fourth – Sherlock, still a little bit resentful that he hadn't deduced Molly's pregnancy this time – pressed Greg for details.

"So… what are you having this time?" he asked over a light breakfast in 221B.

Greg smiled sweetly, and pulled out his game face, employed mostly when dealing with the press, but occasionally when dealing with a certain nosey consulting detective. "No comment."

"Oh, come on Greg, I know for a fact that you and Molly found out two days ago," Sherlock pressed, raising his teacup to his mouth and taking a casual sip.

"So far, he or she is healthy. That's what we're having – a healthy baby," he finally conceded, before taking a bite of his croissant.

"Ah… HE or she… so you're to have a third boy then?" Sherlock was relentless. The game was on and he was bored, Sally having recently moved out of Greg and Molly's flat after her recovery, and his downtime days now seeming to be a little bit less fulfilled somehow.

"SHE or he then," Greg replied, refusing to give in.

"I see… so you are, in fact, having a girl then."

"Sherlock, give it up, I'm not telling you what Molly and I are having. We're having a baby, that's all you need to know. Feel free to deduce it, if you'd like, I can't stop you from doing that." Greg cleared his throat, taking a pull from his coffee cup.

"You are attempting to use reverse psychology on me, Detective Inspector. It is a poorly executed attempt, but I do commend your efforts, paltry as they are," Sherlock countered, attempting to insult Greg's pride enough to make him spill the beans.

"Really. Exactly how do you figure that?" Greg's annoyance had begun to dissipate, and he found himself becoming amused at the efforts of his brilliant detective friend and neighbour.

"You said 'he or she' first, attempting to throw me off the scent, and then you countered with the truth. Or perhaps you started with the truth, knowing that I would suspect reverse psychology. Well played, my friend, well played. But you failed to remember that I would observe Molly. The loo in my flat is atop yours for the purpose of the plumbing, and the ceiling separating them is poorly insulated, so I happen to know the frequency of her bouts of morning sickness. That, coupled with the nature of her pregnancy cravings clearly suggests another boy, although the swelling of her ankles and the position of her bump suggests a girl."

Greg simply stared at him blankly, a poker face he had perfected over the years – mostly from his extensive experience interrogating suspects.

"I'm going to make my own deductions, Sherlock," Greg finally said. "Based upon my own observations of you grasping at straws and attempting to goad me into telling you, the balance of probability, as you are so fond of putting it, suggests that you have absolutely no bloody idea and you're trying to bullshit your way into either saving face or appealing to my sense of mercy and just telling you."

Sherlock sighed heavily, sitting back with a small pout. "Well, I suppose in all fairness, you have solved the odd crime over the years without my assistance," he said, his pride refusing to allow him to tell Greg outright that he was correct. "But I am very happy for you, and I will say without actually knowing if it's a girl or a boy, that for Molly's sake, I truly hope you'll have a daughter this time. Might I suggest 'Greer' for a name, it's the Scottish feminine equivalent to 'Gregory'. I think should you have a girl, it would be quite appropriate and pretty."

"And if we should happen to have a boy?" Greg asked, curiously.

"Well… 'Sherlock' is still available."