The Bliss of Ignorance
Genre: Romance, Family, Friendship
Pairings: Greg and Molly, pre-Sherlock and Sally
Main characters: Greg, Molly, Scott & Johnnie in unspoken roles, Sherlock and Sally in a cameo
"Oh, darling," Molly said, smiling warmly at Greg. "Good, you're here now. I'm just feeding the boys, perhaps Scott won't have to wait now for his dinner," she said, laughing softly turning her gaze back to the wiggling baby in the cot.
Greg smiled at his wife, eyes lit up with contentment. "Of course," he said, strolling over. He paused just a moment to admire their boys, wondering that Molly's genes hadn't shown themselves a little more prominently. Oh well, he thought, it would be fine. He'd been often enough told he was a more than a little bit dishy back in the day. He wasn't sure he believed it, but Molly especially seemed to be in agreement with it even now, in spite of his laugh lines and slowing gait and greying hair – no, sorry, Molly insisted it was silver, her "Silver Fox" she maintained steadfastly. To each their own, he thought, as he reached down to pick up the wiggling twin, it was what it was.
Cradling Scott, and glancing at Molly, now settled in a rocking chair with Johnnie, he took the few steps over to the second chair and settled in, taking the offered bottle from Molly. "Thanks, love," he said, smiling. "Now, little stinker, let's see how hungry you are, eh?" he whispered softly. They allowed themselves to become completely absorbed in the task of feeding the twins for a few minutes, sitting in contented silence.
Finally, Molly broke it. "So, you had that chat with Sherlock, did you? How did that go?"
Greg adjusted Scott in his arms as he brought himself out of the reverie of feeding his son. "About how you'd expect. He still doesn't see, of course, how could he with his head so firmly up his arse?"
"Of course he doesn't. He doesn't see people. If you held up a sign in big bold lettering that said 'You and the Old Plod fancy each other, a date wouldn't kill you' he might get it."
"He doesn't see himself, either, apparently. Just swans about in oblivion thinking he's too clever for ordinary folk to get. He doesn't get himself, that's the irony, love," Greg said thoughtfully.
"To be fair, Sally doesn't seem to fare much better. I'd have thought she'd know better, I mean she observes the way you do, she sees people. Or maybe because it's Sherlock she's in denial," Molly speculated, shifting Johnnie slightly as he began to wiggle in her grip. "I mean, she used to maintain quite adamantly that he was a freak and a psycho. She was more than ready to believe he was a fraud right before he jumped."
"Sally Donovan is a hell of a copper, but she sees what she wants to see when it comes to certain people," Greg pointed out. "She's admitted to herself that Sherlock Holmes isn't the villainous criminal she thought he was at first, she's even admitted he's a good man and that they're mates. She just won't admit that she finds him attractive and they've already moved past basic friendship. It's one thing to admit you've been wrong to other people. It's entirely another matter to admit you've been wrong to yourself."
"True that," Molly admitted. "Oh Johnnie, you were a hungry boy, weren't you,' Molly said suddenly, glancing down at the empty bottle. "Well, I think Sally Donovan sees what she wants to see when it comes to herself as well. I had a lot of time around her when she was staying here with us." Molly shifted the baby in her arms to rest him against her chest, patting his back to burp him.
"Oh darling, you should have seen her face light up whenever Sherlock would come down from his flat to see us. And his light up as well. Oh he always came on the pretense of seeing the boys, or having to talk to me about Rosie or something, but it was pretty clear to me why he was here. To be honest it would have been bloody adorable if it hadn't been so frustrating to watch. For two intelligent people, they are surprisingly thick. If ignorance really is bliss, those two are bloody over the moon."
Greg paused a moment, holding up the empty bottle he held himself. "Well, made short work of that, didn't you son," he said with amused pride. "No wonder you weigh as if you've got lead in your trousers." Scott grinned at him, waving his arms around. Greg shifted him upright, intending to burp him as well.
"No arguments there, love," Greg said to Molly. "Well, even a blind chicken finds a kernel of corn once in a while," Greg said thoughtfully. "Eventually they'll figure it out, I just hope they're not both so damned stubborn they won't do something about it when that happens. If I have to watch them slow burn for much longer I think I'm going to go mad. Life's too bloody short," he said, as he looked over at Molly and caught her eyes. "Nobody's got forever. You'd think they'd both realized that when Sally got shot." Greg winced as the boys both managed to burp up their pent up gas at the same time. "Twins. Gotta do everything in sync, don't they," he muttered with mild amusement.
Molly arose, setting Johnnie back down in the cot, Greg following behind her with Scott. Tucking them in, he placed an arm around his wife's waist and gave it a squeeze. Smiling down at the boys for a few moments, Molly finally broke her gaze from them to look up at Greg, turning herself to face him. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, they don't have forever. They only have the person they want most to spend their version of it with. Their own special forevers. I'm so glad I'm spending mine with you, Gregory Joseph Lestrade."
Greg gazed down at Molly, his heart filled with love and amazement for the umpteenth time since they'd begun their relationship. He bent his head down, intending to kiss her, but she pulled back, bringing a playful finger up to rest on his lips. "Uh uh," she said, "I've got a better idea, my dishy silver fox," before bouncing up on her tip toes to kiss his forehead. "Come on, I think I fancy a little corn, don't you?" she said mischievously, leading him out the door towards their bedroom.
"Come to think of it, I am feeling a little bit peckish," Greg said, chuckling softly.
Upstairs, at the top of the staircase leading up into the living room of 221B Baker Street, as they prepared to part company for the day, a certain Old Plod and a particular Git shared an uncommonly natural and completely oblivious goodbye peck, unseen by a single living soul, including themselves.