Author's really irritated note: It would seem that is, to borrow a phrase from the Sherlock fanfic world, "cocking it up". I posted this chapter yesterday and yet it is as elusive as confirmation on a season 5. It's here, it isn't. It can't be found, it can be found. Forget the app, try the desktop. Go to my profile to get to it. Notifications - what folly! I didn't even get one that I'd updated, and as a rule a notification comes in literally within about 20 seconds of posting! So I'm going to try deleting it and posting again and see if it will show up then. I apologize to my reader (I honestly think I only have one with this one) for making them think I have a new chapter up... when it's just this one again!

Whatever Remains

Genre:Drama, Romance, Family

Pairings:Sherlock and Sally, Greg and Molly in the background

Main characters:Sherlock and Sally, Greer Sherla in a cameo

The evening was quiet, and Sherlock and Sally sat in the living room of 221B, a rare evening of silent peace amongst the typical chaos, in spite of a soundly sleeping Greer Sherla in Sally's arms. Their wedding had been less than a month prior, and they were utterly content.

"Does it bother you that I didn't take your name?" Sally asked, softly, from her favourite spot in Sherlock's arms, the three creating a sort of Russian nesting dolls effect.

"What? Oh of course not my darling. I didn't marry you to carry on the Holmes name, I married you because you complete me… and Greg and Molly would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't." Sherlock smiled as he tightened his grip subtly.

Sally laughed quietly, the light from the roaring fireplace softening her features. "Yeah. Greg and Molly. And Mrs. Hudson and John and Anderson… Gregson, Dimmock... who else… oh probably Mycroft as well, Anthea for sure, though she'd text her disdain before she'd bother to voice it out loud... And judging by the silly smiles Rosie gave us all the time, I suspect she knew too. Says an awful bloody lot about how thick we both were when a four year old can see things we can't."

Sherlock smiled, not wanting to laugh lest he wake up Greg and Molly's sleeping daughter. "Rosie is an exceptionally clever child. She sees as well as observes. I pity any teachers she encounters when she begins school." He paused, an unseen light shining in his eyes. "That looks good on you, by the way."

"What does, love?" Sally asked curiously, turning her face towards her husband, at least, as far as she could in that position.

"Sherla. You're a natural with her. The boys maybe not so much…" Sherlock chuckled softly and cleared his throat, preferring to refer to Greer by her middle name.

"Well, Greer doesn't make me play dodge ball with random streams of pee either," Sally pointed out. "She's a very good girl," she whispered softly, turning to the baby.

"Do you suppose you'd like to have one of our own, someday? I mean, if it's even possible?" Sherlock asked, sounding hesitant to broach the subject. "Please don't misunderstand, love, I didn't marry you because I wanted someone to give me an heir to the Holmes name, either," he suddenly said, worried she may take his words in the wrong way.

"I don't know," she replied, after a moment's hesitation. "I haven't really thought about it much. That bullet fragment did a lot of damage. The doctor said it wasn't impossible, though. Just… maybe a bit improbable. I suppose I've felt it best not to get my hopes up."

Sherlock said nothing to this, bringing his hand up to stroke her curls, always looking like perfectly organized chaos – something that had order and reason in spite of looking, to the casual observer, as though it had a life of its own that nobody, least of all Sally, could control. He loved that about her, how it didn't matter how concentrated his efforts were to muss her hair, it never looked bad. Briefly, he wondered if any children they may have would have her freckles as well as her dark brown eyes – Sherlock assumed that the very fundamentals of dominant and recessive genes would dictate that any of their future children to be decidedly brown-eyed. The thought warmed him nearly as much as the visual of the comforting fire in the fireplace and the body heat that radiated off the woman he held so easily in his arms.

"Your hopes up?" Sherlock finally said, as he reached his hand around to softly stroke Greer's cheek. "So… you would be agreeable to it should we ever happen to find ourselves pending parenthood?"

Sally didn't hesitate. "Of course I'd be agreeable to it. I may not seem the mothering type at first glance, but what can I say, Rosie and these three little Lestrade rugrats have reformed me. Greer is a sweetheart, she's such a good baby, and of the twins Scott was the one least likely to try to use my blouse for target practice," she laughed softly. "Besides, I know I would feel a lot differently towards one of our own. I already feel differently towards the brood here at 221 than I do about any other kids."

"What did your surgeon say your chances were?" Sherlock asked, curiously. They hadn't really discussed any of this until now, he suddenly realized.

"Conceiving shouldn't be an issue. Carrying might be. He emphasized that it wasn't impossible, just… it may be a challenge," Sally said. "He didn't caution against it, he just warned that it may be emotionally taxing if I have trouble."

"Well my darling wife, you know what I always say about impossibilities and improbabilities," Sherlock said, nuzzling Sally's ear. "Realities are all that remain when whatever is improbable has been sifted away from the impossible."

"So an improbable baby could be a reality then," Sally said, smiling as Sherlock kissed her temple, "never thought I'd hear you sounding so optimistic about anything. So much for the cold hard reason you hold so dear."

"Well, I hold other things dear to me now. What Eurus taketh away, Eurus gaveth back. Mycroft always said I was an emotional child. I've always known how to hope." Sherlock took a deep breath, letting it out softly. Sally smiled at the whispery sensation against her skin.

"Sally," Sherlock said, his tone changing only slightly. Sally turned her face again towards her husband.

"I'm willing to try, but only if you are. I realize this could be a long road and there are no guarantees you would be able to avoid miscarriage. I love you and you alone, first and foremost. I leave this decision entirely in your hands."

"Well, I think I'd like to try," Sally answered, as she shifted Greer in her arms. "Best case, we add to the brood here. Worst case, we make do being Auntie and Uncle to everyone else's offspring," she laughed softly. "Whatever remains will be."

Sherlock smiled to himself as he spoke. "Yes, my love. Whatever remains."