Sherlock, having awoken with a start, rushed over to Greg and Molly's flat in full blown panic mode.
Greg looked up from the sofa, his coffee in mid-air en route to his mouth, in shocked surprise as their consulting detective friend burst through the door.
"Molly! Where is Molly?! She's… tell me she's…"
"Sherlock, calm down," Greg finally managed as he rose to his feet. "She's out running errands. She thought she'd look for a cot for the baby today and maybe a push chair."
"For… the baby, you say?" Sherlock's voice and expression began to take on a look of immense relief.
"Yeeeesssssss," Greg said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "The baby. You know, that little person that appears nine months after a woman becomes pregnant." Greg cleared his throat. "Would you like a drink, Sherlock?"
"Oh, God yes. Please," he said, dropping himself into the nearest chair. "I had the worst nightmare, Greg. I was forced to play the violin whilst you and Molly waltzed in the delivery room. I've been witness to one birth in my lifetime, and that was quite enough."
"I see," Greg said, suddenly fighting an urge to burst out laughing. "Well, rest assured, Molly is still only just at the end of her second trimester. No worries, that's a cross we won't make you bear."