"Oh, shit," Sherlock muttered, pacing back and forth. "This was not anticipated in the least. Oh, shit, shit…" he fretted.

Mary looked at John, sharing a look of quiet amusement. "I thought you had PLENTY of time to record your composition for Molly's labour, Sherlock?" she teased gently.

"It's his worst nightmare, Love," John commented lightly. "He may have to perform live and in concert while Molly gives birth. Also live and in concert."

"Oh, PISS OFF, JOHN!" Sherlock fired at his best friend. "There is a time and a place for your so-called sense of humour. This is NEITHER."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Mrs. Hudson said simply, as she picked up her knitting project, slow going as it was a recent hobby taken up especially for little Bailey.

"Now, mind your manners, William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Mary scolded. Sherlock blanched. There were few women who COULD make him mind his manners, and a woman with Mary's particular skill-set was one of them.

Mrs. Hudson, with her matronly ways, was another.

Rosie Watson had her special wiles with Sherlock, too.

Molly Lestrade, sweetly, could guilt him like no other woman he'd ever known.

But their darling, tiny little Bailey Lestrade, he was certain, was soon to be yet another girl who would make him, without question or protest, happily behave.