A/N: Half way there! As always, thank you for all the lovely reviews, they are so great to read, so please keep them coming :) Hope you enjoy this chapter, and I've got Molly sharing in the embarrassment this time :)
"Aah, this one's cute," Molly cooed, pointing at the photo that had been stuck to the page and captioned 'Mycroft Meets the New Addition', and showed a seven year-old Mycroft, with red hair and a disapproving frown even then, holding a tiny baby whose raven curls marked him as Sherlock.
She and Sherlock had arrived at his parents' house earlier that day, and been treated to a delicious roast dinner. Now, Sherlock was sat in the armchair, whilst Molly sat with Violet Holmes on the sofa flicking through photo albums stuffed to bursting with snaps of Mycroft and Sherlock.
Whilst Molly smiled and giggled at the various photographs, Sherlock sat glaring at his mother. The glare only intensified when Violet pointed out a photograph that was captioned 'Captain Sherlock and First Mate Redbeard'.
The Polaroid showed a small, thin child with masses of jet black hair alongside a beautiful Irish Setter. The child, Sherlock, wore a stripy top, jeans that had been ripped off at the knee and a pirate hat, and was brandishing a sword at the camera.
"Oh, that's adorable!" Molly said, grinning.
"It is, isn't it?" Violet said, smiling fondly at her son. "They were always going on adventures. I remember this one time –"
" – Molly doesn't need to know about the tree incident," Sherlock interrupted hastily, making both Molly and his mother laugh.
"One day your children will be grown up, and you'll be teasing them about when they used to dress up and play silly games," Violet replied, causing Molly to flush bright red.
"We haven't really – well, we haven't even really discussed children yet Violet," Molly stammered, glancing nervously at Sherlock, who to her surprise looked fairly calm.
"Now, now, you can't deprive an old lady of grandchildren," Violet teased, winking at her son. "I'm going to go make some tea, do either of you want some?"
The couple both politely declined the offer, and Violet bustled through to the kitchen, leaving them alone.
There was an awkward pause for a moment before Molly spoke. "Don't be embarrassed about the pirate phase, I went through a punk phase when I was fifteen – don't ask, I got rid of all the photos years ago!"
A vivid mental image of a fifteen-year old Molly in platform shoes and stripy tights, with her hair dyed a bright purple, and one eyebrow pierced flitted through Sherlock's mind, causing him to smirk.
Then his expression turned more serious. "I'm sorry if my mother made you uncomfortable when she brought up children."
"No, no, it's fine, it's just that, well, we haven't spoken about it," Molly replied. After a pause she spoke again. "I'd always imagined myself with children, but I didn't think you wanted kids, so once we started going out, I put it to the back of my mind. After all, I'm lucky enough to have you, so I saw it as a compromise."
Considering his next words for a moment, Sherlock began to speak. "I must admit, I never saw myself as a husband, let alone a father. But you have changed all that, Molly. You have given me more than I could ever have asked of you, and yet you still think that you are the lucky one. I only wish I could make you see that I am the lucky one, that every day that I wake up next to you I thank a higher power for the fact that you waited for me."
At this, Molly felt herself tearing up, unable to reply.
"Molly? What? Did I do something wrong?" Sherlock asked frantically, the panic he had felt after giving his best man's speech returning as Molly wiped away tears.
"No, you idiot," Molly said, smiling before pressing her lips against his, kissing him passionately, forgetting that his parents could walk in at any moment, or even caring.
Suddenly, the moment ended as Violet Holmes returned, raising an eyebrow and smiling when she saw them. "When I asked for grandchildren, I didn't mean at this very moment!" she laughed, as the pair broke apart, looking sheepish.
