A/N: I'm back! My laptop broke, and then I had problems transferring my documents to the new laptop, so I've only just been able to complete this chapter. I'm really sorry for the wait, I hope the fluffiness that follows makes up for it at least a little! Please drop me a review to let me know what you think :)
Waking up and turning over, Molly was surprised to find that the space in the bed next to her was empty. Normally she was the first one to wake up when Sherlock wasn't on a case, and he would only get up once she was already showered and dressed.
Getting up and slipping on her dressing gown, she made through the flat, investigating the mysterious case of the disappearing Sherlock. Finding no sign of him, she decided to make some toast and give him time to reappear before she texted John.
Entering the kitchen, the calendar caught her eye. Just as realisation dawned on her, a deep voice sounded behind her. "Happy birthday Molly," Sherlock said, gently embracing her and planting a quick kiss on her crown.
"Thank you love, I'd just remembered myself – obviously I'm getting old," Molly joked, responding to his kiss with one of her own, which was deepening when the toaster pinged, drawing her attention away.
"I'll be in the lounge, come through when you're finished, I've got a surprise for you," Sherlock grinned, winking at her before leaving her to wonder what on earth his surprise could be, as she couldn't see anything in the living room. As she buttered her toast and ate it as quickly as possible, she could see Sherlock smirking from where he was sat on the sofa, plainly aware of her impatience.
Once she had eaten, she sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa, and he promptly got up. Seeing her confused expression, Sherlock simply smirked even more, and opened the door to the apartment, his back to her and the door open as little as possible, so all Molly could see was her fiance and part of a cardboard box.
Suddenly, Molly heard a whimpering sound, and Sherlock turned around holding her birthday present, a beautiful Red Setter puppy. "Oh -my-gosh!" Molly squealed, eyes widening. "Is it really – I mean, seriously – It's ours? Mrs Hudson's ok with this, right?"
"I already checked that it was fine with Mrs Hudson. I thought we could do with some practice before we have little humans running around all over the flat," Sherlock said deadpan, causing Molly to give him a beautiful smile.
"So this is your way of saying that you're ready for children?" she asked, taking the puppy in her arms and holding it against her.
"I suppose it is," Sherlock replied, returning the smile with an even bigger one. "But for now, shall we focus on the puppy?"
"Of course, is it a boy or a girl?"
"Male. No name as of yet. He's a purebred Irish Red Setter, ten weeks old."
"Aren't you gorgeous? Yes you are!" Molly gushed, directing her speech at the puppy now. "What are we going to call you?"
"I was thinking Redbeard, but it's up to you, he is yours after all," Sherlock said tentatively.
"He's our dog, and I think that's a wonderful idea!" Molly smiled, knowing how much the name meant to Sherlock.
Fast forward three hours later and the floor of the flat was covered in newspaper, following the realisation that puppies don't come house-trained, the Union Jack cushion had been mutilated beyond repair, and Sherlock was laid out on the sofa exhausted.
"How does it have so much energy?" he groaned. As Molly giggled, Redbeard took it upon himself to try and steal Sherlock's sock, latching onto his toe and tugging.
Just as Sherlock was attempting to prise the puppy away from his foot, the door to the flat opened and Mary and John entered, Emma toddling alongside them.
"Unc' Lock!" Emma called out, just as a ball of red fur pelted towards her, having forgotten all about Sherlock's sock. Within seconds of Emma having been tackled to the ground by Redbeard, all of the adults had rushed to her aid, concern clouding their faces.
They needn't have worried; Emma was beaming ear-to-ear as the exuberant puppy licked her face, tail wagging frantically. "You bought a dog?" exclaimed John once it was clear that a crisis had been averted.
"Your powers of deduction have clearly been unaffected by parenthood John," Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I got Redbeard for Molly's birthday, as I have been informed that it is customary to give gifts on the anniversary of one's birth."
"He's beautiful," Mary sighed, crouching next to her daughter and stroking the newest addition to 221B. "Are you sure you don't want one John?"
"Yes. Knowing me, it would turn out to be some sort of killer dog bred by the government," he muttered, then catching the rather murderous look his wife gave him, added "Sorry dear."
Later that evening, as the Molly and Mary sat gossiping about something or another, and Emma continued to gleefully play with Redbeard, John and Sherlock stood in the kitchen, where Sherlock had retired to in order to conduct some experiment or another.
Gesturing to the scene in the living room, John spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between the two men. "Look at us." At the questioning expression of his friend, he continued. "You know, all settled down and, well, normal."
"Hardly normal, John," Sherlock replied with a smirk. "I'm the world's only consulting detective, who is engaged to a pathologist who helped fake my death, with a dog named after a pirate. You are an ex-army doctor who is naturally drawn to psychopaths, and whose child's favourite bedtime stories revolve around murders and crime scenes."
"You know what I mean!" said John exasperatedly.
"Yes, and I wouldn't change it for anything," Sherlock admitted, gazing admiringly at his pathologist, and sending her a wink when she realised he was watching her.
