Disclaimer-I don't own Sherlock. Thank you's are at the bottom. Enjoy.

"221b Baker Street please." Molly politely instructed the driver.

To say the pregnancy had come as a bit of a shock to Molly would be a big understatement. Molly had always envisioned herself happily married, great career, and generally settled before having children, following all the traditions that her parents did not. Initially she was sad, miserable really, and scared, but after consuming tubs of ice cream and watching every Disney film she could, several times, she had accepted the hand that fate had given her. She was still scared of course, terrified in fact but she was also oddly excited.

Up until approximately five days ago she hadn't given any thought to the father. She hadn't even considered telling him until her wise, wonderful and completely reckless Gran (she still blaimed her), had asked how he had reacted. Two hours of conversation later, which included making Molly guilty over her perfect father, whilst of course simultaneously insulting her mother, she became convinced that he deserved to know. It was probably the multiple references to Oedipus from her dearly morbid grandmother that ultimately sealed the deal.

Which brings a new dilemma, how do you tell someone that one night of fun now means a lifetime responsibility ? Molly had planned a speech along the lines of :

Hello, I'm Molly Hooper. We met a few weeks ago, we had a one night stand. As a result, I'm pregnant (leave pause) yes, this is very shocking. Well, I have decided to keep it, and you can be as involved or not involved as you want.
Sounds good, she thought. Maybe I should shorten it, consider adding an apology and definitely don't refer to the baby as 'it'.

If he wanted to be involved, excellent, if not she would manage. Having grown up in a one parent household, she knew it would be demanding but possible. If she were being completely honest with herself, she was expecting him to shut the door in her face and refuse to be any part of her or her child's life. She didn't see that as being pessimistic, but rather prepared. If you expect the worst from people you're fairly disappointed and occasionally surprised. Molly was nothing if practical.

"Ah, off to see him then?" The cabbie asked, bringing her out of her deep concentration

"S-sorry?" She stuttered

"That man in Baker Street, I must drive half a dozen people every week going to visit him."

"Oh, i'm sorry, i'm not too sure who you are talking about." Molly replied, assuming the cabbie was getting confused with someone else.

"Tall fella', dark hair, funny looking if you ask me-" the description was unsettling familiar for Molly- "odd name, what is it ? Oh, that's going to bug me of the rest of the day."

The cabbie began to tap his wheel in the hope it would trigger something.

"Sh-Sh- Sheryl-uh Sherylot Holmes, something like that."

There was no denying who the driver was thinking of.

"You quite young to be one of is clients mind you."

Her palms became sweaty as millions of thoughts spun round her head. Her mind was split between the hopeful and the logical.

Clients? Perhaps he's an accountant. From his own home? Odd, but not unheard of! He might even be a doctor. Yes, because we are just that lucky. Well we might be. Knowing our luck he's probably a prostitute.

"Must be some kind of pro, his clients always leave looking relieved." The cabbie leered.

Oh god. He's a prostitute. Not necessarily, being relieved doesn't always mean sexually. He could be a masseur.

Unaware of the war going on within his passenger the driver continued.

"This one time, I drove this woman to his house. She was all posh looking, looked like she had a stick up her arse, you know the type. Anyway, this woman was in there for 20 minutes max. I tell you he must be some kind of a miracle worker , she left ever so happy, even gave me a tip." He laughed.

Prostitute. Masseur.

Realizing his passenger hadn't spoken for a while , he sought her out in his rear view mirror.

"There's no need to be embarrassed love, he assured im no stranger to paid services myself. Nothing to be ashamed of."

He is a prostitute. Maybe he's high end.

Unsure of how to respond , she muttered a quick thanks and stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact. Head down and red faced, Molly stayed quiet for the remainder of the ride until he pulled over. Before he could say anything, Molly shoved the money into his hand and practically ran from the taxi, squeaking a 'keep the change' on her way out.

Stopping in front of a door, she looked up to find a sign declaring it to be '221b' and her stomach unexpectedly lurched. Her morning hadn't gone quite to plan so far, but she was determined to complete her mission, and be done with it as soon as possible. Chances are if he was indeed a prostitute then he might have been in this situation before, and that thought was a little reassuring. Whilst his profession and the consequences it might lead to was swirling around her mind, Molly decided that no judgments should be made until she had actually spoken to the man in question. Whatever the outcome she could make it work, she was sure of it. And with that thought she stepped forward and knocked three times in a strong succession.

She could hear the shuffling of locks before the door was opened and revealed a small old lady.

"Hello." She greeted warmly."Can I help you ?"

"Um- I'm looking for Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." Molly replied, slightly taken back by the unexpected woman.

"Ah, one of his clients then? No need to look so panicked, he's very good. Helped me a couple times." The woman began to usher Molly inside and closed the door behind her.

"Oh, um, that's nice." Molly tried to look as nonchalant as possible but she knew by the unusually high tone of her voice she was failing miserably. Once inside she began to recognise the place.

She had tripped on the small step by the door but he grabbed her hand before she could fall. She hung her coat up on the coat rack in the corner after watching him do the same, she remembered just how nervous she was. He must have known because at that moment he came over and kissed her firmly, then stepped back and began to walk upstairs, giving her the option to leave. Once at the top of the stairs he turned back to face her and waited to see her decision. Questions were filling her head, her doubts and insecurities came flooding in and yet she began to walk upstairs.

"Have you met him before ?" The question cut through Molly's memories before they could become less pg.

"Yes. Once a little while ago."

"I don't need to warn you then." The elderly lady chuckled.

"No, I'm fairly sure I know what I'm getting myself into." Molly assured, assuming that this was about the whole 'prostitute' situation.

"Oh, good. The amount of people I get running out in tears, I mean honestly he could be a bit nicer. But don't worry, I'm sure you've heard it all before. Now, Sherlocks out at the moment, but John's upstairs, if you want to wait there."

"Wait, people cry?" Molly frowned in confusion."Why do people cry? What does he do to them?" Molly was rambling in panic.

"Nothing terrible, he just doesn't always understand he's hurting them. Don't worry dear, I'm sure you'll do fine. Especially if you've met him before." The woman began to pat Molly on the shoulder, despite the fact that Molly wasn't one for human contact, it was comforting.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It'll all be fine. I'm just gunna go sit with this John guy and wait. Wait, whose John?"

"John lives with sherlock. Has done for the past few years or so. Didn't Sherlock mention him?"

"No, I don't remember him coming up in conversation. Not that we spoke much."

Is he gay? They might just be friends. He's probably gay.

"Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

"That's nice."

Congratulations we're pregnant with a gay prostitute's baby.

"I think I should probably wait upstairs. I don't want to take anymore of your time." Molly said remarkably calm.

"Oh, ok. I'm sure Sherlock will be any minute now. Just go straight up." The woman gestured towards the stairs.

"Thanks."

Molly turned and walked the stairs as fast as humanly possible. All she wanted to do was go back to bed and pretend like none of this had happened. She was, for the second time that day faced with another door, so just like last time she knocked three times although a little less strong than she had previously. After a few seconds the door was opened by a man Molly assumed to be John.

"Hi, I'm here to see Sherlock." She plastered on a quick smile.

"Oh, of course. Come in, he should be back any moment." He opened the door wider and Molly entered the flat.

She strategically sat in the chair closest to the door and decided to run through the speech one more time in her head. Whilst John was moving books, newspapers and other items from counter to table and vise versa, pointlessly attempting to clean the place. The silence was relatively uncomfortable but with what Molly had gone through today she barely even noticed.

John looked at the woman who had disrupted his quiet afternoon alone. She was young, pretty and didn't look like the usual 'odd balls' that have cases for Sherlock. She did have the face though, the 'oh, god, what is he going to say about my mum/dad/sibling/husband etc...' face, it consisted of little eye contact, occasion twitching and general nervousness. John guessed that this was a run in the mill cheating husband case, the clients had been almost always right about their partners, when you know you know, you just don't want to believe it. Feeling sorry for the clearly anxious woman John decided to break the ice a little.

"Would you like a cup of tea, or maybe coffee ?" It wasn't until John had offered that Molly realised she was thirsty, a day of surprises can do that to a person.

"Just water would be good, thanks."

It was obvious by his manner that John was a nice man. He was respectful yet warm and an undoubtedly soothing presence. It was as he shuffled towards the kitchen that Molly realised if the information she had received from the lady downstairs was in fact true, then not only was she pregnant with a gay prostitute, but she was pregnant with a gay prostitute who was in a relationship, making her a mistress. It was at that point she lost all control she had over her emotions and burst out into tears.

John returned from the kitchen about to hand her the drink when he noticed she was sobbing into her hands. He was never good with crying girls, it wasn't the actual crying her had a problem with, it was the snot, faces and weird voice that went along with it. He wanted to go back into the kitchen but the doctor in him screamed in protest, which is how he found himself rubbing the back of a crying stranger at 3 o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. He tried to give words of encouragement but this was incredibly hard considering he had no idea what was wrong with her. He knew she was trying to give responses but it just came out like a choking, gurgling noise that was impossible to understand. She began to calm down after a little while and quieted down to an occasional whine and shake, but John stayed put and still offered a statement like 'everything's going to be fine'. Even though she knew he had no evidence to base this on, it did help, she thought she might as well enjoy his company before he hated her for sleeping with his boyfriend. They fell into a rhythm of positive slogans and small hiccups of tears, this was how Sherlock had found them.

"John, Lestrade has nothing, absolutely noth-" sherlock stopped noticing someone else in the room. At the sound of his voice Molly jumped away from John and wiped away her tears in an attempt to compose herself.

"Ah, done with Mary then? Not that I blame you, she was quite dull. Although this one is a bit... Emotional." Sherlock walked straight passed towards the kitchen deciding that the scene in the living room was uninteresting.

"Mary's not dull! We are still together, we're doing great, amazing! She-" John pointed towards Molly " is here to see you actually." John was always amazed at how easily sherlock can irritate him, Sherlock was suddenly intrigued at the prospect of a new case, and Molly was lost.

"Please be a nine, I'd even settle for an eight." Sherlock muttered towards the ceiling before walking back, seeking her out. Molly slightly squirmed in her chair as she looked at Sherlock looking at her. Perhaps 'looking' wasn't the right word, it was like he was undressing her, not in a sexual way but rather undressing her, it was though he could 'see' her thoughts. It was quite unsettling.

Then he looked into her eyes and she saw it, the spark of recognition flash in his pupils and his whole body shifted. His stance went from an almost attacking position to a defensive one in less than a second. His face changed from relatively calm, verging on excitement, to cold and guarded.

Sherlock turned to face John.

"I think you should leave, I can handle it from here." His tone was flat.

"I think I should stay, look Sherlock, she's clearly upset and you're not the best in these kind of situations."

"Go." It was a harsh command, but there was no malice behind it. John liked to think he knew Sherlock better than most and he knew that this was odd behavior, even for the sociopath in question. It was clear that there was more to this that what he had initially assumed. He decided to trust Sherlock, and go visit his girlfriend.

Once John had left, Sherlock sat down in his favourite chair opposite Molly.

"There's no need to be so sad Molly, you didn't give me an STD. It must have been 'transmitted' after our encounter. You've clearly been busy these past few weeks." Molly stared at him unsure of what to say, and she was reminded once again that today really, really hadn't gone to plan.

"I-I I'm not sure what's going on."

"It's simple, you've contracted a sexually transmitted disease, therefore you are working backwards to discover where it originated from. Must be serious." Sherlock picked up his violin and started plucking random strings absentmindedly. "You arrived almost certain that you gave it to me, when the thought occurred that it might be the other way around. You assumed that my profession was along the lines of prostitution based on the gossip of various taxi drivers around this area, you really shouldn't trust them."

"How-" Molly began.

"If you'd walked your shoes would be dirtier, if you'd taken the tube you would have arrived either ten minutes earlier or ten minutes late according to the train schedule on a Tuesday afternoon, therefore a cab it was. The paper cut on your right thumb, it was caused by a bank note, when you shoved it towards the driver as you were running out of the car. The notion that I gave you the disease was upsetting but not enough to make you cry, however the idea that not only did I give you a disease but I used you as a mistress would most likely sent you into a frenzy of despair hence all the crying. Just to clarify I'm a consulting detective not a prostitute. And John would gladly attest to the fact that we a just roommates despite what Ms. Hudson believes. Oh, and I don't have an STD. All in all it was a wasted trip." After his long speech, Sherlock looked down at his violin believing his work to be done.

Molly had felt a lot of things today, mainly shock and confusion, but this was the first time she felt angry. Here sat this man, this pompous arse really, telling her she had an STD, barely letting her get a word in edgeways, and finally dismissing her. Which is why she responded a little harsher than she intended.

"I do not have an STD."

He glanced up from his beloved instrument and looked at her once again.

"No, you don't. You clearly haven't had any more sexual partners since me, and even that was out of character." He spoke so fast and annoyed at his own mistake that Molly could only just understand what he was saying. Sherlocks mind was moving so fast he could barely get the words out before the next thought popped into his head. He began picking the strings even louder as he rambled on and on.

"The reason that you're here is clearly about that night though as you didn't know my occupation therefore it cannot be a case. But you don't have an STD, which was the most logical assumption from the data, this means that there is only one real possibility left. You're pregnant." Silence. Sherlock lowered his violin to the ground, tilted his head and repeated slowly-

"You're pregnant."

AN/ massive thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.

Icebabe59 / crooney83/ Florence / apedarling and itmonster20

You guys are the reason I continued :D

Hopefully see you next Friday.