Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock, I am merely borrowing the characters.

AN/ I apologise for all spelling and grammar mistakes. Thank you's are at the bottom. Enjoy :)

Molly's eleventh week of pregnancy came and went, taking the majority of her mild morning sickness and leaving behind the promise of a sonogram picture to gush over. She found it odd that she had only really known Sherlock for five weeks, (one night stand not included) as he was slowly becoming a cemented figure in her everyday life.

Since the 'big reveal' to her boss, Molly and Sherlock had become much more comfortable in each other's presence and they were even showing signs of a friendship blossoming in the midst. With his apartment being closer to Bart's then her own it therefore seemed only logical for her to visit him. It was also only logical that she visit him often, as a good relationship between parents can only be a good thing for the baby. The fact that it also calmed the ever creeping loneliness was a pleasant side effect, not the main motivation, a claim she repeated to herself often.

With both Sherlock and John away on a case, Molly sat alone in his apartment holding Jerry, Sherlock's pet skull. She had created a whole back story for Jerry, including multiple wives, a lucrative drug smuggling business, and an addiction to toy trains, which ultimately lead to his downfall. So focused on this fictional tale she failed to take note of Mrs Hudson leading a visitor upstairs until she was already making her way into the apartment with the promise of tea to the unknown person behind her.

"Really Mrs Hudson, there is no need I shan't be staying long." A smooth male voice cut across the elderly woman's ramblings.

"Nonsense, I shan't be known as a bad host. I'm sure Sherlock won't be long."

By this point the two were now well within the apartment, Molly stood in hope she wouldn't make Mrs Hudson jump, as she had clearly forgotten that she had let Molly in 20 minutes ago.

"Actually Mrs Hudson, it wasn't Sherlock I was here to see." The man now turned to face Molly. "Miss Hooper, I presume."

The first thing Molly noticed was how very tidy the man was. Everything from the hair on his head to the shine of his shoes seemed to be perfectly in place. The man gave off an aura of cleanliness which was oddly unsettling.

"Yes. I'm sorry, have we met." Molly's voice crackled with uncertainty, he was not threatening per say, but rather made you feel in debt to him, like he was a god.

"No, my name is Mycroft Holmes, I understand you're better acquainted with my younger brother."

Mrs Hudson decided to shuttle off to go and brew the tea under the pretence of giving the others some privacy, although everyone in the room knew she was going to be having quite the view from the kitchen.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Sherlock talks about you fondly." She ended up coughing out the last few words as her throat appeared to have lost all moisture making it glaringly apparent she was lying. Her bright red face didn't help either.

Molly has never been the best at general social interactions with her grandmother often calling her an awkward caterpillar, however over the past few months she was starting to believe that she had surpassed being a caterpillar, and could now successfully be called an awkward butterfly.

"That's very kind of you Miss Hooper, but I know that if my brother has mentioned me, which I highly doubt, he would have likened me to his enemy. I've heard he prefers the term arch nemesis."

He was right of course, Sherlock had failed to mention his big brother Mycroft, but had once vaguely mentioned an arch nemesis, Molly had –at the time- thought it was a joke.

Using his umbrella which doubled as a walking stick, he gestured towards the chairs.

"Please, sit down. There's no need to stand on my account. You should rest, a 12 hour shift at Barts must be arduous."

It was becoming very clear to Molly that Mycroft was indeed Sherlock's brother. Whilst there were a few visual similarities, it had to be the look, the 'I know everything about you without you having to say a word' look that was the dead giveaway. She was very familiar with this look, with this third time being the charm. Considering most people never encounter the look in their entire lifetime, Molly couldn't decide if she was blessed or cursed. The overwhelming sent of arrogance and wealth which came off both the Holmes boys also helped to solidify their fraternal link in Molly's mind.

"Did Sherlock tell you I worked at Barts or did you know from the mud on my boots or the colour of my shirt?" This was asked in a weird mixture of genuine curiosity, and a light hearted attempt at a joke, in overall hope of lessoning the serious atmosphere, that clearly followed this man. Based on Mycroft's facial expression, she guessed he didn't really appreciate her humour.

"Actually you are still wearing your ID card."

With a quick look down she saw that he was correct and made to take it off her blouse.

"I understand congratulations are in order." Looking at her stomach, Mycroft made it undeniable the subject he was talking about.

"That's not on my ID card." She wasn't exactly sure why but she suddenly felt the need to defend herself.

"No, it isn't." He said lightly.

They appeared to be having a conversation, within a conversation. Unfortunately Molly was still a bit behind on the first conversation, and had no clue what the second one was about. All she knew was that she wanted to punch him, badly. The tone, the gleam in his eyes, and his posture, all made her feel as though this were an attack, and she did not take kindly to those who attacked her unborn child. If she weren't so unexplainably angry she may have found that particular thought train adorable, and may have swooned over her first hint of motherhood.

It was at that moment Sherlock walked in.

She guessed that Mycroft saw this coming as he showed no signs of surprise when Sherlock rudely cut into the current conversation within a conversation.

"Mycroft." It wasn't a greeting, but more of a moan of discontent as Sherlock turned to face his brother.

"Hello little brother." His voice dripping with over sweetened care, overall coming across as very patronising.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" With an emphasis of the word pleasure, it became painfully clear that this was not a pleasure. "Is it a case? Another royal scandal maybe, or perhaps you've lost more secret service information that is just vital." Sherlock finally sat down making a triangle out of the three of them.

"Not this time, no. I just wanted to meet Miss Hooper here. After all we're family now." Even though they were both sitting Mycroft looked distinctly taller in gaze over Sherlock.

"Well it appears you have done so. Therefore it is now time for you to leave." His face was set in stone as he glared at Mycroft. The look gracing his face would have scared anybody but Mycroft was not anybody, he was Sherlock's older brother, and as his older brother he had come across this face many times before.

"Now that's not very polite of you is it?" Mycroft was surprised by the amount of distress he was causing Sherlock, but he, of course, hid it well.

"You're not very polite. I see the diets going badly, you've put on six pounds since we last spoke." Even Molly could hear the childish frustrated undercurrent in Sherlock's tone.

"Another fat joke, how predictable. You really do need to find new insults Sherlock, anyway its four pounds not six." Mycroft was beginning to look entirely bored with his younger brother.

"I suppose I should be off. Current world affairs that need addressing and all that." He stood to leave and began walking towards the door whilst Molly visibly deflated. Just when the two still sitting thought they were free he turned back looking intently at the both of them.

"I'll be seeing you very soon, and just think Sherlock, how happy mummy is going to be when she finds out she is going to be a grandmother." Mycroft looked over at Sherlock victorious.

"Go." The anger that was running through that word stuck a cord through Molly, whilst Mycroft simply smirked before finally exiting the room.

"So…you have a brother." After moments of silence it was the best Molly could think of saying to break the tension.

"Yes." He was still facing the door with a quiet rage. "He'll try and talk to you again soon. Probably tell you to get rid of it." The bitterness in his tone ringing out. "Just so you're prepared."

"Ok, scary brother abortion chat coming up, got it." Molly appeared to have two default awkward reaction either make a very poor joke or cry. At least she wasn't crying.

Before today Molly hadn't even thought of Sherlock having a family. The idea of him having parents or siblings had never even crossed her mind. It was odd to think about him calling someone 'mummy' it felt too normal and oddly beneath him. Thinking of his mother Molly was filled with fear, if Sherlock's brother was that intimidating, lord only knows what his mother was like.

"Does your mother know about-" She had attempted to sound casual and unaffected before Sherlock had cut her off.

"No."

"Oh. Were you going-"

"Yes." His voice sounded suddenly unsure. She understood the reluctance to share the news with his mother she was also experiencing it.

"Family isn't exactly my strong point." He seemed to come out of his Mycroft induced rage coma as he was now looking at Molly, and speaking a lot softer. If Molly were able to read people as well as Sherlock she would have noticed the slight worry in his expression, and how it was completely replaced with relief by her next statement.

"Me either."

After that they settled into a calm quiet, something which they both appreciated.

Sherlock had grabbed John's laptop from the side, whilst Molly had noticed a book in one of the many piles around the room, and the two drifted off into their own worlds. About an hour later, Molly realised that someone was missing.

"Where's John?" Molly casually asked unsure if she was going to get an answer as Sherlock looked completely engrossed in the laptop.

"Mary's." Sherlock was visibly getting more, and more, worked up as he seemed to type faster, and faster.

"Of course. Is that the case you've been working on all day?"

"Yes. Thought it was a seven but it's quickly becoming an eight." He said with an equal mixture of frustration and excitement.

"Do you think it'll be solved before the sonogram tomorrow?"

He paused.

"…yes." It became abundantly clear that Sherlock had either forgotten the date of the sonogram or the current date.

"Are you sure? I could always reschedule or go alone."

"It'll be done."

"It's just, it looks pretty complicated." And it did, she wasn't sure what an 8 translated into for a normal human difficulty level, but she was fairly sure by based on how red he had gotten in the past 20 minutes, that this wasn't a straight forward case.

"I promise you, it'll be done." He paused from his manic typing to look at her directly, and it was said with such conviction that Molly new he would have the case sorted by then.

Looking at her for the first time in a few hours Sherlock noticed the tell-tale signs of exhaustion.

"You should sleep, standing for a 12 hour shift and meeting my brother for the first time aren't exactly a relaxing combination."

"I guess, you're right. I'll go once I've finished this chapter." Molly said with a smile, realising that she was indeed tired.

"You could always stay. John's gone for the evening meaning his room is free. You're only return tomorrow morning to go to the appointment, it seems a waste of money to get a taxi back to yours." He was right of course, she was planning to return first thing so they could go together, and she had forgotten to drop off her spare clothes and basic toiletries at work, but she guessed he knew that already.

"It seems a bit rude, I mean I can't really stay in John's room without asking him." As heavenly as it sounded, Molly's basic manners rarely faltered.

"You could always stay in my room, I don't sleep when there's a case." Sometimes Sherlock spoke with so much sense Molly could kiss him.

"Are you sure?" Molly's offer would have been more genuine if she wasn't yawning whilst she said it.

"Yes Molly, I'm sure." Even though he was facing the laptop the smile in his voice was unmistakable. And with that, Molly made her way to his room.

At some point during the night Molly had apparently kicked off her cover, and was woken by the fact she was now far too cold. Based on the darkness around her she guessed it was early morning, and sighed over the fact she was now fully awake.

Remaining in bed she began to ponder the room around her deciding that the pleasantly beige, and green walls with minimum furniture, didn't quite fit the crazy detective in the living room. She could vaguely remember him in her dreams, but she wasn't quite sure how he, the queen, and life size gummy bears fit together. Shaking off her thoughts, she decided that a nice warm glass of milk might just be the trick to falling back to blissful sleep.

Making her way to the kitchen she decided to be quiet as not to disturb Sherlock, who, with a quick glance in his direction in the living room, appeared to be very deeply in his 'mind palace'. Once in the kitchen she found a saucepan and filled it with a suitable amount of milk before placing it on the stove. She decided that this was a much safer option then using the microwave, as it appeared to be filled with a strange 'goop'. Waiting for the milk to gently warm she thought it was only common curtesy to see if Sherlock wanted any. Walking out she saw that Sherlock was unexpectedly asleep, and not deep in his mind palace like she had assumed.

Her heart melted against her will, as she leaned against the doorframe looking over him. With shoes and one sock missing, Sherlock was facing the ceiling, his hands tangled loosely towards the edge of the sofa. She thought that he looked a lot younger, and more innocent when he slept. Molly sighed and damned her hormones for making her think that he looked god damn adorable.

Walking over gently she assumed he must be cold, and grabbing a nearby throw she attempted to cover as much of him as she could. Once happy with the amount of him that was now covered up close, she took a step back to assess her work. Looking down she saw that his neck was resting against the curve of the arm, she guessed that he had fallen asleep unexpectedly and slid down from his usual position. She couldn't help but think of how that would hurt in the morning, and then had the (at the time genius) idea of putting a pillow beneath his head for support.

Armed with a pillow, and a surprising amount of courage, she summoned all the grace she possessed, and attempted to put the pillow behind his neck. The idea was to then 'scoop' his head when she would pull it back towards herself. With slightly shaking hands she began her attack, and with the corner of the pillow now nudging his head, she was assured by the fact that phase one was complete. Now onto phase two, 'the scooping'.

Felling increasingly confident in her plan she was taken by surprise when Sherlock suddenly shifted towards the pillow and turned, now facing the back of the sofa away from her, with his head now successfully resting on the pillow. The instant feeling of victory was quickly shattered when she realised that her hand was stuck under the pillow and his heavy head.

Her heart was hammering as she could feel the breath from his nostrils fall directly onto her pulse point on her wrist. She wasn't sure why she was so effected as they had done plenty which was far more intimate, and yet she could stop the ball of energy that filled her stomach.

If she moved she would probably wake him and that would be awkward, but if she didn't move, the milk currently warming in the kitchen would over heat, which would also probably wake him and that would also be awkward. She was in a no win situation.

Whilst pondering the inevitable uncomfortable moment, when she would have to explain why her hand is under his head, the gods decided to smile down on her as Sherlock rolled back to his original position, effectively freeing her hand. Sighing from relief she looked down once again and noticed that thankfully, Sherlock looked undisturbed. Molly decided to quit whilst she was ahead, walk back to the kitchen, collect her milk, and go back to sleep before she did something else foolish.

The next morning Sherlock didn't mention the unexpected warmth, or the magically appearing blanket and pillow. And he certainly didn't mention how he could smell her perfume in his dreams.

It was the day of the sonogram appointment and just as Sherlock had promised, he had completed his case, and joined her for the scan.

The scan itself had gone well. Molly had cried at the heartbeat, and gushed over the pictures as most expectant mothers do. Whilst Sherlock had quite obviously asked every question that popped into his mind clearly quizzing the doctor, but Doctor Trisham hadn't left, cried, or punched him, which everyone agreed was a success.

The expectant parents agreed that returning to 221b to show the others the pictures would be the next best step.

Mary had hugged Molly, whilst John made a joke about the foetus having Sherlock's eyes, and Mrs Hudson had squeaked in excitement before starting a long, and somewhat off topic tale of her ex-husband's dislike for children.

Mrs Hudson, having gone to take her herbal soother rather early for the evening, left the four remained seated around the main living room, and collectively they decided that Chinese sounded like the best cuisine for lunch. With the doorbell signalling the food had arrived, the boys had moved to the kitchen to gain the necessary utensils. Once alone John felt free to say what had been playing on his mind since his long chat with Mary a few days ago.

"Sherlock I – I feel like I owe you an apology." Sherlock made a quick bored tone.

"Honestly John there's no need for the dramatics. I thought we had moved past this" Sherlock was as usual correct, it seemed that slowly over the past few weeks the boys had stopped their passive aggressive actions and had returned to their usual routine.

"Just let me get it out, it'll be over quick I promise." John smiled as he gestured for Sherlock to pass him the forks.

"It was wrong of me to doubt you in the beginning and although it didn't sound like it, I only did it because I care. But, it was still wrong of me. And even I can see that you're trying, I mean you buy biscuits and milk now, and you haven't made her cry. You did almost get her fired, but that was unintentional. I still worry about how you're going to handle a screaming baby and changing nappies and teething and throw up..." John realising he was losing track of what he was trying to say paused what he was doing.

"What I am trying to say is that I'm sorry I was a dick, and what you're doing with Molly is very… good of you." John nodded, clearly happy he had said all he need to say and reached for the cups missing the look of confusion that had covered Sherlock's face.

It was the word choice that had gotten Sherlock in a spin. Good. He was so rarely described as good and certainly not in the manner John had meant it. Brilliant, genius, and freak he had gotten his whole life but never good. The word had thrown him unexpectedly making him scramble for a change in conversation.

"You should use your grandmother's ring. She isn't especially materialistic and would appreciate the sentiment more."

John hadn't mentioned a word about the proposal, he had only decided he was definitely going to propose this morning, but he supposed that came with the territory of being best friends with an all seeing mastermind.

"Right." He said in a far higher tone then he had expected.

"She'll say yes." Sherlock said the statement as though it was a known fact which gave John an extra boost of confidence he didn't know he needed.

"Right." He repeated, this time more sure of himself and the boys moved back into the living room to the sight of their two women giggling like children.

"What's so funny?" John questioned with a smile once he was seated.

"Oh, Molly was just sharing how her dad had attempted to explain the birds and bees when she was growing up." Mary managed to blurt out in between her unstoppable laughter.

Equally choking on laughter, Molly realised that perhaps context would help enlighten John and attempted to explain.

"Well, my dad was easily embarrassed, and he had to try explain female puberty to me on his own. So he gave everything really odd nicknames." This seemed to trigger of Mary again who gave a loud snort of laughter.

"Odd? They were hilarious!" Mary had exclaimed. "The story of Velma and Peter's love is what everyone should learn!"

Sherlock had almost instantly shut off from the conversation the second he sat down and began to think of John's upcoming engagement. He had seen the way John looks at Mary, which was the biggest clue of the upcoming nuptials, he also saw it returned with the looks Mary gave John which solidified his conclusion that she would indeed say yes.

Following this path he began to relate what this new development in John's life meant, and how it affected him. With the social conventions entailing engaged couples living together and with Mary's apartment being better suited for the couple, it was becoming more and more apparent that John would be leaving baker street, and soon at that.

Molly having now calmed, began to fill up her plate with far more food then she usually would have. Looking around she saw 4 spring rolls left and grabbed 3, it wasn't until she noticed that Sherlock's plate was spring roll free that she decided a 2/2 split was fair, and returned the spring roll back to the container. She slid the remaining spring rolls over to Sherlock, who in turn raised his head, and smiled at her in a way that made Molly feel like she was missing something.

If Sherlock was correct that would mean that 221b would be open for applicants, and it just so happened he had the perfect candidate in mind.

AN/ I am very, very, very, very, very, very sorry about not updating for almost 8 months! Apparently writing fanfiction and doing a levels don't mix, who knew? The good news is that they are now completely finished so I have time again, and the plan is to get this done proto but I'm not the best at sticking to deadlines as I'm sure you have figured out by now :)

Even though its incredibly late I hope you still enjoyed the chapter, and my portrayal of Mycroft. And as always, all reviews are loved and cherished even if it is to tell me I'm a poo head for not updating sooner!

Most Importantly, the BIGGEST of all thank you's to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, if could I would send Bennedict to each of you houses to apologise on my behalf.

Icebabe59 / MizJoely / Angela Robin / Jime221 / Guest / Renaissancebooklover108 / Ray / CompanionToMisterHolmes / apedarling / NiceNipps / patemalah21 / kat4384 / and embeekay :D

In all honesty without you guys's lovely reviews, I probably wouldn't have come back to this story :)
Oh, and wasn't season 3 wonderful...