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 :)
In total there had been seven burglaries, four assaults and two murders since the Flannigan case. Sherlock had considered just under half of these cases before deciding that the robbery of a local restaurant seemed the most interesting.
What had started out as a simple theft, had quickly unveiled itself as a gang related message, and Sherlock was now giddy to find out, a gang related murder.
He could feel the mild buzz of excitement simmer under the surface.
He had texted John the address of the crime scene, and now they stood side by side observing the corpse of Mr. Ashby, one of the waiters.
Lestrade had informed them that the body was going to be moved shortly, causing John to head out. It was only once he had reached the door that he noticed that Sherlock was stood still staring at the body.
"Sherlock? Are we going?" John asked, it wasn't uncommon for Sherlock to be so engrossed in a crime scene to fail to notice that everyone around him had left.
Sherlock quickly glanced at his phone, and sighed.
"Go ahead, text me anything of importance. I'll meet you back here in an hour or so." He waved John away.
It was hard for them to have a routine as such, what with every case being so individual, but typically they would follow the body to Bart's. This was almost guaranteed since Molly had started working there.
"Why? Where are you going?" John questioned in confusion.
"Out." He was trying to commit each and every detail of the crime scene to memory, making him barely concentrate to a word that John was saying.
"Out where?"
If he were to guess, John would probably say Sherlock was about to go off on a suicide mission, which is why he was completely surprised at the answer Sherlock gave.
"It's my mother's birthday." He grumbled.
"Really," he smirked.
John knew he was enjoying this far too much, but Sherlock was typically a very guarded person when it came to family. The obvious exception to this would be his very vocal dislike towards Mycroft.
It took a lot to intimidate an ex-soldier like John, but for some reason little old Mrs. Holmes had it down to an art form. He wasn't sure if Sherlock knew, but John had actually met Mrs. Holmes upon Mycroft's invitation. She was kind, unexpectedly gentle, and one of the most frightening people he had ever encountered. This was remarkable considering she was a small, frail, grey headed lady.
"We are taking her out for food and celebrating the fact she's still alive. It's fairly common I understand." He added an extra dose of sarcasm in hope that it would dissuade John, but if anything it made him determined.
"We?" John practically sang.
"Mycroft and I." Just mentioning his name caused Sherlock mood to drop slightly, whilst John was mildly let down with the answer.
"No Molly?"
"You think I should invite Molly?" Usual social conventions were often lost on Sherlock and he hadn't even thought about inviting Molly, but the more he thought about it the more he warmed up to the idea.
"It might be nice for them to know each other before the baby arrives." He explained.
"I suppose you're right, and this way Molly can be the one to tell her."
John was so rarely right according to Sherlock that it took him a few seconds before he realised what Sherlock had actually said.
"Tell her what?" Once the words had left his mouth, realisation dawned on him.
"You haven't told your mother about the baby yet have you?"
"It may have slipped my mind." Sherlock began to avoid eye contact.
"Slipped! Please tell me you're telling her today at least." John insisted.
"If it happens to come up in conversation-"
"Sherlock!" John knew that Sherlock was avoiding facing this and he could hardly blame him. The thought alone of facing Mrs. Holmes and telling her about this situation almost sent an unexplainable tremble down John's spine.
"What? She probably knows already." He argued defensively as he turned towards John.
They wordlessly began a staring completion which John won.
"Fine." He conceded. He knew that he was going to tell his mother and he had planned to do so soon, but soon had somehow lasted around three months.
"And you should probably wait until after you've explained everything before she meets Molly. It's starting to get harder and harder for her to not look pregnant."
It was true, it seemed as though the bump was growing by the minute which caused the corners of Sherlock's mouth to rise in an unidentified pleasure. He may not have realised he did this, but John certainly did.
On the taxi ride towards the restaurant Sherlock began to give himself a small pep talk about the realities of telling his mother.
He saw many potential possibilities in terms of her reaction. The two reactions he believed most likely were polar opposites of each other, and he saw them both clearly and concise. On one side he saw excitement, a quiet joy and general positivity. On the other he saw anger, sadness and largely disappointment. They were the most favourable and least favourable possibility respectively.
Although he would never verbally admit it, Sherlock was terrified of telling his mother. She wasn't a violent person, or scary in a conventional sense, but over her many years she had managed to perfect the disappointed look which could cut to your very core. It was most likely because of this that Sherlock had neglected to tell her.
He had become so occupied within his thoughts that he barely registered when he had arrived at his destination. Making his way inside the overly minimalist, and extortionately expensive restaurant that was clearly Mycroft's choice, he spotted then almost immediately.
"Mother, Mycroft." He greeted them with entirely different expressions.
His mother simply nodded in return whilst Mycroft decided a sarcastic joke about arriving fashionably late was for some reason needed.
He wasn't entirely sure why his mother had organised this gathering, as typically the Holmes family didn't celebrate birthdays. They gave no gifts, blew out no candles and generally gave no mention to their birthday, and yet Violet Holmes had decided that this year she wanted to mark the day.
Once sitting, he faced his mother for the first time in a few months and saw that she had slightly aged.
Time had been kind to Violet Holmes in terms of looks, but not much else. Losing her husband long before his time, and raising two unruly boys, had caused decades of stress which, while free from her face, certainly reflected in her health.
He had worked out that the optimal time to tell her the news would be just before the desserts. His entire family seemed to have developed a major sweet tooth, and he hoped that the distraction of upcoming sugar might work in his favour.
Mycroft however, was growing steadily bored and decided that this afternoons entertainment should be in the form of one uncomfortable brother, during the main course.
"So Sherlock, how is the current case going?"
"Fine." Sherlock found himself suddenly on guard as Mycroft rarely spoke without an agenda.
"I understand there's now been a murder. How very exciting." He droned.
"Yes." Sherlock wasn't entirely sure where Mycroft was going with these questions, but after living with him for the first decade of his life he knew when his brother was about to make trouble.
"I'm sure the mortician is doing the autopsy as we speak. What doctor is assigned to this case again? I know it's not Dr. Stamford, he's away on holiday I believe." Mycroft's face was almost glowing as he watched Sherlock begin to squirm.
"Dr Hooper is the assigned mortician, and get you facts right Mycroft, Stamford's not on holiday, his brother died. Or his uncle, I can't quite remember." He was desperately trying to remain unaffected but he could feel his temper begin to flare.
"Ah yes, it was his brother I believe, terribly sad. So how is Dr. Hooper? Doing well I hope." The hand cutting his meat never faltered as he faced Sherlock.
"Fine, Dr. Hooper is doing fine." He snapped as he felt a surge of jealousy towards Stamford for the first time in his life. Mycroft was smirking as Sherlock began to feel himself going pink in frustration.
"I'm glad, after all-" Mycroft was interrupted by Violet who decided to put an end to the game.
"Enough!" She was a soft spoken woman, who had never had to raise her voice to silence her sons. Now was not an exception.
They both turned to face her, one in slight confusion, and the other in minor annoyance.
"It was fun to begin with, but I can only watch for so long. He was turning too red for my comfort." She vaguely explained to Mycroft, but it was enough for Sherlock to piece together what had happened.
"You know?"
"Of course I know, Mycroft told me months ago." Her confession caused Sherlock to glare at Mycroft, who smiled in response. He was irritated with himself for not guessing that Mycroft, being the little teacher's pet he was, would rat him out.
"I gave you plenty of time to tell her yourself." Mycroft justifies.
Feeling the tension between her sons, Violet aimed to move the focus towards herself in hope it would lesson Sherlock's anger.
"So tell me about Dr. Hooper and the baby."
"I'm sure Mycroft has told you everything." Sherlock couldn't stop the bitterness seeping from his words. If he were being truthful he would admit that Mycroft actually did him a favour, as his mother seemed very well adjusted to the situation, but he would take that sentence with him to the grave.
"Now Sherlock, Mycroft wouldn't have had to tell me anything if you had. And if you must know he's told me very little." This was a lie as Violet knew almost everything that Mycroft knew, which was just about all of it. She knew that Mycroft was holding something back, but she trusted him enough to tell her if it truly became important.
She decided to play the ignorance card to Sherlock, in hope that she could get some understanding over how he felt through his explanation of Dr. Hooper and the baby.
"What would you like to know?" he had significantly calmed once he felt partially back in control of the conversation.
"How many weeks is she? I'm guessing around 18." She asked as she was curious to see if Sherlock knew the answer. She guessed it was the kind of information he would most likely delete, but was pleasantly surprised when he answered without missing a beat.
"She is exactly 19 weeks tomorrow."
"And do you know the sex?"
"I'm fairly certain I do, but she doesn't." Sherlock switched between remaining eye contact with his mother, and watching his mostly eaten dinner.
"Well you mustn't spoil it for her. I remember when the doctor let it slip that Mycroft was going to be a boy, I was so disappointed." Violet lightly smiled at the memory of her husband threatening to fight the doctor for ruining their surprise.
"So Mycroft has always been a disappointment." Sherlock beamed.
"How is the mother? Doing well you said." She ignored his insult, deciding it might be best to just let them fight.
"She seems to be, yes." He tried to remember if Molly had any complaints, but for some reason he could only picture her cheerful.
"Seems? When was the last time you saw her?"
"Approximately six hours ago." He had seen her just before he left for his case, she had made him tea.
"Oh, so you see each other regularly." Violet prompted, curious as to how much information Sherlock was willing to give.
"Yes," He paused considering the wording of the next half of the sentence very carefully.
"Because we share an apartment. And as you know she works in the morgue, so we work in similar fields." Content with how platonic his phrasing suggested their relationship to be, he relaxed ever so slightly for the first time during this meal.
"Well, I must admit that I feel like I've missed something, Mycroft had made it seem that you two were a spur of the moment couple shall we say, and not something quite as involv-" Sherlock without warning cut in.
"Were not- urm, we are a spur of the moment, were a spur of the moment couple now we are more, well, we are friends." He stumbled. Whilst friends didn't precisely fit their situation, it was close enough that he could use it with little question. Mycroft clearly disagreed with Sherlock on this.
"Yes mother, they are simply friends who live together, work together and are having a baby together." Mycroft leered.
"I've summed that up correctly haven't I Sherlock." He continued.
"Yes, friends." His eyes narrowed at Mycroft in defiance.
"I see." She hastily attempted to change the subject before Sherlock attempted to kill Mycroft.
She knew it was cruel to question the nature of his relationship when she knew it would cause him to panic, but she had needed to see his reaction to decipher her next steps.
"So she's a doctor, that's some good genes I suppose."
"Yes, she's a pathologist." Sherlock explained with heavily veiled pride that only his mother picked up on.
"Unique field for a young woman, just how old is this Dr. Hooper?"
"Dr Hooper, Molly's twenty-" he briefly trailed off as he tried to remember the exact number.
"She's twenty-six." Mycroft beat him to the finish line, gaining a glance filled with warning from his mother as a reward.
"And where is Molly from?"She turned to face Sherlock once again.
He sat with his mouth tightly shut knowing he had removed this piece of information, and knew what was coming.
"She was born just outside of Cambridge, before moving to Suffolk when she was 12." Mycroft recited as fact.
"I do believe Mother was asking me." Sherlock spat.
Mycroft was growing increasing more aggravated with his ignorant little brother.
It wasn't that Sherlock had begun to form emotional attachments; he had always known his brother was far more ordinary then he would ever realise. What annoyed Mycroft the most was his current complete and utter denial.
Ever since their father's untimely death many years ago, Mycroft had tried to guide his brother towards the right direction at multiple points in his life. He neither aimed, nor wanted to be a replacement to their father, it was clear that no one could accomplish that, he had only ever wanted to be an ode to him.
Whilst it had occasional worked, on the whole it usually lead to a spectacular failure, that was until he became Sherlock's self appointed enemy.
He hadn't ever set out to become his brother's enemy, and once he was even considered Sherlock's only ally. It was Sherlock who changed the roles and decided that arch nemesis was much more befitting to him, and as it seemed to help Sherlock, Mycroft was more than willing to comply.
It was unfortunate for both the Holmes boys that the only way he knew how to get through to Sherlock, was to annoy him. Mycroft learnt that if he provoked Sherlock to an almost murderous level, Sherlock would actually listen to what he was saying.
Mycroft saw this dangerous game of self-delusion that Sherlock was playing and could only see it ending badly for all those involved. He hoped by forcing his brother's hand, he may be able to speed along some of the inevitable and much needed development in Sherlock's life.
Mycroft knew that as hard as he may try, he couldn't stop the hurricane that was coming, but he could strengthen the foundation before it arrived.
"You're coming across as quite jealous Sherlock, an odd emotion to feel over a friend."
"Mycroft I think that's quite enough." Violet claimed. She, not surprisingly, knew of Mycroft's techniques to get through to brother, nevertheless she decided that Sherlock had been prodded by Mycroft enough today.
"I suppose your right. I should be on my way. You know how my friends fall apart when I'm not there to supervise them." At that precise moment he ended his sentence, Mycroft's phone rang.
"Leaving before dessert how unlike you." Sherlock knew it was a cheap shot, but he still felt victory when he saw Mycroft flinch slightly in anger.
"Give my love to Molly." Mycroft smiled with an over-abundance of false care sending a flash of fury through Sherlock.
Mycroft turned and kissed his mother on the cheek and uttered a surprisingly heartfelt happy birthday, before finally leaving.
As the waiters began to take their plates away Violet turned to Sherlock.
"Now that it is just the two of us, would you tell me more about Molly?"
"You should have asked Mycroft before he left. I'm sure he knows more about her then I do." Feeling more comfortable, Sherlock was able to show just how much Mycroft's superior knowledge of Molly had affected him.
"So far all that Mycroft has been able to tell me are bits of information that can be found on a medical record, but I am not interested in such objective facts. I would like to know about her." Violet stopped momentarily as she began to wonder what traits make a personality.
"Is she a morning person or perhaps a night owl? Does she prefer tea or coffee? What was it that drew her pathology? What is her biggest fear? And, what is she most proud of in her life? I would like to know about her." She repeated to further reinforce her meaning.
He paused as his mind whirled with pictures of perfectly brewed cups of tea, and spiders the size of small dogs. It took him a few moments to realise that he was not only able to answer each question confidently, but he was able to do so without much searching, suggesting they were at the forefront of his mind.
The more he thought about it, the more he became aware that he knew far more about Molly then he would ever need to know about anyone.
He knew so many things, odd little snippets of information, scattered across nearly thousands of topics.
He knew that she was naturally left-handed, but was trained otherwise. He knew that although she has read hundreds of books, she can only remember the names and plot of a few of them, which are usually the ones she hated. He worked out that she liked it when he played Bach, but found it hard to concentrate whenever he played Vivaldi. He knew that her favourite colour was cerulean blue, but if you asked her she would say lavender purple.
Such specific details that would most likely never come in handy, and yet he didn't want to delete them.
He focused back on his mother with a new found confidence.
"Which would you like me to answer first?"
After Mycroft had left, the meal had become significantly more pleasant in Sherlock's opinion, and it wasn't long before their dessert plates were being collected and goodbyes were being said.
"I'm hosting a dinner party towards the end of the month, Molly is of course invited."
Although her tone was light and gentle, Sherlock knew when he was receiving and order.
"I'm sure she'll be happy to come." Sherlock tried to hide the uncertainty in his voice pointlessly.
He stood and began to put on his coat, his mind already returning to the case.
"Sherlock," He looked at his mother curiously, as she cleared her throat.
"To truly care for someone is a gift, one that should not be wasted, manipulated, or ignored. To know a person inside and out and still appreciate everything about them is a feeling that cannot be explained."
Seeing her son's face convey confusion and caution, Violet thought a change of tactic was needed.
"If your father was back just for one minute I wouldn't speak, I wouldn't say anything. I would just hold him. There's a magic in holding someone you love."
She looked at him plainly and yet full of meaning causing him to look away.
"Good-bye Mother." He hated how his suddenly dry throat caused his words to crack.
Sherlock put the message safely to the back of his mind. Assuring himself that his mother's words were too full of sentiment for him to relate to.
It wasn't uncommon for Sherlock's mother to offer her sons words filled with emotion. They had both, long ago managed to convince themselves that her words didn't affect them, yet when the boys were too tired, too distracted, or just generally too weak to fight, it would be their mothers words that would often be the answer they were looking for.
While Sherlock had quite the family dinner, Molly found herself pulled in multiple directions from her busiest day at work to date.
With Mike being off due to his cousin's unfortunate passing, she had felt largely rushed, with her only break being when she was visited by John. He had explained that he had the duty of finding out everything about Mr. Ashby, whilst Sherlock had lunch plans.
After a brief debate with himself, John had decided to explain that Sherlock was out for his mum's birthday with Mycroft. Ultimately it was the fact that Sherlock hadn't told John that it was a secret that made John see no harm in telling Molly.
As there was no surprising development in Mr. Ashby corpse John hadn't stayed long and left with very little weighing on him.
Molly on the other hand, felt betrayed.
Upon discovering Sherlock's plans to tell his mother, all Molly could think of was that Sherlock Holmes was a traitor.
It was an unspoken, but mutual agreement that neither Molly nor Sherlock had any real plans of telling their mothers. Both had agreed to eventually inform them, but she assumed that neither of them really meant it.
But now Sherlock had gone and broke their pact, abandoning her. And now she was alone, with no one to relate to and no one to hide behind. It was just her manning this sinking ship.
Deciding that this was the final straw, she finally took note of what people were clearly telling her to do and chose today to be the day that she would ring her mother.
Which is why later that same day, Mary walked into Baker Street to find a tense Molly, looking anxiously at her phone.
"Hey, I was thinking how about pizza for dinner?" Mary yelled as she began to hang up her coat as she turned the corner.
"I know I'm supposed to be good for wedding, but I just cannot be bothered to-" She stopped her sentence short as she properly looked at her friends for the first time that evening.
Hair pulled off of her face, wearing her kitten decorated pyjamas, Molly sat curved facing her phone. The sight was made even more peculiar with the bump clearly in the way. Mary didn't need to see Molly's face to know that she was tense.
"You alright?" She gently asked as she sat down on the seat next to Molly.
"Hmm, oh yeah, sorry I'm fine." It took Molly a few seconds before she realised that Mary had arrived and attempted to cover her blunder with a quick smile in Mary's direction before putting her phone beside her.
"You sure? It's just your looked pretty fascinated by your phone." Mary smiled.
"It's nothing, well not nothing nothing, it's urm-" Molly sighed as she realised that maybe saying everything out loud might help her make up her mind.
"My Gran said I should probably tell my mother about the baby." It was such a simple sentence, but it had been bugging her for the past few hours. Truth be told it had been bugging her the second her Gran had said it, but with Sherlock finally telling his mother, Molly was starting to feel like she didn't really have a choice anymore.
"Oh."Mary knew nothing about Molly's mother, but as she never mentioned her, and her lack of enthusiasm about talking to her again Mary could guess that Molly and her weren't exactly close.
"Exactly" Molly agreed.
"Are you going to tell her?" Mary attempted to tread lightly around the subject.
"I suppose I should, although I highly doubt she'll care. If anything she'll find it funny." Molly sulked.
"Funny? Why funny?"
"You know the whole unplanned, out of wedlock, onetime thing. It's kind of becoming a family tradition." she laughed with little humour in her voice.
"Still, I should tell her, right?" Molly asked rhetorically.
Mary shrugged, deciding to stay quiet. She guessed that Molly wasn't really looking for an answer, but was looking for more of an emotional support.
"But on the other hand she knows nothing about my life. She doesn't know I live in London, she doesn't know what I do, hell she still thinks I'm called Mary. What's one more piece of information?" It seemed as though the more she said the angrier she got.
Before Mary could even think of interrupting she continued.
"I suppose this is a pretty big piece of information, and my dad told my Gran even though he hated her. Well not hated, more hated her lifestyle, but that's not the point. At least he was raised by her until he was eighteen. I mean he knew her, kind of, enough. I'm not going to tell her. I'm not." By the end of her speech she became resolute in her answer.
"Well that's ok, at least you've thought it through and-" Mary was caught off guard when Molly spoke again.
"I'm not." She repeated almost defiantly.
Mary nodded in support.
"I am not. Besides it's not going to work." Molly scoffed to herself.
"What won't work?"
Mary watched her as she reached towards her phone and began pressing the buttons frantically.
"The number, the 'only for absolute emergencies' number, it's not going to work." Molly pushed the screen towards Mary's face. She could make out a contact saved as 'EM' and the first few digits before Molly pulled the phone back suddenly.
Mary watched as Molly began to worry her lip, becoming less frenzied and more frightened.
"I'm going to call her." She whispered before looking back at Mary with a guilty look on her face.
"Right now?" Mary felt on edge, which she guessed was only scratching the surface to what Molly was feeling.
"Yep." Her throat scratched in what Mary assumed to be worry.
"It's not going to work the numbers at least ten years old." Molly started to nod at her own thought process.
"But you're going to try right now?" Mary needed Molly to clarify.
"Yep." She sounded somewhat more confident the second time round.
She started to chant 'it's not going to work' under her breath as she hit the call button.
"Oh god I'm actually calling." She began to panic as she threw to phone to the seat next to Mary.
Mary quickly scooped the phone up and lent forward so the phone sat in her palm between her Molly.
Molly had expected time to pass slowly. It was quite a monumental moment for her, and if movies were to be believed, then time would slow to painstaking degree, but barely a second after she hit the call button she got her answer.
"The number you have dialed has not been recognised, please hang up and try again." The automatic voice rang out in the silent apartment.
"I told you it wouldn't work." Molly was saddened, tired, but most of all thankful. She was thankful that she hadn't let herself believe for a split second that her mother was on the other end of the number.
She saw Mary's nervousness and knew that Mary had thought it was going to work, but she knew her mother, she knew that it wasn't going to work. She highly doubted that it even on the day she was given it, it was going to work.
She was vaguely aware that once upon a time that number was her lifeline. It was the one thing she had to show that her mother, deep, deep down, cared for her. At some point she stopped believing the lie and she was eternally grateful of that. She wasn't entirely sure she would have been strong enough to bounce back from that level disappointment.
"The number you have dialled has not been recognised, please hang up and try again."
"I knew it wouldn't work." Molly exhaled lightly.
Mary guessed Molly was talking to her, but she was still looking at the phone so it was hard to tell. She wasn't entirely sure of what was worse, what had just happened or that Molly had been expecting it.
"The number you have dialled has not been recog-"Mary shut off the call growing fed up of the inanimate voice rubbing it in their faces.
"You could always ask Mycroft for a favour, I'm sure-" Mary briefly suggested unsure of why she was defending the idea that Molly's mother was anything more than the woman who birthed her.
"No, I have my answer don't you think." Molly smiled as if she were oddly trying to comfort Mary.
Mary gave Molly her phone back, who then decided to place it out of sight.
"So, how about we move on from all of my family drama and think about food. You were saying something about pizza?" Molly asked as she stood to go find some vouchers that were on the kitchen table.
"Sounds like a plan, just one little question before though. Why does your mum 'still' think that you are called Mary? Do you have a secret identity that we don't know about?"
Molly laughed as she returned with hands full of menus.
"Nothing quite so scandalous I'm afraid. Mary's my birth name. Well technically it's Miriam, but my dad always called me Mary, like the virgin. I changed it after my dad died. I always hated that name." Molly ended with a look of distaste on her face.
"Well thank you very much!" Mary claimed in mock offence.
"It's Miriam I don't like, Mary is a beautiful name." Molly laughed.
"Much more like it!" Mary smiled.
As the evening went on the girls fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, and it wasn't long until Molly forgot all about her unsuccessful endeavour.
The conversation had somehow moved onto a friendly disagreement over the best kind of dressing gowns. To prove she was correct Molly had gone to collect her own silk gown from her bedroom.
From where Mary was sitting, Sherlock's room was straight ahead whilst Molly's was to her left, also known as John's old room. This is why she was entirely confused when Molly walked straight ahead to collect her dressing gown.
The pathologist returned a few seconds later, gown in hand, with complete confidence she would win this argument.
"Molly, why was your dressing gown in Sherlock's room? Is there something I'm missing?" Mary smiled wide thinking she had stumbled upon the biggest revelation of the century.
"What do you mean? I got it out of my room." Molly laughed in light confusion.
"Don't even try to pull the wool over my eyes. I just watched you get it out of Sherlock's room."
It took Molly a few seconds to realise that Mary wasn't joking.
"But that's Sherlock's room." Molly pointed over to Mary's left as they looked at each other in confusion.
"No, that was John's room, which is now yours."
It was Mary's sincerity that caused Molly to second guess herself as she started to think back to the first time she came to 221b.
"No, that room is definitely Sherlock's because when we-" Molly paused as a sudden thought popped into her head.
Thinking back to the very first night, Molly desperately tried to picture the decor of what she had assumed to be Sherlock's room. There was the double bed, a few books dotted around the place, but largely she remembers a lot of cream's and beige's.
"Silly me, must be pregnancy brain or something. You're right, of course. I forgot which room was mine for a second." Molly hoped that being right would be enough to placate Mary into not asking anymore questions, it was not.
Mary almost shrugged it off until she looked closer at Molly who was perhaps the world's worst liar.
"You're hiding something from me." Mary accused as Molly tried to avoid her gaze.
"There has to be a reason you'd think it was the other way round."
"A pregnant brain can do some weird things sometimes." Molly forcibly chuckled, but it was clear that Mary wasn't listening.
"But surely you would have remembered Sherlock's room from-" Realisation dawned on Mary as she sat mouth wide open.
An awkward silence filled the room, as Molly tried to look anywhere but towards Mary.
"The baby was conceived in John's room wasn't it?" Once the question was out Mary heard just how ridiculous the situation was and began laughing, until she remembered an important piece of furniture that John had brought with him to her apartment.
"Wait! We still used that mattress!" Mary exclaimed unsure of whether to laugh, cry, or have a very long shower.
After a few seconds of silence Molly couldn't contain her amusement anymore, and it wasn't long until they were both wheezing from laughter.
At some point Molly managed to choke to a plea not to tell John, which Mary made no promise to keep.
It was during the early morning of the following day when Sherlock returned home. The case was finally solved two hours later than he had originally estimated, meaning he was well and truly spent.
In total he had shared a bed with Molly two times, and both had resulted in tranquil, uninterrupted sleep which was a rarity for him. It is likely because of this he chose to spend the night in what was his bed, next to his sleeping pathologist, with very little thought against the matter.
Shrugging off his coat whilst removing his shoes, he laid down behind her.
Molly was woken by a shift in the bed, but felt unafraid as she instinctively knew it was Sherlock. Only half conscious, she accepted what was happening with far less questions than she might have otherwise.
She felt his right hand come over to rest on the bump, as the bed warmed from added body heat. She could just about make out his overall shape behind her, causing her to feel an unexpected surge of comfort.
A few moments passed as they remained still, gradually falling deeper and deeper into sleep, when the baby decided it would be the perfect time to move. Molly could feel Sherlock smile against her shoulder and felt good that the excitement of this sensation hadn't worn off for Sherlock the baby making Molly return to her senses slightly she decided to ask the question that was slowly spinning in her mind.
"What are the chances that Mary will be able to keep where this one was conceived to herself?"
"Not likely Miriam." Sherlock teased causing Molly to curse confiding in Mary, who was notoriously terrible at keeping secrets.
"I suppose not William." She retorted, enjoying how Sherlock grumbled at the name.
"I'm guessing Mary told you about my afternoon then?" She didn't mind, it was hardly a secret. Besides she had been told all about his day from John. It was clearly a Watson and future Watson trait to make sure everyone in their little group was completely clued in to what was happening.
"She may have texted me a vague conclusion, which ended in an order to be extra nice to you today." Sherlock paraphrased.
Molly chuckled at Mary's unnecessary, but much appreciated consideration.
"So she was the one who told you about my god forsaken name?" He moaned.
"It's not that bad." She protested.
He mumbled out a response that she couldn't quite make out, but she was sure it was an argument as to why William is the worst name humanly possible.
"She may have got a bit tipsy a few weeks ago and kept calling you Billy boy." She smiled at the memory.
"I swear, right here and now I will never call you Miriam, or any form of Miriam, as long as William," he paused as he mentally prepared himself for the next words"Billy boy, or any other name that can be derived from William, dies with you."
"Deal." She sniggered as she scooped up the hand resting on her bump, and lazily shook it to make the contract official.
The readjusted themselves to get more comfortable as all three of them stayed quiet for a few moments.
"I'm sorry I stole your room."
The situation had been weighing on her mind once she realised that this was Sherlock's room. She had assumed that after she had taken it accidentally, he either hadn't noticed, or felt too rude to tell her the truth.
"Don't be." He yawned, exhaustion taking over his body.
He wasn't sure why she was apologising, he thought she understood that she didn't steal it, but he gave it to her.
"I can change rooms tomorrow if you'd like." She offered sincerely, whilst simultaneously hoping he wouldn't mind.
"No." He didn't like that idea. Although she had stayed here just a fraction of the time he had, it was beginning to feel odd just imagining this room without her in it.
"Stay."
She wasn't sure if he was asking or ordering, either way she was more than happy to comply.
Despite his complete lack of energy, it was Molly who drifted back to sleep first.
He knew by the depth and regularity of her breathing pattern that she was asleep, and without intending to, he began to copy her rhythm. It wasn't long until they were completely in sync, and shortly after sleep came for him too.
As his mother's word replayed in his mind, Sherlock's last conscious thought that evening was that she had never been more accurate.
AN/ Isn't sherlolly the sweetest?!
This is by far the longest thing I have ever written, and I really enjoyed it! A lot of people were asking for more of a Sherlock-centric chapter so I hope this is what you were envisioning, with the whole Holmes family and everything. Fingers crossed, you liked it and it wasn't too long.
A heartfelt thank you to all those who reviewed chapter 9, you guys were the spring in my step and the reason why this chapter was so fun!
Katanafleet / Icecat62 / Arcoiris / TheHeadphoneGirl / Bella Cuore / rubyred753 / Jime221 and two Guests :D
As always all reviews are loved and cherished.
Chapter 11 currently in the works, so hopefully see you all soon .x