The Land Rover drove through the English countryside without incident. Molly fell asleep about twenty minutes into the trip, leaving Sherlock to his own thoughts. He'd already decided that they'd lie low in Dover, at least for the time being. He knew Molly liked the seaside; their flat had accumulated a collection of conch shells and starfish since she moved in.

John was going to be cross with him again. Mycroft had been instructed to inform the Watsons about what had happened, but he was to say nothing about where they were. Communication wasn't permitted; there were too many risks involved. Sherlock was sure he'd get an earful the next time he saw the couple. If he saw them again. Dead or alive, he'd certainly get an earful if he wasn't around for Eliza's birth.

Mycroft had ensured that the Land Rover's tank was full of petrol, and had placed two fuel cans in the trunk, so Sherlock had no need to stop. They reached the shore three hours before sunset. Sherlock parked in the gravel drive of a weatherworn cottage, which had a full view of the white cliffs from its garden.

"Where are we?" Molly's voice was small and sleepy. She looked out the dirty window at the cottage, trying to identify it.

"Dover. Technically this cottage belongs to a distant relative, but he's on safari in Africa until March." Sherlock opened the passenger side door and helped her out.

"Do we have to break in?"

Sherlock held up a key. "Of course not. Mycroft had this made for us."

"Good. I'm exhausted." Molly leaned against him as he opened the door. He took her rucksack from her and let her walk in first.

The cottage was in fairly good condition, although the furniture was covered in dusty sheets. Sherlock turned on the lights and checked all of the rooms to make sure their location wasn't compromised. Then he uncovered the bed in the master bedroom so Molly could lay down.

"Thank you."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "What for?"

"For taking care of me. I don't deserve you."

Sherlock just stood there for a moment, processing this. No one had ever uttered that phrase to him before, nor had he ever expected someone to. He laid down next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. "That fatigue must be addling your brain. You've gotten it flipped around." He brushed his lips against her forehead. "Good night, Molls."

"Good night, Sherl…"

Sherlock never knew if she had meant to give him a nickname or had just fallen asleep while talking, for her eyelids shut a moment later, and her breathing deepened.

Molly woke up feeling like she was on a roller coaster and her stomach was turning inside out. She groaned, opening her eyes, but the little room was spinning as well. Sherlock's arm was still fastened around her waist, pressing uncomfortably against her stomach. Bile rose in her throat. Mustering up all the strength she had, she pushed him off and stumbled towards what she hoped was a bathroom. It turned out to be a closet, and she immediately tried the next door, this time with success. Her knees slammed against the white and black checkered tile, and she barely got the lid of the toilet up before she began to be sick.

"Molly!" Sherlock was behind her a second later, raking her hair back into a makeshift ponytail. When she was done, he handed her a washcloth to wipe her mouth with. "Hold on," he said, disappearing for a moment. He returned with a glass of water. She took it with slightly shaking hands and downed the whole thing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I don't know why I've been feeling like this lately. One minute I'm sick to my stomach and the next I'm starving and…" Molly chuckled weakly. "Speaking of, I could really go for a hamburger and chips right now."

Sherlock stared at her intently for a moment. Then he sat down against the wall and propped his elbows up on his knees, his long index fingers and thumbs creating a triangle over his mouth. He sighed.

"What? What's wrong with me?"

"Nausea, vomiting, cravings, excessive fatigue, gradual weight gain. " Sherlock looked her in the eye. "You're pregnant."

For a moment Molly was silent, her mouth hanging open. "No."

Sherlock nodded. "Must have been that first time, a little over two months ago in the hotel. I'm a bloody fool."

"Oh Sherlock." Molly's heart went cold. Here they were, running away across the countryside to escape a gang of killers, doing their best to stay hidden, and she just had to be carrying a child. It was no wonder that Sherlock didn't want it. She stared at the tile, afraid to meet his gaze.

"Well there's nothing we can do about it now. But I would like to stay here as long as possible; it will be easier on your health."

Molly's head snapped up. "You…you don't want to…abort it?"

"Do you?"

"No. Never."

"Then it's settled. I don't see the point in ending something that barely had a chance to begin."

Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Molly." Sherlock stood up, taking her hands and lifting her to her feet. "It's going to be fine. We'll deal with everything one day at a time." He wiped away a tear that had escaped the corner of her eye. "Now let's see what we can do about that rather unusual breakfast."

Around 10am, when Molly felt well enough to leave the cottage, they took the Land Rover into town and found a decent-looking pub that opened early. Molly quickly devoured two burgers and a large serving of chips while Sherlock watched her, amazed that such a small person could eat so much. The baby had to be famished.

"I must look like a pig." Molly turned red as she surveyed the two empty plates in front of her. One had originally belonged to Sherlock, but after a few bites he'd had his fill. Not to mention he'd noticed her casting a number of fleeting glances at his plate.

"Nonsense, there isn't anything remotely porcine about you." Sherlock's lip curled. "Although the landlord may think otherwise."

Molly looked over at the pub's portly owner, who was grinning at them while polishing glasses behind the bar. She groaned. "The horrid part is that I could easily eat more."

"I reckon we'll have to do some shopping later." Sherlock was going to have to adjust to this wildfire hunger, along with a dozen other side effects that would soon surface. He still didn't know whether to view pregnancy as a handicap or a miracle. The man he had been a few years back would have concluded that it was a close relative of disease, a process of nature best avoided. But then his best friend had fathered a child, and his opinion had shifted somewhat. To what extent would the development and birth of his own offspring affect him? The idea made him uneasy.

"Quite a woman you have there. Not even the biggest blokes who frequent this place can put it away that fast," the landlord remarked when Sherlock approached the till to pay.

"She's expecting," Sherlock said briefly.

"Expecting what? Quadruplets?" The man said with a hearty laugh.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "At least my wife has a viable excuse for her appetite," he said, looking pointedly at the man's potbelly. "Perhaps your wife wouldn't have left you for the postman if you'd paid her as much attention as your food. Good day, sir." He quickly took his change and led Molly out of the pub, leaving the surprised landlord to wish he could eat his own words.

"What did he say?" Molly asked as they walked down Castle Street. Sherlock had said that he wanted to memorize Dover's layout, and although he didn't mention it, he also thought she could do with the fresh air and exercise.

Sherlock shrugged. "It isn't worth mentioning."

Molly studied him, trying not to get distracted by how a band of sunlight was making his hair look almost russet or the way the breeze was toying with the curls. As usual, his face was blank, but he refused to meet her gaze. "He said something about me, didn't he?"

"Maybe."

"And what did you say?"

"In a nutshell, I told him he was one to talk."

Molly stifled a laugh. "You shouldn't have. Offending the locals isn't exactly the best way to keep a low profile."

"He had it coming." Sherlock fixed his eyes on Dover Castle, which sat on a lush green hill above the town. "I came here once with my family, as a boy. Mycroft thought giants lived in the castle. His intellect hasn't particularly improved since then."

"Sherlock!" Molly playfully bumped him with her shoulder. Her face suddenly grew thoughtful. "Shouldn't we tell them about the baby?"

"Who, my family? I don't want to risk the communication being picked up by Victor. Besides, Mycroft would only make a bigger fuss about us being on our own. And my parents…well, they can wait."

"But they're going to be grandparents. And they weren't exactly pleased when they learned you weren't joking about our elopement. I assume they feel cheated, not having had the opportunity to attend the wedding of the son they didn't expect to get married." Molly had once met Sherlock's parents briefly when they'd visited him in London, but that was long before the Bliss case. "Remember, they're still waiting to have dinner with us. It's been ages since your mother phoned about that."

"If you thought they were upset about missing our wedding, you really don't want to see their reaction when they find out there's a baby on the way. Mother will certainly cry. It's appalling, to be honest."

Molly rolled her eyes. "They're going to find out sooner or later."

"I choose later. What about your mother? Aren't you concerned about her?"

"Truthfully, I haven't given it much thought. Mum and I haven't been very close since Dad died. She doesn't approve of you anyway."

"Few people do."

"I think we should be more worried about John and Mary. They're our dearest friends, and we didn't even tell them we were leaving. What if this mess isn't sorted out for months, and I'm as big as a balloon when they see me next?" Molly brushed her hand against her abdomen, reminding herself that there was a tiny life within. Currently it was flat, and it was hard for her to imagine what it would feel like as the baby grew.

"They will understand." Sherlock was actually rather apprehensive about how the Watsons were going to react, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

"I'm not sure which to be more afraid of, them or Victor Bliss's hit men," Molly joked.

Sherlock chuckled and slipped his hand around hers. Come what may, he was grateful he had her by his side.