Molly made Jim stay upstairs in the nursery while her mother and aunts visited. She endured nearly two hours of their constant cooing and gushing. She couldn't have imagined what it would have been like had she had Jane this entire time. An entire year of cheek pinching and comments about finding a man. Of course, that happened every time they visited anyways, but usually they only visited on Easter and Christmas, and sometimes the odd birthday or anniversary. She was going to need more wine of they were going to do this constantly. Not that she was a drunkard, she just liked a drink every now and then.
With many hugs and pinches and promises to call and make plans to have tea, none of which Molly had any intentions of following through on, she finally ushered the still-babbling women out the door and onto the drizzly streets of London. She felt bad, in a way; they were all the family that she had, and they only meant well. But there was a reason that she had chosen a career that dealt with as few living people as possible. Molly just wasn't good with people. She was good with cats and the occasional stray hedgehog. Not people. Maybe that was why she got on with Sherlock and Jim so well; they weren't really people.
Jim, who Molly assumed had heard her family leave, came down the stairs, tossing one of Jane's toys between his hands. "I never did understand everyone's obsession with family." He commented, his face taking on a distant look. "They never return favors, or ask how your criminal empire is going. No, it's all 'Look at me in law school' and 'why did you murder my fiance." Ugh. Pointless, ungrateful maggots, family are." He smiled at Molly, who was giving him a quizzical, slightly horrified look.
She quickly nodded and returned his smile, picking up her sleepy daughter. It was nearly seven, so Molly guessed that it was close to the small girl's bed time. Wait, did babies have bedtimes? Or did bedtimes start later in life, at like three or five? She would have to Google that later. In the mean time, she was going to make seven o'clock Janie's bedtime.
She carried the toddler up the stairs and put her on her back in the crib, and pulled the tiny blanket up to Jane's chin. After some whining and a bedtime story about a tiger and a panda bear, Molly's daughter finally fell asleep. Molly sighed, smiling at the peaceful look on the child's face. She had done better on her first day of being a parent than she had thought she would. Only seventeen more years to go. And then the rest of her life.
She stood up from the rocking chair, and saw Moriarty standing in the doorway, a smile on his face as he looked at her daughter. Since she had gone upstairs, he had changed into a pair of green plaid pajama bottoms and a plain white tanktop. "Oh, erm, hi." She said to him, wringing her hands and not wanting to be rude by pushing past him.
"Hi." He said, as cheerfully as ever, but keeping his voice down. He walked backwards a few steps, and gestured for Molly to take the lead down the stairs. She did, walking slowly and measuring her steps, knowing that there were creaky floorboards and not wanting to wake Jane.
"So, erm, what have you been up to since I died?" He asked, still grinning There always seemed to be something behind his smile, in Molly's experience; a false identity, a planned murder. But his smile now seemed more genuine than she had ever seen it. But then, she was the only person in England, possibly the world, that knew he was alive. That meant that he trusted her much more than literally almost anyone else on the entire planet. So he probably didn't have anything to hide this time, if not from being off radar for two years, then out of sheer transparency.
She shrugged. "Not much. Taking care of Toby and cutting up dead bodies, mostly. None of yours, I hope." She gave him a measured look, silently asking the question that she refused to ask out loud.
He laughed, as he sat in a chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. "No, no fun for me as of late." He replied. "Just managing the business. It's boring, but it keeps me out of the spotlight. Which is a good thing, for once." Molly wondered absentmindedly what, exactly, "the business" was. Drugs, perhaps? Or secrets? She didn't want to ask.
"Oh. Well that's good." She got a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and poured herself a glass. "Would you like any?" She asked Jim from the kitchen. He nodded, and she poured a second glass for him. She made herself comfortable on the sofa and they both sipped the alcohol.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Jim asked suddenly, looking at Molly as though she had just told him his dog had died. "She's not mine, is she?" He asked, before Molly could answer his first inquiry.
"What? No! No, Jim, she is not yours." Molly said, suddenly feeling rather defensive. "And I didn't tell you because... well, because it was none of your business. You were busy, off being dead and all."She said, taking another large sip of her wine. She had known this was coming, but had not prepared herself for it. Of course, Jane couldn't be his. Sure, the timing was right, but it just wasn't possible. She was James' child. She had James' eyes, and his cheekbones. Of course, Molly knew that genetics was mostly chance, but she would stick by her story. Jane was she and James' child, and Jim had no part in her making.
"If you're sure." Moriarty muttered, his voice low. Molly supposed that she shouldn't have raised her voice, but what right did he have to question her? She sighed, and reached out to touch his hand.
"I'm glad you're back." She told him, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.