Sherlock had just finished putting the fourth spoonful of sugar into his tea when there was a knock on the door. "It's open," he replied, sitting at the table and raising the newspaper without looking at the door.
"And what if I had been a psychopath?" John asked as he entered, followed by Mary close behind, carefully navigating her swollen belly through the doorframe.
"Then you probably wouldn't have used your own key on the downstairs door or stutter-stepped on the stairs when your wife pinched your arse."
John shot an accusatory glance at Mary. "Don't look at me," she started, "it was your idea to come over here first thing in the morning."
John rolled his eyes and helped himself to the kettle to prepare tea for him and Mary, ignoring the extra mug off to the side. Just as he was settling back at the table, mug in hand, there came the sound of Molly thumping down the steps and into the kitchen. She was still in her pajamas, but her hair had been rudimentarily thrown up in a messy bun atop her head and one of Sherlock's spare dressing gowns was slumped over her shoulders, the sleeves rolled up a ludicrous amount of times for her hands to be visible. "Good morning! I-Oh! Hello, John, Mary. How are you?" Molly began before noticing the familiar guests.
John had stopped with his tea halfway to his mouth and was staring at Molly like she was an animal that had begun to speak. Mary, who had started to read Sherlock's discarded pages, hardly looked up to answer kindly. "We're fine, Molly, and you?"
"Tea?" asked Sherlock, handing Molly the extra mug John had seen on the counter. She took it graciously and continued to address Mary.
"Oh, fine, you know, considering the circumstances. A little tired. Speaking of which-Sherlock, you don't think I woke Mrs. Hudson with the screaming last night, do you?"
John's head, which had snapped to the mug on the counter and back to Molly, now snapped back to look at Sherlock, rather like he was watching some sort of perverse tennis match.
"No, she's off visiting her sister at Mycroft's suggestion. They are currently on holiday in an undisclosed location in Switzerland."
"Ah, good, I know how uncomfortable this situation has made her. Anyway, need to get ready for work!"
She took her tea and headed for the bathroom as Sherlock lifted his paper and continued to read. John finally set his tea back upon the table, but continued to stare open-mouthed at Sherlock without speaking.
"John, dear-you'll catch flies," Mary said, her own eyes not looking up from her newspaper. John's head turned to look at her then quickly back to Sherlock, trying with all his might to make sense of the current situation. He settled on a single word. He figured he could manage that.
"Explain."
Sherlock and Mary simultaneously lowered their papers, looking at John with confusion.
"Explain what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at John as Mary looked amused.
Unable to fathom more words, John pointed determinedly behind him toward the now closed bathroom door.
"Molly? She's staying here until I solve the case-she'll be safer." He looked down and continued to read his paper, raising his own mug up to take a drink.
"And…you're…" John tried to choose his words carefully. "…sleeping with her?"
Sherlock choked, little droplets of tea spraying the surface of his newspaper. Mary hid her giggle behind her own paper.
"What? No! Why would you think that?"
"Oh, I don't know Sherlock-she's wearing your dressing gown?" John crossed his arms.
"She was cold last night and borrowed it!"
"What about that bit with the 'screaming last night?'"
Sherlock huffed and crossed his own arms defensively over his chest. "She had a nightmare last night…about Moriarty," he gave a pointed look at John. "I merely…comforted her."
"You. You comforted her? You-Sherlock Holmes-provided comfort to another human being without it being an advantage to yourself?"
"Is that so hard to believe?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes!" responded John, a little too forcefully. Sherlock huffed and got up to place his mess of a mug into the sink.
"Aha!" exclaimed John. "And how do you explain that? You made her tea!"
"Well-spotted," said Sherlock, turning his back to hide the beginnings of a blush in his cheeks from John.
"You never made tea not once in all the years I lived here."
"Well, Mrs. Hudson is out, and I wanted some."
"Right," John smiled victoriously. "Sure you did." He shared a quick look with Mary, who quirked up one eyebrow and smirked behind her paper. "Well, I'm going to go fix that leaky pipe in Mrs. Hudson's flat. She's been complaining about it for weeks." John rose and started down the stairs as Sherlock resettled himself into his seat.
At that moment, Molly emerged from the bathroom wrapped in only a towel, carrying her mug to the sink. Sherlock managed to only let his eyes widen for a fraction of a second as she turned to face him. "Thanks for the tea, Sherlock, and for last night. I'm really sorry I woke you up."
"It's… all right." He responded, trying desperately to look at her face and not the drops of water that still clung to her neck. Molly took a step toward the table, looking at one of the headlines depicting the grinning face of Jim Moriarty. Her eyes closed briefly before she turned and looked back to Sherlock.
"Oh," she said, as she leaned in close to him. His heart started hammering in his chest and he couldn't for the life of him remember the concept known as "how to breathe." Her hand reached out to his face and he closed his eyes reflexively, sucking in a breath that smelled like soap and shampoo and Molly and didn't exhale. A ghost of a touch landed just below his right eye and he forced it open, only to see her holding her finger in front of his mouth.
"Eyelash. Make a wish," she smiled. Then rolling her eyes, she took it upon herself to blow the offending hair off her own finger, turning to walk back up the stairs.
Sherlock released the breath he held and looked after her, willing his pulse to slow before his heart came up through his throat.
"Elizabeth."
Sherlock shook his head and looked at Mary. "What?"
"Mary Elizabeth Watson. If you're looking for baby names."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock huffed as he picked his tea-soaked paper up off the table again.
"I'm talking about the fact that you're in love with Molly Hooper."
"Don't be ridiculous, Mary."
"Oh, I don't think it's that ridiculous. What's ridiculous is trying to read a newspaper upside-down."
Sherlock dropped the newspaper and brought his hands up to run through his hair, finally deciding on giving Mary a dejected look. His voice was barely audible. "I don't know how to do this." His heart continued hammering in his chest as he tried to sort through all the unfamiliar sentiment bombarding his brain.
Mary sighed and smiled knowingly, lifting a hand to pat her very pregnant stomach. "When?" she finally asked, Sherlock somehow knowing to what she referred.
"I don't know. I came back and I expected everything to go back to normal. She helped with it all. But when I saw the ring on her finger I…panicked."
"Ah," she nodded, "someone else started to play in the sandbox and then you didn't want anyone else to have the toys."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back down at the floor, his hands folded on top of his head. "Only in this case, I've been absolutely terrible to the toy for years, and she was actually engaged to the other person in the-I'm sorry, can we abandon the appalling sandbox metaphor?"
"What are you going to do?" She asked, still smiling.
"I don't know."
The sound of two sets of feet on the stairs had them both turning to see John and Molly both coming back into the room, John wiping his hands on a rag and Molly gathering her bag from beside the door.
"Well, I'm off-Mycroft's car is outside." Molly smiled at each of them in turn, lingering for a moment on Sherlock. "Thanks again."
"Of course. I'll be there to walk you home. Have a good day." Molly ran out the door as John turned, eyes narrowed at Sherlock.
"You'll be there to what?"
"Oh, come off it, John," said Mary, pulling herself up, "we should get to work too, I'm sure Sherlock has things to think about."
"Right," said John, eyes still suspiciously trained on Sherlock. "Call us if you find anything out. Or if there's anything I can do."
"That goes double for me," Mary said, sneaking him a wink. Sherlock finally allowed himself an exasperated smile as his two friends left the flat. The world's only consulting detective was completely out of his depth.