Molly lifted herself out of the cab with a grunt and a helpful hand from Sherlock. She still felt full. And really very round. She muffled a burp as she straightened, a hand cupping her belly which felt frankly enormous. True, she was full of a hearty breakfast and quite a bit of soda to ensure she was convincingly distended, but still. Wow.
She felt Sherlock place a long-fingered hand at the small of her back.
"Alright?" he rumbled. He was wearing spectacles and a worn tweed jacket that made him look rather like an awkwardly young physics professor.
"Yeah," said Molly, her voice rather breathy, "Just... more to haul around. Let's go."
"Ah. Of course."
She had the strangest impression that Sherlock was blushing even as he guided her to the door with care and held it open for her as she waddled in. They gave their names to the receptionist: John and Hannah Hopkins. Molly had pressed Sherlock about his choice of alias. The detective had just mumbled something about a name he could remember and avoided her eyes as he stuffed another fork full of fettuccine into her mouth. Mm... fettuccine... Maybe she could suggest Italian for dinner- but no. If all went according to plan, they'd be finished with the case tonight. No more need for Molly to make a pig out of herself. She looked sadly down at her lap where her belly was rounding into her lap. She rubbed it lightly through her flowery maternity dress.
"Hannah."
She jumped as Sherlock's voice gusted in her ear.
"Hm?"
"I'm going to take a look around. I'll be back. Not to worry." He gave her a small smile and patted her hand before getting to his feet and striding towards the sign for the loos. Molly suddenly felt very much alone. She tapped her foot as she looked around the waiting room. Nothing suspicious, just plain light blue walls and tables and chairs with magazines. A few paintings of tranquil landscapes dotted here and there to keep the room from feeling empty.
"Hopkins?" came a voice and it immediately made Molly shiver. It sounded just a touch too warm and sweet, like the sort of sick feeling that settled in the stomach after eating something far too rich. The owner of the voice was rather short for a serial killer with a large pointed nose and tiny dark brown eyes that were magnified by his own glasses. He repeated the name and Molly looked around wildly for Sherlock but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Er, yes. That's me. H-Hannah Hopkins. My husband, John, just left for the loo and-"
"No trouble, Mrs. Hopkins," said Dr. Simpson, giving her a toothy grin and holding out a hand to her, "We can get started. Miss Brown will tell him to meet with us. Although, sometimes a private appointment really is more helpful. Men can be so unsympathetic can't they?"
He gave her a conspiratorial wink that Molly forced herself to accept with a smile as she allowed him to help her up. His fingers felt like lukewarm miniature sausages.
Molly followed after him as he babbled on and lead the way down the hall to an exam room. Molly fought the impulse to keep checking behind her for Sherlock.
"Here we are. Please. Sit. Make yourself comfortable," said Dr. Simpson, smiling again and sweeping his hand towards the exam table sitting in the center. Molly scooted up onto it, her belly settling on her thighs again. She couldn't help but clutch it protectively as the doctor turned around from his charts and stepped closer.
"Now what seems to be the trouble?"
"J-Just a check up. My husband's a worrier," said Molly with a shaky laugh, "I told him some abdominal pain is to be expected. Ligaments have to stretch and everything but he just started typing things into the internet and well..."
She shrugged and gave Dr. Simpson another smile. It was easier to smile. Her heart was pounding in her throat.
"Nothing wrong with being cautious," said the doctor, baring his own teeth and stepping nearer still. He reached out and began probing Molly's side, up her rib cage, slipping along her back. Molly hated every second those fingers trailed her body. She was worried she'd be found out, of course. But his technique was all wrong. She barely repressed a shiver as Dr. Simpson moved to her belly, pressing into it lightly here and there, cupping it in a way that felt far too intimate. Molly bit her lips and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breath, thinking of Sherlock's hands instead.
"You said your husband was with you?" Dr. Simpson asked.
"Yes. He does like to wander," Molly replied, her voice tight, "Are you finished with your exam?"
"Nearly," the man answered, circling Molly's navel with his fingers. "I'll need to get you to lie back with your feet in the stirrups for a thorough exam. I have noticed a slight anomaly I need to examine more thoroughly. Excess amniotic fluid can cause all sorts of complications." Molly nodded and complied, putting her feet on the stirrups as he swung them into place and strapped her in. Her dress drifted up her thighs as she was made to spread laid against the back of the chair and felt it slowly lower until it was lying flat. She would need to think quickly. Very quickly. She frowned and turned her head as she watched the doctor rummaging in one of the cabinets.
"What's that?" she asked, nodding at the bottle that he had produced and was inserting a syringe into.
"A mild sedative. Not to worry. It won't harm the fetus," he said cheerfully, giving the filled syringe a flick, "Simply more pleasant to be under while I take a sample of the amniotic fluid."
"I don't want-"
"Best that you're comfortable, Mrs. Hopkins."
"No!" Molly shouted, grunting and trying to roll away as she kicked to free her feet from the straps. She felt him grab her arm to keep her still. She swung the other back and punched the doctor solidly in the nose. He yowled and spun away. Molly huffed and groaned, trying to bend her bloated belly enough to reach the straps keeping her feet in place.
Dr. Simpson swore loudly and turned furiously back to her, blood beginning to drip from his nose. Molly fell back panting, glaring at the murderer. The door crashed open just as he rushed at Molly a second time. The tiny room was suddenly full of shouting police officers. Greg Lestrade was among them, barking orders to restrain Dr. Simpson. Sherlock was there too, still in the tweed coat but without the glasses. He was at Molly's side in a heartbeat, releasing her, eyes roving over her.
"Are you alright? Molly?"
"Y-yeah. Just- The syringe! Get that syringe!" Molly shouted into the hubbub as she swung her legs free and wriggled off the table to pull her dress back into place. Sherlock ducked and retrieved it, bringing it over to Molly.
"There's a bottle too. He meant to inject me with- said it was a sedative but I don't think-"
"The murder weapon?" Sherlock said, considering the fluid carefully as Dr. Simpson was hauled from the room even as he ranted and railed against the officers. Lestrade stepped over and Sherlock started in on his explanation of the events and the undeniable guilt offered by Molly's bravery.
"Bit of an idiot to try anything when the woman wasn't unaccompanied," scoffed Lestrade once Sherlock finished speaking.
"He was bored. Needed a challenge," said Sherlock with a shrug, "Serial killers. Always desperate to be caught."
"Yeah. So it seems," said Lestrade with a sigh. He smiled and chuckled as he turned to Molly and nodded at her belly, "Hell of a convincing bump you've got there."
"Ha, yeah its... er," Molly began, blushing and giving her belly a pat.
"Almost looks real," Lestrade continued, still chuckling and shaking his head in wonder before looking back to Sherlock, "Look, I best be off. I'll need to have this identified fast to keep Simpson behind bars. I'll see you around. Miss Hooper, Sherlock, you'll both need to come in for testimony first thing tomorrow morning."
Sherlock rolled his eyes but Molly nodded, her cheeks still bright red, as the detective inspector hurried out of the clinic.
Molly heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against the exam table. Her belly expanded under her dress. "Well, that's that then."
"Yes. You were wonderful, Molly," said Sherlock, joining her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "I... thank you. I would never have trusted anyone else to do this."
"Oh. Well. Aside from the murderer it was fun. I was happy to," said Molly with a small squeak of laughter. She felt Sherlock's arm give her a squeeze.
"I hadn't anticipated that he would attempt to take your life," he added, more quietly still, "I am sorry. I hate that I put you in such a position I-"
"It's okay. We caught him," said Molly, looking up at Sherlock. They both fell silent. Sherlock dropped his gaze after a moment and moved away. Molly chewed her lip a moment, then followed after.
"We should celebrate," she added brightly, "Have... have dinner. I'm starving! Usually I've had lunch and at least two snacks by now."
Sherlock straightened and looked back, his lips parted for a moment. Then he wet them. Molly smiled and reached for his hand cautiously. He accepted hers, still looking down her with an unreadable expression.
"What... are you implying that we-that you-continue?"
"If you want to," said Molly, taking a step closer and feeling rather brave, "I've found I rather like being stuffed." She grinned shyly.
Sherlock's eyes went wide and he let out an audible gasp. "Oh, Molly Hooper, you are a treasure," he growled, face breaking into a broad smile. Molly beamed right back.
"So, Italian?"
Luckily, Sherlock had Angelo on speed dial.
Within the hour, the two of them were back at Molly's flat and reclining on the sofa with several heaping boxes of assorted pastas and desserts. Molly was humming around a big mouthful of fettuccine alfredo with shrimp. Even Sherlock was tucking into his primavera with relish. Molly didn't miss how the detective's eyes drifted to her every few minutes however. She hummed in response and stretched lazily, arching her belly out before slumping back against the sofa. She smirked as Sherlock almost dropped his fork. Then he offered her more garlic bread.
She bit into it, tasting the fatty melted butter and garlic that had soaked into the airy bread. Then more fettuccine. More bread. A bit of a truly excellent lasagna and Molly was sighing and rubbing at her full plump belly as it pushed and tugged at her dress. She burped and blushed but Sherlock only chuckled and moved in closer. He fed her the rest of the lasagna, forkful by forkful.
"Doing so well," he rumbled, and Molly felt a thrill travel through her. She opened her mouth again, begging him to fill her even further. That seemed to please him as she was fed the rest of his primavera as a result. She hummed and groaned softly, feeling herself growing so very full and warm again.
"Good," Sherlock growled, his hand rubbing at her belly. Molly's breath stuttered and she looked up at him with dazed eyes. "Dessert?"
"Please," she breathed, her hand finding his as it traveled her belly, "I want more, Sherlock, please." The man's pupils grew large and dark in response. He fed her from a box of cannolis, the sweet filling coating her lips and her tongue, some falling to her chin as she crunched through the pastry's outside. She licked the crumbs and filling from Sherlock's careful fingers and the man gave a low growling groan that Molly swore she could feel reverberate inside her.
"Sh-sherlock," she gasped, looking up at him, reaching for him. He looked oddly lost, flushed, dazed. She seized him by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. Her breath caught as he moaned into her mouth and leaned into her plump overfull body. She arched into him in kind, feeling flushed and hot at the contrast between his slim middle and her huge squashy one as they met. Sherlock was shuddering and shaking, panting heavily against her neck as he kissed her again and again.
"Molly," he murmured, "Molly... Molly, God... Molly Hooper, the things you do to me!"
Molly smiled and responded with her own soft moans and gasps, encouraging him to explore her new bounty.