Chapter 14

By September, Molly had stopped working at Bart's. She was getting increasingly tired and still had a lot to prepare before the baby's arrival. The first step was moving into a larger flat, a matter that had been completely taken care of by Mycroft.

Although he had been particularly helpful from the beginning, the older Holmes brother was still very much a mystery to her. Sherlock had talked a few times about him, always to complain about his constant intrusions into his personal life. And she knew from John that he was more or less working for the secret services. On the rare occasions Molly had met with him in person, he appeared to be very polite and well-behaved. Some would say too polite, to be honest. Yes, there was definitely a lingering danger about the man. However, his concerns for her well-being seemed genuine, and she preferred to have him as a friend rather than an enemy.

He had sent his assistant to aid her while shopping for the baby's future room. Anthea was a funny girl when she was not glued to her Blackberry. Molly sometimes wondered if she was sleeping with her boss.

One day, as she was setting out for the Tesco Metro, the now familiar black limo stopped in front of her. Anthea was on the back seat and told her to get in.

"Where are you taking me this time?" asked Molly

"Can't tell you. You know he does love to be dramatic."

"Yes… reminds me of someone." Both girls shared a conspiratorial smirk.

As they were leaving the city, Molly closed her eyes, letting the motion of the car lull her to sleep. She didn't even try to guess where they were heading to.

When she woke up, they were entering the gated driveway of a rather grand private property. Suddenly, she recognised the place. She had been here before, after the funeral. Her memories of that day were blurry, but she remembered the gardens and the impressive mansion. The Holmes estate.

^/^

Anthea told her to wait in the library. She wondered why Mycroft wanted to meet her here, in the place where she had talked to him for the first time. Whilst waiting for him, she took a better look at the room. The walls were lined with books; a lot of them looked old and were probably worth a fortune. There were also several paintings, maybe ancestral portraits? Posh posh posh, she thought to herself.

On a shelf, Molly noticed several frames with pictures that looked more contemporary. She felt slightly uncomfortable prying around, but her curiosity was stronger and she went closer.

Some of them were in black and white, but one particular picture caught her attention. It had been taken on a graduation day. A student was holding his diploma, and, even if he was fatter and had more hair than now, she easily recognised Mycroft. He looked older than his years, and already carried that air of unflappable superiority. A woman, clearly his mother, was posing next to him; smiling broadly and obviously very proud of her son. There was also another boy, standing a little apart from them. Around thirteen, black curls over his eyes and giving a defiant look to the camera, this was obviously Sherlock. Molly took the frame in her hands and contemplated the scene for a moment.

She almost dropped it when she heard a feminine voice coming from behind her:

"That is one of my favourites. Even if Sherlock could have made an effort. The holed jeans certainly earned us a few stares at Oxford."

Molly clumsily put the picture back on the shelf and turned around to face a woman. The one from the photograph. She felt herself blushing from head to toe.

"Good afternoon Miss Hooper. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

^/^

Sherlock's mother made her sit on the sofa and a maid brought some tea and biscuits. Molly tried not to make it too obvious that she was studying her hostess. Mrs Holmes had impressed her by her dignity at the funeral. She was a very elegant blond woman, and it was clear where Sherlock had got those amazing blue eyes from.

Despite her initial apprehension, Molly was quickly reassured. Elizabeth Holmes (she had insisted upon being called her by her first name), made her feel instantly at ease. There was a natural warmth radiating from her personality. They talked for a long time, about Molly's life, her family, her job, her aspirations. Then, Elizabeth brought over a large family album.

They flipped through the pages together, which was the occasion for Mrs Holmes to tell many anecdotes. She was obviously happy to evoke these memories with someone to share them, and Molly was delighted to hear about them.

"Look at this one, this was shortly after we brought back Sherlock from the maternity ward. Mycroft was very proud to be a big brother. Very protective as well."

"And this is Sherlock's seventh birthday: he's wearing the costume of the "Little Prince" - his favourite book. He always loved to dress up. Mycroft not so much so, but he would always give in to please his brother. They used to get along so well…"

She ran her fingers lightly over the children in the photographs and sighed wistfully, lost in the memories for a moment. Molly almost feared to interrupt her, but felt it might be expected of her.

"They are very different though" she ventured.

"Yes, very different, yet very alike at the same time. You see, with Mycroft everything has always been so… easy. But with Sherlock, it was all much more difficult. As a baby, he would sometimes cry for hours and there was nothing we could to do to calm him down. And growing up he had such terrible fits of anger… My husband insisted that we consult all those child psychiatrists, but I am afraid it caused more hurt than good." There was a clear disapprobation in her voice. Molly was fascinated; she had never thought to gain such insight into Sherlock's carefully disregarded background.

"I heard him calling himself… a sociopath," she said. Elizabeth's eyes darkened.

"Oh, you have no idea of how many different diagnoses we heard. But I never believed any of them. They said he didn't connect with other people. I think that on the contrary he was always craving attention. The problem was he didn't realise that some of the things he said could be… hurtful."

Molly nodded. Yes she knew about that…

While they continued looking at the pictures, she could gradually connect the dots of Sherlock's past. She saw him turning from a turbulent child into a rebel teenager and later on to an unhappy, far-too-skinny young man. She also noticed that his father, a strict looking man, had disappeared from the pictures when his youngest son was around ten years old.

"Thank you so much for sharing this with me, it means a lot", she said once they were done. "It must be hard for you to look back at those. I cannot imagine the pain it is…to lose a son."

Elizabeth looked back at her. One could see the emotion in her eyes, but her voice didn't flinch.

"Yes, I miss him terribly. A mother should never outlive her children, this is not the way things are meant to be. However with Sherlock…I sometimes think it is a miracle he even reached the age he did."

She saw that Molly looked confused, and elaborated: "Oh you didn't know him at that time, but he had a… very serious drug problem, for years. He didn't finish university because of it, and almost disappeared entirely for six months. I can tell you we had many sleepless nights. Every time the phone rang I feared that someone would announce to me that he had died of an overdose. Finally, he got arrested, and it is what saved him. He met that Inspector who saw the potential in him and you know the rest.

It's terrible that this tragedy arrived when he had finally settled down. He had his work, his friend John and… you."

Molly smiled. She didn't wanted to disappoint Mrs Holmes by telling her she had merely been a convenient booty call.

"You are a nice girl. It's a pity you and Sherlock didn't have more time together. I must say it was a great joy to learn you decided to keep this baby. I had honestly given up on the idea of having grandchildren one day. But in the future, if you and your little girl would like to pay me a visit from time to time…it would make me immensely happy."

She spoke casually, with an unconscious touch of the autocratic so natural to her status, yet Molly suddenly recognised a glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes; apprehension that the offer may be rejected. For a moment, although she couldn't say why for definite, she was reminded almost painfully of Sherlock, and she fought back tears as she answered sincerely:

"I will, for sure."

The smile on her baby's grandmother's face shone with sudden simple joy and relief.

"You are a part of this family now. And there are plenty others photo albums to fill."