A/N: OK, I suspect the next chapter will be the last, with the possible exception of an epilogue. I hope everyone's enjoyed this paranormal exercise, in spite of the angsty bits! Thanks as always for reading, reviewing and following!

It took Mary nearly two weeks before she could tell John the specifics of what Moriarty had said to her. John listened stoically as she recounted all the hurtful lies Moriarty had fed her while still pretending to be Sherlock. All the reasons she had for not wanting to believe them – and all the reasons she had for not entirely being able to convince herself they weren't actually true.

The catalyst for her recounting of those painful words was Sherlock's unexpected visit to her flat. He'd been keeping to himself, barely stirring from his room except for occasional forays into the kitchen in search of biscuits to munch on or a cup of coffee if John happened to have made a pot. And it had taken him almost four days to do that much, long enough for John to consider contacting Mycroft – who had spent the first day after Sherlock's release from hospital closeted away with his brother while John stayed over at Mary's. But Clara had counseled patience: "He's treating this like a case, John, not eating or sleeping, just going over everything in his mind the way you've described on your blog. If a week passes and nothing changes, then we should start to worry."

John had remained in contact with Molly during that time, and knew that Sherlock hadn't spoken to her since she'd brought him home. But Molly didn't seem upset or worried, and although she'd taken time off from work to recover from her ordeal, she was back to being the cheerful, sunny woman he'd always known, which was a relief. She and Clara had had several therapeutic sessions together, and John was grateful that his former sister-in-law was able to continue to help them. She'd even started spending time with Mrs. Hudson, gossiping and drinking tea, and John suspected a lifelong friendship was blooming there.

Mary, on the other hand, had quietly but firmly refused any offers of help, claiming she just wanted to put the whole experience behind her. John had fretted, Clara had once again counseled patience – and then Sherlock had arrived, knocking quietly at the door and immediately launching into an apology before Mary could do more than gape at him.

"May I come in?"

Mary glanced uncertainly at John, who gave an encouraging nod, pleased to see his friend not only out and about, but freshly shaved, his hair washed and even looking as if it had been trimmed, dressed in his usual dark, expensive suit over a crisp white shirt. It was a far cry from the disheveled form he'd presented, clad in his tattiest pyjamas and dressing gown, feet bare and eyes unfocused, just the day before. "Yes, please, come in," Mary finally said, stepping back and allowing Sherlock to enter her flat for the second time.

"I do promise, Mary, this visit will not be quite as, erm, contentious as the first," Sherlock said lightly, and John nearly choked on his coffee; was his friend making a joke about his possession? He wasn't sure if he should be shocked and angry on Mary's behalf, or pleased on Sherlock's, since it was the first sign that he'd begun to move past the things Moriarty had done while occupying his body.

Mary seemed to take it in stride, smiling in that way she had that crinkled her nose and the corners of her eyes at the same time. The smile John had grown to love and was very, very happy to see again on her lovely face.

He went to stand by Mary's side, pleased when she took his hand without removing her gaze from Sherlock's face. They both listened quietly as he apologized, promising Mary that everything Moriarty had told her was a lie, which John was quick to confirm, even not knowing exactly what hateful things the spirit had spewed out.

When he finished speaking, Mary thanked him quietly. "And I do hope we can try lunch again sometime," she added with another small smile. "Without the uninvited guest this time, of course!"

Sherlock smiled slightly, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "I can't promise not to kick out a few deductions, Mary, but I can promise that none of them will be lies – or meant to hurt you."

"Oh, I think Moriarty already shared the ones that would hurt the worst," Mary replied. John felt her hand tighten on his. "At least John knows now that we shouldn't expect…that there won't be any children in our future."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure about that?" he asked with a grin. Then, before John or Mary could ask him to explain himself, he mumbled some excuse about being needed on a case, and closed the door firmly behind him.

"I thought…I thought the doctors told you you couldn't have children," John said in a hushed voice after Sherlock had left.

Mary nodded, wide-eyed. "They did, John – well, they said it would be almost impossible," she corrected herself, tears glimmering in her eyes as she raised her free hand and held it, trembling, over her abdomen. "Oh, John, could he be right?"

As he enfolded Mary in his embrace, John nodded. "He's rarely wrong about things like this. He must have seen signs we missed. A quick trip to the chemist's should confirm things, but before that…" He dropped to one knee and Mary gasped, lifting her fingers up to cover her mouth with her free hand, the one he wasn't still holding firmly in his grip. "Marry me," John said with a joyful smile.

"But you still don't know everything about me," Mary protested, a single tear slipping free and sliding down her cheek.

"Do you have any other secrets bigger than the fact that you can personally exorcise spirits that have possessed people?" John asked.

She shook her head and gave him a watery smile. He nodded firmly. "Right, then. That's all I need to know about you. I think you've been Mary Morstan long enough; how do you feel about becoming Mary Watson?"

"God, yes!" With that John clambered back up to his feet and hugged her tightly, kissing every part of her face he could reach until finally their lips met and clung.

No matter how horribly things had been, if there was a chance that he and Mary might be parents after all, then at least something good had come out of it.

oOo

Sherlock strode down the street, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He'd noted the signs of Mary's possible pregnancy when Moriarty was still possessing him, when all he could do was watch and observe and bide his time, and he was pleased that at least one good thing had come out of this whole sordid mess. Well, not that he could take any responsibility for Mary's condition of course – and wouldn't John have some pointed questions for him if he could! – but something positive had…

His thoughts stumbled to a confused halt as he suddenly realized something so very basic that he couldn't believe he'd forgotten it until now. No, not forgotten it; refused to consider it, to even think about it. He and Molly had exchanged medical information before he last saw her, each reassuring the other that no diseases had been transmitted during their mutual rape by Moriarty, but he hadn't asked her about birth control, nor had she mentioned it. Dear God, what if he'd…what if she…

He hailed a taxi in a daze, having it bring him to St. Bart's, gnawing nervously on his thumbnail the entire time. Of course it was likely Molly had taken a dose of levonorgestrel – he recalled vaguely that it could be taken up to two or three days after intercourse – or even more likely that she was already using some form of contraceptive, but he'd never asked. He'd buried the question itself so deeply that even Moriarty hadn't thought to taunt him about it.

What if Mary wasn't the only one who was pregnant?

The question haunted him the entire 20 minutes it took to reach their destination.