A/N: Well it's only been a few days but no one has done my poll on my profile. If you have any preference on wanting dates to know how much time has passed between chapters, please let me know. Otherwise I'll just keep going and hope you guys don't feel surprised by time jumps.
WARNINGS: some description of labor and delivery (yes spoilers I'm sorry). If those squick you please skip once you see Sherlock enter the hospital to where Molly says "oh he's").
Also an individual is harmed in this chapter. So sorry. Just warning you ahead of time.
Sherlock took Lestrade's phone as they entered the car. He pushed Donovan's contact information as the car came to a start, Lestrade hitting the gas and pushing them out into traffic with hardly a second's pause.
After a long wait Donovan finally answered.
"Boss, you need to get down here quick!" she yelled into the phone.
Sherlock pulled it back a few centimeters. "Donovan, this is Sherlock. Lestrade's driving right now. What's happened? What's the matter?"
"Bombing. A bombing. Tell Lestrade he needs to get over here now," Donovan said. She cursed in the background and Sherlock could hear the sound of sirens and people yelling.
"What's happened? Get where?" Sherlock demanded.
"Buckingham Palace," Donovan said. "Bomb squad is handling everything inside, but we need to clear the general area. I need his help. I'm calling everyone we have on hand. Hell even you can come help. God knows we need all we can get right now."
"Did the Queen die?" Sherlock asked.
"Dear God, we have a King now you idiot," Donovan growled. "And from the sound of it, no. But I know there was one death and several people injured. Get Lestrade over here as fast as possible."
"We need to swing by the hospital first."
She started yelling at someone in the background, something about moving the crowd out of the way and telling people to put their cameras away.
"The hospital? Sherlock, this is an emergency."
"Molly is giving birth as we speak," Sherlock snapped. "I'm going to be with her."
"Fuck," Donovan muttered. "She has a great sense of timing. Can Lestrade drop you off somewhere and you take a cab or something? Seriously, we need him ASAP."
Sherlock thought for a moment but then responded in the affirmative. He hung up the phone and turned to Lestrade.
"Pull over the next place you can. I'll catch a cab. You need to head to Buckingham palace."
Lestrade's jaw clenched and Sherlock watched his knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
"What a day. What a day," he muttered. "Why today do you think? Because of your kid?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Coincidence," he said, even as he thought the universe is rarely so lazy. Still, even in his panic to see Molly, he did need to take some time to analyze Moriarty's behavior. It was different from some of his past activities.
Lestrade cursed again as he pulled over to the nearest curb. Sherlock hopped out, slamming the door behind him. There was a second pause before Lestrade switched on his sirens and lights and then he was off, tires screeching as he gunned it. Sherlock waited a moment before putting his arm out to hail a cab.
Thankfully, the map he'd made for himself had proved useful, and even from a very different part of London than he normally frequented, he knew the fastest routes even with the traffic. And though the cabby was very annoyed at him by the end of the trip, he was just relieved to have made it to Bart's in under twenty minutes.
He flew up to the labor and delivery ward, heart racing. What if he'd missed it? Would Molly be angry if he'd missed the birth of their son?
Nurses were scolding him as he ignored their instructions that he needed to check in first and tell them who he wanted to see. He ran down the hall, peeking into every door that was open, pausing when he heard a voice that he recognized. He turned a corner to see another door, opened it and came face to face with Molly on a hospital bed, gown on, legs spread, already red and sweaty with her expression one of exertion and pain.
"Oh thank heavens, Sherlock!" she gasped, reaching a hand for him.
Sherlock flew at her without paying the doctor or the gaggle of nurses behind him any mind. He almost fell on her in his haste, ending up half in the bed with her, arms wrapping around her as best they could, his lips coming to brush her temple and then her cheeks and then her lips.
"Sir, you can't be in here! Sir!" the nurse screamed.
"No, no, this is my partner," Molly clarified.
"Partner?" Sherlock said with a frown.
"What would you prefer, Sherlock?" she said with a sigh. "We're not married. Boyfriend? Lover?"
"Fine, partner," Sherlock muttered.
"Please, I want him with me," Molly said.
The nurses didn't look pleased but finally dispersed. Sherlock managed to move off of Molly, carefully going around the doctor to take the chair on the other side.
"How far along is she?" he asked.
The doctor moved down to lift the hospital gown. She squinted for a moment before pulling away with a nod.
"About eight centimeters. She's almost there. Came in at about five."
Sherlock frowned. "You must have started this morning then. Why didn't you mention feeling poorly?"
"I passed it off as other things last night," Molly admitted. "When I woke up in the middle of the night. This morning I knew better, but I wasn't very far along…I'd hoped you would be back in time to take me to the hospital. I left when I reached about four, asked Mrs. Hudson to take me. But I wanted you to go solve your case. I thought it would be good for you. Give you less time to panic."
"I'm not panicking," Sherlock muttered. He was about to argue more when Molly winced and let out a soft moan. He reached out a hand and she took it, squeezing down hard.
"It's all right, just breathe," he said after a moment, rapidly searching for his dresser on labor. He knew this information. He could coach her through this. To be honest, he probably didn't even need a doctor in the room. As though to echo this thought, the woman in scrubs went over to grab a clipboard and headed to the door.
"Call me when contractions are about a minute apart. Until then she should be fine on her own. Just keep breathing," she instructed.
Molly's hand squeezed his again and Sherlock applied even more pressure back, mostly to calm himself down. The door closed and they were left alone.
Time does funny things when stress levels are high. In some places, minutes of contractions seemed to last for hours. Watching Molly's face, the obvious pain, and physical taxation in her every expression. And then there were bits and pieces that went fast. Moments where Sherlock wasn't sure he was going to be able to catch up with reality. Moments where he really didn't think he was ready. But of course, after an hour or so, it became obvious Molly's time was coming. Sherlock called for the doctor before coming back over to sit with her again. He knew she needed him more than ever.
The doctor came back in and peered between her legs.
"Ten centimeters, she's ready to push," the doctor told him.
Sherlock opened the next drawer down in his mind palace, quickly gathering up all the information he could about the final process about labor. He immediately began advising Molly as best he could. Breathing. Pushing. Everything he could think of. The doctor actually looked quite impressed.
"Wow, looks like he could deliver you all on his own," she said with a chuckle.
Molly gave a half-smile before letting out another moan as another contraction hit. Sherlock squeezed her hand.
"Breathe, Molly," he said again, more for his own benefit than for hers.
"I'm trying," she hissed out.
"You're doing very well," the doctor said again. "The baby is just beginning to crown. You're almost there."
Molly's eyes squeezed shut as she huffed loudly. Almost there, he thought. Just a bit more.
There was more breathing, more pushing, more pain for Molly. A few cries and pants and groans. Sherlock just held tight and did his best to stay encouraging, even as he found himself wanting to add more and more advice. Books made this sound like a simple process, or at least simple in theory. The body was built for the delivery, it knew the basic concepts of what was about to unfold. But there was nothing simple about even watching Molly endure something like this.
"Almost there," the doctor encouraged again.
"You're there, Molly. Just give him one last push," Sherlock said. "We almost have our son in our arms. We almost have him here."
Molly's eyes flicked open to look up at Sherlock. There was a brief instant of concentration on his words, and then she was screwing up her face, letting out the most fierce cry he'd ever heard come from her mouth.
And suddenly there was crying.
The doctor pulled away from her place between Molly's legs, holding a small messy lump of writhing flesh. Sherlock glanced at the blood and other fluids with a sense of awe. He'd surrounded himself with death for several decades. But he had never really experienced the beauty of new life before. The start of the cycle he so often enjoyed the end of in his career. But somehow it seemed complete to him, the blood and tears creating life for once instead of death.
"Oh my god," Molly whispered. She was still working through the afterbirth, but her eyes were fixed on the squalling baby the doctor was now cleaning up.
"You did so well," Sherlock murmured. "He's here, Molly. He's here. No more waiting."
"No," Molly agreed. "No more waiting."
"Would you like to hold him for a minute before we run some tests? It can be helpful to try breastfeeding right away," the doctor said.
Molly nodded and stretched out her arms. Sherlock watched at the tiniest human he'd ever seen was gently set into Molly's waiting hands. She pulled him back to cuddle up against her, cooing in awe at the beautiful sight.
Sherlock reached out a tentative hand to brush a finger over one incredibly soft cheek. The baby continued to cry, but the detective could care less. Healthy lungs were a good sign.
"Oh he's just gorgeous," Molly whispered. "Look at him, Sherlock."
"I'm looking," he said, staring down at his son.
"He has your eyes," Molly whispered when they opened to look at her.
"Common misconception," Sherlock said. "Babies eyes usually don't develop pigment until much later. It is still possible that he will have yours in the end, even if they are more blue or gray now."
Molly rolled her eyes and moved their baby up to offer a soft kiss.
A nurse had appeared and was helping Molly find the best position for nursing. Like any new mother, it took her a few tries, but she soon was getting the hang of it. But after she finished, the doctor asked if it was all right to take the baby for tests. One of Molly's hands curled a little more firmly around her child, but after a moment she relented and handed him over. The doctor passed him off to a nurse and promised he'd have the baby back as soon as they had all the information.
Sherlock offered a smile and looked towards the door again. He knew they needed to run tests and everything to make sure the baby was healthy, but that didn't make it any easier. Before he could say something, however, the door opened again and another nurse came in.
"Can I let your mother in?" a nurse suddenly asked Molly.
Sherlock turned a stare at her, eyebrows furrowing. "What? Your mother isn't—"
She put a finger to his lips before he could speak.
"Yes, please let her in," Molly answered.
Once the nurse had disappeared she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
"Mrs. Hudson just pretended to be my mother. Thought it might make it easier with her not being family and all," Molly pointed out.
Sherlock nodded. It was a clever decision, he supposed. And of course, the moment Mrs. Hudson appeared in the door, he was somehow glad to have her there.
"Oh look at you darling, still looking pretty as ever even after having a baby!" Mrs. Hudson said, rushing forward even with her arms loaded with several different items. Sherlock shook his head as she set them down and began showing Molly.
"Fresh clothes for you dear and your brush and a few other items to freshen yourself up. And I got the baby carrier so you can take him home more easily." She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "oh and I snuck in some of those chocolate biscuits, in case the food is terrible."
"You're an angel," Molly said with a bright smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. And Harry was fine with taking Alex for tonight?"
"Of course, said she'd pick him up after school so you two wouldn't have to worry. Give you a night to adjust to the baby. But Harry did mention something about Alex wanting you to call him. I guess when she called to tell him the news he was very worried about you two."
"I'll call him," Sherlock volunteered.
"And Sherlock, are you helping with the case? Oh watching the telly I just couldn't believe it!" Mrs. Hudson said, she crossed her arms and rocked onto her heels, looking quite fretful.
"What happened?" Molly asked, shooting a look at Sherlock.
"Bomb in Buckingham Palace," Sherlock said.
"What?" Molly gasped.
"I don't know. Moriarty's up to something," Sherlock muttered.
Molly laid her head back and sighed. "I just wanted today to go right. Any other day could be chaos, but I wanted to just have my son in some peace. How silly of me to think that was possible."
"Yes," Sherlock said, only to receive a glare from her and a slap on the shoulder from Mrs. Hudson.
"Never you worry, dear, everything's going to be all right," Mrs. Hudson said, reaching out to smooth Molly's hair. "Sherlock will fix it. I know he will."
Sherlock didn't argue with her, even as he thought about the fact that Moriarty had still been at large all these years and he'd made so little progress in solving anything. However, he took the praise in spite of the massive amounts of evidence pointing to the contrary. The last thing he wanted was to upset Molly.
He grabbed his phone and went into the hallway to call Alex.
After a few rings Alex picked up.
"Sherlock! Is everything ok? How's Molly?" he asked.
"Fine," Sherlock said. "And the baby is being looked over by the doctors, but he looks healthy. I imagine they'll want Molly to stay for a while, but I'm sure she'd be fine with me coming to pick you up and taking you home. Would you prefer I come get you from your aunt's or are you content to stay there?"
There was a pause. "Er…well I want to see the baby."
"You'll see him soon," Sherlock promised. "I'm not sure how long they'll require us to be here, so he might not be home tonight anyways. Either way you'll see him. You'll see him so much you'll probably get sick of him. So, do you want to come home or not?"
"No, I'll be fine here tonight I guess. Come pick me up first thing in the morning?"
"Of course," Sherlock said. "Everything else all right?"
"Yeah, just wanted to make sure Molly was okay," Alex said. "Glad she is."
"Yes," Sherlock glanced back towards the room. "Me too."
"Aunt Harry's asking me to come help her with dinner. I'll talk to you later, Sherlock."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "Bye for now."
He hung up and went back into the room to be with Molly who was still being fussed over by Mrs. Hudson. He went back to his chair and took a seat, deciding standing did no good when he had no idea how long the wait might be.
The door opened and the nurse returned.
"Healthy baby boy, no problems at all. Of course, we ask that you stay a few more hours just to be sure and so that we can check up on you, make sure you're recovering right too. But I think by the looks of how smoothly that went for both you and the baby, we should be able to get you out tonight."
Molly held out her arms again and was soon cuddling their son again. The nurse left to afford them some privacy, something Sherlock was grateful for. He settled back in his chair and watched Molly interact with their child. Sherlock was somehow not surprised when Mrs. Hudson pulled a camera out of her purse and started snapping pictures.
"Move in closer, Sherlock," she said. "I want both of you."
He rolled his eyes but did as he was told, moving closer to Molly so that he could be in the picture with her and their son.
"So, what's his name?" Mrs. Hudson demanded. "You two have still been arguing about it. You settled on something yet? Can't go around calling him 'baby' or something like that."
Molly smiled and glanced up at Sherlock. "I think he should have your top name as his first name. I know how much it would mean to you."
"Molly, I really—I know this is probably more important to you than to me," he said.
"No, I think his name should be Johann like you wanted." Molly looked down at the boy in her arms and smiled. "It suits him."
"Then you should pick the middle name," Sherlock persisted.
"Well, I know you hated Richard," Molly said. "So we could use my father's middle name instead. Johann Charles Holmes. It has a nice ring to it don't you think?"
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Alex is going to have a fit that you didn't use any of his suggestions. But it is a lovely name for him."
Sherlock frowned and tried to think about how they could possibly settle that issue. But he did want Molly to have her name. And while he had been reluctant, he couldn't deny he loved the thought of having his son named after several great namesakes, his best friend included.
"Oh, we could do two middle names!" Molly said. "Like you, Sherlock. We could have him be Johann Charles—what was Alex's top pick?"
"Arthur," Sherlock muttered, failing to keep the scorn from his voice.
"Johann Charles Arthur Holmes. It sounds quite nice, don't you think?"
Sherlock thought it sounded slightly ridiculous for an infant, but he shrugged. "If it makes you happy."
"It does," Molly said. "It really does."
She moved and carefully handed the baby over to him. Sherlock stiffened but didn't dare pull away. He allowed her to set the small human life into his arms and stared down at bright eyes that were peering up at him curiously.
"Hello, Johann," he whispered, feeling a small smile starting to spread. He couldn't contain it. He felt his voice joke up as he spoke again. "Welcome to our small and messy little family. We're a bit strange, but I think you'll fit right in. And even if you don't, your mother and I will love you anyways."
Molly beamed at him and Mrs. Hudson wiped her eyes before snapping a few more pictures. He ignored both of them though, in favor of simply losing himself in the minute details of his new child. He could spend hours just staring at that little face. After all, there was never a more important thing for him to observe than the person who was going to change his life.
The hospital walked Molly through the basic after care procedures. Both of them had information thrust at them left and right, but from everything they were told, there were no red flags with the birth or their son. Sherlock did his best to store information away, though he knew much of the advice already. And so, after a few more hours of care and instructions, and Molly finally cleaning herself up and changing into her normal clothes, the two of them headed home, Mrs. Hudson having left a few hours before.
It was late by the time their cab arrived at 221 B. Sherlock carried Johann out of the cab, keeping one hand on Molly's arm. She looked absolutely exhausted, and the last the he wanted was to have to try to catch her with Johann's baby carrier in the other hand.
Once upstairs, Sherlock helped Molly by trying to put Johann down. He settled the already sleeping baby into his crib, absolutely relieved when he didn't wake. He looked up to see Molly coming back from the bathroom in her nightgown. She sighed and laid down on the bed.
"I'm so exhausted," she whispered. "I feel like I could sleep for three years."
"I believe that's physically impossible," Sherlock said. "And I have a suspicion Johann will want feeding more than once, so likely not going to happen either."
Molly offered a half smile, even as she began to drift off. Sherlock pulled off his shirt and trousers, throwing them into a heap on the floor. He crawled in beside her. There was a moment's hesitation before he leaned in and kissed Molly softly on the lips.
"What was that for?" she asked.
"For being so brave," Sherlock said. "And strong. And for being an amazing partner."
She snorted. "I think that word really does fit us best. Since you despise marriage…and to be honest I can't see husband suiting you much anyways. Boyfriend seems silly since we're so old. Lover seems too informal. And besides, we have more of an…arrangement than love you know?"
"I care for you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said.
"And I for you. And it works that way. I think sometimes people get all caught up in the romancey lovey dovey feelings of being with someone. It's nice what we have. Understanding. Communication. Respect. Compromise. Passion dies eventually. In some ways I think this is a truer form of love than all that mushy Valentine's romcom crap."
Sherlock smiled and pecked her lips a second time. "Get some sleep. You must be exhausted. I'll wake you if Johann needs something I can't provide."
Molly smiled and her eyes closed. Sherlock pulled a blanket up over her. Part of him was tempted to go work on the Moriarty case. But at the same time he sensed Molly needed him. So he switched off the light and he laid down beside her. After a moment he decided he had a better idea and he maneuvered his arms around her as best he could so that she was cuddled against his chest.
Sherlock's eyes closed. And though he hadn't believed he was tired, somehow he managed to drift into a light sleep.
He woke to find the room still dark. He probably had only slept a few hours. And already there was the sound of crying.
It was higher pitched than he somehow remembered. But he rubbed his eyes and sat up, figuring it was probably his sleepiness that was making the sound different.
He looked towards the crib and could make out a figure already at the crib with the baby. Good, Molly was already handling it. He groaned and laid back down, and as he did felt the bed shift beside him, and heard a sleepy mumble. Sherlock froze, reaching out a hand, and sure enough finding Molly still beside him.
His hand scrabbled for the bedside table, opening it up and pulling out the handgun without another moment's hesitation. He sat up and pointed it at the figure, reaching over with his other hand to turn on the bedside lamp.
Moriarty stood grinning with a screaming Johann in his arms.
"Hello, Sherlock," he purred.
"Put him down," Sherlock hissed.
"Oh, and why would I do that? Just seeing what yours and Molly's lovely genes have created. God I love seeing you as daddy, Sherlock. You play the role of desperate father too well…a little too well actually."
Sherlock cocked the gun and Moriarty tisked.
"Now now, don't want me to accidentally slip with this do we?"
A knife glinted to the side, and Sherlock froze.
"What do you want? Haven't you had enough fun today, killing homeless people, planting bombs?" Sherlock muttered.
"Just proving a point," Moriarty said with a smirk. "Making it extra clear for you since you've been so slow lately, Sherlock. Teacher's just trying to make sure you get the little example. Don't want you to feel disappointed later if it doesn't stick in your mind."
"The point that you're a sick psychopath who's gone off the deep end?" Sherlock asked.
Molly stirred and blinked a few times. "Sherlock, does Johann need feeding? Because if not turn off the light."
"Hello Molly dear," Moriarty said.
She shot up and spun to see him still holding her son, knife in hand. Sherlock kept the gun steady, but he was already well aware that the risks probably outweighed it. Besides, he knew he couldn't shoot Moriarty. No.
"And motherhood is suiting you too, honey," Moriarty said, dark eyes scanning over her figure in the nightgown, paying special attention to her breasts. "Mmhmm, keep her having babies Sherlock. Enjoy that all your want. She's good isn't she? Simply a lovely scrumptious little thing. But they always are when they're so desperate. Practically gagging for it."
Molly crossed her arms. "We never had sex, you disgusting blathering arse-hole and I never wanted to anyways."
Sherlock shook his head, trying to signal her to stop. The last thing he wanted was Moriarty becoming angry.
"So, your point, Moriarty, if you don't mind?"
He chuckled and raised the knifed hand up to motion around. "Why that I can kill whomever I want. The lowest of the low to the highest members of British government. I can send a plague sweeping over London and kill every man woman and child if I like. Or better yet, kill your lovely little wifey, that darling little puppy of yours, your new little clone, your oh so clever inspector, that obnoxious hag of a landlady. Anyone and everyone. If I want them dead. I can do it. And I'll kill all of them eventually, Sherlock. You just wait and see."
Sherlock's jaw clenched, but he had no words to respond with, nothing that would help anyways. All he wanted was for Moriarty to put Johann down. All he needed was his son safe.
Moriarty sighed and his posture relaxed some. He smiled.
"See, it's cute, really, Sherlock. The daddy act. I liked it for a while." He sighed and his smiled disappeared again. His eyes turned down to look at Johann who was still screaming in his arms. "But it's gotten so boring. So tiring. I'm rather…disappointed actually. Thought it might make you better. Make you more motivated to end this. But instead…you hardly notice me anymore. I leave you pretty presents and clues and you don't do a thing. You'd think I didn't exist anymore by the way you treat those. No care for them at all. Or rather…I think you just can't solve them anymore. You're losing your touch."
"I don't have time for pointlessness," Sherlock said. "Your puzzles have become trivial."
Moriarty smirked. "True. Too true. And I'm tired. And I'm bored. So let's call a truce. What do you say? I'm a decent chap. I can bargain. And I will. You want me out of your hair so you can be daddy. Fine. I'll let you be daddy. To be honest, I was getting ready to leave for a bit anyways. Get out of the London air so to speak."
"You're leaving," Sherlock whispered, eyes widening as he put two and two together. "Oh that's good. Rats abandoning a sinking ship. Your web has been more active lately. They're finishing what work they can before your protection leaves."
"Precisely," Moriarty smirked. "Thought you'd at least figure that one out. But really you've grown pathetic. It's just no fun anymore. No fun at all. So I'll go lend my expertise elsewhere. Maybe other countries have rising Sherlocks of their own."
"Fleeing the country, have I really intimidated you so much?" Sherlock said.
Moriarty chuckled. "Oh you're very much mistaken if you think I'm the slightest bit intimidated by you, Sherlock. Who can be scared of a teddy bear? You've grown soft. Pathetic. Weak. It's almost everything I wanted. Except not quite."
He rocked Johann slightly, peering down at his face and smirking.
"You see, Sherlock," he began, "I think a little break will do you some good. Give you a chance to sharpen your skills again. And it will make our games feel less…trivial I think. Oh don't worry, you'll be seeing me again soon. But my vacation can correspond with yours. We can take a break."
Sherlock frowned. He knew there had to be a catch. It was only a matter of determining what it was. But he was distracted momentarily by Moriarty moving towards the crib, reaching to set Johann down. Sherlock thought his heart might explode with how fast it was beating, trying desperately to pump adrenaline through his system. His son was being put out of danger. His relief was almost palpable.
And that was when Moriarty paused, lifting up the baby once again, grin growing by the second.
"Oh, but you know, I think if I just leave you like this you might just grow too comfortable with the quiet, Sherlock. Might even forget me. Stop thinking I exist. Feel…safe. And you know, I just don't want that. No. I want to give you a little present to remember me by. Something for you to never ever forget that daddy's just taking a break, but he's coming back to play with his favorite detective soon."
He could feel Molly stiffening beside him. She breathed out what sounded almost like a prayer.
"But it needs to be something good. Something really memorable. Let's say—every time you go about your day you'll remember 'oh Moriarty's coming home some day to school me. Moriarty's going to come kill me and my whole family and ruin my life some day.' Wouldn't want you getting too comfortable after all. Wouldn't want you thinking you were safe. So the reminder…let's just give it to you…anytime you look at your darling son."
The knife flashed and Johann let out a screeching scream. Molly echoed it with one of her own and Sherlock nearly reacted by firing the gun, stopping himself just in time to avoid pulling the trigger, doing his best to keep his head clear as he stared at the knife pulling away from Johann's face, even as crimson began to drip down one chubby cheek.
"There now," Moriarty purred. "That should do it."
He set Johann back into his crib even as the wailing continued. Before Sherlock could even react, Molly was on Moriarty, fists flying, kicking and shrieking and acting in a manner he'd never seen before.
"How dare you hurt my son! How dare you hurt him!" Molly shouted. "You bastard, you awful—"
Sherlock hopped off the bed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her away, and sighing in relief when he noticed that in the shock of Molly's movements, Moriarty had dropped the knife. Sherlock moved himself between all of them, stepping in front of the crib and Molly, gun still raised and pointed at Moriarty.
"Very good," the criminal muttered with a smile, as blood dripped from a likely broken nose. His eyes glinted and Sherlock again thought he saw more than a touch of insanity lingering in their depths. "Guess the bitch still has a little fight left in her. Enjoy it while it lasts, Sherlock."
The criminal walked towards the door. Sherlock stood stalk still, gun still pointed in imitation of a threat. If Moriarty had any last farewells, he didn't speak them. Sherlock waited until he heard footsteps on the stairs. And then there was the front door opening and closing. A car door opened and shut and then an engine started before a car pulled away from Baker street. Only then did Sherlock lower his gun. Molly was sobbing behind him, though she had moved to pick Johann out of his crib, applying pressure to the wound, watching as the blanket she was using turned red beneath her fingers. Sherlock looked at his son's cheek, swallowing as he thought about the scar that he knew was going to form. .
As he helped Molly get ready to make their way to the hospital for a second time that day, Sherlock reflected on Moriarty's words. And he knew that what the criminal had said was true. He'd lost his touch. Somewhere in between becoming a father, he'd suddenly lost his ability to defend those he now loved more than anything. And whatever happened, Sherlock swore to himself that Moriarty would never lie another hand on Johann or Molly. Not as long as he was alive to stop it.
A/N: So I'm hoping this chapter satisfies all the people who've complained about either Moriarty bothering Sherlock so frequently, or feeling like some of his attacks were OOC. Personally, I feel like Moriarty is just slowly going more and more insane by this point, so that's sort of how I've been portraying him. But I'd been planning the little Moriarty break for a while, and it fit well here.
Johann- I played with a number of names, but I couldn't help but continue coming back to this one. I loved the thought of him having a piece of John but not being an exact copy (because it would become way too confusing with another John running around Baker street) plus it allowed Sherlock to name him after some great men like Johann Sebastian Bach, Johann Wolfgang Döbereiner (a chemist), Johann Purkinje (physicist), Johannes Gutenberg, Johann Strauss (composer), and plenty of other great men. I also took the 4 name suggestion! Loved that one too much to pass up on.
Oh on the King- yeah I mean this is 10 years in the future if you imagine HLV being in 2014, so I sort of imagine there's a king by that point, but you know…maybe Elizabeth II is immortal or something ;) you never know.
Thanks to Icecat62, BelieverofManyThings, and Jesuslovesmarina for reviewing. Really really really appreciate the feedback. I cannot stress how much it inspires me to keep writing.