Molly had yet to get up the courage to let Sherlock know about his son. Her concern for Archie's well-being was paramount in her mind of course, but there was also the nagging bits of Molly's mind that was concerned about how terribly Sherlock would treat her when he found out she had had their son. It didn't help matters that Molly let more and more time fly by since her discovery of Archie's paternity.

Mycroft was no help on the Sherlock front, but he was a surprisingly attentive uncle despite never meeting Archie. When Molly had pointed out to the man that he had overstepped himself by contacting Archie's school, Mycroft apologized by getting her son accepted into one of the most prestigious primary schools in London. It had been just the place Molly wanted her son to attend, but the lack of connections and funds meant she was stuck with the local primary.

So while Molly failed in talking with Sherlock about Archie, she did initiate a sort of friendship with his brother; If you could call short terse phone calls and random couriers with mysterious packages a friendship.

At some point during Sherlock's strange case at Baskerville, if Greg's texts and Mycroft's veiled comments about ridiculously immature brothers were to be believed, Molly decided she was being completely cowardly and ridiculous and resolved to tell Sherlock about his son.

It was funny how fate worked.

Molly was stood on the front steps of 221B Baker Street contemplating the slightly tilted door knocker. She had worn her best dress, heels and had had her makeup and hair professionally done. It was all ridiculous really and wouldn't stop Sherlock from making snide comments, but she felt confident and capable and that was the goal.

Just as she lifted her hand to knock at the door, a sleek black car pulled up behind her. Molly noticed the way it seemed to be just waiting there, so she turned around to see if maybe the driver needed help. One of the blacked-out back windows rolled down and a familiar umbrella handle beckoned her over. Molly rolled her eyes at the dramatics of the man in the car before her.

"Miss Hooper, I suggest you get in the car. Sherlock is not home, but he will be soon and we have much to discuss." This was all said with haughty disdain, and Molly wondered for the umpteenth time why she ever did anything this man said when he used that tone with her. But she got into the car anyway and it took off.

Mycroft seemed completely at ease in the seat next to her as if he kidnapped people off the street quite often. Molly couldn't help but fidget and she thought that to the outside observer they must be a wonderful study in contrast. Him, cool and collected, and dressed in dark expensive clothing. Her, nervous and jumpy, and dressed in a bright blue and white flower print dress.

As the car eased through London, never once encountering traffic, as impossible as that seemed, Mycroft turned his head slightly and began to speak at a clipped pace. "I know that you have yet to inform my brother of his status, but that will have to wait Miss Hooper. Something has come up of national importance, something dangerous, and I'm afraid that what you need to inform him of will throw everything off balance and put your and young Mr. Hooper's life at great risk."

Molly was surprised by this news, for she figured Mycroft was eagerly anticipating his brother's reaction. She frowned when what he said sunk in. "What do you mean Archie's life would be in danger?"

The man next to her sighed. "I can not relay all the information, because most of it is classified, but in essence, James Moriarty has entered the playing field again," Mycroft hesitated as Molly noisily sucked in a breath, "and if the paternity of your child comes to light, suffice it to say he will most certainly become a target."

Molly tried to steady her rapid heartbeat at the news that 'Jim' was back. She slowly breathed in and out while Mycroft faced forward. "Well apparently my plans are out the window. What do I do to help Sherlock?"

At this, Myceoft fully turned his head and Molly thought she saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "At this juncture, you do nothing. Sherlock must not be made aware that we communicate, or he will most certainly question the nature of our acquaintance."

"So I just wait for him to come to me... on his own?" Molly asked, her very countenance giving testimony to the fact that she found that scenario highly unlikely.

"Precisely Miss Hooper. You must not give the game away until all the pieces are set up." At her still doubting look he added, "If you desire to help, perhaps you can discretely offer up your services, and leave it up to Sherlock to take you up on said offer."

Molly thought this over. She certainly didn't want to put Archie in any danger, so telling Sherlock about him was out, but she couldn't stand back and let the father of her child, the man she lov-

Molly stopped. She had certainly surprised herself at what had almost come to the surface of her mind. Did she love Sherlock?

A lot of time had passed since that disastrous Christmas night that started with Sherlock insulting her and ended with her pretty much confirming his part in Archie's existence. And she had certainly had a crush on the man since that first day in the lab (she still refused to include their first sexual encounter as their first meeting).

The more she thought on her growing feelings, the more she realized that she did indeed love Sherlock Holmes. She was in love with the consulting detective, and no amount of mental backtracking was going to change that fact, because not only did she see him in the parts of Archie that weren't from her, but she saw him. She really saw him, especially that day in the morgue with Mycroft. There, she saw the apology in his eyes, and then she saw how affected he was over the body of that woman.

As Molly continued to think on the whole situation, Mycroft sat quietly beside her. "I will be there for Sherlock if he needs me, and if it comes up naturally I'll let him know that I'm here for him. But," she added, turning to look at the passing scenery, "I would be very surprised if he took me up on my offer. We're not like that. We're not really friends."

Molly could feel Mycroft's eyes on her as she stared out the window. "No you're not, but I dare say he needs you as one."

"Yes he does," she whispered.

Molly did get the opportunity to let Sherlock know she was there for him, but she still doubted he would ever use her help. It was just that he had reminded her of her father so much that it felt like the perfect opening. There was no help for it though. If Sherlock wanted her help, he would ask for it. Coming at him again would only make him suspicious of her motives, and Molly had not spent the last few weeks purposely hiding all traces of Archie for the whole thing to fall apart.

After a long day of dealing with Sherlock and catching up on her work, Molly was ready to go home. Mrs. Carlton had graciously agreed to watch Archie for her until she got off work, and Archie was now used to periodically falling asleep there and waking up at home.

She was just pulling on her coat and exiting the lab when a familiar voice spoke out of the void causing her to jump slightly. "You were wrong, you know." At this Molly turned to face the only other person she cared for almost as much as her son. "You do count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay."

Molly could see the strain of the past weeks' events on Sherlock's face. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly... I think I'm going to die," he said with such fear, for him at least, that Molly felt moved to envelope him in a hug, but she restrained herself.

"What do you need?" Molly asked. She was on pins and needles as she waited for Sherlock to share with her why he seemed so forlorn.

"If I wasn't everything you think I am - everything I think I am - would you still want to help me?" He stepped closer to her, and Molly felt herself rise to the occasion.

"What do you need?" She repeated.

"You."

As he stepped closer, Molly needed to remind herself that this man was desperate and needed her help, not whatever else may have popped into her head the closer he moved to her. "Okay," she let out breathily. Molly cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "Okay. Where do we start?"

Sherlock slumped in relief and glanced around the lab. "I need a body. A specific body. I don't know the name, but it should be someone who looks like me."

Molly panicked slightly and frowned at him. "You don't want me to help kill someone do you?"

Sherlock abruptly turned back to her with a slight look of alarm. "Of course not Molly. This person should already be dead."

Molly looked at him considering. "I'm not sure if that's better, but I will start looking."

Sherlock went back to pacing before her. Molly recognized it as his active thinking mode. "You'll need to track it down at one of the local hospitals. It could be anywhere in London. Then you'll need to have it moved here. Discretely," he emphasized. "It's important there be no report of its disappearance and it must not be traced back to you." Sherlock stopped pacing and ran an agitated hand through his hair as he stared off at the lab equipment. "It's very important this not be traced back to you Molly. Moriarty is a very dangerous man."

Molly stepped up to the man before her. He always seemed larger than life when he was in his element and deducing a case, but in the quiet of the lab trying desperately to thwart a psychopath, Sherlock was just a man. It unnerved Molly a bit that this great man could be brought to the edge. She placed her hand on his arm to steady him and lend her support. "I'll be careful Sherlock. I have contacts at every hospital in London. We will make this work."

Sherlock turned and looked down at Molly, as if seeing her for the first time. He smiled at her, so that his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Yes. We will make this work."

If there was one thing Molly could say for sure about Sherlock Holmes, he would have made a fantastic actor. Molly had gone home to be with Archie and to contact her med school friends located throughout hospitals all over London. At some point around two o'clock in the morning Molly managed to track down the body, and a picture sent to her mobile confirmed the likeness. It was actually uncanny how much the dead man on her mobile phone looked like Sherlock. It sent a shiver down her back thinking that it could really be Sherlock if the plan did not go well.

Sherlock had made Molly memorize a list of various plans and their code names. He had also given her all the information she would need to fill out the false paperwork for his 'autopsy'. Molly feigned surprise when he grudgingly admitted that his real first name was William.

At some point during the planning Sherlock mentioned that he would need to lay low at her place for a few days before heading off to do whatever it was he needed to do. Molly felt a bubble of panic begin to rise in her and she slyly attempted to ascertain if there were anywhere else he could stay. Sherlock had given her a strange look before Molly had covered herself by saying she thought he would be more comfortable somewhere not her home. Sherlock had reassured with a pat on the shoulder that he would be fine, and Molly had pursed her lips in a tight smile.

Mycroft, of course, had chosen that moment to become scarce, so he was no help at all. Molly was left with the only other option she had, which was to tell Sherlock the truth. Of course, she would wait until he had finished whatever he planned on doing on St. Bart's rooftop. No need to add more crazy to the mix; lives were at stake.

Sherlock had layed low in the hospital till night had fallen. He had changed into a overly large sweatshirt, a pair of loose sweatpants, and a pair of scruffy sneakers. Molly had added a cap from the lost and found to cover his curls, and Sherlock predictably complained about head lice.

Molly had worked out with Mrs. Carlton to bring Archie over later that night, which gave Molly three hours to explain everything and get Sherlock acclimatized to having a son before said son walked through the door. The same door they now stood in front of as Molly slowly breathed in and out.

"Molly, really, anytime would be nice before someone in your building notices who I am," Sherlock said tiredly.

"Yes, right." And Molly opened up her private world and her door to the brilliant consulting detective.

Sherlock had only taken a of couple steps into her flat before he stopped cold. As Molly turned to close the door, she didn't even need to guess what was causing Sherlock to halt. Every inch of her home was a testimony to the fact that a small child, a boy, lived there. From the tiny shoes on a rack by the door to the Legos in the form of a pirate ship on the coffee table. There were framed pictures of childlike artistic endeavours on the walls and two forgotten cereal bowls left on the kitchen table.

Molly slowly walked around Sherlock until she could look up into his face. If he were a robot, she would say he had short-circuited. He just seemed to stare off at nothing, but Molly knew he was simply processing what he had never seen in her before. She was a mother.

Sherlock finally seemed to snap out of it and slowly looked down at Molly. She fought the impulse to look away in guilt. "Why didn't you tell me Molly?" He whispered.

It was the first time she had seen him so... practically speechless, upset, and anxious all rolled into one. "It was never really relevant," she shrugged. "And you never deduced it, so I didn't say anything. I usually don't tell anyone." Molly felt like she was making excuses and she knew the next bit would probably hurt him, if his reaction to her simply having a son was any indicator.

Sherlock began to walk around the sitting room, looking closely at every drawing and child's book lying around. He bent down to take a closer look at one of the homework sheets left on the couch. "Archie?"

Molly smiled. "Yes, his name is Archibald Adam Hooper. After my father," she added in a murmur.

Sherlock nodded and moved to the coffee table. He bent down to look at something that seemed to have rolled onto the floor and froze. Molly sucked in a breath when she realized what Sherlock must have seen, and she cursed herself for not thinking about it sooner.

Sherlock reached out a hand and slowly rose to stand bringing up a long thin clearly antique telescope with him. "Where did you get this Molly?" His tone was low and dangerous, and Molly knew she would have to quickly explain things.

She licked her suddenly dry lips as she thought of the speech she had prepared ever since she had found out that Sherlock was Archie's father. "Would you take a seat Sherlock and I'll explain everything?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and continued to stand.

"Okay." Molly let out a breath. She went over to a drawer and pulled out a packet she had created specifically for that moment, then went to stand in front of Sherlock. "I'll just start at the beginning okay? It's easier that way."

"Yes, please do Miss Hooper," Sherlock voiced harshly.

"Yes well," Molly swallowed thickly. "It was September of 2002. Me and some friends of mine had just finished Foundation training and we were throwing a little party at my house. My father had died within the past year and I... I just didn't want to think about the fact that he wasn't there to see me finish something so important. A- and I was living in his house that he had bought after I went to university and... and I just wanted to forget. So I got drunk. Very very drunk. And one of my friends, Mark Vernon, brought a man over to the house that he competed against while in secondary, and that he had coincidentally run into at a nearby pub. I don't really recall what happened that night, but Mark told me his friends name was William..." Molly had seen Sherlock stiffen at the name of her friend, but his eyes widened considerably at the mention of his first name.

Molly continued on when it didn't look as if Sherlock was going to contribute anything. "According to my friends, William and I talked for a bit before he went upstairs to use the loo. I had stayed downstairs for awhile, but he never came back down. I then proceeded to go up after him, and I didn't come back down either. They said... um... there were some very... ah, sexual noises. Lots of moaning and 'oh gods' from my room." Molly could feel how hot her cheeks had gotten and she took a breath before continuing. "According to Mark and a few others, we were both extremely drunk and they found the whole thing quite funny." Molly cleared her throat as she glanced off to the side. Sherlock stood in front of her, his brow lifted at her descriptions.

Molly could feel her heart beat hard against her rib cage and she could feel heat rush into her cheeks at the thought of the next part. "At some point my friends left and then later William left as well. I woke up naked, alone, and hungover. I didn't remember anything except that I had a house party and drank a lot. I knew I had had sex, and I knew it must have been consensual with my friends just downstairs. In fact, I thought it had been one of them. I didn't remember a William being there... Mark was the one who told me the name later."

Weary from the strain of relaying her story, Molly moved to sit on the sofa. "Eventually I realized I was pregnant. I hadn't even considered it really. I was on the pill and I was just so busy... But when I finally figured it out, I went around to my friends to find out who I could have been with, and Mark pointed me in the direction of the pub where he met William. No one there recalled him, and I made sure to talk to every employee there."

Sherlock slowly sank down onto the coffee table before her, putting the telescope beside him he steepled his hands below his chin. "Did you consider getting," he hesitated, "getting rid of it."

Molly smiled gently at him. "I considered it briefly, but it was never really an option for me. I've seen enough abused and murdered children in hospital to believe in pro-choice, but I..." she grasped around for a way to describe how she had felt at the time. "I was alone Sherlock. My father had just died. My mother died when I was a little girl. I was an only child of two only children whose parents were dead. When I thought of holding that little baby in my arms, of having another person be my family after so long of having no one or just my dad, who had been so sick for so many years... I just couldn't let that go."

Sherlock nodded slowly, and looked into Molly's eyes, a brief look of compassion crossed his face. "I understand."

Molly gave him a grateful smile. "So I did attempt to find William, but I certainly wasn't equipped to do that and I would soon have to juggle a pregnancy, then a new baby and additional medical training. I sold my father's one-bedroom house and bought this flat with the money from the sale and his life insurance. After I gave birth, I juggled Archie and work. My friends from med school were lovely and helped where they could, but they were just as busy as me. I eventually met Mrs. Carlton, who actually owns a flower shop near St. Bart's, and she took over babysitting duties whenever I needed her."

Molly slowly let out a breath. "I eventually finished all my training and started working at St. Bart's. I met you, of course," Molly said with a small smile, "and I became friends with some women at the hospital. Only Mike Stamford and a few HR people knew I had a kid, and it just never came up with anyone else. I'm a pretty private person, and I can't really go out with a small child at home, so I-"

"Moriarty?" Sherlock asked in alarm.

"The one time he came over here I had cleared the front area of anything Archie related. No sense in driving away a potential boyfriend so soon," Molly snorted. And Sherlock huffed out a brief laugh. "He may have suspected I had a child, but he never brought it up and he never met him." Sherlock nodded and Molly continued on. "After I became friendly with Mrs. Hudson and Greg, I-"

"Who is Greg?" Sherlock asked her sharply.

Molly rolled her eyes. "DI Lestrade," she emphasized.

"When did he start being Greg?" Sherlock asked her with narrowed eyes.

"Oh for heaven's sake Sherlock, he's my friend. When did Dr. Watson become John?" She asked him with a raised brow.

"Touché Molly Hooper." And Sherlock dipped his head for Molly to continue her story.

"Anyway, I decided it was time for me to come clean with my new friends. I really did want you all to meet Archie, but I couldn't exactly bring him into the morgue without him causing trouble." Sherlock smiled at that bit of information, and Molly refrained from telling him that Archie reminded her of him in the lab. "I was actually going to tell everyone at the Christmas party, but..." Molly trailed off and a look of guilt crossed Sherlock's face. "Yes, well I didn't get around to it. Later that night I had just picked Archie up from Mrs. Carlton when Mike called about identifying a body. I brought Archie with me and put him to sleep in the office next to the morgue."

Molly paused and looked down at the telescope that Sherlock had casually laid down. "I was leaving the morgue with Archie asleep in my arms when I ran into Mycroft still outside the morgue doors. Right away he saw what I hadn't."

A blank look came over Sherlock's face, and Molly sighed. "He saw the similar facial features and the hair. He asked me the name of the father... and I just knew what he was going to say. He may have easily deduced it because of the physical similarities, but I know Archie." Molly smiled widely as she thought about her son, and Sherlock quirked his lip at the fond look on her face. "He is beautiful and clever and curious. He just wants to know things. He'll mix bubble bath soap with lotion to see what happens and he'll pour salt instead of sugar into my morning tea to see if mummy likes it better."

Sherlock's smile slowly grew as Molly described Archie. "He brings home dead bugs to examine under his magnifying glass and he won't give me a moments peace when I watch something that bores him." Molly chuckled. "He gets bored so easily."

Sherlock laughed and Molly swore it was the first time she had ever heard him really laugh, not in mockery but in joy. And that was when she knew everything would be okay. So feeling Sherlock was ready, she opened the envelope in her hands and pulled out a picture. "This is Archie."

She held out the picture, and Sherlock held his breath and took it with a shaky hand. He let out a breath as he looked at Archie for the first time. "Mycroft ran DNA tests, and they confirmed what he had already deduced... what I had finally figured out. That smart sweet little boy... he's your son Sherlock."