A/N: Apparently I have a lot to say on this story this week. Weird, huh? Anyway, I thought it might be nice to reveal the sex of Baby Holmes... As always, reads and reviews are so appreciated! I'm so thankful for each one. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and soon it was on the edge of summer. The hottest and earliest summer London had seen in twenty years, according to the news. Mid- June and already it was sweltering. Of course it would have to be. Molly hadn't suffered quite enough throughout her pregnancy. For a few months she'd been so sick that John had wanted to have her admitted to Bart's so they could feed her intravenously. They'd tried every sort of medicine for nausea they could think of, but none would offer her any relief. Finally, Mrs. Hudson had suggested ginger and despite Sherlock's admonitions about old wives' tales, it worked. Ginger tea, raw ginger root, ginger ale and ginger lollipops managed to satisfy the grumpy little baby that continually kept its mother ill. Now the nausea was gone, but poor Molly was possibly the most uncomfortable creature alive.

"It's really no wonder," Mrs. Hudson observed one evening as she brought up some dinner. "You're such a little thing, dear. It was bound to cause a little discomfort."

"A little?" Molly sighed. "I can't even sit on the sofa without my entire lower half going to sleep where the baby is laying on my spine." And sleeping was worse. Well, she called it sleeping. It was really more a marathon of running back and forth to the toilet for eight hours each night. If Sherlock ever slept, she'd feel pretty awful. Poor Gabriel, sick and restless one night, had gotten into bed with them, but quickly retreated back to his room when Molly awakened him the third time.

Of course, all the physical sensations weren't unpleasant. Her entire body was very sensitive to the touch. She wasn't sure if it was because her skin was stretched so taut or the hormones that raged within, but she couldn't seem to get enough physical affection from Sherlock. At first it was a welcome change. The first couple of months she'd felt monstrous, like some horrible blob that always felt sick to her stomach and was in a constant panic that her bladder wouldn't hold. She refused any sexual contact and often sent Sherlock to ice cold showers at two in the morning, but with the dawning of her second trimester and the tapering off of the nausea, Molly found that she was…well… not to put too fine a point on it… horny. To Sherlock's credit, he did his best to keep up. He continually told her how beautiful and desirable she was, regardless of the extreme physical changes her body had undergone. He didn't even complain when she attacked him one night while he was hunched over his microscope. Despite what others might think, it was hard for even Sherlock Holmes to ignore a very eager Molly on her knees under his desk. John began to notice that his friend was looking haggard. "Are you all right, mate?" John asked one day as they were examining a body. "You look a bit… worse for wear."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… usually you're so… put together." John noted that Sherlock was not wearing a suit. A pair of jeans, a button-up that was untucked and wrinkled and his hair was a mess. "You look like you just rolled out of bed."

"Please. Don't say bed to me."

"Pardon?"

Sherlock pocketed his magnifier and glanced over his shoulder, making sure that no one could hear them. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"I guess…"

"Well, Mary… she just had a baby…"

"You noticed!" John chuckled. "Sorry… go on…"

"Was she really… uhm… well…" Sherlock stammered, clearly embarrassed to be discussing such a sensitive issue. "Aggressive?"

"Aggressive?"

"You know…aggressive."

Realization dawned on John and he immediately began to laugh. "Oh. Aggressive."

"It's not funny, John. Molly's all over me. All the time. Every time we're alone together."

"Well most people don't consider that a problem—"

"It's not necessarily a problem. Except that I haven't slept in days and I think I've strained something vital. I almost feel… used. Sometimes I wonder if I really even have to be awake. Not to mention… won't that hurt the baby?"

"What?"

"Think about it, John… that kid's lurking up there, minding its own business when suddenly it sees this… thing coming towards it. I mean, that could scare the shit out of a kid!"

John didn't say anything else, merely walked away trying desperately to erase his memory.

Later, Sherlock was practically begging Lestrade for another case so that he could stay away from home just a little longer. Gabe had a violin lesson and would be staying at Katie's house after for dinner. He'd be alone in the flat until at least eight with Good Golly Miss Molly, and as much as he loved her and wanted to make love, he just didn't think he could bring himself to the challenge that night. He cursed his intellect at being able to close the case so quickly and finally went home around six-thirty. Molly was waiting at the door, her dressing gown only loosely tied to reveal her nude form beneath, a cup of tea in her hand. He took one sip before she was grabbing him by the scarf and pulling him toward the bedroom. "Molly… I'm so tired…" he whimpered.

"It's all right, darling. I'll take good care of you," she purred, pushing him flat on the bed and straddling his hips. He could only lay there helplessly as she pulled at the button on his jeans. She was kissing her way down the line of hair just beneath his navel when she felt it. The strangest sort of flutter she'd ever felt, deep within her belly. It was enough to distract her from the task at hand and she sat up with a giggle. "Oooh!" she exclaimed, feeling it again.

Sherlock opened his eyes and peered at her cautiously. "What?"

"I think…" She giggled once more and put her hand over the swell of her belly. "I think the baby's moving." She crawled up the bed beside him, leaning back against the pillows and taking his hand. "Here… you have to feel this." She placed his hand over her belly and nothing happened.

"I don't feel anything," he said, sitting up on the bed.

"Just wait!" she scolded. After several seconds with no more movement, Molly gave a heavy sigh. "Oh… I guess it stopped."

"Maybe it will…" His words trailed off as he felt the bubbly tickling roll across Molly's belly, under his hand.

Molly giggled, seeing his face. A look of complete and utter amazement. "I think the baby likes your voice."

"Oh…" he said, breathlessly. They'd spent the rest of the night sitting on the sofa, anxiously awaiting more movement. When Gabriel came in, they made him feel it too, all of them completely mesmerized until they fell asleep in a line on the sofa, their hands clasped on Molly's belly.

The only thing more irritating than the minor physical discomforts were the constant questions about the sex. Obstinacy was evidently a genetic trait that began in utero. At eighteen weeks, Molly, Sherlock and Gabriel went in for an ultrasound that would hopefully reveal the sex of the baby. All of them were brimming with excitement, though Sherlock kept a stoic expression. Of course, the constant bounce of his foot and the drumming of his fingertips against the armrest as they sat in the waiting room gave it away. The technician led them into the examination room where Molly climbed onto the table and let them spread that disgusting gel all over her belly. "I had a cup of strong tea before we came. The nurse said that might make the baby more active." It had worked. The baby was plenty active, a moving little blob in the middle of the black and white screen, but apparently very modest. The nurse waved her little wand all over Molly's belly, trying to get the baby to turn so that they could see the sex. But it was insistent, keeping its tiny legs clasped daintily.

They went home disappointed that day, angrily snapping at anyone who asked about it. Poor Katie, whose own mother was about to pop, made the mistake of asking what the baby's name would be and Gabe growled at her so that she insisted Mary drive her home early. It took two more tries, but finally, in a room full of friends, they managed to capture a perfect picture on the 3D ultrasound. Baby Holmes would be a girl.

"God help us, every one."

OoOoOo

"A name, Sherlock. The baby has to have a name," Molly complained. "The shower is tomorrow and I've only got three weeks to go. The baby needs a name." This had been the battle cry at 221B for the last month. They'd been poring over baby books and making lists, but between the three of them, they could not agree on a name for the little girl. Gabriel had offered Mary, Alexandra, Laura and, Molly's personal favorite, Skittles.

"I'm not calling my daughter Skittles," Molly grumbled.

"Why not? I think it's an awesome name," Gabriel replied. "She'd be named after the best candy there is. Maybe it will make her sweet."

"Maybe it will make her get beat up at school every day!" Sherlock said, feigning an excited smile and clapping his hands.

"You're right, Sherlock," Molly teased. Every name Sherlock liked had at least four syllables and too many consonants. Molly insisted that the child not be given a name that she'd never be able to pronounce. Nor would she accept anything that could be found on the Periodic Table. "Don't forget that she'll have to be able to spell it at school."

"But you can't name her something ordinary," Gabriel whined. "She's not going to be ordinary." Gabriel had, for some reason, become worried that his little sister would not be exceptional. The idea was ludicrous. Her father was a genius and her mother an accomplished pathologist. Gabriel himself had already been identified in his second year class at school as "gifted." What if she was an adorable little moron? "Delphinium."

"That's a flower, Gabriel," Sherlock said.

"You liked Mendelevium," Gabriel complained. "That's an element."

"It's unusual," Sherlock said."

"Both of you are ridiculous," Molly sighed and walked away, proclaiming the argument closed for the day.