***In the interest of time, I will be posting this story without editing it first. Please bare with any temporary typos or grammatical errors. Thank you.***

Two days later

Molly climbed the stairs of 221B, carrying two large shopping bags. Reaching the landing, however, she saw no one.

"Sherlock? You here?"

"Upstairs! John's room."

She sighed, looking at the remaining flights of steps and beginning to climb them, reluctantly.

"You know, you can't very well keep calling it 'John's room.' He's not lived here for years."

She rounded the corner to see Sherlock, sitting on the floor and surrounded by pieces of wood. Though she tried, Molly couldn't suppress a laugh.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Sherlock's face was so screwed up from confusion, the image reminded the medical examiner of a distraught pug.

"How, exactly, is one supposed to understand the instructions if there are no words? They don't even both to print the in Swedish! It's not as if it's a difficult language to learn, anyone could do it!"

"Is that - a crib?"

"Yes, of course, it's a crib! What else do you put in a nursery?"

"Your building a nursery? In John's old room? Then, why did you have me get all this?"

She opened the bags and began to take out beakers, a microscope, and several medical photo illustrations.

"Decorations, of course."

"You can't put this stuff in a baby's -"

She began to laugh again, but stopped, seeing the serious look on his face. She cleared her throat, looking down and continuing to unpack.

"Yes, quite. Quite lovely, they will look wonderful and she will love them."

Sherlock went back to his sundvik, only to be quickly frustrated to the point of a growl. Molly smiled, taking the pieces from him.

"Here. Allow me."

"Yes. Thank you."

He stepped aside and started to arrange the items she'd brought.

"So, how's it going? With the whole 'my ex-fiancé is a murdering hitman' - thing?"

"It's - well… it's made me think. I just feel like - everything I know is wrong. Every major relationship I've had has been a lie. I didn't 'move on.' If anything, I took a hundred steps back."

"If you keep talking like that, he really will have won."

Molly really did laugh now, shaking her head.

"I didn't peg you as one to spout childish rhetoric."

"I'm being serious, Molly."

She stopped, looking up to see the most serious face she'd ever seen on the man's face. He didn't move, but his eye softened as he looked at her.

"Don't let him take the one thing from you that sets you apart from who you once were."

"Oh? And what's that, then?"

"Your confidence, Molly Hooper."

The words filled her soul with such warmth, she felt as though she may cry. Instead, she turned back to her work, finding the two pieces she needed.

"Yes. Quite. So, does John know you're doing this? Making a nursery?"

"No. He doesn't."

"You haven't spoken to him since the baby was born, have you?"

"I've been giving them their space. That's what you're supposed to do with new parents, aren't you? Give them space. Besides, I've been focused on this whole Moriarty thing. Have to get him taken care of first, don't I?"

"Don't. Don't do that. Not to throw your own advice back at you… but don't let him take the one thing that sets you apart from who you once were."

He smirked.

"And that would be?"

"Your friends, Sherlock Holmes."

He cleared his throat, nodding and going back to his work.

"Yes. Well… shall we continue, then?"

She nodded, smiling to herself as she helped her friend to complete the nursery.

End.

Story continues with "The Nanny."