A/N: For the January 29th prompt - "The end of the day." Let's call this one a hard T. Immediately follows You'll Be Daddy.

Every time Molly found herself in Sherlock's arms, she never wanted the moment to end. She knew she was falling for him hard and fast, and the fact that Ford had wanted it hastened her feelings. Still, she felt guilty.

Ford has just died, I shouldn't even be thinking about another man, yet here I am, wanting nothing more than to let Sherlock in. It must be the intimacy of being married, it makes me feel so close to him already. He's so sweet and patient. He says he loves me and I believe him – I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. I think I'm more than halfway in love with him.

The pregnancy hormones aren't helping. God, I want him to just take me. I know Sherlock's not Ford, I know sex with him won't be the same. Do I care? Not a bit. I want to feel him around me, inside me. I want it rough, I want it gentle. Fast. Slow. On the bed. The kitchen counter. Hell, the damn foyer, I don't care. I want my mouth on his cock and his mouth on my pussy. I want to squeeze that perfect arse of his and hear him moan my name in that voice that's enough to make me wet all by itself.

In bed that night, they laid in each other's arms with the lights off, sharing their memories of Ford. Molly watched Sherlock's face in the ambient light as he talked about the time he, Ford, and Mycroft had chicken pox at the same time. His smile warmed her.

"Poor Mum, we drove her mad," he said, smirking. "Of course, Mycroft was miffed that he caught a 'child's' disease – Ford and I were six, he was thirteen. All the grown-up dignity he'd built up totally dissolved when he complained about how itchy he was."

Molly giggled. "I wish I could have known both of you then. Of course, I was three when you and Ford were six, so it's not like we would've been playmates."

Sherlock chuckled. "I prefer it this way – you've missed my awkward teenage years and most of my benders. Only the best times are ahead of us."

She smiled softly. "You, awkward? I don't believe it."

"Believe it, sweetheart. There's a photo album at my parents' house full of photos of me from thirteen to seventeen – frizzy hair I never cut often enough, big ears, all limbs and no grace. Ford was the polished one. He actually modelled during our late teens."

She stared at him. "He never told me that."

"He was embarrassed by it later. Of course, every girl in school and uni was crazy about him."

Molly smiled playfully. "You're telling me none of them had enough sense to chase you?"

He laughed softly. "There was one girl – she asked if she could be in the middle of a Holmes twin sandwich."

She stared at him, grinning. "You're kidding! What did you say? What did Ford say?"

"He was willing-"

Molly smirked. "That doesn't surprise me." Ford definitely loved sex.

"But I wasn't. It was our first year of uni and I was still a virgin. I didn't want my first time to be in a threesome with my brother and a girl I didn't know."

She brought a hand up to stroke his cheek. "When was your first time?" she asked softly.

"A year later. She was a drama major. It was definitely not her first time. I think she felt a little sorry for me – I was still awkward, still figuring out who I was."

"I wish I could've known you then too."

He smiled softly. "So do I. My first time was, well, not very memorable. Despite her best efforts, I didn't last long." He added, smiling a bit. "I've improved remarkably since then."

Molly giggled. "I'm sure you have." She kissed him softly. "I can't wait to see your improvement for myself."

He gazed at her. "Does that mean you're ready?"

"Not quite yet," she murmured, "but soon. What about you?"

He smiled softly. "Sweetheart, for you, I was born ready."

She laughed softly. "You know, I'm starting to believe that."