Life After Death - A Post-Reichenbach Trilogy

Part Two - Consequences

Chapter Six

Molly spent three days in the Mother and Baby Unit, a luxury which she would appreciate in the days, weeks and months to come. She welcomed the opportunity to focus entirely on the needs of her baby, without having to worry about mundane things, like keeping house, cooking meals or working for a living. During this time, she and William fell into a comfortable routine of feeding, changing, playing and sleeping.

The feeding routine was dictated by William. He would wake up and begin to make little sounds which told Molly that he was hungry. She would begin her infection control routine, cleaning her nipples to make sure they were free from harmful bacteria. As she did this, she talked to William, answering his grunts and squeaks, just like a normal conversation. Molly found that the little sounds he made stimulated her lactation. By the time he was fully awake and ready to eat, she was ready to feed him.

On the third day, Molly noticed that when she reached down into the crib to pick him up, William hunched his shoulders in preparation for the lift. She found this quite amazing. This little creature had spent almost nine months entirely supported in an aquatic environment, cushioned from the full effects of gravity but, in such a short time, he had begun to find ways of dealing with it.

Molly had read so much about early child development and here was the living proof that babies are consummate adaptive organisms, hardwired to react and assimilate. She felt privileged to be able to witness this process first hand. And every baby was different. The nurses all commented that William was a 'placid' baby but Molly knew this was a misconception. William was a thinker, just like his dad.

On the morning of the fourth day, it was time to go home. Mycroft had engaged a specialist neonatal nurse, Caroline, whom he had brought to the Unit the day before, for Molly's approval. They chatted for a few minutes, whilst Mycroft took phone calls in the en suite bathroom. The two young women seemed to be on the same wave length. Caroline gave assurances that Molly would be calling the shots and the nurse would be there for back up and support, not to take over. Molly thought Mycroft had made a good choice - something else he was good at.

The next day, Caroline arrived at the Neo-natal Unit accompanied by Anthea, Mycroft's PA, and brought with her a state-of-the-art baby carrier cum car seat. Molly had fed and burped William and dressed him in his 'going away' outfit – a beautiful red all-in-one suit, lined in soft fur fabric, with little mittens attached – a present from Maria. It suited his dark colouring so well.

Molly popped William into the baby carrier, checked she had packed everything and said thank you and goodbye to the staff. She left behind the flowers that John and Mary had brought. They would be used to brighten up the reception area of the Unit. Stepping outside for the first time in nearly a week was a bit of a shock to Molly's system and she was very glad of the luxury car and the willing assistants, all courtesy of Mycroft.

Back at her building, the chauffeur carried her case up the stairs, Caroline carried William and Andrea assisted her. Molly had to acknowledge that Mycroft had been right again. This was not an ideal situation for a single mum and her child. She resolved to go and view the garden flat as soon as possible.

ooOoo

Two weeks later, Molly was waiting, on tenterhooks, in her sitting room for guests to arrive. She had invited John and Mary, Mrs Hudson and Greg Lestrade over to 'wet the baby's head', as her mother would say. She was looking forward to seeing them all and showing William off but not to the real purpose of the gathering.

Caroline had the afternoon off, which suited Molly fine because she didn't have to explain how she could afford a live-in nanny before she had revealed William's true paternity. But before she left, Caroline had been out and bought cake and biscuits, and a bottle of reasonably priced champagne. Molly had laid these out in the kitchen, set out the good china and tidied up a bit. The flat looked presentable.

As she sat on the sofa, rehearsing her lines, the doorbell rang. It was John, Mary and Mrs H. It was all smiles and hugs and kisses for the first couple of minutes and then everyone found a seat.

'OK,' said John, 'where is the little beastie, then?'

'Just having his afternoon nap,' replied Molly. 'He is a creature of habit. He likes his routines so, this time, every day, is nap time. It's quite handy, really. It gives me the chance to put my feet up. Tea, anyone?'

She went off into the kitchen, closely followed by Mrs Hudson, who insisted on lending a hand.

'I must say, dear, you are looking very well. Motherhood suits you!' Mrs H declared, with an approving smile. 'It's so good that you've got this baby and that John has Mary. It must make it so much easier for you to cope with… well, you know.' Mrs Hudson's voice went a bit choked at that point and Molly saw that her eyes shone with unshed tears. She reached out to hug the other lady but Mrs H brushed her away.

'Oh, don't take any notice of me - silly old bat. Most days, I'm fine but every now and then, especially seeing you all together, well, I do miss him. His things are still in the flat, you know.'

Molly was aghast. She had never given a thought to how Mrs Hudson might be coping with Sherlock's 'death'. And she was faced every day with constant reminders of his presence in her home. Although, officially, Mrs Hudson was just Sherlock's landlady, in truth their relationship had been so much closer. She thought of him as a surrogate son and he treated her as a kind of foster mother. She was probably the person he loved most.

As Molly boiled the kettle and set out the tea things, Mrs Hudson continued,

'Mycroft has been paying the rent, you know. He asked me to leave everything where it was and he comes over now and then. I think he uses the flat as kind of bolt hole, somewhere no one can find him. Perhaps he feels close to Sherlock there. I mean, I know they didn't get on well but they were still brothers, after all, and they were all they had. There was no other family, not that I knew about, anyway. So, with Sherlock gone, Mycroft's all alone in the world. A bit like me…' she added, under her breath. Molly reached over and took her hand.

'You are not alone, Mrs Hudson. I really want you to get to know William. You can be his London granny! And…well, I have something to ask all of you but I want to wait until Greg gets here.'

As if on cue, the doorbell announced Greg Lestrade's arrival and the party was complete. Molly and Mrs H. carried in the tea things and set them out on the coffee table for everyone to help themselves.

Now they were all assembled, Molly knew she had to get on with her mission. If she put it off any longer, she would lose her resolve and not do it at all so she cleared her throat and said,

'There's something I really have to tell you all.'

Everyone stopped talking and looked at her, expectantly. She gazed around at all their faces, thought Oh, God!' and spoke her lines.

'I expect you have all heard the rumour that I had William through a sperm donor.'

No one spoke. In fact, no one moved, either. They all stood like rabbits in the headlights, trying to avoid each other's eyes and feeling rather awkward.

'Well, that's what I told everybody,' Molly added and they all began to relax.

'But it's not true.' Their ears pricked up again and she had their full attention.

'William's father is Sherlock,' Molly declared.

It was as though a stun bomb had gone off in the middle of her sitting room. Everyone – except Mary – gasped and almost took a physical step backwards, such was their amazement. No one said a word for the longest time and then Greg broke the silence, blurting out,

'But how? Where? When?'

'Oh, goodness me, Inspector Lestrade, you can't ask a young lady questions like that!' Mrs Hudson chimed in, immediately, making everyone laugh a little too much.

'It's alright, Mrs H,' said Molly, with a diffident smile. 'I want to explain what happened.'

They were all gawping at her, in rapt attention, desperate for an explanation, curious to hear what she had to say. Molly took a large gulp of water – she still couldn't stomach tea – composed herself and began.

'The night Sherlock went to Kitty Riley's flat and heard all that rubbish that Moriarty had cooked up, he came to St. Bart's. I was getting ready to go home and, suddenly, he was just there, standing in the lab, in the dark. He was really upset. Earlier in the day, I'd asked him if he was OK because I thought he looked sad but he just shrugged it off…you know what he's like! …What he was like,' she corrected herself.

'But that night, he told me he wasn't OK. I asked him what was wrong. He didn't say, straight away. Instead, he asked me whether, if he wasn't everything I thought he was or everything he thought he was, would I still want to help him. Well, the answer to that was obvious. I asked him what he needed and he said, '…You.''

Just talking about their encounter in the lab, that dreadful night, brought back so many terrible memories that Molly felt her breath catch in her chest and tears sprang to her eyes, over-flowed her lashes and trickled down her cheeks. She shook her head, unable to say anything more.

Her audience stared in stunned silence then John came forward and hugged her very tight. It seemed they were all finding it hard to speak, such was the overload of emotions. But John managed to find his voice.

'No, Molly, that makes perfect sense, it really does. He was desperate that night. I've never seen him like it. He told me there was something he had to do and when I said I would come with him he said he had to do it alone. He must have realised, right there and then that what he needed was you. And d'you know what? I sort of feel happy for him…'

John rubbed his forehead and looked at the floor, regaining control of the emotion that was threatening to undo him. Having gathered himself together, he took both Molly's hands in his and said,

'I am really grateful to you, Molly, that you could give him comfort when he really needed it. And I can understand why you didn't tell us about this before…No, I understand completely. It must have been so hard for you, keeping all this to yourself. But I'm really glad you've told us, now.'

He leaned in and gave Molly a peck on the cheek.

Into the silent room, heavy with private thoughts, a querulous little voice intruded. William was awake. Molly excused herself and went off to her bedroom, where William had been napping in his crib.

She picked up her darling babe and hugged him close. She had told another lie – yes, another one, on top of all the many others - but she knew it was necessary and, thankfully, they had all believed her. Yes, it did make sense that Sherlock might seek out physical comfort when faced with certain death. They could all buy into that. She had taken a big lie and wrapped it up in a small amount of truth and everyone had swallowed it. So, in doing a bad thing, she had accomplished a good thing. Sherlock's biggest secret was still safe and, therefore, so were his friends. Molly dried her tears, smiled at William's curious expression and took him to greet his guests.

While Molly had been in the bedroom, everyone had found their voices and were all talking at once, about her revelation, but they all smiled and gave a little cheer when she appeared with the baby. Mrs Hudson went to the fridge to retrieve the champagne and glasses, and Greg removed the cork with a practiced hand and poured everyone a glass – even Molly had a tiny sip – and they all raised their glasses in a toast to William and Molly and to Sherlock, too.

Now came the easy bit, to ask all Sherlock's friends to be god parents. They were thrilled and delighted, they replied. They took turns holding their god son-to-be, until he got really fractious, mostly because he had been rather expecting a hearty meal, not a game of 'pass the parcel,' with himself in the starring role. Molly excused herself again and went back into her bedroom to feed William, leaving the others to hold a post mortem over the surprising turn of events.

About twenty minutes on, as Molly was just redressing her baby, on the makeshift changing table which was actually the top of her chest of drawers, there was a tentative tap on the door. She called for the tapper to come in. It was John. He perched on the edge of the bed and gave that little cough that he often did when he was about to say something he wasn't entirely sure of.

'What's the matter, John?' Molly asked.

'Please don't take this the wrong way,' he began, looking even more uncomfortable by the second. 'I'm a doctor – as you know, obviously,' – Molly could not suppress a smile – 'and I can't help but notice that Sherlock has been…gone for just over ten months and William is only three weeks old. So, not to put too fine a point on is, how can Sherlock be William's father?'

Molly could see how difficult John was finding this conversation but she admired him for having the courage to voice his doubts. She was also very glad she had anticipated this question.

'William was born two weeks late, John,' she said, blithely. 'In fact, if he hadn't come when he did, they were planning to induce me,' she added, for authenticity. 'Trust Sherlock's baby to take his own time,' she giggled.

John gave an exaggerated nod and exhaled loudly. He looked very relieved. Then, he asked,

'But does Mycroft know? About the baby?'

'Yes, I told him first, the day after William was born,' she replied.

'Ah, well, that makes sense, then.' John nodded, almost triumphantly. 'That day we came to see you, in the Mother and Baby Unit, remember? When we were leaving, I could have sworn I saw Mycroft get out of a car and come into the hospital. Mary said I was seeing things but I was so sure and now I know I did. He was coming to see you, wasn't he?'

Molly nodded and smiled, apologetically.

'No, it's OK, Molly, really it is. I just thought I was going a bit mad but now I know I wasn't so everything is fine!' John smiled and hugged her and kissed William on the top of his head.

'Oh, my goodness, young man,' he said, fixing the baby with a stern look, 'I have to say, you are the spitting image of your daddy but, if you are even just half as annoying as him, you are going to drive your poor mum to drink!'

ooOoo

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