(*full chapter title)

*It's The End Of An Era, Isn't It - Part II

#####

Early March

Molly looked up when the morgue door swung open, then smiled when Greg Lestrade walked in. She carefully set the bone saw on the worktable and pushed her goggles off her face. "Hi, Greg!"

"Molly," he returned cheerfully as he came to a halt beside her, then he glanced from her to the body and grimaced. "How someone so gentle and petite and who's the nicest person I know can use a saw on a human body with such ruthless efficiency is a mystery to me."

"Needs must," she said, tossing her gloves into the medical waste bin and moving to the sink to wash her hands. "What brings you to Barts?"

They discussed the case he was working on as Molly led the way to the cooling drawers. Once Greg had had a look at the body and they'd reviewed the PM report, Molly led him to an adjacent sitting area and lowered herself into a chair. Greg watched her careful movements and frowned. "Should you still be doing this, Molls?"

"It's all right, but I won't be for much longer," she said, then sighed. "Administrative duties. I expect to become overwhelmed with both paperwork and boredom."

"I know what you mean," he said with a sympathetic smile. "So … what's our favorite consulting detective going to do when you're on lighter duties?"

"Drive you and everyone else around the bend as usual," she grinned, then shook her head. "Actually, I don't think it will be that bad. He's mellowed considerably lately." She frowned at Greg's skeptical look.

"He has? I've seen no evidence of it."

"Oh, come on, Greg. You know he's a lot easier to be around these days. Besides, you love the git, despite him being … well, Sherlock. As we all do."

"And that, my dear Molly, is the only reason I haven't killed him before now."

Molly laughed, then saw him out the door and returned to Mr. Greene.

#####

End of March

Molly left Mike Stamford's office Friday afternoon, having delivered a stack of monthly pathology reports she'd completed and department work schedules for the next fortnight as part of her new administrative duties. The previous Monday, she'd been taken off the PM schedule for the duration after Mike and Christine Kayser, her consulting obstetrician, determined that the amount of standing and upper body exertion required to perform them were putting too much stress on her.

When Molly finally left work for the weekend, Walter was waiting at the curb. The previous week, she'd given in to Mycroft's request to let him take care of her travel to and from work and had even admitted to herself that it was a relief to stop using the tube and bus. Her changing shape and shifting center of gravity made her feel clumsy among all the people rushing up and down the escalators and stairs, and she'd almost been pushed over a couple of times.

After greeting Walter, Molly settled gratefully onto the back seat and felt like stretching out flat, but instead propped herself in the corner and stared out the window, thinking about the weekend. The builders were scheduled to break through the bedroom wall Saturday morning and had promised the new doorway would be completed by Sunday evening. They'd delayed that part of the project until the end to avoid disturbing Mycroft's bedroom any sooner than absolutely necessary. The hallway to the right of their door had been blocked for six weeks by a zippered dust barrier, and Molly was eager to see the last of it ... and the noise and the building crew who were in and out of the house at all times of the day. She and Mycroft were driving to The Cottage Saturday morning and would return late Sunday. Walter was going to stay at the house to monitor the workers, and Mrs. Collingwood had agreed to prepare his meals and to be on-call Sunday afternoon in case he needed a break.

Late that evening, while Mycroft worked at his desk, Molly was reading in one of the wing chairs, fighting a losing battle against the urge to doze. She'd been feeling sleepy for some time, but had preferred keeping him company in the study to going to bed alone. After a while, Mycroft lowered himself to his knee in front of Molly and took hold of the book that was dangling from her hand. He smothered a laugh when she jerked awake with a gentle snore and blinked owlishly at him. "I wasn't asleep," she insisted, then squeaked when she tried to suppress a yawn behind closed lips. "Well, I may have dozed off for a moment, but it was so quiet …"

"Yes, well, stay awake if you can for a few minutes," he said, running his right hand down her left arm and clasping her hand. "I need you to pay attention." His lips quirked when she straightened in the chair and dramatically widened her eyes, then he slipped his free hand into his trouser pocket. Molly's breath caught when she saw what he took out of it. "Molly, my love, I think it's about time to acknowledge that we were engaged, if only briefly."

"But –"

"I know you wanted me to keep the ring for you, but you could wear it now, couldn't you?" He paused, brows raised. "Now that you won't be doing post mortems for a while?"

Molly hesitated, thinking of that Sunday evening ten months before and what had ended up being mutual proposals – Mycroft's came first though - and how surprised she'd been a few hours later to realize he'd actually planned the proposal despite the adorably botched job he made of it. When they'd settled in bed that night, he'd taken her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger before she knew what was happening. She'd cried when he told her it was his mother's mother's ring ... and cried more while studying the delicate filigree band, imagining it on the hand of his beloved grandmother whose sitting room was now her office. Mycroft had successfully distracted her, then less than an hour later, while talking post-distraction, they'd come up with the idea of getting married without any advance notice, and Molly's ring was returned to Mycroft's safe on Monday morning. Once she'd overruled him at breakfast and called Sherlock to ask for help, a plan had quickly come together. After the wedding, she'd asked to keep the ring in his safe because she wouldn't wear it while doing post mortems and was afraid of losing it if worn on a chain around her neck. From time to time, he'd asked if she was ready to wear the ring and she'd always said "someday soon."

Mycroft patiently waited while Molly's thoughts obviously turned inward. He passed the time studying her face and could probably have deduced the events she was recalling based on her changing expressions. His brows raised when she flushed and he wondered which particular memory might have caused that. Eventually, Molly's eyes met his again and she was back in the here and now.

Mycroft raised his brows again, holding the engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger. In response, Molly wiggled her fingers until he released her hand, then lifted it toward him. When he started to remove her wedding band, she clenched her fist. "No, the wedding ring goes first so it's closer to my heart." When Mycroft glanced up at her with the expression that said an eye roll was imminent, she leaned forward to kiss him. "I know, pure sentiment." His gaze dropped to their hands as he pushed the ring onto her finger, then he raised her hand to kiss the back of it. "For your information, that's sentiment, too, Mr. Ice-Water-Flows-Through-My-Veins."

Mycroft snorted and did roll his eyes at that. "No ice water when you're around, my dear."

Molly ran her finger over the larger central diamond and the diamond chips set within a complicated design of delicate gold filigree. "This is quite a romantic ring, Mycroft … all hearts and flowers." She looked up at him and slowly smiled. "Your grandfather must have been a very romantic man. Be warned, it's in your blood."

Mycroft got to his feet and offered Molly his hand. "Come on, clever clogs, let's go to bed."

#####

"Wait a minute." Mycroft dropped his hand from the lamp switch, looking surprised. Molly placed her hand on his chest and shifted higher on the bed until their faces were level. "When we first talked about getting together, you told me you were a cold man – that you weren't romantic or sentimental –" She broke off at his dismayed expression. "Don't worry … you don't have to say anything, but I need to," she said lightly, then continued more seriously. "You were wrong about that, Mycroft. I feel the romance and sentiment behind so much of what you do for me - or maybe love is a more accurate description. I feel the love behind everything you do, and Mycroft –" [she pressed closer to him] "… I could not be happier. You make me so happy – just being with you or near you or thinking about you." She raised her hand and wiggled her ring finger so the light caused the diamond to sparkle. "I feel honored to wear this ring and I won't forget that your grandmother wore it first." She lifted her head to smile at him. "Now you can turn off the lamp."

Molly slowly turned onto her side, and Mycroft shifted to spoon along her back. He stretched to help tuck an extra pillow under her to support her belly, then spread his hand over it. Molly smiled to herself and covered his hand with hers. "Good night, Mycroft."

"Good night, Molly," he said, then caused her to shiver when he whispered by her ear. "Don't tell anyone, but … I'm happy, too."

#####

Molly ceded the driving duties to Mycroft for the trip to The Cottage the next morning. When they were out of the most congested areas, he glanced at her and quirked an eyebrow. "I don't know why you were so surprised, my dear. I never said I couldn't drive."

"That's true," she said evenly, crossing her arms and angling her body toward him.

"Driving in London is bad enough, but parking is the real challenge."

"That's also true."

Mycroft signaled a turn onto the A3, and they'd traveled several more miles before he glanced at her again. "Are you angry because I suggested you let me drive?"

"Not at all," she said, sounding surprised.

He glanced at her, frowning. "Then why have you been glaring at me?"

Molly straightened and shifted to face forward. "I wasn't."

"You certainly were," he insisted.

She didn't react for several moments, then snorted. "Do you hear yourself? I believe this is the type of conversation that you'd characterize as being silly if I had started it." When he didn't immediately respond, she shifted again to angle her body toward him and sighed. "I wasn't glaring, but I may have been staring."

"And the difference is?"

"For god's sake, Mycroft! You know the difference between glaring and staring!" She did glare that time, then her eyes widened. "You git! You're deliberately winding me up!"

"Certainly not."

"You are," she said thoughtfully, then the corners of her lips turned up. "I know what's wrong ... you miss squabbling with Sherlock."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, scowling. "It's been a relief to have a break from his theatrics."

"If you say so," she said lightly, "but it has been several weeks since you saw him, right?" She was quiet for a while, then shifted again. "I was staring because I've never seen you drive and you look sexy as hell doing it." She suppressed a grin when the tips of his ears turned pink. She gave him a few moments to recover, then leaned over to rest her hand on his thigh, gave it a brief pat, and said, deadpan, "I'm sorry, Mycroft. Being regarded as a sex object must get tiring."

Mycroft didn't respond for quite some time, but he finally looked at her and let his eyes drop to her breasts. "You tell me, my love." He turned back to the road, but after a few moments his eyes met hers again and he arched a brow teasingly. Molly promptly blushed and shifted forward to stare out the windscreen.

They traveled in silence for several miles before Molly shifted again and cleared her throat. "Um, Mycroft …"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry but I need to stop."

He glanced at her, face serious now. "How quickly?"

"Um, now?"

He swiftly checked the road ahead. "Two minutes, all right?"

"That'll do," she said, reaching for her handbag.

#####

They made it the rest of the way without another pit stop, but Molly was out of the car as soon as they drew up outside The Cottage just before ten. She hurried toward the house as quickly as she could, waving her hand dismissively when Mycroft called for her to be careful. She sped by Siger and Violet without pausing. "Hello, hello … sorry, but I need the loo!"

Molly was about to return downstairs when she met Mycroft coming upstairs with their bags, so she waited while he took them to their room. Half an hour later, the four of them were sitting around the kitchen table having tea – or milk in Molly's case - when she suddenly spread her hands over her belly. "Oops!"

"What is it, Molly?"

Molly laughed as she answered Violet. "He has the hiccups." She lowered her eyes and could actually see her jumper slightly shift from the baby's jerky movements. "Look!" She glanced around the table and could tell none of the others could see it. "Do you want to feel him, Mummy?"

When Violet came around the table, Molly placed her hands in the right location and within a few seconds her mother-in-law glanced up, wide-eyed, and then just as quickly frowned. "The poor thing."

"He's all right," Molly assured her. "It's normal and usually goes away within ten minutes or so. Don't you remember it happening when you were pregnant?" She smiled when Violet's expression suddenly lightened.

Violet looked at Siger. "Do you want to …?"

"Well, I don't know –"

"Go on, Dad."

Siger looked surprised at Mycroft offering such encouragement, then his and Molly's eyes met. "All right, son," Siger said, smiling as he stood and went around the table to stand by Violet. "Move over, darling. Let me have a go."

Molly watched Mycroft as he watched his dad stoop over her and gasp at feeling his grandson's movements. For a moment she thought her husband's eyes had an extra sheen to them … but that was impossible, wasn't it?

#####

After a late lunch and kitchen clean-up, Siger and Mycroft went for a walk, Molly went upstairs to lie down, and a few minutes later Violet tapped on her open door. "Are you feeling all right, Molly?"

"I'm fine, but putting my feet up whenever possible helps keep my ankles from swelling." Molly's smile faded when she saw Violet's expression. "What is it?"

"Do you mind if I …," she asked, pointing at the bed, then settled with her back against the headboard when Molly motioned for her to sit. "Siger and I don't want to interfere, but we wondered if we could possibly be of any assistance to you and Mycroft if we came to stay with you after the baby's born –"

"Of course we'd like you to come!" Molly took Violet's hands and squeezed them before letting go. "Why don't you come up a day or two before my due date and plan to stay a couple of weeks? More if you want."

"Thank you, darling," Violet said, then hesitated. "Are you sure Mycroft could stand to have us there that long?"

"He'll be fine with it. Besides, he'll be at work most days and it's a big house!" Molly grinned at her mother-in-law, then sighed. "I don't know how much Mycroft intends to be around that first week – and whatever his plans may be, a crisis would totally disrupt them - but I'm actually starting to believe he may end up being much more hands-on with the baby than I ever expected." She twisted to meet her mother-in-law's eyes. "I won't be disappointed if he's not, but he's been incredibly patient and supportive and sweet - oh god," she groaned. "Please don't say anything about that to Mycroft. He can't stand talking about his feelings."

"Oh Molly," Violet said, brushing her fingers over Molly's hair. "I believe so as well. He was such a quiet child, so serious, and dependable to a fault. I know we put too much responsibility on him with Sherlock, but honestly … Mycroft could handle Sherlock better than we could. He always seemed to understand Sherlock and how to deal with his moods and tantrums and whims. He could be so sweet with Sherlock even when he was acting like a little demon. Mycroft always had a hidden sweetness that showed itself in unexpected ways." They were quiet for a while … Violet remembering her boys when they were children and Molly trying to imagine it.

Molly finally reached for Violet's hand. "I see that sweetness in him as well, and it makes my heart ache. He'd deny and be appalled by it, but there are brief moments when his eyes light up and he looks mischievous and his smile is so … sweet. There's no other word for that smile. It's the smile of a young child who's sharing a happy moment with you, wanting you to join in, and then it's gone as if it never happened." Molly glanced at the open door again, then looked Violet. "I need a couple of favors, Mummy."

"Anything, my dear."

"Get Sherlock down here."

Violet looked surprised. "All right." When Molly hesitated, she prompted her, "And the other?"

"It's about the 'Mikey' thing …"

#####

They had a quiet Sunday morning … a bit of a lie-in, then breakfast, then sharing the newspapers in the sitting room, followed by a slow stroll across the fields behind the house. They heard the arrival of a car, then the slam of a car door, as they came through the gate into the back garden. Mycroft groaned when the kitchen door opened and he saw his brother standing on the threshold.

#####

The energy level increased significantly with Sherlock's arrival. He seemed to flit around the house for a while before finally coming to rest on the sofa beside Molly. "You're certainly getting big."

"Yes - thanks so much, Sherlock."

He ignored the sarcasm. "I suppose you'll be abandoning my lab experiments before long."

"No, I should be able to continue to help –" [giving him a stern look] "… as long as I actually know what I'm being exposed to."

"Where's the adventure in that?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "However, I am off the morgue rotation."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. "This pregnancy is extremely inconvenient."

"Stop being so rude to Molly," Violet chided, but her eyes were amused. "By the way, Sherlock ... have you ever felt a baby move in the womb? Your nephew is extremely active these days."

Sherlock glanced Molly's way, then frowned at his mother. "No, and I don't intend to."

"It's amazing, son."

Sherlock looked from his father to Molly. "Aren't you disgusted by other people touching you? I've seen strangers do it in public – as if a pregnant woman's belly is fair game for everyone."

"I know, Sherlock, but people are curious and they don't always think about the appropriateness of it." Molly smiled. "You of all people should understand the concept of invading someone's personal space inappropriately since you have so much practical experience of it."

He looked at her and slowly blinked, twice. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, family members are different." She spread her hands on her bump and gave it a pat. "You're related to this little guy."

Sherlock's gaze was focused on her hands for several moments, then his eyes slid to Mycroft, who'd been silently watching them. "Doesn't it bother you, brother dear, for people to be poking and prodding at your wife and heir?"

Mycroft sighed. "Just admit that it scares you, little brother."

"I'm not scared," he snapped irritably, then turned his scowl on Molly. She struggled to get up for a moment before Mycroft came over to give her a boost.

"Sherlock?"

"Nope."

"Ooh, but Sherlock … just consider," she said, lowering her voice dramatically as she bent toward him. "Maybe I was exposed to some alien sex pollen and have actually been incubating an alien life-force with a voracious appetite for human flesh, and all this kicking is really preparation to claw his way out of my belly and latch onto the first person he sees and suck the life out of them."

Violet: "Molly!"

"I can see the voracious appetite being true," Sherlock nodded toward Mycroft, "just consider his father." [Violet again: "Sherlock!"] "As to the rest of it, I actually have seen an Aliens parody, Molly." He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation when Molly continued to hover over him. "Oh all right." When Sherlock shifted forward and put both hands on her stomach, Molly's and Mycroft's eyes met over his head in shared amusement. A spark of interest suddenly lightened Sherlock's expression and he leaned closer as if to put his ear against her. "You know he can hear now. I hope you're providing appropriate aural stimulation."

"Of course, and both of us talk to him."

"One can only hope Mycroft's contributions serve as an effective countermeasure to your usual prattle," he said absent-mindedly. "At least big brother's somewhat sensible."

"Sherlock," his brother said sternly. "You are not to insult your nephew's mother in front of him. Ever."

"Oh really?"

"Yes." [Dead-eyed stare.] "Really."

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder indifferently then went back to pressing on Molly's stomach and waiting for a kick, then a move to another area, wait for a kick, and again, until she'd finally had enough. "Okay, that's it," she hissed, pushing his hands off. "For god's sake, I'm not a lab experiment."

"You started it," he huffed.

"And now I'm finishing it ... Uncle Sherlock," she said, then rested a hand on his shoulder and stooped to kiss his forehead before he could take action to avoid it.

#####

Although the squabbles were about different topics and the participants varied, the rest of the day passed in similar fashion … through their traditional Sunday dinner, an afternoon walk (the boys only, since the girls opted for a nap), and late afternoon tea … until finally it was time for the three younger Holmeses to return to London. Mycroft and Molly left Sherlock visiting with Violet and Siger – or, as he considered it, being visited at by them - and headed to their room. Molly sat on the side of the bed, watching Mycroft gather their things. "See? Wasn't that fun?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he opened their bags on the bed.

"Sherlock's put you in fine fettle to return to work."

Mycroft silently crossed to the wardrobe to retrieve their dressing gowns.

"Arguing with me obviously pales by comparison."

Mycroft glanced at her, then went down the hall and returned from the bathroom with his hands full.

"You know, if you ever resort to sticking your fingers in your ears and la-la-la-ing to drown me out, I will never let you forget it." She paused thoughtfully. "And I'll probably video it."

Mycroft straightened from tucking their toiletries into Molly's bag, then eyed her with exasperation, somewhat alarmed that he actually felt a slight urge to do just that. What was this strange power his wife and brother had to make him revert at times to childhood?

"Molly?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

#####

Their leave-taking was easier and shorter than usual since Violet and Siger would be coming to London for an extended stay with them soon. At the car, Sherlock was reaching to open the back door when Molly stopped him. "I want to stretch out, so you sit in the front and keep Mycroft company."

Sherlock stared at her, blinking slowly, then his eyes slid toward his brother – who looked equally appalled. "Come on, Molls …"

"Move it, Sherlock," she ordered. "I need to sit down." He tried his best puppy dog expression, then gave up and went around the car when her stern expression remained unchanged. Mycroft opened the door for Molly and helped her in, but tried to change her mind in a voice too low for Sherlock to hear. "It's only ninety minutes, Mycroft. You and Sherlock can cope. Besides, you're hardly likely to come to blows."

Molly settled into the corner between seat and door with a pillow behind her back, glad to have remembered to bring her seatbelt extenders, and lifted her legs onto the car seat. She stuffed another pillow under her knees, slipped in her earbuds, then tried to find a comfortable position and to not think about the loo. She removed an earbud from time to time to check on the boys and, yes, there was some sniping going on, but eventually she heard enough to know they'd started talking about a case. Even more shocking, Sherlock's insults when Molly needed to make a pit stop an hour into the trip were decidedly mild. For Sherlock, at least.

#####

April 5th

"Hey, Molly. How're you doing?"

Molly smiled as she set her pen down, waved at the visitor's chair, and propped her elbows on the desk. "I'm doing well, John. What are you doing here?"

John jerked his head toward the door. "His nibs is just behind me. He's arguing with Dr. Denis about access to a body."

"Oh dear," she said, grimacing, then straightened her face when she heard Sherlock's quick footsteps nearing the door. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Molly." He nodded at her, then frowned at John. "What are you doing? We have a case."

"I wanted to see how Molly's doing –"

"She's of no use to us now," he cut in, huffing in annoyance, then glared at Molly. "I blame Mycroft."

Molly grinned toothily. "You shouldn't. Mycroft fell victim to my irresistible sexual wiles."

Sherlock made a gagging noise, then jerked his thumb at the open door. "Come on, John!"

"Sorry, Molly," John said as Sherlock left with a swirl of his Belstaff. "Take care of yourself and give Mary a call. If you're up to it, we'd like to have you over again -"

"JOHN!"

John rolled his eyes as he turned to leave, and Molly called after them. "I love you too, Sherlock!" She grinned at the muffled … groan? growl? … she got in response, then turned back to her report. It was surprising how often Sherlock had happened to drop by since she'd started to become "of no use." Occasionally, he'd flop into her office chair or hover around her lab stool for a while - for no other purpose, it seemed, than arguing with her about … whatever he was in the mood for that day. She'd decided he saw her as something of a minor-league fill-in for Mycroft, certainly requiring his squabbling standards to be lowered dramatically, but useful nevertheless for helping to relieve Sherlock's need to snipe.

#####

Mid-April

I love being pregnant, I love being pregnant, Molly reminded herself as she slowly sat at her desk after yet another trip to the loo. Her right calf ached from the leg cramp that had roused her – and Mycroft – before dawn, and earlier she'd had to take the lift to go up only one floor because the stairs made her breathless. If Little Sir wasn't pressing on her bladder, he was pressing against her lungs. Apparently he'd taken up yoga.

Molly sighed, then saw the new emails from several pathology staff members as well as other department heads, so she replied to those before getting back up to file some folders away. Handling her dramatic increase in administrative paperwork was definitely boring compared to how she used to spend her work days, but it was necessary and took some responsibilities off Mike's shoulders while helping to free up time for other pathologists to do more hands-on work.

A few hours later, she waved at Walter as he drove off, then greeted Mrs. Collingwood with a tired smile when the housekeeper opened the front door for her. "I am so glad to be home, Mrs. C."

She stepped out of the house and took Molly's bags, ignoring her protest, then put an arm around the younger woman. "Let's get you off your feet."

"I'm all right," Molly insisted. "Just a bit tired." She glanced at Mrs. Collingwood and grimaced. "Sorry – I'm whinging."

"Not at all, Miss Molly." She set Molly's bags on the hall table, then helped her off with her jacket. "Why don't you relax in the sitting room and I'll bring you a glass of juice."

"Thank you, Mrs. C, but what I'd really like is to get a bath and put on my pajamas, no matter how much of a slug that makes me." Molly denied any need for assistance and slowly made her way up the stairs and finally closed the bedroom door behind her, leaning against it and releasing a long breath through her nose. She brightened a bit when she looked at the door to her bathroom. The initial thrill hadn't lessened after two weeks' use, and she toed off her shoes with more energy.

Her dressing room was every bit as impressive as Mycroft's. The contents were simply less impressive, as was their owner. Mycroft certainly hadn't taken to standing at her dressing room door watching her dress, while forcefully suppressing his overwhelming desire for her … humongous body. Molly snorted at the thought, then patted her bump affectionately. Yeah, right.

As Molly crossed the dressing room, she ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces of the built-in cupboards and drawers, the front edges of shoe shelves, and stopped at one of two - mostly empty – chests of drawers. She chose a fresh nightgown, then paused before opening the door to one of the full-length cupboards to look at her few party dresses. They didn't take up much of the available space, but looked so pretty hanging there. She wouldn't be able to wear them again for a while – if ever, she thought, glancing down. She turned away with a sigh, then went through the connecting door to her dream bathroom … no, she'd never dreamed of some of the details the designer had worked in. It was her fantasy. Yes, they'd used the same type of cabinetry and fittings as in Mycroft's ensuite, but the colors were all her. Mycroft had assured her the décor didn't need to coordinate with the bedroom, so she'd chosen ivory for the walls and dusky peach for the tilework and Wedgwood blue for the towels and other linen. Like Mycroft's, the large shower was fully tiled and had a built-in seat. She liked the dressing table and, good god, the tiny fridge set into an open space between the upper and lower sections of a built-in cupboard. Mycroft had said it was for wine and given her a significant look, which had made her flush, thinking about one of their joint pre-pregnancy baths that had involved a bottle of champagne … But Molly's favorite feature was the infinity-edge, overflow bathtub, which was nothing but sheer indulgence. The sneaky designer, having heard how much Molly loved to soak in the tub, had slipped a brochure featuring the luxury item among those with more standard fixtures. Molly had risen to the designer's bait and Mycroft hadn't blinked at the extra cost, so now she had a tub she could fill to the rim and be submerged to her chin if she wanted.

The bathtub was unfortunately a no-go for now since Molly needed help to get in and out of it, so she headed for the shower after pinning up her hair and pulling on a shower cap. The shower had multiple fixed heads and handsets, but Molly only turned on the tap to the ceiling head, then leaned back on the bench and let the water rain down on her.

When Mycroft arrived home about half past seven, Mrs. Collingwood told him Molly had been asleep when she last checked on her at seven. He told the housekeeper she didn't need to stay, that they could serve themselves when Molly was ready, then headed upstairs. Molly was in her dressing gown on top of the bedcovers, which told him she hadn't intended to fall asleep. He left her undisturbed and went to his dressing room to strip off before taking a shower. Molly was still asleep, but had changed position when he returned to the bedroom in his pajamas and dressing gown. He stopped at the end of the bed and studied her for a few moments before reaching for her feet.

Molly woke with a start, pushed herself up with both arms, then flopped back. "Mycroft," she sighed. "You are a king among men … no, a god," she said, moaning when he pressed his thumb more firmly against the arch of her foot.

"Bad day?"

"Not really. I was a bit tired and a shower sounded a treat." He lowered her left foot to the bed, and she groaned when he firmly massaged every part of her right foot from toes to ankle. "Mmmmm … that feels so good." She lifted her head and pointed at him. "You, sir, are spoiling me. I'll bet your feet could use a good massage as well." She dropped her head on the bed again and closed her eyes. "I just wish I could make you feel this relaxed." She hummed again when he worked his way to her calf, which still ached a bit from the cramp.

Minutes later, Molly's eyes flew open when Mycroft lifted her foot higher and kissed her arch. When he kissed her arch again and followed that with a flick of his tongue, she caught her breath and pushed herself up on her elbows. Their eyes met, then Molly's widened in disbelief. "No … there's absolutely no way you can find me arousing like this." She laid back down and spread her hands over her belly. "I'm enormous – you can't even get that close to me anymore."

He kissed her calf, then pressed his lips to the back of her knee. "Molly –"

"It's one thing when we're under the covers, in the dark, and you feel obligated to do your husbandly duty –" She squealed when he suddenly took hold of both knees and gently tugged her toward the end of the bed. "Mycroft!"

"Stop talking nonsense, Molly," he said, then hesitated and lifted his brows as he lowered her feet to the mattress. "But maybe you don't feel up to this?"

"Mycroft …"

"Yes or no?"

"Oh god, yes, but –"

"No buts," he said, shrugging out of his dressing gown before reaching for the sash of hers. "You're beautiful and desirable and –," he groaned when Molly lifted her leg to rub the sole of her foot against his groin. "God. Come here."

#####

Molly was sprawled on her back, stark naked, enormous bump on full display … and she didn't care a jot. Being made love to so enthusiastically and with such deliberation when one was eight months' pregnant was something to be relished, despite the admittedly limited choice of positions – and all of them undignified. She was unconcerned when Mycroft rolled toward her, planted his elbow on the mattress, and propped his head on his hand. She knew he was studying her, so rolled her head toward him, opened her eyes, and smiled. He leaned over to kiss her, then cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lips. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Molly pursed her lips to kiss his thumb. "Mmmm. I'm fantastic. What about you?"

"Fantastic," he agreed matter-of-factly, then kissed her again when she grinned at his un-Mycroftian response. He pulled back and held her gaze for several moments, then finally smiled. "Fantastic." He abruptly rolled away and off the bed, then looked at her again while he pulled on his pajama bottoms. "Mrs. C left our supper in the warming drawer, so it's probably dried up by now." He pulled his pajama top over his head, then shrugged into his dressing gown. "You want to raid the refrigerator?"

"Yes, please," Molly said, stretching her arms toward him, and Mycroft rounded the bed and took her hands in his.

#####

May 2nd

Molly slowly followed Mrs. Collingwood down the hall, turned left in front of her bedroom, then left again and through the door to … a new world. She crossed the room and slowly lowered herself into the rocking chair, then looked around. Mrs. Collingwood was unpacking and stacking more diapers in a tall storage cupboard, and Molly silently gulped at the sheer number of them. And they probably wouldn't last a month.

The sun was out and shone brightly through the two windows overlooking the front garden, and the pale yellow walls, glossy white woodwork and gleaming wood floor simply glowed. The old cot had been refurbished, but they'd bought a mini-cot to use in their room that would also collapse to carry in the car boot on trips. There was a changing unit and bookcase (already half-filled with children's classics) and chest of drawers and storage chest for toys. They'd also bought a child's single bed with night table and lamp and a small table and chairs for later use. Baby clothes, from newborn to six months, were stored in the chest of drawers or on hangers in the clothes cupboard, although not too many since he'd grow out of them so quickly.

Molly found herself fascinated by the tiny socks, and not entirely because Mycroft had come home from work one day and rather sheepishly pulled a pair out of his pocket - tiny scarlet diamond-weave wool socks, made specially as a gift by Mycroft's Savile Row tailor, even down to the maker's embroidered white initials on the side of the sole. Although she appreciated the quality of the socks and the effort involved in making them, all Molly could focus on was that Mycroft had actually told the tailor about her pregnancy.

So … everything was ready. All they needed now was the baby.

#####

Half Past Ten, May 13th (due date eve)

Molly roused from a light doze when Mycroft crawled across the bed, settled on his knees behind her, and began massaging her lower back. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"What you're doing feels good." Molly sighed, then looked at him over her shoulder. "I'd really like to have a shower and wash my hair. I was going to ask Mummy, but …" The elder Holmeses had arrived the day before and would be staying for at least two weeks to help with the baby.

A crease briefly appeared between Mycroft's brows, but smoothed out after a few moments. "I can help you with that." Molly immediately started to get up, grunting as she swung her legs off the bed and tried to sit. "Hold on." Mycroft got off the bed and slipped his arms around her middle. Once she was upright, his hands slid to her underarms and lifted.

"I feel as big as a whale," she said, clutching his arms. "I just wish I moved as gracefully as one."

Mycroft slid his arms around her shoulders and got as close as her belly would allow, then bent to kiss her forehead. "You are beautiful, my dear – perhaps not as graceful as usual, but you have a fully formed baby in there, ready to pop out."

"Oh god, don't say 'pop'! I feel as if I'm going to explode at any moment."

They walked slowly to Molly's dressing table and Mycroft helped her sit on the bench before he gathered what he thought they'd need. He hung several large towels over the heated rack, then quickly stripped and tossed his clothes on top of the laundry basket. He helped Molly stand again, then skimmed her nightgown up and over her head, hooked his fingers in the waist of her knickers and slid them down until they dropped to the floor, then held onto her as she stepped out of them. Molly leaned her forehead against his chest as he reached to unclip her bra.

"Granny knickers, heavy-duty bra … god, Mycroft. Sometimes I wish you didn't remember absolutely everything. You're never going to forget what I look like right now."

"No, I'm never going to forget it," he said as they moved to the shower. Mycroft adjusted the taps, then turned back to her. "I want to remember you like this - in all your delicious ripeness." Molly snorted at his over-the-top compliment, and he grinned. "No, really, my dear. Your body is lovely, no matter how much you may scoff." He checked the water temperature, then urged her in before him. "What first – hair or body?"

"Better get the hair over with first." Molly sat on the tiled seat and Mycroft gave her the handset. When she'd finished wetting her hair, he worked the shampoo through it, then gently massaged her scalp and back of her neck. She sighed as she leaned her forehead against his stomach. After they'd reached the conditioner stage, Mycroft handed Molly a soapy flannel and waited while she washed her face and arms. She handed the flannel back to him and he rinsed it and added more gel, then helped her stand. When she'd washed what she could easily reach, Mycroft took over and washed her back, then dropped to his knees to take care of her lower half. Molly rested her hands on his shoulders and flushed as she shifted to give him access, feeling embarrassed by his handling her so intimately for such practical purposes and feeling silly for being embarrassed. After rinsing her, Mycroft lowered to his knees again and gently ran his hands over her belly, then took hold of her hips and rested his cheek against her. Molly ran her fingers through his hair and gently scratched his scalp. "Would you like me to wash your hair?"

Mycroft kissed her stomach, then tilted his head to study her for several moments. "If you really feel up to it and can do it sitting down." She could and did, massaging his scalp and neck in the same way as he'd done hers. She ignored his grimaces at the "girly" scents of her hair products. Once they'd both rinsed the conditioner from their hair, Mycroft shut off the tap, then Molly squeezed the excess water from her hair and wrapped it in a towel while Mycroft briskly towel-dried his hair and slipped on his dressing gown. After helping Molly dry herself and put on her dressing gown, he guided her back to the bench and made sure the hair dryer was in easy reach. "Do you need anything else right now?" Molly shook her head, smiling, then picked up her comb. "I'll be back in a few minutes then."

By the time he returned, Molly had dried and braided her hair and was tying it off with an elastic band. "Do you want to use the body lotion?"

"Yes, please." Molly reached for the moisturizer, but Mycroft beat her to it, then dropped to his knees in front of her. "What are you doing?"

Mycroft opened the cap, then paused, indicating her legs with a tilt of his head and raised brow. While Molly undid the sash and bared her legs, Mycroft warmed a large gob of lotion between his palms, then thoroughly spread it over her legs, from thighs to feet, and began working it in, making Molly giggle when he playfully wiggled each toe. He finally slid slippers over her feet, then stood and held out his hand. When Mycroft put the bottle of moisturizer in his pocket and led her toward the full-length mirror, Molly dug in her heels. "What are you doing, Mycroft?"

He turned and cupped her face in his hands, before giving her a quick kiss. "Indulge me, please." She stared at him for several moments, then looked away and nodded. Mycroft put a hand in the small of her back and urged her forward to stand in front of the mirror, then stood directly behind her so he could look over her head. "Do you want lotion on your back?"

"Yes, please."

Mycroft reached around to untie the sash and removed her dressing gown before removing his own. He warmed a generous portion of lotion in his palms and worked it into her shoulders and down her back to her waist. He squeezed more lotion into his palms, then massaged it into her sides and backside. When he straightened, he saw that Molly was looking at herself, frowning. "Here … lean against me." Molly's brows briefly lowered in a frown, but she pressed her back against him, leaned her head against his upper chest, and closed her eyes.

After a few moments, Mycroft rubbed more lotion between his palms then rested his hands along Molly's collar bones. "You need to open your eyes." She did so but met his eyes in the mirror rather than look at herself. Mycroft moved his hands lower, gently massing the lotion into her upper chest, then cupped his hands along the outside of her breasts and slowly slid his hands to the undersides. "Molly, look at yourself." She lowered her gaze, then bit her lip. "Would you raise your hands behind my neck?" Her eyes widened when she met his gaze, but she slowly did as he asked. "Now look." He circled her breasts again, then took the weight of them in his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the lower curves. Molly's breath caught when her nipples tightened. "Your breasts have always been beautiful but now they're preparing to feed our son - to provide all the nourishment he'll need to survive." Mycroft lightly traced the veins that were now more visible under her skin, then ran the tips of his fingers around the edges of her areolae and brushed over her nipples before covering her breasts with his palms. "Doesn't that make you feel powerful?" He cupped his palms along the undersides again and gently pressed upward. "Look carefully, my dear, and don't tell me you can't see both the beauty of your form and the beauty of their intended purpose." She raised her gaze to his and stared at him, wide-eyed.

Mycroft slowly smiled at her, then slid his hands down her body to spread them over the mound of her belly. "Look … your baby is right here, waiting to meet his mummy, to see who has talked to him all these months and sung and played music." He squeezed more lotion into his palms and circled his hands from the top of her bump, along the sides and underneath, then worked his way in circles to the center before stopping with his hands spread over her again. "He already knows your voice."

Molly broke in. "He knows yours as well." She lowered her arms and covered Mycroft's hands with hers, then met his eyes. "Our son."

Mycroft rested his chin on the crown of her head as he held her gaze. "How can you not see your beauty? You're like a goddess straight out of mythology, exuding fertility and sensuality and strength. As a mere mortal man, I should bow down before you."

Molly inhaled sharply as her eyes again widened. "Where is this coming from, Mycroft? Why are you being so … fulsome."

"That's not flattery, my dear – neither excessive nor otherwise." Mycroft sighed. "I simply want you to see what I see," he said, tilting his head to kiss her cheek. "These are the last hours or days before we two officially become we three – not an ending, but a new beginning." He stretched his fingers wide to cover as much of her belly as he could. Molly saw a bulge appear on the right side, most likely from a foot or knee, and Mycroft moved his hand over, fingers gently caressing, until the bulge smoothed out. Another bulge appeared on Molly's other side. They smiled at each other in the mirror as the baby continued to stretch within his tight confines, and Mycroft softly fingered along the edge of that new bulge, which pressed back harder against him. "I think he's eager to join us."

Mycroft slid his hands back up to her breasts. "Hold on to my neck again, if you will." Molly raised her arms, and he again circled her areolae before gently brushing his thumbs over her nipples, which tightened at his touch. "God, Molly. Just look at you." They both watched as Mycroft continued to run his hands over, under and around the curves of her breasts and belly. Molly's breathing slowly increased and she arched against him, tightening her hold on his neck. His hands stilled, one on her belly, the other cupping her left breast. "Molly?"

"Six weeks," she said, moaning. "After he's born, it will be six weeks of abstinence – for me at least."

"For me as well."

"Oh no, my darling man," Molly said, shaking her head, then took his hand from her breast and kissed his palm before meeting his eyes again in the mirror. "I'll be sure to take care of you."

"Molly –"

"Shhh." She placed his hand back on her breast. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in having sex with a Buddha."

"No," he said sternly, though his lips twitched in amusement, "But I'm interested in making love to my wife." He raised his hands to her shoulders and stared at her in the mirror over the top of her head. It was more than a week since they'd last had sex. "Is it safe at this point?"

"Christine said how I feel can be the guide as long as I haven't had any bleeding." Molly raised her brows and slowly smiled. "Well?"

By the time they finished in the bathroom and Molly was properly positioned in bed on her side, she figured the moment may have passed. After removing their dressing gowns, he'd spent so much time carefully arranging pillows to support her head, breasts and belly, she was ready to weep from frustration at the delay and from tenderness for him at the care he was taking to make her comfortable. She sighed instead. "It's all right if you'd really rather not do this." Mycroft didn't say anything but she felt him get into bed and slide over to press against her in their usual spooning position. It was immediately evident that he was at least partly interested, but –

"I do want you, Molly," he said, pushing her hair aside with his chin before resting it on her shoulder. "I keep thinking about what happens when you prick a balloon …"

"What?" Molly shifted as if to turn, and Mycroft swiftly gathered her closer to keep her from displacing the pillows. "You actually think you're going to make me pop?"

"Of course not," he protested, somewhat feebly.

"Are you going to 'prick' me?" Molly said, vastly entertained by the loss of his usual sang froid.

He snorted. "Go ahead and laugh, but some people think having sex this close to the due date can induce labor."

"And that would be a bad thing because …?" Molly freed her arm so she could cuddle his hand against her breast, then sighed. "I've loved being pregnant, but now I'm ready to get on with it."

"Condom?"

"No, that would lessen the potential benefits." Molly patted his hand. "Your mighty man juice has magical qualities."

Mycroft snorted again, then was silent for a while. He finally freed his hand and carefully slid it between her cheek and pillow to turn her head toward him. "Do you promise to tell me immediately if you feel any discomfort?"

"I promise," she said, then reached to cup the back of his head and pull him that final inch forward until their lips met.

It was the slowest sex they'd ever had, and the gentle rocking motion felt likely to go on and on … and on … if there wasn't a deliberate break in rhythm. Molly tightened her pelvic muscles using the exercises she'd been doing for so many weeks, and Mycroft stilled and tightened his hold on her hip. "What are you doing," he muttered against her throat, but was still only lightly panting.

Molly turned her face against his. "You don't have to be so gentle."

He lifted his head. "Are you sure you're feeling -"

"Yes!" She shifted her head further until their eyes met. "I'm fine, truly." She moaned when he abruptly claimed her mouth, his tongue prodding for entry just as his hips flexed more firmly against her. Molly opened her mouth wider, arched her back as much as she was able and reached to clutch his hip. After a few minutes, she broke away, panting, and his movements slowed. "Don't stop! I'm all right - I just needed some air." Molly moaned again when Mycroft resumed a strong rocking rhythm, then gasped when he let go of her hip and carefully traced along the crease at the top of her thigh and worked his fingers between her legs. "Oh god, Mycroft." Molly's back arched further, her fingers dug into his hip and her feet flexed inward when a sudden orgasm sent shockwaves from her core all the way to her fingertips and toes.

When Molly caught her breath after several minutes and became more aware of the state of their bodies, Mycroft was still spooned along her back and obviously hadn't – "Mycroft?" His face was tucked against her neck and she turned her head to bump him with her cheek. At his muffled hum, she added sternly, "If you don't finish, I'm going to be very unhappy."

Mycroft lifted his head and shifted until their eyes met. "I'm all right, my dear," he said calmly, but his breath caught when Molly tentatively flexed her hips and he instinctively thrust back at her when she flexed again. When Molly's lips turned up in a wicked grin, he groaned, then lowered his face into the crook of her neck and resumed a slow rocking motion. As his pace increased, Molly hummed and tried to tighten her muscles in time with his movements. She focused on giving Mycroft as much pleasure as possible and finally laughed in delight and grabbed his hip when he pressed deep and exhaled loudly against her throat. They stayed tightly spooned together while his breathing evened out, then he shifted to kiss her neck before gruffly whispering, "Minx."

Molly smiled to herself, feeling both satisfied and proud. "Goddess, if you please."

Five hours later, Molly's labor started.