Chapter 3

August

"Molly's pregnant." Sherlock said as he took the cup of tea from Giles. They were still in the kitchen, the ritual as ever comforting. Calming.

"Congratulations."

Sherlock nodded. Stood waiting in anticipation. Frowned briefly when Giles turned away, picking his own cup and leading the way out the door.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" he asked as he settled into his seat.

"Ask what?" Giles asked, settling down and taking a sip of his own cup.

"How I feel about it?"

"Should I?"

Sherlock huffed. "I don't know. It seems that people are fascinated to find out how I feel. Why are feelings important in this matter? Surely Molly and I would not have made this decision if we hadn't discussed it."

Giles gave a small smile. Hid it behind another sip but Sherlock noticed. "What?"

Giles placed his cup down on the side table. "Because it's a big deal, Sherlock. Being responsible for another little body that is totally dependent on you for keeping them alive. Well fed. Looked after. Every parent out there will tell you that the experience is nothing like the imagination. I'm sure that your friends are just wanting to make sure you've thought this through. That you are prepared for the changes it will bring in your life."

"Mycroft brought up my will and testament. Lestrade my life insurance. Is that what you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. In part. Those things are important. But you need to be aware. Once your child is born, your priorities will change. It's a natural progression. Something that is completely normal and not to be feared."

"I'm not afraid." Sherlock stated emphatically. "I want this."

Giles nodded. "I know, Sherlock. It's fine. Just…be aware, okay. As Molly's pregnancy progresses, there will be different emotions involved. Different thoughts. This space is safe to work through them if you want to. Otherwise have that conversation with Molly. I'm sure she'll appreciate your honesty."

"Fine." He took a sip of his tea. His gaze drifted to the library. Eyed the titles. DSM V. Mixed method Psychological Research. Guide to Pharmacological Approaches in Neuropsychology. EMDR. ACT. TF-CBT. DBT. CPT. As per his usual routine, scanning the alphabet soup of the psychiatrist's impressive repository as he prepared himself to progress the conversation around Oliver with Giles. As usual, the other man waited patiently. He was grateful that he's never been pushed to reveal anything he didn't want to or felt ready to. Never been bullied or pulled apart the way Oliver had done it with him. Giles has always been patient. Empathetic and reflective. Always guided by Sherlock's willingness and readiness to reveal the inner sanctum of his thoughts and emotions.

"There are two doors," he started after a while. "In my mind palace that is locked."

Giles was silent. Tilted his head. Sherlock knew the other man was aware of his mind palace. He explained it to him as they explored those three days with Oliver. Sherlock told him about the chest he had chained and pushed the memories in. They collaboratively found a safe way and the right time to open it. Only then could the darkness be named. The impact felt. Processed and integrated. The sexual assault. The physical torture and then the mental vivisection as Oliver dissected his memories and pulled and bullied them into the light while Sherlock had been subjected to the horror of Molly's screams. The triggers are now manageable. He had strategies in place he could use when one of them came up. It didn't make it easier when they activated. But his reactions were a lot less potent. The dissociation and panic attacks now muted to where they were before Alex. The nightmares are less frequent.

"This is the first time you've mentioned a locked door." Giles said conversationally.

"It was hidden, so I didn't notice them. We were focused on the chest and my memories that resided in there before we moved them to Oliver's room."

"Okay. That would make sense."

"I can't get it open." He said with a frown. "I tried but I don't have the key."

"You were drugged. Do you think it might be a factor?"

"I…" Sherlock closed his mouth. Closed his eyes as he thought back. Silence stretched for ten minutes. Giles just waited. Sherlock focused on his mind palace. On his memories. His eyes moving under his eyelids, his hands shifting in the air in front of him as he pulled and pushed memories like photographs into folders. Opened and closed files. Finally, he relaxed, his hands settling on the arm rests and he opened his eyes.

"There were eight times in total that I'm aware of waking up in the bothy with Molly and not having any memory of what Oliver had asked me to do. There was once when Molly and I were both drugged and couldn't recall what happened."

"Okay."

"We had ligature marks around our wrists. Both of us had bruises. Whatever it was that Oliver had expected me to do, must've been of such dubious nature that he'd required Molly Hooper as incentive. I think that memory is behind one of the doors."

Sherlock was silent. Shifted in the seat. Pouted briefly and then took a deep breath. "Molly said she wasn't interested in knowing what had happened when we woke up and realised we'd been drugged. That it might be better if we never remember."

"What do you think?"

Sherlock shifted. Focused on one of the book titles. This time his gaze strayed to a fictional book, The count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. The leather binding old and faded and the words scripted in gold. Incongruent between all the psychology books. It grounded him more than anything else in this room for some reason. A vague memory of Mycroft's voice as he read it to him when he was a child intruded. A comforting memory. He gave a wistful smile.

"I don't know." He said in the end. "Oliver is dead. Not sure if it would matter. Molly doesn't want to remember. Says that she has enough memories to deal with to not add others on top of the ones she has of Oliver."

"There may be some wisdom in that," Giles said. "And the other door?"

"There are voices." Sherlock stated softly. "I told Mycroft. I think there were others beside Oliver and his goons. Besides Moriarty. Myc said that he took care of them but he never elaborated on what that meant and I didn't ask. But I'm not so sure. I don't know what Oliver made me do. But whenever I woke up I would have bruises on my body that didn't make sense. And fear that I could taste. It was hard hiding it from Molly."

"Why did you?"

"She had enough to deal with already. I didn't want to add to her burden. It was enough that she sensed things were wrong. But then, Oliver and his captivity of us was warped on so many levels. What was one more bad memory. Or a forgotten memory when we were just trying to survive."

Giles nodded. Didn't say anything. Waited for Sherlock to fill the silence if he wanted to. That was what he appreciated about the other man. That sometimes after Sherlock said something, he didn't mind if silence reigned for a while. Would take it in his stride. Never felt the need to fill the silence with questions or feelings. He would allow Sherlock the room to reflect on the significance of his thoughts and feelings, the meanings he attached them and how it may guide his actions or inactions. Sherlock could determine when he felt he had enough. It gave him a reassuring feeling of control and agency that had been so cruelly stripped from him by Oliver.

"Sometimes the voices are hard to ignore." He said softly. "It's irritating. They are just there, on the cusp of my understanding but I can never make out what they say. Just a sense of emotions. Fear. Desperation. An urgency that wants to compel me to run."

"Your own emotions or theirs?" Giles asks finally.

"Mine. Going for a walk helps to distract me."

"Good."

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. Stopped when the feeling of Oliver's hand overlayed his own. A whisper telling him not to move. He took a breath. Anchored himself to the book and the chair he sat in. Engaged the strategy he and Giles had worked on. It helped and Oliver's voice and his own feeling of helplessness faded.

"How would you like us to proceed?" Giles asked him. Gently and with an open invitation to just go with whatever Sherlock decides.

"I'm not sure. I'll think about it."

"Very well. Should we review your wellbeing plan?"

Sherlock nodded. Therapy was often damn hard but meaningful work. And often instilled a sense of relief and hope. The treatment gains from their sessions were encouraging. It did not magically disappear his problems but returned to him an increasing sense of control and predictability. And for that he was prepared to deal with the difficult dialectic of acceptance and change.

Especially those initial weeks after Alex when they dealt with those three days. Tears were embarrassingly close. His emotions see-sawing from anger to fear to despair until he got his equilibrium back. His sense of control and who he was. And he had realised how much Oliver had influenced and had controlled who he was by what he'd done. With the realisation came acknowledgement and his despair had turned into hope as the triggers that had been so visceral had started to fade into uncomfortable memories. And Oliver's voice was slowly disappearing into nothingness. One thing he now had no doubt whatsoever was what he and Molly had. It has survived the furnace and has come out stronger. His love for her was born out of admiration and shared experiences. She knew him on a level no-one else did. Not even John.

Besides, he didn't have to be concerned about finding a taxi. Mycroft was still adamant that he and Molly keep using the car he provided with the two agents that are always hovering in the background. Their own personalised chauffeur and bodyguard combo. Sherlock found he didn't mind it so much anymore. If it meant Molly was protected then he'll take the inconvenience of privacy above his own comfort.

When they were done, he exited and made his way to the car. Seated and leaned back, his eyes closed as he processed the session while they made their way back to Baker Street. They left him at the front door and he made his way upstairs.

"Good session?" John asked. He was in the kitchen, busy with scrambled eggs and ham and making toast. "I've got a plate for you too." He said as he grabbed the toast that had just popped. Juggling the hot bread before dropping it on the plate.

"Not that hungry," Sherlock said, his automatic response as he looked at the time. It was midday already.

"Yes you are. One toast and some egg, Sherlock. Or I'm phoning Molly and you can get your measurements from Claire."

"I passed your test a week ago, John. You were happy, remember."

"Hahaha." John gave a pretend laugh. "Not doing this, Sherlock. You agreed to keep to 3 meals and I won't insist on measurements. Your weight is finally where it's supposed to be. Let's keep it that way, yeah."

"Fine." Sherlock sat down. Reluctantly took a piece of toast and bit into it. "How's the clinic?"

"Same old. Off this week."

"Perfect." Sherlock said. "You can join me when I meet with Lord Byron tomorrow."

"Who's he?"

"Someone who belongs to the Shikar club. It was founded in 1909. It is one of the oldest big-game hunting associations. He might be able to give us some information."

"What exactly are you looking for?" John asked as he took a bite of his own toast.

"Not sure yet. I have a few theories. Let's see what pans out tomorrow. It might be nothing."

John nodded. Finished his lunch and waited for Sherlock. A raised eyebrow and Sherlock sighed but ate the toast and egg that was on his plate. Mumbled something about dictators and inhumane treatment. John ignored him as he did all the other times he had complained when they put food in front of him to eat.

He sat down at his computer afterwards. Clicked through a few of the emails in his inbox. Nothing drew his attention and he opened up a new tab. Focused on reading through another medical journal on pregnancy and proper nutrition and the effects it has on the body.

Lonely Single Looking for Friend

It's been 3 months since we last saw each other. I've missed our conversations dearly. My circumstances have changed and I would like to reconnect. Please make all haste and return home. I welcome you back with open arms.

Molly found him still sitting in front of his laptop when she came home at four. She could see the medical journal he was busy reading. Frustration boiled over. Sherlock probably now knew enough to give a PhD student a run for his or her money. They've had this conversation now more than once.

"Sherlock. What are you reading?"

He looked up. Finally noticed her and he clicked on another tab. Trying to hide what he'd been doing from her but it was too late.

"You open another tab, Sherlock and so help me, but you will be visited by John in the hospital."

"It's just research, Molly." He said. Focused on his screen and moved his mouse around. Looked back at her and sighed. "Fine."

She put her bag down on John's chair. Sat down and took her shoes off. Massaged her feet while Sherlock turned back to his laptop. His mouse button clicked.

"I saw you." She said resignedly.

"I clicked on a url. Not another tab. You said not another tab…" he replied. Trying his best to look innocent.

Molly sighed. "Okay, Sherlock. Let's do this. You will not click on any more links. You will not open another tab. You will in fact, close all browsers. You will not open any of the documents, journals or magazines you downloaded. This is now done. You know more than the gynaecologist we went to see last month."

"He's a quack." Sherlock murmured and closed his laptop down. Sat down at his chair and leaned down. Picked up a book and opened it.

"What are you reading?" Molly asked.

"Mmmmh?"

"Sherlock? Is that a pregnancy book?"

"No… Fine. Yes."

"Put it down."

"Really? Not allowed to do any reading?"

"You probably know more by now than most resident doctors, Sherlock."

"This is just hormones talking. You're in your 12th week, Molly. Your hormones have stabilised. The nausea should abate about now. You'll enter the honeymoon phase of pregnancy…"

"Sherlock." She said sweetly. He focused on her. "I will show you a bad case of hormones if you don't shut up right now."

He put down the book. At a look from her he closed it and removed his finger from the page he was at. "Fine. What am I supposed to do, Molly?"

"Anything else but this, Sherlock. Look up the 40 different synthetic fibres that exist. Find the obscure tobacco that is only smoked in Tibet. Hunt a moor cat. Anything else, Sherlock but pregnancy or pregnancy related research. Am I clear."

"Since when are you so demanding?" He pouted. "You said I can."

"That was four weeks ago. And in all honesty I thought you'll get bored and move on after you've read everything there is to read in general."

"Not fair, Molly," he complained. "I'm allowed…"

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly wiped her hand across her eyes tiredly. "You're allowed to be excited. I'm sorry. I'm tired. It's just a bit much, okay. Please."

He shifted. "Molly," he said softly. "Do you want me to run you a bath?"

"That would be nice, thanks Sherlock." Watched as he rose and made his way past her to the bathroom. Heard the taps and just relaxed. He came to fetch her and she enjoyed the warmth of the bath. He was seated on the toilet seat while she bathed and they chatted in general. It was nice to just settle down. Have the conversation flow and not have to think about much.

They had supper that Mrs Hudson brought up. John had gone out with Mike and it was just her and Sherlock after Mrs Hudson had left. Watching crap telly and she had an early night in.

She woke at 11 with a craving. Sherlock was still awake and she found him in the sitting room, plucking softly on his violin.

"You okay?" he asked as he watched her enter.

"I have a craving for Wotsits and mango." She said.

"Cheese curls and a mango? Do you realise the time, Molly." Sherlock asked, eyes wide.

"Sherlock, do you remember everything you've read about pregnancies and cravings?" She asked.

"Yes." he reluctantly acquiesced

"Well. I want mango and Wotsits. Now!" She did feel bad. This was the second time today that she had gone mental on him. But she blamed it on her hormones and fatigue and she really did have a craving that felt all consuming. She took a deep breath. Telling herself that this will pass. That she should be a bit more lenient on Sherlock. That he's been nothing but supportive in his own way. Even if she had to put a stopper on him, putting vegetables on her stomach to gauge the growth of the baby in relation to her body.

"Uh…okay. John usually goes to Tesco."

"I don't care, Sherlock. Please." She said it in the way she knew he'd listen. Would be open to doing what she needed. The door opened and footsteps started up the stairs. Which meant John was back. And that was a good thing.

Sherlock placed his violin in its case. She saw him grab John and glance back at her. Heard his urgent whisper. Loud enough to carry all the way to where she was sitting.

"She wants Wotsits and mango."

"What?" John had clearly not intended to go out again. Or was in a frame of mind to understand Sherlock. He and Mike obviously had more than a beer tonight.

"Molly, John. She wants cheese curls and mango. The cravings are starting and you know what that means." Sherlock was hastily explaining.

"Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"Uh. You know. Help me find those two grocery items."

"Just go to Tesco." John said. Clearly looked not in the mood to go out again. Molly watched all of this with a small smile on her face. They were a pair, she thought.

"You always go," Sherlock whined. "I don't know where to look."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sherlock. It's not that hard. Even you with all your intellect have gone to the shops before."

Sherlock glared at John.

No. He hasn't. Molly thought. Gave a little giggle. Watched John's face as Sherlock continued to glare at him. Realisation came slowly. Like a flower opening, petal by petal.

"You haven't. Ever?" Johns voiced his words in unbelief. "Hold on…that's true, isn't it. I always do the shopping. And now Molly helps. Or Mrs Hudson. And before me…"

"One of Mycroft's lackeys. Forgot who it was. There was always something in the fridge when I needed it or I just got some chips from down the road."

"You bloody cock." John exclaimed. "You can go by yourself. Down the road, Sherlock. Fresh produce aisle will hold the mango. Wotsits you'll find in the crisp's aisle. Off you go on your big adventure. Don't forget your wallet."

"John…" Sherlock started. Faded away as John waved at Molly. Gave her a wink when he was sure Sherlock wouldn't see. Made his way resolutely up the stairs, mumbling under his breath. Left his friend standing by the doorway.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Craving, Sherlock." She said. Felt bad for the utter look of the lost little boy he threw her way. Almost relented but then decided against it. He will have to learn. If they need nappies in the middle of the night, he can't bully John awake to go to the shops. He needed to do this.

"Can you not wait until the morning," he asked.

"Not the definition of a craving, Sherlock." She said. Waited him out. He gave a big sigh. His shoulders drooped. Turned and grabbed his wallet and gave her one last look before he slowly walked out the room. Only when she heard the outer door latch close did she give in.

Laughed out loud. Couldn't contain it anymore.

"That was mean," John said from the stairs. Leaned against the hallway door.

"You could've bailed him out," she finally managed to say.

"Yeah…No. He needs to learn. But at 11:30 at night. He's going to find the Tesco closest to us closed, Molly."

"Tottenham will be open."

"Do you think…" John started speculating. Held up his finger when his phone started to ring. Molly smirked. "Sherlock?"

John nodded. Answered his phone. "Yes. I'm aware it's closed, Sherlock. Just go to Tottenham. That one's 24 hours."

Molly could hear the tinny of Sherlock's complaint over the phone. "No. You've got Mycroft's drivers. Get them to take you."

A pause.

"Fine. See you in the morning."

"He's going?" Molly asked.

"Yes. That was like watching a toddler get scolded. I'm not sure he'll get over the trauma of entering the shops." He chuckled. "Tea?"

"Yes please." Molly watched him enter the kitchen. "You and Greg really need to find something for Sherlock to do. I found him with another pregnancy book this afternoon."

"I think he knows more than I do."

"Yes, well. I'll believe that. I think he's really excited. And not sure how to deal with it so he defaulted to what he always has done when a puzzle comes along."

"The whole OCD thing he does."

Molly frowned briefly. "Yes, I guess. He just needs to focus on something else, John. Another puzzle."

"You're craving; really a craving or a puzzle for him to solve?" John asked softly.

"A little of both," she said. Smiled. "He really does need to learn to do this, you know."

"Yeah. Our little boy is growing up, isn't he." John said with a wink. "Who knows, maybe he'll learn to cook next."

Molly burst out laughing. The thought of Sherlock in front of the stove is just a concept too far even for her imagination. John's phone rang.

"It's Sherlock," John mouthed to her as he answered his phone.

"Yes Sherlock. Fresh produce aisle."

A pause. "Ask someone." He said succinctly. Listened some more. "Not that hard, Sherlock. Look for the signs."

Sherlock again and John met Molly's eyes. "No. Wrong aisle. Fresh produce, Sherlock."

Sherlock obviously complained again. "No. I'm hanging up, Sherlock. Bye."

"Trouble?" Molly asked. Tried to suppress a giggle.

"Apparently there's no fresh produce. And whoever thought about the layout of the shop and how wrong it was. More along that line while he's tired and not in the mood and can I not come out to Tottenham to help him out. I think he's going to enlist one of Mycroft's men next."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Oh my. He's really lost, isn't he."

"I'm not going all that way, Molly."

"I know. It's okay. Let's see what he comes up with next."

"You really are mean."

"I'm not the one who stayed here and let him go alone. He did ask you."

John gave her a mock glare. "Fair enough. How long do you think?"

"For what?" Molly asked innocently.

"Before he realises that it's out of season for Mango."