Chapter 1
July
"Wait. Let me see?" Sherlock sat down on the bed. Took the stick from her. There was no mistake on the two pink lines. He looked up. Smiled.
"You happy?" Molly asked. Sat down next to him.
"Well Molly. This was bound to happen, right. The whole point of procreation is to bring forth smaller humans. And sex inevitably leads to…" he waved the stick, "…this."
"Okay. We don't have to go into the mechanics, Sherlock. You realise that you're going to be a dad, right."
"Of course."
Molly took the stick. Put it down and took his hand in hers. "Are you happy, Sherlock?"
He frowned. "Happiness is a construct based on a fleeting moment in time. I don't do happiness, Molly. You're well aware of that."
She sighed. "Sherlock," she said as she cupped his cheek. Brought him closer. "I'm pregnant."
"Yes. We've established that already. The proof…"
She leaned in. Brushed her lips against his softly. Leaned back. Gave him a small smile.
Oh. Right.
"Yes Molly," he said. Pushed her down gently onto the bed, her head on her pillow. He leaned onto his elbow, looking down at her. "For this moment in time. I'm happy."
Molly grinned. "Really?" she asked. Bit her bottom lip in a nervous habit she still had, even now after more than a year together. A year of Oliver and Alex. A year of heartache and redemption that flowed from it. It has been almost two months now since they visited the bothy. Since Sherlock's declaration that he wasn't going to allow what Oliver had done to be what he remembers. That it was going to be about them.
And so far it had seemed to be the case. He still visited Giles but since that day, something had changed within him. If he was honest. In them both. They clearly understood now that what they had was a new beginning.
He leaned closer. Brushed her lips with his. Deepened the kiss as he leaned in, his hand settled on her hip. Finally broke the kiss and leaned back slightly, out of breath as he deduced her. Gave a half smile. "You were talking about the mechanics earlier…" he said softly. "…should we give it another go?"
"What do you think?"
"So, you and Molly?"
"Yes, John. We're going to be parents. Why is this so hard to grasp?"
John gave a secret smile. They were on their way to a crime scene. Lestrade had called them into a case that had baffled the police. Something about claw marks on walls. A dead owner that had been posed as a big game hunter from the 1800's along with a big bore elephant gun. A definite 9 on Sherlock's scale of interesting cases.
"So….how do you feel about it?"
"Oh for heaven's sake. Why is everyone suddenly so concerned about my feelings?"
John turned to his friend. "It's a big deal, Sherlock."
"Why?" Sherlock asked. Stepped under the police tape. Waited while John stepped next to him.
Oh. You have no idea, do you… John smirked. "Never mind."
They entered the house. Walked past the foyer to the main sitting room. John bumped into Sherlock who had stopped dead in the entrance way.
"What…" he started. Stopped when he looked at the room. Chairs were haphazardly strewn across the floor. The coffee table was splintered and deep gauges were clear to be seen, running parallel to each other. Stuffing from torn material on the destroyed chairs lined half the carpet. One wall had wallpaper hanging in sleets, flapping gently every time a SOCCO guy walked past.
In the centre of the whole tableau was a man. He had been posed onto one knee. Gun in his hands, his head behind the gunsight. An old hunter's helmet on his head with a monocle on one eye. He was dressed in breeches, boots and an old English jacket. A cravat was on a belt next to his bended knee.
"Brilliant." Sherlock said. "How is he keeping the pose? And look at those scratch marks. It almost seems real?"
"Almost?"
Sherlock turned to him. John knew that look of exasperation. "Really John. Why would there be an animal of this size in a London flat? I'm sure we'd have been inundated by news crews if that were the case. Ergo, staged."
"Ergo?"
"From Latin. Means because of…"
"I know what it means, Sherlock. Since when do you use ergo?"
Sherlock pouted. "IcanifIwantto" was his mumbled response. Turned away from John and stepped towards Lestrade. "Stumped?"
"Reason why I called Sherlock. What do you think?"
"Give me a minute," he said. Walked up to the man. John followed. Made sure to stay out of Sherlock's way as his friend inspected the man.
"Ah. I see what he did." He said, grinning madly. Moved from the man to the table. Inspected the grooves set in the tabletop. Smelled his fingers, wrinkling his nose. Stepped to the wall and inspected the grooves there. Stepped back to the man, hand pressing slightly on the back of the jacket on the dead man. Bend over the shoulder of the man, head next to the other.
"Name?" Sherlock asked while he inspected the gun. Sighted along the muzzle. He narrowed his eyes, stepped toward the doorway.
"Michael Westen."
John raised his eyebrows. "As in the tv show?"
Lestrade nodded. "Yep."
"What TV show?" Sherlock asked as he stepped over the threshold. John and Greg followed as he stepped into the next room. Walked up to the opposite wall.
"Premise is about a former American spy that got fired. Does some private investigator stuff while trying to find out who it was that got him burned."
"Dull."
"Yeah. Probably for you. Mrs Hudson and I enjoyed it when it aired."
Sherlock bended at the wall, sighted back into the other room. Turned to the wallpaper. It was a paisley flowery one, not uncommon. He sighted again, this time inspecting closer with his little magnifying glass.
"Wrong room, Sherlock," Anderson said from the doorway. "I do believe the dead guy is in the other room."
"Oh, shut up."
John watched as Anderson made a face but he wisely left. Sherlock sighted again, bend at the knee and inspected the wallpaper for a third time.
"Oh. Perfect…" Sherlock said breathlessly. Took his fist and then proceeded to punch through the wall.
"Mr Holmes, your office has expended considerable resources in the apprehension of Jim Moriarty and the subsequent rescue of your brother and Ms Hooper. Would it not have been more prudent to send in a smaller team?"
Mycroft suppressed his anger. He had choice words to use but decided against it. The inquiry was now in its second month. Because of their schedules and various cabinet meetings, the proceedings had gone ahead as and when the 6 members' time became available. He had sincerely hoped it would have been done by now but evidently budgets were suddenly everyone's favourite buzzword.
"We had limited intel. It was prudent that we make sure that speed was of the essence and that enough personnel will be available to make the threat assessment negligible. Of course, now we know it was the right call. With Lord Edwards in a position to warn Oliver, it very well might've ended with my brother and Molly spirited away and us raiding an empty estate."
A shuffle of papers. Mycroft focused on the man across from him that had asked the question. Murray Locke was entirely trustworthy but full of himself. Not someone to tangle with on a good day. Mycroft had always appreciated the man's frankness and willingness to ask questions.
Currently that was driving him to reconsider his opinion of the man.
"You send a division of specialised forces. Would our police not have done a better job at a domestic kidnapping case?"
"As I've clarified on more than one occasion now. The specialised forces were the right choice in apprehending an international criminal in Jim Moriarty. I'm done debating the merits of the choices I've made in securing the criminal consultant and the subsequent rescue of my brother and Molly. This inquiry is not about Jim Moriarty but Oliver and the four men that had protected Oliver's illicit activities and had compromised the safety and trust of the positions they had occupied. Let's move on."
Murrey looked like he was going to protest but a look from Lady Smallwood and he conceded the point. He closed the folder he currently had open and pushed it to the side. Opened a new one.
"Let us now consider the killing and apprehension of Oliver and his men in Norway. Again, the plan seemed elaborate with considerable resources used for four men. Would Interpol not have been a better choice in apprehending the men and rescuing your brother and Molly."
Mycroft was silent.
"In fact, Mr Holmes, a clear pattern seems to be emerging of the way you have misappropriated government funding in order to get your brother out of a pickle on more than one occasion. The question can be asked whether you are still fit for the position you occupy."
"That is great news, Molly," Mike said. Leaned back in the chair.
"Thanks Mike. It's still early days, really. About 8 weeks."
"Any nausea yet? Fatigue?"
"A little. Not too bad yet."
"And Sherlock?" Mike asked, and his eyes twinkled. "How is he dealing with this development?"
Molly gave a small chuckle. "He's being Sherlock. But happy."
"Happy for you guys. Really nice to have something positive happening around here. We'll have to address your workload as the time nears. Obviously working with some chemicals is out of the question but that is easily managed."
"Thanks Mike."
"How's the sessions with Giles going?"
"Only seeing him every two weeks. Some triggers will probably always be there but he says that over time they will sort of fade to the background. That hearing them won't affect me much more than a bad memory does."
"Good. Let me know if I need to make changes to the list."
"Yeah. Let's just keep it as is for now. Better to be overly cautious. Don't really want to add anything else on top of the hormones, you know." She said softly.
"No problem. Anything else?"
"No. Thanks Mike. I'll see to Mrs Judson this afternoon."
"Very well." Molly got up, took her leave of Mike. She was grateful for their conversations that they had once a week. It had really helped, especially in the beginning when she had started back after Oliver. It helped to know that she had his support. That he could step in and put things in place to protect her.
She made her way to the little staff kitchen and made some tea. She was alone. Didn't mind it at all as she really thought about how her and Sherlock's lives are going to change. Placed a hand on her stomach. There was no bump yet. But she was still in awe to think she had a little life growing inside her. She gave a secret smile.
She was going to be a mum.
Ever since Oliver and Alex, she had feared. Now that they were dead, her fear had lessened. Mycroft had assured her that she and Sherlock would always have protection. That they would be protected, no matter what.
"Hey," she said softly, looking down. "Guess what. You're going to be so loved."
The door opened and one of her workmates walked in. She finished her tea and resumed her day. Closed for the day at 5. Finished her paperwork and then set off back home.
She made it up the stairs to find Sherlock seated at the table. An open container sat on the tabletop, filled with rocks and plants. It looked suspiciously like a terrarium. Sherlock had his laptop open and was reading intently.
"Sherlock," she said.
"Mmmmh."
"What are you doing?"
He looked up at her, eyes wide. "Oh. Hi. Research."
"Are you aware of the time?"
He frowned. Looked down and then looked up at her. "Please," he begged. "30 minutes."
She smiled indulgently. "Fine. What's with the box?"
He looked down. Then he frantically started moving things around. Looked under the table. "Uh, Molly…" Turned his back as he looked towards the sink and Molly screamed.
"How was I supposed to know where the spider was?" Sherlock asked, glaring at John. "I don't understand why she's so upset. It's not even poisonous. Rarely bites."
"Maybe the fact that it was crawling along your back. Were you really not aware…" John said, trying his best not to laugh.
"Why would I? It generally moves slowly and deliberately unless it pounces on its prey. I'm obviously too big."
"You're in so much trouble. You know that right?" John chuckled. "You're going to have to make it up to her." John eyed the container that had the tarantula safely encased. "Talk about bringing your work home. Where is she?"
Sherlock sniffed. "AtMycroft's" he mumbled. "Don't see what the big deal is. She survived Oliver. There were spiders in the bothy, you know. House spiders up in the rafters. They weren't small either."
"Yes well, Sherlock. I think that's a bit different, don't you think. Can't really compare those to this," he said, indicating the box. "What are you going to do?"
"She said I have to get rid of it before she comes back home."
"Ok. I'm assuming you phoned Lestrade?"
"He said it's too late now. That I have to keep it until tomorrow morning and then I can return it to the zoo. For some reason he found my predicament to be amusing. I don't see why this is a laughing matter."
"Okay. Are you regretting asking Lestrade to take this home now?" John asked as he seated himself opposite Sherlock. Away from the container and the spider. It had been encased in the secret hidey hole that Sherlock had punched open. That and about a dozen others. Lestrade had reluctantly agreed that Sherlock could take one home for investigation.
"No." Sherlock answered succinctly. Bent over the laptop again. "Fascinating."
"What?"
"80% of Scorpions and spiders are commercially unregulated. The illegal trade is worth a lot of money."
"Spiders?"
"Yes John. Spiders and scorpions. Did you know that tarantulas shed their hair..." Sherlock trailed off. Moved over to the container and peered inside. "She's not moulting. That's good. The hairs can cause itching, pain and swelling."
"Sherlock."
"Mmmm."
"Molly…"
Sherlock looked up. Stood and put his hands behind his back. "As I said, John. She's sleeping at Mycroft's tonight."
"Okay. And you…"
Sherlock tilted his head. "I don't understand."
John sighed. "I think your wife would appreciate you joining her at Mycroft's. So that she doesn't sleep alone." He said pointedly.
Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh…" Turning and leaving John sitting alone by the table, he rushed out. John looked at the spider staring back at him through the container.
"Yep. You and I both mate," he said softly. Smiled as he heard the bottom door slam shut.
Life will definitely get interesting in the next few months.