Molly loved to hold her, and Sherlock loved to watch Molly hold her.
And John and Mary loved to have a few minutes of rest from their new, busy lives as parents.
Molly leaned against Sherlock as she cradled the infant in her arms. Sherlock had his arm wrapped around her waist as she stared down at Rose. The whole situation was heart-warming, Sherlock had decided, but he still was undecided on whether or not he liked babies. Rosamund Mary Watson seemed to do only three things: eat, sleep, and mess up her nappie. He didn't know many babies, of course, but she didn't seem like as much trouble as people claim babies are. She was only two weeks old, though. Maybe she'd get worse as she aged?
"Rose certainly seems to like you, Molly," said Mary as she looked lovingly at the infant in the pathologist's arms.
Molly looked over at her, a bright smile on her face. "Does she?"
"Good thing too," John said, leaning forward on the sofa, "because we've made it official, Mary and I."
"Made what official?" Molly asked.
"You and Sherlock being her godparents, of course," John said.
Molly looked over to Mary, who nodded and said, "It only makes sense."
"Of course," said Sherlock, who had remained silent throughout the whole of their visit until this moment, "We are the only friends close enough to the two of you to have that honour. Mary, of course, has other friends, such as Janine and Cathie, but even though they were her bridesmaids, they aren't close enough to her for her to trust with the life of her own baby were something to happen to she and John. John, however, has a smaller number of friends, almost none at all. He even has friends that really aren't his friends because he finds them completely annoying, but he lets the relationship stay one sided because he doesn't want to be rude. His only other true friends are war veterans with lives overtaken by their PTSD. Therefore, dear Molly and I are really the only—"
"Sherlock?" John interrupted.
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
Sherlock nodded once and looked down at his lap. "Sorry."
Molly's smile didn't fade as she shook her head at the detective. "He means thank you, and so do I. Thank you both." She looked from John to Mary. "I'm happy to know that you to trust us so much."
"Well of course we do," said Mary, smiling at her.
"Sherlock may be the biggest arse in the universe," John said, "but there isn't a man on earth that I trust more than him." He was blushing in the slightest, but his eyes spoke the truth as he looked over at Sherlock.
Sherlock held a hand to his heart as he faked his shock. "Oh, John, I'm touched. I never knew you cared so much."
Molly, careful not to disrupt the baby, nudged Sherlock in the side. He turned his gaze to her, raising his brows. She raised hers, and they both stared each other down until the two of them cracked at least the tiniest of smiles.
"And you, Molly," Mary said "I don't think there's a soul on earth who couldn't trust you."
Molly was the one blushing now. "I'm honoured, truly."
"In all seriousness, I truly am thankful," Sherlock said.
"Well," John said, "you two have earned our trust. So like we've said a million times, it only makes sense."
Rose made a babbling sound and Molly tickled her stomach with one hand, her fingers lightly brushing the baby's stomach as she cooed, her voice gentle and soft sounding, to her. Sherlock found himself smiling. Molly was the perfect godmother, and Sherlock found himself thinking that she would even be a good mother one day, and he wouldn't mind being the man who stood next to her in the family portraits, arm around her waist; or perhaps one where the two of them held hands with their first toddler. They were only thoughts, but they gave him reason to smile in that moment. There were years ahead of them, though. That's plenty of time to have a family.
Rose started to get fussy, and Molly carefully back to her mother who said, "She must be hungry," as she began to bounce the infant in her arms.
"I guess we'd better go then," Molly said, standing up, Sherlock following suit.
"You don't have to, you know," John said, and he genuinely looked like he would have liked them to stay.
"No, we'd better be off," Sherlock said.
"I've got work in the morning and Sherlock has to case hunt," Molly said, "besides, it's getting late."
"Wait, what about that case with that house missing all of the statues of Father Christmas?" John asked, looking to Sherlock.
"The black Santas?" Sherlock said, resting a hand on the small of Molly's back. "The teenager skipped school and hid them in his friend's garage for later disposal. Case closed."
"How did you even — never mind."
"Anyways," Molly said, taking Sherlock's hand and giving it a squeeze, "best be off." She gave John and Mary a wave, and they both returned it. "Bye."
"Goodbye," Mary said.
Molly led Sherlock out off the flat and onto the pavement. Sherlock then called a cab for the two of them and they set off for Baker Street. Topics of the ride consisted of how much Rosamund had grown in just the two weeks since her birth. Sherlock, after a few minutes, seemed to get bored, but Molly ignored it. This was something to talk about. It was marvellous, the two of them now being godparents!
When the couple got back to Sherlock's flat, Molly fell onto the sofa, glad to be back at home, while Sherlock put the kettle on. Home. That's what Baker Street was beginning to feel like to her. Even though they did switch flats, they spent most of their time at 221B, and she was beginning to fancy it more than her own. Now, if only Toby were present....
When Sherlock took a seat next to her, he handed her a mug of Earl Grey and she thanked him, giving him a small smile before sipping from the mug. Sherlock muttered that it was no problem, and did the same as she. Molly leaned forward and turned on the television to ITV, and then leaned back again, closing the space between her and Sherlock as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"I mean no emotional harm by asking," Sherlock said looking down at the pathologist's doe eyes, "but who did you lose?"
Molly furrowed her brows. "I'm sorry?"
"You are too good with Rose Mary and too emotionally attached to have never spent time with an infant that you've lost," he said. Noticing her eyes begin to glisten as she stiffened, her gaze shifting down to her mug, he quickly added, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I just — was curious."
"No, um," Molly said, trying to hide the sadness that was screaming inside of her, having been locked away for years and years, rarely touched, "it's fine." She relaxed her hands around the mug, then tightened them again.
"Something happened, didn't it?" Sherlock asked, removing his arm from around her and instead turning to her and resting his hand on her leg, rubbing a calming circle on it as he watched her.
Molly nodded, and Sherlock began to feel her relax a bit. She sighed and tapped the edge of her mug unknowingly, keeping a steady rhythm. Turning her head further down, she eyed her tea as if it could keep her from crying, her mousy brown hair falling over her shoulders.
"I had two younger siblings," Molly said, "and an older brother. In order of oldest to youngest, it was Daniel, me, and the twins, Jamie and Emma." Molly wiped a tear away with the sleeve of her pale blue jumper. "I was eleven when Jamie was kidnapped. I was twelve when they found him dead." Her taps against the mug became faster, and it was chipping her nails. "He was only fourteen months old when he died. We never found out who did it."
Sherlock opened his mouth, but felt a short pause. "You never said anything."
"I don't fancy the memories of the night he was abducted." Molly brought the mug to her lips and sipped from it.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock said after a silent moment, "about your brother. I know how you feel."
"How could you know?"
"I know more than you could believe."
"About missing younger brothers?" Molly asked.
He shook his head. "About missing older brothers."
A moment of pause. "Mycroft?"
He shook his head. "Older than Mycroft, just by a few years. Sherrinford. Left when I was six and never came back. Never even gave us a ring."
"I'm sorry," Molly said, suddenly feeling sorry for doubting him, "Why do you think he left?"
"I don't know," Sherlock said, "I mean, ask John about my family. We were raised well, and there is absolutely no reason I can think of for him leaving."
"Have you asked Mycroft?"
"Of course I have," he scoffed, "and of course he knows. He always denies it, though. He just doesn't want me to know."
"Maybe he has good reason to not tell you," Molly said, "or maybe he really doesn't know. You're always so suspicious of your brother, but do you really need to be?"
"I am not an idiot," Sherlock snapped. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. "And although my brother is smarter than me, he knows that I'm not an idiot. He knows that I know he knows, but yet he still won't tell me."
"Maybe he's just trying to be a good older brother," Molly said, placing her hand over his, "even if that means keeping the truth from you."
"As a child, Sherrinford was my first role model," Sherlock said coldly, "I was devastated by his disappearance. Don't you think that I have a right to know?"
Molly sat her hand on Sherlock's leg. "Hey, look at me." Sherlock, whose eyes had been fixated on the coffee table, looked at her slowly. Their eyes locked, and Molly moved her hand from his leg to his jaw line. "You look sad."
"And you can see me."
Sherlock moved his hand to her jaw line, setting his mug on the coffee table with his free hand, and Molly did the same with hers as he leaned forward slightly.
"Molly Hooper," he said, "you count more than anyone I've ever met."
She smiled. "I love you too."
He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to hers, his free hand finding its way to the small of her back. She leaned into the kiss, welcoming it as she scooted closer to him, closing the small space between their hips. After a moment, they began to get uncomfortable, so they shifted their way into a lying down position on the sofa, Molly on top, as they continued to kiss. When she pulled away, she stared down at him, his blue eyes staring into hers with a love she had never seen before, and she smiled as she lowered her mouth to his once again.
I'd like to give credit to the wonderful author John Green for the black Santas idea. I just needed a case, and thought "What if all of the black Santas in Radar's parent's collection dissappeared one day?" and so I just slipped it in. If you've not read 'Paper Towns' by John Green, by the way, I strongly recommend it.
I'm sorry for the lack of a chapter in three months, by the way. It's been a pretty tough three months, but I'm staying strong. In case you cannot tell, I am clinically depressed, and have been undergoing treatment since February. It's not easy, but getting help was probably the best thing that I could have done and I encourage anyone else out there with depression to seek help. I'm not completely well, but I don't think I'll ever be. This just helps in the slightest, and that's just enough.
Anyways, thank you guys so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've already started the next, so it should be up soon. xxx
—OH