A Matter of Conception

When Molly Hooper entered her flat late one spring evening, the first thing she saw was Sherlock's signature Belstaff and dark blue scarf hanging up on her coat rack. She groaned as she dropped her handbag to the floor and hung up her coat beside his.

Her shift had been a long and particularly difficult one, involving two small children that had died tragically in a drunk-driving accident. All she wanted to do now was take a long, hot bath and then curl up in her bed with a good book. But Sherlock taking over her bedroom, as he always did whenever he felt the need to use her flat as a "bolt-hole," would certainly make those plans very difficult, if not impossible, to achieve tonight.

Not this bloody time, Molly thought and determinedly marched towards her room. Sherlock Holmes was a guest in her home – an uninvited but always welcome one – and therefore, he would use the guest bedroom tonight.

"Sherlock, you know as well as I do that the bed in the guest room is just as satisfactory as mine, so please…" Molly's voice faded when she stopped in the doorway of her bedroom and saw Sherlock. He was sitting on the edge of her bed near her bedside table, the drawer of which was wide open and emptied. Its sparse contents were laid out beside Sherlock on the bed, except for a green pamphlet, which he was currently engrossed in.

Molly felt her heart drop down into her stomach region like a lead balloon. She knew that he would find out eventually, but to have him do so today of all days, and in such a way, made Molly's temper flare.

"Get out of my bedroom," Molly commanded in an ice-cold voice.

Sherlock looked up at the sound of her voice, but didn't seem to register her command. Instead, he stood up and practically shoved the green pamphlet in front of her face. "What on earth are you doing with things like this?"

The logo of the London Women's Clinic, as well as the words beneath that told of their association with the London Sperm Bank, swam in front of her face, barely breaking through the red that was beginning to cloud Molly's vision.

Snatching the green pamphlet from him, she snapped, "Figure it out, Mr. Consulting Detective." She shoved him to the side with her shoulder before making her way to her bed.

"Molly, I'll grant that you are not as much of an idiot as most of the people I have known in my life –"

"What a sweet thing to say," she said sarcastically as she picked up the other papers Sherlock had taken from her bedside-table drawer – other informational pamphlets, several questionnaires she had received from the initial interview she'd had several days ago – with her back to him.

Sherlock continued as if she hadn't spoken at all. "– but how can you not see that this is the most stupid idea you could ever get?"

Molly turned to face him, clutching her papers to her chest like a shield. Her normally gentle brown eyes were blazing. "Is that so, Sherlock?" Molly sneered. "Then please, tell me exactly why."

"Isn't it obvious, Molly? These institutions pride themselves on donor confidentiality! All that you will find out about your potential biological fathers are their physical traits and the most basic background attributes. That is not nearly enough to know what exactly you'll be putting into your child! Just because a man may look like a movie star and have a good resume doesn't mean he won't be a complete and total idiot!"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, do you think these places don't know what they're doing when it comes to accepting or implanting? That they would choose a donor who would pass along a terrible disease or disability? I don't have the energy to start a nature vs. nurture debate with you, Sherlock and besides, that's not really why you're angry, is it? Aren't you just scared that this would make me less available to you?"

"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed before the bedroom was filled with stunned silence.

Molly was shocked, and felt as though she had just been slapped. Her question had been rhetorical, sarcastic, never one that she thought she would get a serious answer to. And now that she had it, her anger was swiftly replaced with deep sadness and hurt.

"So…of course that's all you really care about…" she said quietly, turning away from him. She hadn't noticed how shocked he looked with himself. "If I have a baby to go home to, that would make it much harder for you to have me at your beck-and-call, and much harder to take over my flat whenever you bloody want." She turned to look at him again, new horror in her eyes. "Or do you believe I'm not mother material?"

Sherlock actually stepped back, as though she had pushed him. "What? Molly, how could you think I would believe that?"

"You once told me that, for the sake of law and order, I should avoid all future attempts at a relationship. You also once said that conversation was not really my area. Why not say that I wouldn't be a good mother next?"

"Molly –" Sherlock began, but Molly interrupted him.

"Well, let me tell you something, Sherlock Holmes: I know I'm nothing special. I'm not a genius like you and your brother, or as important and respected to you as the Watsons, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. I've even accepted the fact that you were right about me and relationships being completely pointless. I lost my heart to you a long time ago, and I know now that any other man I meet would always be second-best. I won't break any more hearts; I already broke Tom's, and he didn't deserve that."

Molly was fully facing him now, stepping up to him until they were face-to-face; Sherlock seemed to be struck dumb as he looked at her.

"But I do know that there is something I would be good at, and that is being a mother. I've wanted to be one for as long as I can remember, especially since I lost my own mother before I could remember her. And since I'm not as lucky as most couples, like John and Mary, I'm going to make my dream come true in the best way I can. And there is nothing you can say or do to change my mind or heart.

"Now, I'm tired and I'm going to relax before turning in early. So get out of my flat and go back to your own. Please."

With that, Molly turned and walked into her bathroom. She shut the door and leaned back against it, her papers still clutched to her chest. She closed her eyes, causing the tears that had welled up in the brown irises to flow down her cheeks, and concentrated on taking deep and even breaths. Every cell in her body was willing Sherlock to disappear. She cursed her big mouth for letting it slip how she felt about him.

Well, it's not like he didn't already know or even cared, anyway…

She didn't know how many seconds or minutes passed, but she eventually got her wish. When she heard the distant sound of her front door opening and then closing, Molly opened her eyes. Slowly and carefully, she turned around and opened her bathroom door. She cautiously tiptoed around her flat, making sure that he had really left. Only when she was sure he was gone did she let herself finally relax.

After wiping away the tears from her cheeks, Molly put her papers and pamphlets back into her bedside-table drawer. She then proceeded to unwind as best she could, as she had planned to do since the end of her shift.

A week later, Molly got a call from John Watson during her lunch break.

"Hello, John," Molly greeted, smiling. "How is fatherhood treating you?"

She could hear the big grin in his voice when he replied. "What can I say? It's something that I don't think anybody can take for granted. Emma can sometimes ask for attention at inopportune times, but she's a good girl. Actually, she's why I'm calling. Are you free tonight, by any chance?"

"Yes, I am, why?" replied Molly, starting to feel excited since she had a pretty good idea of where this was going.

"Well, Mary is itching to get out of the house and have a date night. After two-and-a-half months, we haven't really had a proper evening out together, by ourselves. So, we were hoping that you'd be willing to babysit Emma tonight."

"Oh, of course, I'd love to!" Molly exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat from excitement. "Just tell me when you want me to come over, or if you want to bring her to mine, that's just fine, too."

"Actually, um…" She heard John cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We were hoping that you would babysit Emma at Baker Street…with Sherlock."

Instantly, Molly's enthusiasm level fell from a 10 to a 2. She had not seen or heard from the detective since that horrible evening last week when she'd found him in her flat. And since neither John nor Mary had mentioned anything about it, Molly didn't know if Sherlock had confided in them exactly what had happened and what he'd found out. "Well…um…" she began, but thankfully John jumped in to explain.

"It just that, this morning, I casually mentioned to Sherlock how Mary was itching for an evening out, and he immediately said that he would watch Emma for us at Baker Street. Shocking, right? I never thought he'd be so eager. I mean, I know he loves Emma, but I never imagined that he would voluntarily tend to a two-and-a-half-month-old, who can't even sit up on her own yet. But, if Sherlock is anything, he is protective of his goddaughter.

"When he saw that I was surprised and hesitant, he immediately said I should ask you to babysit with him. Honestly, I'd be quite a bit more comfortable with that, Molly. It's not that I don't trust Sherlock with Emma, it's just…well, you know how he is. I've never seen him with a baby, or know if he has any experience with one at all."

"It's okay, John, I understand completely," said Molly. She bit her lip, gave a silent sigh, and said, "What time should I come to 221B?"

Molly didn't feel scared as a cab took her to 221B Baker Street, but she certainly felt cautious and wary. Her confrontation with Sherlock had done nothing to change her mind on the subject of having a child through artificial insemination (she hated that term, though, since it made her think of having a robot baby). She'd met with her gynecologist, who had assured her that he saw no reason why it wouldn't be successful, despite the fact that she was in her early-thirties. She was a healthy woman, and had no fertility issues to speak of. She made a very good living at St. Bart's, which also provided daycare for its employees, so she knew that, even as a single woman, she would be able to care for her child.

She was more than ready to fulfill her lifelong dream of motherhood. And nothing the world's only consulting detective could say would change that.

Arriving at her destination, Molly paid the cabbie and hurried to the front door. Mrs. Hudson let her in, already cooing over the beautiful baby that was upstairs. Upon reaching the door of 221B, it was opened immediately by Sherlock. "Hello, Molly," he greeted.

His posture and tone of voice told her that he had forgotten what had happened last week; the awkward nervousness in his eyes told her that he certainly hadn't.

"Sherlock," she mumbled, walking past him and into the flat. A smile immediately lit up her face when she saw the Watsons.

"Hey, Molls, thanks for doing this," said John, giving her a hug in greeting.

"Oh, it's my pleasure," said Molly, turning to Mary, who was holding baby Emma.

"Seriously, Molly, thanks," said Mary. "I needed to get out of that house and get dressed up."

"I'm more than happy to help," said Molly, reaching out and gently stroking Emma's head, which was covered in a very fine coating of blond hair. The baby's eyes opened and she cooed. Molly smiled and whispered, "Hello to you, too."

"I've set up the portable cot in Sherlock's room down the hall," said John, waving a hand in that direction. "Her bedtime is 8:00, and she usually goes down pretty easily. Give her a bottle in about an hour; instructions and everything are in the kitchen." He turned to his best friend. "I can never thank you enough for sanitizing your kitchen; no way was I bringing my baby here if you still used the same fridge for both food and body parts."

"Not a problem, John," said Sherlock, which caused Molly to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"Well, we've got a reservation to get to," said Mary, who gave her daughter a kiss and then gingerly handed her to Molly. "See you soon, sweetheart."

John approached them and kissed Emma's head. "You be good for your godparents, ok?"

The happy parents then left after saying one more goodbye to Sherlock and Molly. Sherlock went to the window to make sure they caught a cab; Molly slowly walked to the couch and sat down, never taking her eyes off the beautiful infant she was holding. Emma was blinking slowly, her green eyes which she'd inherited from her mother staring up at Molly. The pathologist gave the baby her index finger, and the baby immediately grabbed it. Laughing at the little game of tug of war made Emma smile, and Molly's heart filled.

In a year, I could be doing this with my own child, Molly thought wistfully, and touched the tip of her nose to Emma's tiny one.

Lifting her head again, Molly saw that Sherlock was staring at her intensely. Not wanting to start another difficult conversation or argument, Molly averted her gaze back to Emma and asked, "So, where are you keeping your experiments now?"

She was relieved when he replied to the question rather than ask one himself. "Since 221C, the basement flat, is nowhere near fit for human habitation, I'm converting it into my own lab."

Molly gave him an approving nod. "That's a really good idea, Sherlock."

He gave her a pleased smile. "I am glad you think so, Molly," he said, walking toward the couch and picking up the remote control from the arm. He turned on the TV and flipped the channels until he landed on a rerun of Downton Abbey. "That is one of your favorite programs, is it not?"

Surprised, Molly nodded and said, "Thanks."

Sherlock nodded. After laying out Emma's pink baby blanket on the cushion beside Molly, he crossed to the other side of the room. "I have some e-mails to catch up on. Let me know when it's time to feed her, and I'll prepare the bottle."

Molly managed to hold in her smile until he was safely engrossed in his laptop.

The evening of babysitting went more smoothly than Molly had ever expected. While Sherlock worked on his computer, Molly watched her favorite program and entertained Emma. She'd laid her baby out on the blanket Sherlock had laid out beside her, and occupied the baby with various toys the Watsons had brought with them. At the time of Emma's feeding, Sherlock was true to his word and fixed up the bottle. He settled on the sofa and fed, patted and burped the baby as naturally as any mother. Molly tried to focus on the telly, but such an endearing sight was hard to ignore.

At 8:00, Molly picked up Emma and walked into Sherlock's bedroom. The baby was already nodding off, so all Molly really had to do was walked Emma around the room a few times, safely cradled in her arms, humming the lullaby her dad would sing to her as a child. Once she could see that Emma was safely asleep, Molly carefully lowered her onto the cot, still humming.

Just as she realized that Emma's pink baby blanket was still on the sofa, it appeared at her side, held by the familiar hand of Sherlock Holmes. Molly took it biting back a gasp, realizing how close Sherlock was standing just behind her. Trying to ignore him, Molly took the blanket, leaned down and gently covered sleeping Emma with the blanket. Her little hand reached up in a sleeping reflex, her hand flexing. Overcome with emotion, Molly bent down and tenderly kissed Emma's forehead in goodnight.

When she was standing straight again, Molly felt Sherlock take her hand and gently pull her towards the door. She let herself follow him silently, if only because she did not want to wake the sleeping baby. Her stomach started to feel heavy with each step she took, because she knew in her heart that the conversation about to happen would be about what happened last week. Molly could only hope now that Sherlock would at least start to understand her decision, if not accept it at all.

Sherlock stopped when they reached the middle of the sitting room, and he turned to face her. He stood toe-to-toe with her, so close she could feel his breath on her face. He lifted both of her hands to rest against his chest.

"We could have this, Molly," he said softly.

Molly blinked, not quite believing what she was hearing. "Have…what?"

"What John and Mary have, what my parents had, what yours had. We could have that –together."

It took a few moments for Sherlock's words to register in her mind. When they did, Molly gasped and couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Her mind fired reason after reason why he couldn't possibly mean what she thought he meant, but each was shot down with each beat of Sherlock's heart. Her hands, still held to his chest, could feel that his heart was pounding as hard as her own was.

Her eyes filled with tears as her heart, which had never stopped being his, filled with hope. "I…I didn't know that you…wanted that," she finally breathed.

"Neither did I until last week."

Molly lowered her eyes to their hands as realization dawned on her. "When I said that my plan for having a baby would take me away from you…"

"Because it wouldn't be with me," he finished, and she felt him touch his forehead to hers. "You were right to give up on trying to have a relationship with another man, Molly…because it's me, Molly. It…it's always been me."

Molly closed her eyes, and tears spilled out as a sob built up in her throat. "You…you've finally figured that out? I've known that all along, even when I tried so hard to deny it…"

Sherlock cupped her face in his large hands, bringing her eyes up to meet his again. They were full of apology and emotion. "I'm sorry, Molly, for making you wait so long. I just…wasn't ready…I had sworn off attachments like this long before we met. You know how I feel about sentiment."

Molly nodded, knowing he was right. But she needed more answers before she could allow her hope-filled heart to take that leap. "What…made you ready, then?"

"John and Mary," he replied, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Seeing how happy they've made each other, and how happy they are with Emma…It's just like what my parents have. I used to think I could never have that because I was different. But they are freaks like me, and if they can have it, I can too. Learning that I can have this has made me want it. And the only woman I would ever want this with is you."

Molly felt almost dizzy, overwhelmed with what Sherlock was telling her. So much of it she had dreamed of him telling her while at the same time believing he never would. And because of that, she had to ask the question she was most afraid of asking:

"Are you sure, Sherlock? Is this just because you're lonely, or feeling guilty, or feel like you owe me something? I've wanted this for so long, and I wouldn't want you to do this unless our feelings were mutual."

To her surprise, his response was to smile mischievously. "Ah, of course. Every theory requires evidence to be validated as a fact. Allow me to do just that, then."

With that, Sherlock lowered his face to his and kissed her. And this was no chaste peck but a passionate display of affection. It wasn't long before Molly melted against him, her hands reaching up to finally run her fingers through his curls. Sherlock's arms wrapped around her waist and back, making sure she was as close to him as possible.

When they finally needed to part for air, Molly felt like she was floating. Sherlock looked just as blissful, but still managed to give a satisfied smirk. "Is anymore proof needed immediately, Dr. Hooper?"

She let out a breathy chuckle. "Immediately? Yes, but please be careful we don't wake the baby."

He kissed her again, practically lifting her off her feet with how tightly he held her. Molly soon pulled away, though, and cupped his face. His kisses had made her bolder with her words.

"You made me wait for quite a long time, Sherlock. I'm not accepting any more proof unless you're prepared to give me at least a lifetime supply."

He didn't smirk this time; he smiled. "Enough for both of our lifetimes, Molly, I promise. I…absolutely…adore you. I want our lives together to start now, and begin a family as soon as possible."

Molly pulled his head down to give him a kiss of her own, even as happy tears traveled down her cheeks. To her dismay, however, Sherlock pulled away.

"However, I should tell you something that may…delay those immediate plans for a small amount of time, and I hope you won't mind too much."

Before Molly could begin to worry or even wonder, she felt Sherlock slide something cool and metallic onto her left ring finger. She gasped and he beamed.

"I'm a bit of a traditionalist."

A little after ten-thirty, the Watsons returned from their much-needed evening out. Both were tired but very happy. However, when they walked into 221B, they received the shock of their action-filled lives.

Sherlock Holmes lay sprawled back on the sofa, and Molly Hooper rested between his legs with her head on his chest. She was fast asleep; he had his eyes closed, but his fingers were playing with her hair and there was a peaceful smile on his face.

When John emitted a tiny squeak of surprise, Sherlock's eyes opened and he glared at John. He brought a long finger to his lips, motioning with his head to Molly and then his bedroom door.

The shocked doctor, his mouth still hanging open, took a few unsteady but quiet steps towards the sofa, indicating between the two of them in complete shock and confusion. Annoyed that John was being so slow on the uptake, Sherlock pointed to Molly's left hand, which rested on his chest in front of her face.

This, if possible, made John look even more gob smacked. Mary, who had followed silently behind her husband, burst into a big smile and gave a silent little cheer after mouthing, 'About time!' Sherlock nodded at her in acknowledgement and gave a tiny smile.

Her husband, however, needed a bit more convincing. Understandable, considering the last time Sherlock had gotten an engagement ring for a woman, it was to break into an office. He gave his friend a hard look, and Sherlock returned it without flinching in the slightest. Mary got her husband's attention by giving his shoulder a squeeze. Her reassuring look helped John to realize that his best friend had finally wised up; she was more clever than him, after all, when it came to these things.

John turned back to Sherlock and gave him a proud smile. Mary tiptoed to him and silently kissed his forehead in congratulations. Sherlock smiled and nodded to them both before waving them towards his bedroom. The Watsons got the hint, and went to collect the sleeping Emma and her things.

Sherlock turned his full attention back to his sleeping fiancé and gently kissed her brow, barely noticing when the Watsons made their exit with excited and joyful smiles on their faces. Their joy was nothing compared to his, now that he finally knew what he wanted and had it. His entire being finally felt at peace, something he'd never experienced before but always longed for. Why hadn't he realized his Molly was the answer sooner? So much time had been wasted, but they had a lifetime left to make up for that.

Sherlock glanced at the clock on the far wall. At eleven, he would wake her with a kiss. She had to work tomorrow, and she would want to spend the night in her own flat (not home, her home was with him now). He would escort her home and kiss her goodnight like a gentleman.

But not before taking those pamphlets and forms from her bedside table. He smirked as he thought of the ways he would destroy them.

After all, she didn't need them anymore. He would soon see to that.