"Rosie, be nice and share your dolls with Mary." John chastised gently from where he sat drinking tea at the cluttered dining table of 221B Baker Street with Molly. Rosie huffed but responded with a slightly reluctant 'okay' anyway and promptly passed over one of her dolls to the gleeful younger girl sat opposite.

Opposite John, Molly smiled and shook her head ever so slightly. "Mary hasn't quite gotten the hang of social skills just yet. She mostly just sits there and expects other people to know what she wants." She remarked in between sips of tea. Mary was two now and although Molly's pregnancy had come as a bit of a shock, she couldn't say she regretted a single moment of it.

"Sounds just like another child we know…" Came John's slightly amused reply. He cracked a wry smile at Molly, who glanced away with a slightly awkward laugh.

"Yes, well… God help us if we end up with two of them." She responded slightly distractedly. In truth, Molly would be delighted if Mary had even an ounce of Sherlock Holmes in her; impossible though it may be. Sometimes when Sherlock talked to or played with Mary, Molly would allow herself to indulge in the fantasy that he was her father. Naturally she tried to avoid fantasizing as much as possible; it only made the reality of her real parentage even more unpleasant to swallow. It had been a mistake giving Tom another chance. She'd been feeling low and he had stepped in to soothe the pang of loneliness she couldn't seem to shake. Of course he'd cheated on her. How could anyone consider boring, plain old Molly Hooper to be enough? She'd found out the day that Sherlock had rung her from Sherrinford. Naturally she'd been hurt and Sherlock's phone call had been the icing on the cake to what was already a spectacularly shit day. She forgave him of course – Sherlock that is. He did what he had to do out of love; even if it wasn't the love she craved from him. Then a week later her life was turned entirely on its head when she discovered she was pregnant.

"I don't think the world could cope with two Sherlock Holmes'. Mycroft and Euros are bad enough." John interrupted her thoughts and snapped her out of her reverie.

"Yes, well-," Molly started before she was promptly interrupted by a tall man in a long coat striding purposefully through the door.

"Don't mind me. Do feel free to continue with your mindless gossiping, or whatever it is you two do when I'm not around." Sherlock remarked dryly as he busied himself with rummaging through a stack of papers near to where the children were sat playing amongst themselves. "Mostly talk about me, I assume." He added with an air of distraction.

"Modest as ever." John answered with a roll of his eyes. "You know the entire world doesn't revolve around you, right?"

"Naturally." Sherlock replied as he dragged a dusty old book out from the bottom of the pile. "But I heard the two of you comparing me to a child from out in the hallway and am lead to believe that you just can't get enough of me." He finished as he pulled a sheet of paper out from between the pages of the book with a flourish.

Molly turned a light shade of pink at that. "Sherlock-,"

"Don't worry. I'm flattered." Sherlock interrupted, turning the sheet of paper in his hands to examine it before discarding it without thought and bending down to scoop Rosie up into his arms. "Now, why don't we leave these silly dolls and go examine some crime scene photos instead?" He remarked to the young girl, who promptly grinned and nodded in response.

"Sherlock – Sherlock, no. No crime scene photos!" John interrupted and stood up from the dining table.

"She's over three years old now, John. If she doesn't get her eye in soon she'll be just as useless to me as you are." Sherlock responded dismissively and moved to take Rosie off into the other room. He was halted mid-step by a gentle tug on his trouser leg and glanced down to see Mary staring up at him with wide eyes and a doll brandished in his direction. "Sorry Mary, did you want to help too? Well I suppose with Molly's genes you've probably got more of an eye for examining bodies than Rosie here." He considered the little girl thoughtfully; at which point John took advantage of his distraction to take Rosie out of his arms.

"I think that's enough Sherlock time for one evening." John pointed out to a slightly disappointed looking Rosie. "If anyone needs me, I'll be putting Rosie to bed." He added to Molly and Sherlock before turning on his heel and heading through into his bedroom.

"Well, that just leaves the two of us then Mary. I always knew you were the smart one." Sherlock exclaimed as he bent down to Mary's level.

"Sherlock, I don't think…" Molly started as she moved to get up from her place at the dining table. She didn't get very far before she was interrupted by the sound of her daughter's voice.

"Daddy read me a story?" No one moved for several moments. Sherlock's expression was unreadable; barely registering much in the way of emotion as he seemed to mull over Mary's remark in his head. The cogs could practically be seen whirring away in his brain at a thousand miles per hour.

Molly, on the other hand, wore an expression of absolute mortification. "Mary, no. Sherlock's not- That's not your daddy. It's just you and mummy, remember? Daddy isn't… Well Daddy's not around. We don't need him…" She trailed off as she tried awkwardly to explain the situation to the young girl. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I don't know why-,"

"Well naturally given that her biological father is entirely absent from every aspect of her life and is, incidentally, a complete and utter waste of the very air he breathes, I'd say it's entirely natural for her to seek out the most obvious alternative male presence and, given my unsurpassable aptitude for taking care of children and her mother's obvious affection for me, it's really quite unsurprising that she has come to see me as a father figure." Sherlock interrupted, methodically voicing his internal thought process out loud as though he were in the middle of solving a murder case.

Molly was speechless. She stood next to the chair she had been sat on opening and closing her mouth uselessly as she tried to process the jumble of observations that had just come out of Sherlock's mouth. This was far too heavy going for a Monday evening.

"Now, since mummy is currently doing a very good impression of a fish out of water, why don't you come with daddy and we'll see what we can find in the way of bedtime reading?" Sherlock asked as he turned his attention back to Mary. In response, the little girl beamed from ear to ear and eagerly nodded her head.

"Sherlock-," Molly tried to interrupt again, eyes wide, but was once more cut off by the detective.

"No need to confuse the poor girl, Molly. She's clearly at an important stage in her developmental process and I don't think we should deny her the need for a father figure in her life." Sherlock remarked dismissively.

"Sherlock, what on earth-," Molly tried yet again, but Sherlock held up a hand and turned to carry Mary from the room.

"Hush now, Molly. Mary and I have important business to attend to." And with that, he scooped Mary up and strode towards his bedroom door.

"Daddy, why mummy not coming to?" Mary piped up curiously as she craned her little neck to look back towards Molly.

"Because, Mary, mummy is possibly about to have what we adults call a nervous breakdown. You see, mummy's a little slow and has taken an exceedingly long time to realise that daddy meant what he said to her back at Sherrinford. In fact, I'd even go as far as to say that mummy has been entirely oblivious up until this very moment." Sherlock explained as neutrally as though he were discussing something as mundane and common knowledge as the weather. "So with that in mind, we're going to leave mummy to regain whatever minimal composure she usually possesses and go read through some murder case files." He finished, not sparing Molly a glance as he proceeded to carry Mary out of the room. John stood in the doorway, watching him with an expression that contained a mixture of surprise and vague amusement.

"You enjoyed every minute of that, didn't you?" John observed as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Don't know what you're talking about, John." Sherlock dismissed and promptly shut his bedroom door behind him.

In the living room, Molly sunk rather inelegantly back into her chair and proceeded to stare dumbfounded at the closed door through which Sherlock had exited.

A moment's silence passed in which John observed Molly with a degree of sympathy, before remarking, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"