Two Months Later

She was sweeping off the front steps of the tiny cottage where she and her son were living, the only building she'd visited since being awoken from her cryosleep. She knew John and Mary and their daughter and sixty-eight other survivors were also hidden away in various locations, but that was all she knew. The man who'd awoken her, a stranger named Billy Wiggins, had the code she and Sherlock had worked out, which meant her husband was still alive – or at least, had been two months ago.

Two months ago, after she'd waited in vain for some sort of further contact from her husband, she'd given birth to their son and named him Victor William Sherlock Holmes. She chose Victor for its obvious meaning; he was the only remaining triumph in her life, and if it was to be his fate to live in isolation from humankind, then he would do so bearing a name worthy of his heritage. Not his heritage as an Augment, of course, but his heritage as both a Hooper and a Holmes.

Right now he was the same as any other two-month-old; mostly sleeping and eating, although she frequently found him contemplating the world through eyes sharp with intelligence, the same blue-green as his father's, and with much the same way of regarding his surroundings.

What she wouldn't give to look into those eyes again…

"Molly."

She froze at the sound of her name, then slowly turned her head toward the gate at the end of the small path leading to the cottage door. There, framed by the flowering roses trained over the white trellis, stood the man she'd been waiting for. The man renamed Khan Noonian Singh, leader of the Augments, her husband, father of her child. The man she'd never stopped thinking of as…

"Sherlock," she breathed, the broom dropping to the ground as she hurled herself into his waiting arms. He'd vaulted the gate as soon as the first syllable was out of her mouth, and they met midway along the short, stone-paved path.

The cottage was rustic in appearance but still boasted all the modern features one would want for a 24th century abode, including sensors in every room that would alert her if Victor needed her. Luckily he was a sound sleeper, because as soon as Sherlock and Molly entered the house, they wasted no time in removing one another's clothing, collapsing to the floor and making love as they hadn't been able to for far, far too long. And Molly had never been able to remain silent when her husband was pressing that beautiful, sensuous mouth of his against her pussy. She cried out his name as his tongue lapped eagerly against her clit, his fingers softly pressing her folds apart so he could better reach her; she dug her hands into his hair – soft, ginger curls at the moment, a cursory disguise – and flung her head back as he pulled a deep, guttural cry from her throat as she came.

She tugged at those curls, laughing and crying as she pressed kiss after kiss to his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. And he was smiling, too; not the cold smile he'd so often worn once his identity had been altered to better suit Dr. Singh's ambitions, but the warm, loving smile he'd only ever shown her and those closest to him. Which reminded her… "John's alive, but you know that, and Mary, and of course and Isabelle…"

"Yes, and you've given birth to a healthy baby boy named Victor," Sherlock interrupted her, lying her gently but firmly back on the pile of their discarded clothing. "Do try to stay focused, Molly; I want to see them all, especially our son, but right now your breasts require my full attention, and after that I intend to shag you rather mercilessly, how does that sound?"

He lowered his head to her breasts without waiting for an answer, suckling at each in turn, taking in the leftover milk from Victor's last feeding. It was…filthy, wrong…and so very, very right. She was almost distracted enough by the feel of his lips on her breasts not to notice how very differently he'd sounded just now. As if he were somehow, miraculously, more Sherlock than Khan again. She hardly dared to hope that it was true, that he'd managed to get back more of his suppressed personality traits, but now certainly wasn't the time to quiz him on the matter.

He lifted himself off her body and kissed her, hard; she tasted the mingled musk of her sex and milk of her breasts and his own, sweet flavor that she'd never forgotten, and moaned. He moaned right back, then reached down and eased himself into her body, slowly, a few centimeters at a time. She was fully recovered from giving birth, of course; even if she hadn't been Augmented, three months was more than enough time for a woman's body to recover enough for sex. But if he wanted to savor the moment, to take his time and ensure her comfort, she wasn't one to complain.

He stilled his body above hers as soon as he'd fully seated himself, eyes closed, seeming to bask in the sensation of feeling her around him. She knew she was doing that exact thing as her eyes fluttered shut and her hands tugged at his shoulders, bringing his face down to rest on her shoulder. "Love me, Sherlock," she whispered, begging with mouth and tongue against the remembered sensitive spots on his throat, the lobes of his ears. She raised her knees and lifted her hips, and as if he'd just been waiting for her to make the first move, he began thrusting into her, panting and growling his need for her until he came with a roar that shook the rafters…and awoke their son.

The soft chime of the sensor set next to the door alerted her to that fact only miliseconds before she heard their son's wails flowing down the stairs. She held Sherlock to her for a moment longer, pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, and then tapped his shoulders to signal her need to get up off the floor

He was frozen, his expression caught somewhere between joy and terror, and she knew it had everything to do with meeting his son for the first time. She smiled and shoved at him a bit harder; still looking dazed and uncertain, he obediently rolled himself off her body and stumbled to his feet, automatically reaching down to pull her up to standing. Molly didn't bother with her clothes; instead, she tugged gently at Sherlock's hand, wordlessly urging him to join her. He followed obediently down the hall and up the stairs, hesitating only a second as she opened the nursery door. "Come on, Sherlock," she said with a tender smile. "Come and meet our son. After all, you've spent the past year making sure he has a good life, haven't you?"

Then he smiled, that full-on, it's-just-like-Christmas smile he'd once reserved only for cases and eventually for her, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes and choking her throat. Tears of happiness, tears of relief at finally having her family together again. Yes, there were still hardships to be overcome, but now that they were together, nothing could stop them.

Smiling, she reached down and lifted Victor in her arms, then turned and gently transferred him to his father's awkward hold. "Say hello to your daddy, Victor," she said softly.

A single tear tracked its way down Sherlock's cheek as he stared with undisguised awe at the tiny form that lay so trustingly in his arms. Victor had stopped crying as soon as Molly lifted him up, and now he appeared to be studying his father just as intently as his father was studying him.

"He's perfect," Sherlock said a few minutes later, eyes lifting to meet Molly's, filled with awe and love in equal measure. "And I will never let anyone bring him a single moment's pain. Either of you. I promise."

Molly cupped his cheek. "I promise the same thing, Sherlock. Nothing will ever come between us again."

The future wasn't entirely rosy, but she was confident of their ability to navigate its darker shoals together.