A/N: Third parter and a smushy happy ending!

"Sherlock. I always get the sniffles when I'm due on, can you hold out on the dramatics." Molly groaned, rubbing at her dry eyes. Closing them as she laid back on the sofa, the world had been spinning but being horizontal stopped the swirling nausea.

"Molly, love." The term of endearment made Molly tense and she cracked one eye open. "Are you sure it's that, I mean when are you actually due on?" Sherlock was staring at her face. Molly bemused at his words.

"Sherlock love, I'm 33 years old, I think I've got my cycle pretty down pat." She hummed closing her eyes again.

"Yes I know it as well, 28 day cycle. However you didn't start a period 32 days ago, I thought maybe with our trip to India a month and a half ago and you getting that travelling bug that had you very sick, I thought your system might have altered somewhat." His rational explanation almost distracted her as she remembered with a sense of disgust how ill she had been in India.

Then Molly did the dates in her head and bloody hell he was right. Moving in with Sherlock and moving out of 221b Baker Street had made her lose track of time. Between India, work and boxes and settling her aging, grumpy Toby, Molly had lost the notion of what month it was. She sat upright very quickly.

"Molly?" Sherlock was looking at his girlfriend (though he shuddered at the flippancy of the word) and was a little hesitant. Did Molly not want a child? Did she not want his child?! His mind and heart raced at the thought.

"You're not freaking out?" Molly looked up to see him somewhat calm, though a closer inspection, with her own clear head would have seen panic in his eyes.

"Why would I?" Sherlock seemed bemused by her worry. "I love you." He stated it so simply, as though it was obvious that he seemed to miss Molly moving as she threw herself into his arms, sniffles forgotten.