"I'm home," Molly called to the flat. There was no answer, so she shrugged. Sherlock must have still been out on his case. Toeing off her shoes, she hung up her coat on the wired skeleton coat rack and headed for the kitchen to feed Toby. After a long day at the hospital, all she wanted was to shower and eat. Maybe she'd even be extra lazy and just take her dinner and tea to bed.

Washing off the grime of the day, she heaved a tired sigh, returning to the kitchen. The kettle had just boiled, so she switched it off, frowning. Had she put it on before she jumped into the bath? She must have. Shrugging, she fixed herself toast, too tired for anything else. Plate and mug in hand, she shuffled to the bedroom, Toby following behind.

"There you are," a tired voice from the corner of the room said as she flicked the lights on.

"Oh! Goodness," she shook her head, affixing her husband with an annoyed glare. "Well, thank you for putting the kettle on for me."

"I don't suppose you brought a cup for me?"

"Nope."

"Willing to share?"

"Nope." He sighed, annoyed, but pushed the covers back anyway so she could climb in. She handed him the mug anyway.

"Go on, take a swig," she acquiesced and he smiled his thanks, eyes shining at her over the rim of the mug. She munched on her toast, telling him about the post-mortems she'd accomplished that day until a huge yawn threatened to crack her jaw.

"Bedtime," he said, taking the plate and mug from her and setting them on the end table. "You're exhausted."

"I am at that." She slid down under the covers and he scooted close, arms around her belly, soothing circles there. "Not long now until I can take my maternity leave," she murmured tiredly.

"Hmm,"

"Are you measuring my belly?" she asked, a little annoyed.

"Just seeing how many inches you've grown since last week," he excused himself. He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder. "Now, shall I tell you about my case or will you insist on telling me about Mr. McCreedy and his suspicious bowel obstruction?"

"Which would you prefer?"

"It's not what I prefer, when it comes to what's best for my pregnant wife."

"I think I'd prefer both," she said sleepily."

"Very well, I'll start."

He spoke quietly, she offered her advice, sometimes serious, sometimes just to make him scowl with annoyance and then the bed would shake under her as she laughed, which made him chuckle in turn. In a little while though, she'd fallen asleep. It was not so out of place for her to fall asleep before he finished explaining a case, and he never took it to heart, especially now that she was pregnant. She might as well have had two full time jobs. He reached over her, putting out the lamp and kissed her goodnight.

"Now then," he spoke softly to her belly. "Are you awake?" a gentle kick under his palm was enough of an answer. "Where did I leave off? Oh yes, the skulls in the sewers, your Uncle John was insisting to your Aunt Mary that they were fakes, but of course I knew otherwise…"

It would be some time before he met his son, but Sherlock knew it was never too early to start them learning, especially when it came to solving crimes.