If anyone were to wander into the morgue at St. Bart's on a Tuesday night, they would expect the silent solemnity that comes from handling the dead and their grieving loved ones.

What they would not expect would be an angry, petite pathologist covered in splatters of blood gesturing madly at a red-faced, somewhat short man in a torn jumper, gesturing just as madly.

The two people in question, one Molly Hooper and one John Watson, were good friends. Not that anyone would assume that, considering the volley of curses flying between the two this particular Tuesday night.

'And I'm telling you, Sherlock will find out one way or another!' John shouted, running an agitated hand through his short-cropped hair.

Molly planted her blood-covered, glove-clad hands on her hips. 'And I told you not to tell Mycroft! And what is the first thing you do? You go blathering to the His Nibs! Of course Mycroft will not keep it a secret, there's nothing he likes more than one-upping Sherlock!'

John growled and breathed in five distinct deep breaths, an audible crack sounding as he clenched his teeth. 'I did not go blather- Why am I defending myself? Mycroft looked at me and deduced it.'

'No,' Molly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, painting her white coat with more blood. 'That still doesn't excuse the fact that within ten minutes of promising to not say a word you spilled everything! Thank God you don't know any government secrets,' she mumbled the last bit angrily.

Throwing his hands in the air, John groaned. 'How was I to know he would kidnap me today and within two seconds deduce something about you?'

'He's Mycroft Holmes, you complete tosser! He's better at deducing than Sherlock, you idiot! If I'd had a warning, I would have called him and explained or… or…' Molly huffed, flushing redder, if possible. 'Or even gotten a bit of a head start!'

'What the bloody Hell is going on?'

John and Molly whirled in surprise at the sudden intrusion. Standing in the doorway, a confused and angry expression on his usual stoic face, was Sherlock Holmes in all his deducing glory.

'John,' he snarled. 'Why are you upsetting my wife?'

Wisely backing away from the woman, John raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. 'I've got my hands full with my own wife. This one's all yours, mate. Good luck.'

As John fled the morgue, Sherlock stepped closer to the suddenly timid pathologist. 'Molly.'

At his entreating tone, Molly glanced up at him.

'What has Mycroft done?'

'Nothing!' No effort of deduction was needed for Sherlock to see through her blatant lie. Her hands twisted in front of her and she was looking everywhere but at him. Her too peppy voice squeaked and she swallowed thickly.

'Molly,' he repeated, a warning in his tone.

'What brings you here at this hour, Sherlock?' Molly turned back to the body on the examining table, attempting to avoid his puppy eyes.

She heard him move to the other side of the table. 'I was bored. I missed you. Do I need any other reason to visit?'

Molly smiled despite her nerves. 'No.'

She felt his eyes on her as she completed the autopsy. No doubt trying to deduce what was going on. She knew she would have to tell him what happened before Mycroft or John did. But she was afraid. Afraid of his reaction.

As she finished stitching the body and placing it in cold storage, Sherlock's gaze followed her closely. She stripped the gloves off her hands and, glancing down, groaned at the sheer amount of blood and bodily fluids she'd managed to get on her usually pristine white lab coat.

The clock on the wall ticked in the silence as she scrubbed herself clean. A quick glance told her it was nearly the end of her late shift. She rolled her shoulders, stiff from working 12 hours straight. She'd been dreaming of a hot bath and a good book since she clocked in. Some take away wouldn't miss either. If she played it right, she could probably get Sherlock to give her a foot massage.

'Molly,' Sherlock's voice broke through her daydreams. 'Tell me.'

She sighed. She turned to face him. Now or never.

Before she could even take a breath, the doors to the morgue burst open and a trio of armed men strode into the morgue. Their broad shoulders and intimidating posture immediately set Molly and Sherlock on the defensive and offensive, respectively. Sherlock jumped from his stool and pulled Molly behind him. She curled her hands into the thick fabric of his ever-present Belstaff, peering around him to watch as the men stepped closer. Sherlock's eyes flicked over the intruders, deducing a plethora of information.

Three heavy, tension-laden seconds passed before Sherlock relaxed and stood aside, pulling Molly to his side. 'May I ask why my brother has seen fit to send three of his best agents to scare my pathologist?'

'We are here to escort your wife to her flat, Mister Holmes,' the man in the middle replied.

'Am I to know why Mycroft suddenly believes I am incapable of walking her myself?'

The men looked at each other, then at her. Molly's heart jumped into her throat. They knew. Clapping a hand to her head, she groaned. The number of people knowing kept jumping, while the only person she actually wanted to know was still clueless.

'Sherlock.' She tugged on his sleeve, but he ignored her, staring down the men.

'Well?'

'Mister Holmes, if you would like a private moment, we will step into the hall,' the man on the far right offered. The one of the left spoke quietly into a near-invisible ear piece.

Molly nodded gratefully, but Sherlock cut them off. 'No, I'd like to know why Mycroft is interfering with my life again. Is Molly in danger? Has a threat been made?'

'Sherlock,' Molly tried interrupting again, but he continued to ignore her.

A loud ringing broke through the tension. Sherlock growled and whipped out his phone, tugging Molly tighter to his side. She wrapped her arms around his slim waist and tucked her face into the curve of his chest, feeling all her control of the situation slipping through her fingers.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock barked into the speaker. 'Is Molly in danger? Or are you simply trying to scare her to death?'

His brother's muffled reply sounded indignant. Molly smirked. She loved Mycroft, but he was very over-protective. Her heart rate was still very much elevated.

'Then why send three agents, your best agents, I might add, to simply walk her home?'

Molly swallowed thickly. She couldn't hear Mycroft's exact reply, but by the sudden stiffening of Sherlock's posture, she knew the man had let the secret out.

'Ah. I see,' Sherlock mumbled. With a distracted fumbling, he ended the call and placed the phone on the table beside them.

Molly bit her lip and started to pull away. Her retreat was blocked by Sherlock's iron-like hold around her shoulders. He made a shooing motion and the agents quietly and efficiently left the room, standing guard in the hall.

They stood in silence for several minutes before Sherlock spoke.

'Apparently, Mycroft has been the recipient of very exciting news. He is most pleased and has made arrangements for you to be under the protection of his best agents.'

Molly smiled at the sweet gesture from the normally distant government man.

'This protection is to be in place for the next 9 months, after which two additional agents will be assigned for the continued protection his future niece or nephew,' Sherlock said matter-of-factly. But Molly could feel the tension in his body.

She pulled away, letting his arm fall limply to his side.

'Apparently, our child will be under heavier guard than the Prince of Cambridge,' he smirked. Seeing she was still uncertain, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly.

'Are you okay with a baby?' She asked quietly.

Sherlock placed a hand on her still-flat abdomen and shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm not okay with five other men knowing about the existence of our child before me. But other than that, I find I am amenable to the change in our situation.'

Molly covered his hand with both of hers. 'Well, it's not my fault. You should have deduced it three weeks ago when I missed my cycle!' She laughed at the indignant look on his face as he pulled his hands away.

'Why would you tell John before me? Or Mycroft, for that matter!' He crossed his arms in a pout and turned his face away.

Molly tugged on his hands and placed them on her waist. Standing on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted tender kisses along his collarbone. He eventually capitulated to her enticement and pulled her up against his body.

'John came in to get the lab results you forgot just as I finished doing a blood test. He, of course, couldn't keep his mouth shut and told Mycroft during his weekly kidnapping,' Molly explained, her fingers toying with the familiar curls at the nape of his neck. She bit her lip. 'I should really apologize for yelling at him. It wasn't his fault, not really.'

Sherlock shivered at her touch. 'No, it wasn't. But he is somewhat unreliable in the secrets department.'

Molly giggled and rolled her eyes.

He bent to kiss her and mumbled darkly against her lips, 'So, Mrs. Holmes, what shall we do to get even with my dear brother?'

'That's Doctor Holmes.' Molly jokingly slapped his shoulder. 'And Mycroft meant well. It's not his fault we were scared.'

'You were scared,' Sherlock sniffed. 'I was merely intrigued.'

'Of course, dear,' Molly smirked.

He wiped the smug look off her face with a swift kiss, deepening it until she moaned and very nearly melted against him.

'You were saying?' He panted as he pulled away.

Molly groaned in response and tugged on his neck, trying to bring his lips back to hers.

With a laugh, he eagerly obliged.