Sherlock Holmes was used to the sound of giggling in his house. He was used to braiding hair, tying rag rolls to make hair curl, and buttoning up long rows of mother-of-pearl buttons on little linen and lace dresses before sitting down to a tea party in the nursery. Sherlock Holmes was the father to four little girls, and he did not mind it one bit.

"When's Mrs. Holmes going give you a son?" Sherlock looked to the Inspector Dimmock.

"I didn't realize it was up to her," he shrugged and pushed past him to the crime scene.

He told Molly that night and she chuckled, finishing taking her hair down. She looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"Do you want a son?" He shrugged

"I want children, the sex doesn't matter, so long as they are healthy," he bent, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"But it doesn't bother you, that you don't have someone to carry your name or-" he covered her hands in his.

"I care only that our children are happy and loved." She turned then, coming to stand in the circle of his arms.

"Good," she kissed the tip of his nose. "Because I've a feeling this next one is a son." He frowned at her, confused for a moment, reeling from this new information. Once he congratulated her properly, he pulled away.

"How do you know it's a son?"

"I've decided it's high-time we have a boy is all," she shrugged.

"Molly..."

"Hush," she kissed him, beaming. "Don't tell me the odds, or that there's no way I could know...I just do." She smiled, eyes sparkling at him. "Are you going to take me to bed or keep on staring at me?" She asked with a laugh. Sherlock scooped her up in his arms, bringing her to the bed.

"I hope you know I'm only humoring you because you're pregnant."

"Liar," she giggled, tugging him down with her, and he had no wish to protest.

In time, Molly proved her intuition was correct when she gave birth to not one, but two sons, twins. Sherlock, when asked if he thought at last their family was complete, he shrugged.

"I shouldn't say no to one more...I like odd numbers." He turned to Molly, surrounded by their four rosy-cheeked girls, cooing and tickling their baby brothers. Molly smiled at them all, and then met her husband's gaze, smile matching his. He came around the bed, picking up the youngest girl and settling her on his lap. If two boys were all they ever had, it did not matter at this moment. Right now, surrounded by smiling faces and shining eyes, Sherlock could not be happier. Amid bouncing curls and lace and dolls clutched in little hands, he admired each and every one of them, eyes finally resting on his dearest girl, patiently telling the two eldest how to hold their baby brothers just so. It was a picture Sherlock would never tire of.