Every fibre in his body was telling him to throw himself between Molly and the door, and while he knew he had no right, he couldn't let her walk out of there without all of the facts.

"I love you," he blurted, his brain eventually catching up.

She stopped. That meant something – didn't it?

"I love you, and I know we didn't talk about it the last time I said it, not properly, like we should have done. Maybe I thought it was enough just to have said it. But it's real, and it's, it's big, and it frightens me to think of how much it has taken over my life – I have never, never experienced anything like it before, Molly, and I know I never will again. This is it for me, Molly, and if I can't make it work, if I can't make you see, make you understand…make you forgive me…then, then…it's all been for nothing."

When he finally looked at her, she was biting her lip gently. He could see her eyes were pricked with tears again, but she wasn't allowing them to fall.

"Love is never for nothing, Sherlock," she said. "If anyone knows that, it should be me."

Tentatively, he moved a step closer to her. When she didn't move, he took another one. John's words suddenly rung loud in his consciousness – she had to know how it made him feel.

"I love our baby," he said, aching to touch Molly but still not daring to. "I know he's only the size of a blueberry and probably has slightly webbed fingers and toes at the moment, but I love him. I want him."

Now she was crying. Big, weighty tears fell from Molly's eyes, and he didn't know whether he had yet earned the right to comfort her.

"I want him and I want you," Sherlock added, almost choking on his words as he felt his own eyes sting. "I want us."

He watched as she dabbed at her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat drawn over her hand. He thought he could see her expression change.

"Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated with you, Sherlock?" she said, a laugh breaking through the sobs. "I've put up with some shit from boyfriends in the past, but this is way up there."

Boyfriend. She'd used the b-word. And it wasn't the b-word she'd used on him in the past, including during the phone call from Sherrinford. It was not a title that had ever before been bestowed on him – not even during the whole Janine debacle - and he liked how it sounded coming from Molly's lips. Of course, he hoped it would only be a place-holder for something much more permanent – but he was getting ahead of himself again.

"I can't help it if I'm in every way superior to all of your previous boyfriends," he said, unable to help himself.

And then Molly Hooper swats him and he suspects – dares to believe – that he is in the process of being forgiven. He takes a chance, stepping forward and engulfing her in a hug. Her small form folds into his, and Sherlock feels her arms wrap around his waist; he is suddenly, acutely, aware that this is his family. He pulls back so that he can see Molly's face.

"You look terrible," he remarks, the edges of his mouth curving up slightly.

Molly pokes him hard in the side.

"I feel like shit," she replies. "I think your baby is trying to eviscerate me."

"He carries fifty per cent of your genes, remember?"

"Yeah, the nice ones are mine," she said. There was a pause, as though something had just dawned on her. "Why do you keep saying 'he'?"

"It's a boy."

"That's ridiculous!" Molly laughed. "Not even you could possibly deduce that, Sherlock."

"We'll see."

As he continues to hold her, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket as it pings out a text alert. Molly glances up at him.

"John," he explains, before he's even checked the message. She doesn't seem to have a problem with him diverting his attention to his phone, so he takes a look.

Well? It's bloody freezing outside and I want to bring Rosie back in – SH

For the first and – god help him – hopefully the only time in his life, Sherlock texts back one of those smiley face emoji things.

He then returns his attention to the mother of his child, whose weight is leaning against him in a manner suggesting that she is falling asleep. Sherlock suspects that the next eight months or so are going to strongly test him in every way, but failing Molly is not an option. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're staying here tonight," he says.

He feels her nod against his chest.

"And I will furnish you with whatever food you think that your stomach might be able to tolerate in the circumstances."

"That's very hunter-gatherer of you," Molly smiles, looking up at him.

"I believe it's what all good fathers-to-be do," Sherlock says, returning the smile. "Although only the best ones are given extra portions when they go out on the hunt."

At that moment, the door to 221B was flung open and Mrs Hudson came barrelling through, with John – toting a red-cheeked Rosie – clearly trying to keep up. One thing was clear to Sherlock – John Watson had a big mouth. Now who needed a swift kick in the testicles?

Arms flung open, Mrs Hudson came hurtling towards them, giving Sherlock and Molly mere seconds to put enough distance between them to allow her to swaddle them both in a hug. She seemed to be emitting what Sherlock could only assume were excited squeals. No sooner had Mrs Hudson finished squeezing the living breath out of him, he felt a sharp smack on the side of his head.

"Ow!"

He looked accusingly at his landlady, his skin still stinging. Beyond her, he could see John smirking at him, and he felt Molly laughing into his shoulder.

"That's for being a silly sod," Mrs Hudson told him, by way of explanation. "And for keeping this lovely girl a secret."

"Molly's not a secret," he retorted.

"You know precisely what I mean, Sherlock," she replied, but within a few seconds her hard stare had softened and she returned to trying to throttle them both with kindness.

"Another baby in the house!" she exclaimed, reaching to touch Molly in the general vicinity of her stomach. "And your mother will be thrilled, Sherlock!"

Dear god, his mother. Mrs Hudson's reaction was likely to be a very agreeable dry-run compared to breaking the news to the formidable Wanda Holmes. He had a feeling he was going to have to encounter far more hugs and interrogations than he was entirely comfortable with.

"And Uncle Mycroft!" John exclaimed, setting Rosie down on her play mat. "You have to let me be there when you break the news to Mycroft."

Sherlock glared at John, but then thought about how far this might put him ahead of his dear brother in his parents' good books. Mycroft was already lagging behind him considerably after everything that had happened with Eurus and Sherrinford. He almost felt sorry for him.

"You must sit down, dear," Mrs Hudson said, ushering Molly over to the sofa. Molly caught his eye and they exchanged a smile. He missed her touch already, and moved to sit beside her when John caught him by the arm.

"Good work, Sherlock," he said, in little more than a whisper. "You're spending that currency well. Mary would be proud."

Sherlock nodded, aware more than ever that his friend's beloved wife was absent from this this latest Baker Street gathering.

As he sunk into the sofa, he felt Mrs Hudson's hand clamp around his leg, just above his knee; her other hand was in a similar position on Molly's.

"I expect you two have been having quite a bit of sex," Mrs Hudson said. "And I imagine that's been a lot of fun. I can still remember that feeling at the start of new relationship, when you just can't keep your hands off each other, when all you can think about is when you'll next have the opportunity to tear each other's clothes off. Now, Sherlock, don't be worried if Molly won't go near you for the next few weeks –

I've heard things pick up again in the second trimester."

A jolt of horror shot through Sherlock's veins, and looking across, he realised his revulsion was matched only by the deep blush in Molly's cheeks.

John coughed.

"Tea?"

Sherlock and Molly both looked up at him, eyes flicking to each other before returning to their rescuer.

"Yes!" they responded simultaneously.

THE END