"It's not too early," John told Sherlock for the third time, as the cab pulled up outside of Molly's flat. "I told you before, the baby is at a healthy weight, Molly's been fit as a fiddle."

"We need to go to the hospital-" Sherlock tried again.

"Over my dead body," Molly ground out.

"And mum knows best," John said with a smile, lowering the stethoscope. "Least she does for now anyway. But if I see something amiss, I don't want any arguments, do you understand me?"

Molly grunted, feeling another wave of contractions come.

"Oi," John pressed, and she nodded at last.

"I heard you," she said. "I promise. It's not bad, honestly,"

"It'll get worse before it gets better," John replied. "Come on now, let's get you upstairs and out of your clothes."

Sherlock glanced quickly over his wife's head. "Not the best choice of words, John."

"Shut up, Sherlock," John and Molly insisted.

The other car pulled up behind them, and Mycroft stepped out, lifting Rosie from the car seat and then giving his hand to Mary.

"Should I call Adeela?" Mary asked.

"She's already helping another client," Sherlock answered. "She'll get here as soon as she can."

"Tell her not to worry," Molly said as John helped her inside. "Please, Sherlock tell her for me? I've got John and Mary already."

"Yes but he's not a midwife!" Sherlock insisted.

"He is a doctor, I'd imagine he knows the mechanics of it," Molly replied sharply.

"He did take a midwifery course when I was pregnant with Rosie," Mary volunteered.

"Oughtn't Rosie go home?" Mycroft asked. "I should be more than willing to-"

"No, she may stay," Molly said, again with a grunt as John leaned her against the table, and Sherlock bent, helping her out of her shoes. "If John and Mary don't mind that, is."

"No of course not," John shook his head. "We're all family here, and doctors and nurses at that."

"It would help if you stayed and kept her busy though," Mary added, rushing past Mycroft, heading towards the bathroom to give everything a wipe-down.

"Oh, everyone calm down, please," Molly pleaded. "Just because my water broke doesn't mean the baby's going to pop out immediately after. Good grief. Contractions have barely started. Someone put the kettle on. Hardly anyone got to eat, there's take-away menus in the drawer by the fridge."

"Where do you want to be?" John asked.

"I want to change first, and for goodness' sake, everyone please stop acting like I'm going to snap into bits. I'll tell you when to panic. Sherlock, come help me change."

~O~

In the quiet bedroom, Molly stood, taking in the silence, the muffled noise of the others in the living room barely audible. Sherlock fussed around the room, scooping up laundry they hadn't picked up yet. The bed was still unmade from that morning.

"Help me into one of my sports bras, for when I'm in the tub. I'll just wear a sleep shirt until then," Molly said, when he asked what she'd rather wear. "Long enough to cover my thighs."

"Shorts?"

"Yeah, don't want to scare Mycroft," Molly said with a laugh.

"Lean on me," Sherlock said and he knelt, helping her out of her shoes. He unrolled her stockings and tossed them aside. His cheek was pressed against her belly as he did so, and he felt the baby give another kick.

"Oo," Molly breathed, feeling her knees go weak.

"Steady," he murmured, then realized he wasn't sure if he was talking to the baby or to Molly. "I'm here, I'm right here," he pressed a kiss to her stomach, then got to his feet. She met his gaze, and he smiled reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, as if she needed the reminder, and she smiled, relaxing somewhat. Moving around to unzip her, he kept his arm out so she could hold onto him.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmhm?"

Her fingers flexed against his arm, finding her balance as she swayed, shifting her feet. "I'm scared."

He lifted his head, studying her back for a moment as he pondered her words, trying to find his own. Squeezing her shoulder with his free hand, he pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. "So am I. Not knowing what's going to happen…all these emotions whirling about and nowhere to really direct them…but it's exciting too, isn't it?"

She gave a nervous laugh, calmer this time. "Yes, yes, it is. One thing is for certain at least, this time tomorrow, we'll be holding her."

"Maybe not," Sherlock objected, sliding her dress down, thumbs sliding between the fabric and her skin to encourage the fabric over her belly and hips. "Sometimes labors can last for a very long time. There was a case I read about, a woman in Poland who endured a seventy-five day labor."

"If that's to be believed, you can depend on me being very pissed off indeed," Molly added.

One final tug and her dress slipped down over her calves, pooling at her feet. Sherlock gave his hand again, helping her step out of it.

"Arms up, young lady, and about face," carefully, he helped her into the sleep shirt and then she turned to face him. Once certain she was covered, he pulled her close, kissing her forehead, each flushed cheek and finally her lips. "I never thought I'd get to be a father," he murmured, wonder in his tone. "You've given me a gift I cannot place a price on…"

Teary-eyed, she smiled up at him. "I can't believe I never told you. I feel so foolish."

"You should," he answered. "But not too foolish, I think John would say something about my intellect regarding the obvious."

"Humph."

"I still wish I could remember that night," Sherlock added, quieter.

"From what I recall, it ended too soon, and we were both sloppy, so I don't think it's anything specifically magical to remember," Molly laughed.

Sherlock looked entirely insulted.

"Oh don't look so upset. We were both piss-faced." She stepped back somewhat and went to the dresser to fish around for a pair of shorts to put on.

"Molly!"

She turned to look at him as she kept on rummaging through the dresser. "Hm?"

"Do you realize your only interaction with me sexually has probably been my worst performance in my entire life!"

"Well it can't have been that poor, you did get me pregnant the first go," she shrugged with a laugh, patting her belly. Finding a pair of shorts, she carefully bent, stepping into them. Sherlock stepped forward and knelt, helping her into them.

"That can't count as our first time! It was rubbish!" he insisted.

"How do you know? You can't remember!" Molly retorted, hands on her hips. He batted at her, moving her hands out of the way so he could finish pulling up her pants.

"You just said it was sloppy and over too soon!"

"Well it was!"

"Our first time should be memorable, not some…drunken quickie!" Sherlock said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well it's too late for that, we can't not count it, the baby is a result of it, you tit." Molly replied, trying her hardest not to laugh at what had to be their most ridiculous argument. She bent, cupping his face as he sulked. "If it makes you feel any better, I was probably just as sloppy."

"You were probably lovely and pretending I wasn't a dribbling idiot."

"Maybe," she shrugged. "But it doesn't matter. My only regret about that night is that we let drinks do the talking. I'd like to think we can communicate on a romantic level without alcohol."

"I can!" Sherlock insisted, standing.

"And after six weeks, you can show me," Molly laughed. "Promise?"

"Promise." He kissed her to seal the deal, hugging her once more.

Leaving the bedroom, Sherlock helping Molly into one of his dressing gowns, they looked at the others, quite forgotten, all sitting in the living room.

"Oh…right…" Molly looked somewhat red, realizing they all had heard. Only Rosie babbling to herself underneath the coffee table could be heard.

Coughing slightly, Mycroft stood, offering his chair to Molly, who eased herself down.

"Don't feel too bad, Sherlock," John piped up finally. "I fell asleep on Mary once."

Mary nodded in agreement. "Literally. On top of me."

"Oh no!" Molly tried not to laugh, then winced, rubbing her belly. "Oooo, steady on," she held out her hand. "Help me up, I think I'd rather walk a little," Sherlock and Mycroft both gave their arms, helping her to her feet. As she stood, her knees nearly gave out. "Oh that's not good," she groaned. "Not bad, it's just-" her voice was strained, tears springing to her eyes.

"If you can still talk through the contractions then-"

"I don't think she can talk now, Sherlock," John interrupted. "Let's get you to the bath, shall we? Mycroft will you watch Rosie?"

"Naturally."

Sandwiched between John and Sherlock, Molly managed to waddle to the bathroom. Mary ran ahead of them to fill the tub and see about blankets and see that the delivery kit under the sink was stocked.

"It should all be there," Sherlock said, seeing Mary look it over.

"I scrubbed the tub yesterday," Molly managed to say.

"I gave it a quick swipe while you were changing, speaking of, bottoms off and into the tub."

"Sherlock get the camera," Molly insisted. "Mary promised to photograph it,"

"What?!" Sherlock looked alarmed.

"Oh for goodness sakes, camera," Mary snapped her fingers, and Sherlock hopped to, scurrying from the bathroom.

"Don't you want Mary to help deliver?" Sherlock asked when he returned.

"No, you'll take rubbish pictures," Molly insisted. "Or forget entirel-hooooooo-oooo-"

"Oo that's a big one," John said, voice steady and soothing. "Nice and easy, breaths, that's a girl Molls, lovely, pant, pant, that's the way-"

Mary snatched the camera, switching it on, capturing the first shot: John soothing Molly through the first wave of contractions.

"First of many," she smiled at the group. "Go on as if I weren't here. Sherlock, you perch yourself by Molly's head, John will take the aft, as he ought to see what's going on downstairs."

"We aren't there yet," John piped up. "You're dilating, which is good. But if you'd like to get in the tub now it might help you relax a bit more."

Sherlock helped Molly out of her shorts while John held her steady, minding where she put her feet as she stepped over the lip of the tub and sank into the water with a groan.

"Here, your shirt will be soaked," Sherlock helped her sit up for a moment to help her out of it. Wringing it out, he hung it over the end of the hamper to dry.

"You can shift position as you need," Mary advised. "And don't worry, I won't get any cheeky snaps."

Molly gave a watery laugh, recovered enough from her birthing pains to smile.

A quiet knock on the door made them all turn. Mycroft stood in the partway open door, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, Rosie holding onto his hand, wide-eyed and peering at the crowd in the bathroom.

"Rosie is beginning to tire, and wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh, let her, please," Molly insisted, and rose to her knees. Leaning against the end of the tub, she held her hand out for Rosie to come forward.

"Okay?" Rosie asked, soft and worried.

"Yes lovey, your little cousin is coming soon now."

Rosie's eyes danced, excited, she clapped her hands, bouncing up and down.

"Gentle, Rosie," Mary cautioned. "Gentle, Auntie Molly is very tender."

"Sorry," Rosie murmured.

Beside her, John and Mary exchanged warm smiles, pleased.

"Now give us a kiss," Molly said. "And let Uncle Mycroft tuck you in." Rosie obeyed, then kissed her parents and Sherlock in turn before rejoining Mycroft at the door.

"I'll see she's put to bed," Mycroft promised. "The couch seemed most likely."

"Lots of blankets and sheets in the cupboard by the stairs- Ooooo-"

"Steady on," John warned. "Sherlock can show him."

"I'll find them," Mycroft promised, and waved Sherlock off, who hadn't even moved yet.

"Don't worry about shouting as you carry on," Mary added, once Mycroft and Rosie were gone. "She sleeps like the dead once she's out."

"Hm. And if I know my brother, he'll have her fast off in no time, telling her some horribly boring story," Sherlock added.

"Be nice, he'll be babysitting some nights for us," Molly said, shifting to lean against the end of the tub, lifting her knees up and then stretching her legs out again. "Can't get comfortable."

"Keep your knees up, it'll help open up the pelvis," John answered.

"My pelvis is about to be cracked apart," Molly groused, feeling another wave of contractions.

"I'll fetch some ice chips for you," John gave her hand a comforting squeeze before he got up.

From the living room, Rosie began to fuss and call for her mother, so Mary got up.

"Back in a tick. Don't push her out just yet!"

"I won't," Molly laughed through the pain. "She's not exactly in a rush."

"She's certainly causing a lot of fuss though," Sherlock smiled gently at his wife. Wife! There was a lovely thought. Such a new, marvelous, exciting thought. He knelt by the tub, and she scooted closer to the side, resting her head against his, breathing through the pain.

"She takes her arrival cues from you, I think- oooowwwwww-"

"Nice and easy," he soothed. "That's the way-" Somehow, he managed to keep his outward appearance calm, though inside he was going absolutely mad, ripping through all his carefully laid baby-rooms, looking for facts and figures, and looking for a possible solution to ease Molly's pain. Of course, there wasn't any, and all he could do was hold her hand and speak as consolingly as he could.

"Do me a favor," she said, once the contractions passed. "Go and fetch Mycroft, will you?"

"What for?" Sherlock frowned. "He doesn't like this sort of thing."

"That's why I'm calling him in now, before it gets really messy, go get him, now," Molly squeezed his hand, and he nodded, getting to his feet. "Tell everyone to keep out, until he comes out too,"

"But-"

"No buts, go on."

Mycroft stared at his younger brother, Rosie half-asleep on his lap. "I…what?"

"I'll take her back" Mary said, and gently eased her daughter onto her shoulder, gently swaying. "Go on. Can't be the first compromising position you've been in."

He got to his feet, tugging at his waistcoat, smoothing his tie and adjusting his cuffs before he moved down the hall to the bathroom. Knocking lightly, he waited for Molly to call him in.

She lay in the bath, which was half-full.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Oh sit down, goodness," Molly urged with a grunt. She'd pulled her hair up into a messy pony-tail.

"You'll have snarles," he cautioned, and reached. "May I?"

"Go on," she nodded tiredly. "You fix my hair, and I'll talk."

"I expect this is about my family," he said, carefully tugging the elastic from her hair. He clicked his tongue at her and took a brush from the counter, starting from the bottom and working his way up to her scalp. "If it's to rescind the offer of the baby photograph to Eurus, nothing has been arranged as of yet-"

"No, it isn't that," Molly interrupted. "Well, partly, I wouldn't like to send her something that will cause her pain. She might see it and think that…well look at how everyone is living their lives and she can't be here with us. I mean, I know why she can't-"

"As does she, tilt," he pushed her head forward so he could start plaiting her hair.

"You're good at this," she commented, feeling him begin to braid her long hair.

"I used to have to fix Eurus' hair," he said, a somewhat prideful smile gracing his lips. "And as for the other matter, I think that Eurus will be able to read your intentions very well, should she choose to allow herself to see what's put before her. She is still…very much retreating inside of herself. Quite unreachable." He fell silent, pausing to gather himself. Quietly, he went on fixing her hair. He cleared his throat, continuing: "But if you are worried, a note of some sort would not go amiss. She is allowed letters from the family. Mummy and father send postcards from wherever they travel, and Sherlock and I each take it in turns to mail a letter every other week, usually including puzzles and word games, not that she touches them."

"I want to send her an album," Molly said at last. She leaned forward, groaning. Mycroft moved towards the door to call for Sherlock, but she waved him back. "It's all right. I'll shout if it's really time, I promise. Then you can run. But listen," she held out her hand to him, and he took it, letting her squeeze his thin fingers until they were nearly crushed as she keened, low, pained. Finally, she pulled herself upright again, and Mycroft marveled at his sister in-law. He'd always known Molly was focused and determined, and seeing her power through a truly difficult stage of life (literally giving life, that is), was a wonder to see. "I want a proper album, family snapshots, of all of us. We start fresh, from tonight, going forward. Eurus is our sister, she's done bad things, and for those she has to answer to, but between all of us, we are family. Family can't be replaced, and once they're gone, we can't re-do what's been said or take back what we did. Wouldn't it be so much better to try and mend things now? I think deep down you all love each other very much, only you're all too bloody prideful to do anything about it."

Mycroft found himself smiling gently as well. "I…I shall make the arrangements for a photographer as soon as you say," he promised.

"I want her to have something to hold, to look at. Maybe one day we'll be able to have a photograph with her. Or at least just me and her, I don't know, but I don't want her to miss all of this."

"I don't know whatever we did to deserve you, sister-mine, but I do think you'll be the best thing for us," with that, he kissed her forehead. "I'll see to everything, I promise." He murmured, then straightened. "Come in, Sherlock,"

"Everything all right?" he asked, stepping in. "Oh good, you fixed her hair. I can't do a thing with it."

"You never could, brother-mine," Mycroft added with a smirk.

"Be nice, boys," Molly chided, breathless, feeling another contraction. "Thank you, Mycroft."

"No trouble at all." With that, he and Sherlock traded places, and John and Mary filed in bearing the camera, ice chips and cold compresses.

"Here I found an inflatable pillow for your neck," Mary said.

"Thanks."

From the living room, Rosie taking up part of the sofa, snuggled up with a stuffed rabbit, her feet propped up on his knees, Mycroft listened as Molly pushed his niece into the world. He could hear John giving instruction, and, best of all, he could hear Sherlock murmuring encouragement, praising her. How far his brother had come! Perhaps if this had all happened at another time, if this were years ago, perhaps Sherlock still would have been at Molly's side. Mycroft had no doubt that Sherlock would have been at her side for such an occasion, regardless of what their relationship was at the time. But now, Sherlock was so much better, so much…dare he say it, human. Come to think of it, so was he. What an acid thought! Still. Mycroft looked at Rosie, fast asleep, clearly comfortable in his presence. He thought of his niece, who he would be holding in a matter of hours. It was a plain and simple fact that the ice-man was melting fast. At least when it came to family. True, they were still not a normal family, they wouldn't all sit down to meals every Saturday night and watch football on tv and make regular outings together, but the feelings were what mattered. Mycroft would do anything for his family, did and would still do so. Deep down, he would always love his family and do everything within his power to keep them safe and protected. Happiness hadn't ever factored into it, not really. But now with Molly as a part of it, perhaps she could help bring them all together again.

"That's it, love, that's it, nearly there, nearly there, nearly there-"

"Baby's head is born, little pushes, Molls, gorgeous, gorgeous, that's the way, shoulders now- here she comes- grab her shoulders, and ease her out, there we go, there we go, there she is!"

Mycroft listened to John Watson helping Molly, he could see Mary perched on the sink in the bathroom, snapping shots, clearly crying and beaming with joy. She caught sight of him and nodded him over. One last look at Rosie to be sure she was asleep, he got up, again tugging nervously at his waistcoat.

At the doorway, he stood by Mary, expecting her to show him the last few shots, instead she pushed the door open wide. Molly lay in the tub, a newborn baby girl cradled to her chest. Sherlock was openly weeping, and John was resting on his elbows, chin against his arms, smiling at the scene. Mycroft heard the camera snap, quite sure Mary was taking his own reaction for posterity. He found he couldn't care less. It wasn't just Molly who was the new addition to the family, nor the baby either. It was the Watson's, and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade and Stamford. What a messy hodge-podge of people that made up the family.

It wasn't such a bad thing, being human.

Sherlock dried his eyes, murmuring that the tub ought to be drained soon.

"Once the after-birth is delivered," John said. "Shouldn't be long now, and we'll get mum and baby rinsed off and checked out. I know the last thing you want is to let her go," he said. Molly smiled, weary, breathless. Despite her exhaustion, there was such a glow about her, she was lovely through and through.

"I know, vitals, weight, height," she answered. "Just give me a moment, give me a moment," she was trying to reassure herself that she'd just given birth, that she was holding her lovely baby girl at long last!

"I know," John nodded. "Just enjoy it right now. The chaos will come soon enough."

"It'll be over lickety-quick," Mary promised. She passed the camera to Mycroft and hopped down off the sink, gathering a blanket and warm cloth. While she and John made quick work of cleaning off baby and taking vitals, Sherlock helped Molly through the after-birth.

John showed Sherlock how to cut the cord, and Sherlock, with trembling hands, did as instructed, glancing up at his wife once the deed was done, eyes shining.

"What about names?" Mycroft suddenly piped up, finding he barely had a voice, too moved by the scene before him.

Sherlock and Molly exchanged smiles, and she nodded to her husband.

"In keeping with the hideous Holmes tradition, Molly has elected for a ridiculously long name, in the hopes that, like her father and Uncle, she will be teased mercilessly by her schoolmates-"

"Sherlock!" Molly reached, pinching his backside (which was the nearest for her to pinch).

"Ottilie Marie Florence Zephyr Holmes," Sherlock quoted, chest puffed out, quite proud.

"Zephyr?" Mycroft quoted, an eyebrow raised. "As in the Greek God of the western wind and summer breeze?"

"Mm," Molly nodded, cheeky smile. "Something to warm all you cold Holmes' hearts."

"You don't play fair," Mycroft insisted.

"Who says we don't?" Mary asked, placing Ottilie into her father's arms. Sherlock for his part, felt his knees sag, and he sank down onto the closed toilet seat, staring in awe at the bundle in his arms.

Rosie, from the living room, began to stir. The afterbirth was delivered, and the tub was drained, so John quickly washed up and went to fetch Rosie, while Mary helped Molly rinse off.

"You take her," Sherlock gently passed Ottilie to Mycroft, and then turned to help Molly to her feet before lifting her into his arms.

Mycroft only had eyes for his niece. So tiny! So perfect! He made quick work, counting fingers and toes and making sure that everything was as it should be. It was too soon to be certain yet, but he was sure he could see the Holmes' cheeks, and the wispy hair that crowned her head looked very much as it did when Sherlock was first born. Time would tell whether Ottilie would be cursed with the wretched Holmes' curls that afflicted both Holmes brothers.

Changed and settled on the bed, Molly held out her arms for the baby, and Mycroft quickly, carefully, passed her back. He knew he was lingering, and surely Sherlock and Molly would like to be alone. With great reluctance, he moved towards the door.

"I'll call mummy and father," he offered, and Molly smiled.

"Send Anthea a snap too, I know she'll want to know."

"I will," he promised.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

Sherlock stood suddenly, and held out his hand to his brother. "Thank you, Mycroft."

"My pleasure, brother-mine." One final glance at baby Ottilie, and he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

~O~

In the quiet bedroom, Sherlock settled carefully beside wife and daughter.

"I can't believe she's finally here," Molly murmured, cradling her directly against her breast, over her heart, just as Deela had told her to.

"Text from midwife came, she'll be by in the morning, if that suits," Sherlock said, glancing at his phone.

"Yes, tell her thank you too, by the way for bringing the delivery kit last week, it was a big help."

"Hm." Sherlock tossed the phone aside once finished with the text and sank down beside Molly. "Morning can hang itself, right now I only want to be here,"

Molly hummed a tired sigh. "Can't seem to stop smiling. I feel as if I'm dreaming!" she laughed. "Am I holding her?"

"Yes you are, love," Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I just have an awful feeling I'm going to wake up on the couch, and she'll still be unborn," she confessed. "You're here, you're finally here." Almost wonderingly, she stroked the baby's soft cheek. "I always forget how soft babies are."

"What did you talk to Mycroft about?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"You didn't listen in?" Molly asked, surprised.

"No, you said to send everyone away."

"Hmm."

"I may have heard…something…about an album…" Sherlock answered finally. Molly gave him a look. "And you wanting us to be a family again…"

"Yes," Molly shifted slightly, making herself comfortable. "I want this to be a fresh start, for all of us, not just us, but your parents too, and especially Eurus."

"I expect that was why you included 'Zephyr' in our daughter's name," Sherlock nodded. "I do understand your meaning, truly, and you aren't wrong…perhaps this will be the push we all need."

"I know we won't be a perfect family, in this life, how can we be? But I'd like to make a go of it. I'll need your help, though, yours and Mycroft's."

Sherlock leaned back so that he could look at her properly, and said: "Molly Hooper Holmes, no matter whatever happens in this world, no matter how my parents react to your, surely herculean efforts, I will always give my support." A pause. "Unless you're going to commit some hideous crime, in which case I shall have to promise to arrest you."

"Oh I'd win you over to my side," Molly teased.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he responded and kissed her.

"Well before we retire to a life of crime, what do you say we sleep for the next eight hours?"

"You can't, Ottilie will need to be fed soon, and you really haven't eaten anything properly either, come to think of it-"

Molly placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. "Now would be a good time to hush,"

His gaze softened, and he looked at her with no small degree of wonderment and affection. This beautifully wonderful woman had come so far in his life, conquered so much, including her fears, to be the wife and mother that he loved so fiercely. "I do love you, you know."

Molly smiled tiredly, eyes still shut. "What? Because I told you to shut up?"

"No, because you're absolutely marvelous and I can't believe all of this is mine." He answered simply. He couldn't say what he meant, that she was his lighthouse when things were difficult. She was home in every sense of the word, her and Ottilie, now. "I used to be afraid," he went on after a moment, hand cupping her cheek, drifting down to smooth the baby's soft downy hair. "Afraid of the future, of what I'd become."

She opened her eyes this time, meeting his gaze. "And now?"

"Now I'm…comfortable, I'm happy, truly happy. I'd thought it was a farce for the longest time…love and all that. I thought it must exist for some but I doubted my ability to possess it, that anyone could love me, and vice-versa. When John and Mary got married, I was…quite jealous, because there was proof of love, real love, and it wasn't mine. I look at you now, and I cannot believe that you love me, beyond the infatuation you started with, beyond any crush either of us began with. It blossomed into something quite beautiful, and it's mine- ours," he smiled, correcting himself.

"Because we gave it time," Molly answered him. "Just like everyone else who loves each other, we gave each other time, and didn't ask what the other couldn't give. Didn't expect beyond capabilities, or push our ideals on the other."

He hummed in response, studying the baby again. "I think she'll have your eyes."

"Your hair, I'd wager," Molly answered, finding sleep was swiftly winning her over again, despite the shared tender moment. "Before I fall asleep, I will say that I do love you too, Sherlock."

"Most ardently," he murmured, quoting her favorite book. He kissed her then, before settling her and Ottilie in his arms. How lovely to be loved! There would be trials in the coming months, to be sure, his parents, for one, and Eurus as well. For now, he wouldn't worry. Molly was confident, and that was what mattered. For now, he could sleep, wife and child in his arms, gladly protecting them from whatever future storms they may face. Still, it was a good thought, as he drifted off to sleep, no matter what would come their way, it couldn't break them, love had held them together through all the years prior, it could certainly see them through their future together.