The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 45

Molly's beauty was ineffable when she was around her family. Not that she wasn't beautiful before, but this was different. Molly smiled, really smiled. Her teeth showed, her skin glowed, and her doe eyes shined when she look down at her niece or over at her brother. She was happier than Sherlock had seen her in awhile. Sure, she was a genuinely happy person, but not like this. This was different.

Despite how much Sherlock adored her and adored seeing how she adored her niece, meeting Cal had only proved one thing to him:

Children were weird.

It wasn't a new thought. Sherlock had always thought so, even when he was a child himself. They were messy, and they smelled odd, and they were either too hyper or too mellow. There was no in between for them.

He couldn't say that he didn't like any children, though. There was Rosamund Mary, and young Archie, who reminded Sherlock of himself when he was a child, mellow, but extremely excitable when presented with interesting matters (murder). Archie was the same and Sherlock secretly hoped that he would see him again someday soon. After all, Archie never did get to see the headless nuns as Sherlock had promised he would.

Callie, Sherlock could see, would not grow up to be anyone like Archie. She was twisting and smashing her food with her fork while babbling on and on about the last episode of Bananas in Pajamas that she had seen. Her mother kept threatening to not allow her dessert later that night if she didn't stop playing with her food, but she kept doing so. After fifteen minutes, Elizabeth had had enough.

"Goodness, Callie! What will it take to get you to eat?"

Callie looked up, bubbly as ever. "I just can't eat. I'm too happy!"

"Too happy?" Daniel raised a brow at his daughter.

Callie nodded happily. "I'm so happy 'cos Aunt Molly's here an' I wanna play!"

Elizabeth sighed and looked up at her sister-in-law. "Molly, would you-?

Molly laughed. "Of course," she said, scooting her chair back as she stood. She took her empty plate in hand pushed her chair under the table. Sherlock stood up as well. "We'll be upstairs then."

After setting her plate in the kitchen sink, Molly led Sherlock upstairs to her bedroom where she lay sideways on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Sherlock flopped down next to her, causing her to bounce. She giggled and grabbed his hand in hers.

"Can you picture that happening to us someday?"

The question came as a shock to both Molly and Sherlock. Sherlock mentally jumped at her words. He sat up and looked down at the pathologist, whose doe eyes glistened curiously at him.

"Sorry?"

Her cheeks rosied, and she sat up as well, looking at her hands folded in her lap. "I know we've not been together for long," she said, her voice gentle, "but tell me, please. One day, not soon, of course, but one day, can you see us with a family? You and me ... a son or daughter ... maybe both?" A few seconds of silence passed and she turned from him. "Sorry ... I just-"

"Perhaps."

She looked back at him, her blush fading. "Sorry?"

"Perhaps," he repeated, "My mother and father have said that the first of their sons to have a family would inherit their home. If we have children someday, we wouldn't have to raise them in Baker Street."

Molly sniffed. "You'd never leave Baker Street."

"I never said I'd leave completely," said Sherlock, "I'd simply turn it into ... my office."