All Part of the Cover (A Sherlolly Fanfic)

Consideration or Emancipation

By ValkyrieRyder (Aim unfortunately has Writers' Block, so, you know, wey hey, me again. Aim will, with any luck, write two consecutive chapters after this to make up). I hope you all don't mind! Bear with us, please! Val, over and out! ~VC (Val) x

Molly was sick of Sherlock's antics, she really was.

Their routine had fallen into a set regime. Molly would stay at home and keep house, and Sherlock had gotten himself a job as something minor on the local town council. Molly wasn't sure exactly what. He never specified. Molly also wasn't sure that putting Sherlock in charge of anything vaguely important for the welfare of other human beings was a good idea, but she went with it. Their income flow had to come from somewhere, after all.

Sherlock would wake up at exactly six, and wish Molly a good morning, meaning that he would shake her awake. She'd make breakfast and iron his suit whilst he showered, and then she'd give both to him, sometimes forcing him to eat breakfast. Next she'd tie his tie that he detested and always tried to escape out of the door without, and pull his coat around his shoulders and tie his scarf for him, with practiced hands. Then she'd kiss her husband lightly on the cheek, which elicited no form of emotional response from him whatsoever, and she'd send him out of the door.

And then she'd lean back against the wall and cry a little.

Today was the same as every day.

She was fairly sure that Sherlock had forgotten about her pregnancy.

Any normal husband would try to help Molly out around the house, support her and be at her beck and call. Molly wasn't asking for that. She just wanted someone to support her, to pick out baby names with, to choose the colour of the paint in their child's room from colour swatches with. To look at perambulators and cots and mobiles with.

Her fingers brushed over her stomach lightly. She now had a noticable bump. Sherlock must have noticed her sickness every morning?

Maybe he hasn't. Maybe he's just trying to shut it all out.

And then her eyes flickered over to the thin envelope lying on the table.

The ultrasound results. The clinic name was printed neatly on the front.

Molly picked up the envelope with shaky fingers.

17 weeks in.

The gender of her baby was inside that envelope.

She took a knife from the kitchen and slit the envelope, but her hands were shaking so much that she nicked her finger. The blood from her cut leaked on to the cream carpet, but Molly didn't care.

Should I wait for Sherlock?

No. He doesn't care.

Molly had somewhat domesticated Sherlock. The two were doing their best to fit in with village life, keeping up the facade of 'happy young couple'. Word got around fast in a close-knit community like theirs. They had started attending Church on Molly's insistence, and Molly did flower-arranging and charity galas and whatever would introduce her as a community member. Sherlock did his part by standing by her side and practising a smile that wasn't downright terrifying.

Molly edged out the piece of paper with her fingers.

When she saw the writing, the paper fluttered out of her fingers.

When Sherlock walked through the door later that night, his wife was waiting to greet him with a smile bigger than he'd seen on her face for a long while. She grabbed his coat lapels, pulled him down and gave him a fierce little peck on the lips.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

She only said one word, a word that began with 'G'.

A word that caused Sherlock to first stagger in shock, but then he smiled the softest smile that Molly had ever seen him give as he held his wife close.

And Molly felt warm and safe with Sherlock Holmes, for the first time ever.