Broken Child

Chapter Three

The following days to come Molly notices small, and somewhat odd habits that her husband seems to be inheriting. Nothing she seemed she should worry about, just diminutive things. Closing the drapes even when, for London standards, the weather was nice. Continuously checking the lock on the door, making sure it was secure. He told Molly he was going to dust the furniture. The words, 'Sherlock' and 'housekeeping' in itself don't pair well, so when she handed him the duster he didn't necessarily do it accurately, the main reason being he seemed somewhat distracted. His eyes wandering about the flat without a sweep of the duster. More like he was searching for something than actually cleaning. Things Molly found slightly suspicious when they kept reoccurring. The real stumper was when she overheard Sherlock on the phone with his brother. Communications with him were loose, the fact that they were actually talking to each other was slightly alarming to Molly. She didn't know if the conversation was supposed to be private. Sherlock was in their room, the door partially closed, but from the kitchen where she was preparing a small dinner for them she could make out hushed whispers.

"...safer...if you could...surveillance..."

Meaningless words jumbled around. She tried to piece them together like a puzzle but could find no significance to why he would say those things. When she probed Sherlock about the subject, he simply claimed it was part of a small case he was working on for Mycroft. For some reason, she had a hard time believing him.

When proposing the idea of a baby shower to Sherlock, he seemed mindset on not having one, claiming their was no need for it despite all of Molly's urgings.

"It's just what people do Sherlock,"

"What, shower gifts on an unborn fetus while guessing the names of baby animals? Dull. Time

consuming."

"It's cute and its a nice way of telling little John, 'welcome to the family,' and I thought I told you not to call him a..."

At this Sherlock would look up from whatever silly thing he was occupying himself with and furrow his eyebrows. Molly struggled to utter the word, as if it were a terrible curse and the words tasted bitter in her mouth.

"F-Fetus,"

"How is it-"

"He, Sherlock..."

"Fine, how is HE supposed to reflect gratitude towards gifts if he can't even speak, Molly? You know the whole point of having-"

"Wont you just relax Sherlock and respect that other people are paying for things that we won't have too?"

Molly finely giving up on the 'cute' tactic and spilling it out frankly. He purses his lips, that look of process crossing his face one last time before continuing with his previous work. Their would be no formal baby shower, but eventually people would simply stop by the couples flat, dropping off presents neatly wrapped with words of congratulations spilling from their lips. Even Sally Donavan and Anderson stopped by, both reflecting positive input towards Molly, however not reflecting really any amount of satisfaction nor congratulates towards Sherlock whatsoever. This disturbed Molly in a sentimental sense, because she generally disliked people who were rude to anyone, especially her husband. Sherlock didn't care though. As long as the 'two idiots' weren't bothering him, as he put it, he wouldn't bother them either. Soon enough a giant heap of multicolored presents and bags were lined along their counter. Molly forced Sherlock to open them with her one evening, sprawling tissue paper and trimming all over the kitchen floor.

"Molly what is this?"

Sherlock asked, reaching into a bag and withdrawing his hand to reveal a plastic florescent yellow ring stand with different multicolored and multi sized rings. Molly had seen them before. Lots of babies had them, kind of like a stacking mechanism. Sherlock pinches them between his fingers, observing them with his wandering eyes as if they were something completely foreign and new. Molly glances at him.