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Not Quite A Surprise

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She had to tell him. She really, really had to tell him.

She glanced at the small pile of pregnancy tests littered around her toilet. Oh, she very well could have gone to Barts and done it all with blood work, she knew that, but then other people would have known. And she didn’t want other people to know, not just yet. She…wasn’t sure how she felt about this herself. Having people give her looks, not sure whether they should offer congratulations or commiserations…she wasn’t sure she could bear it.

No one had honestly expected her and Sherlock to become a couple. She wasn’t even sure they were a couple, to be honest. It wasn’t as though he had courted her properly, or anything like that. There had been the overdose on the plane, and he had been taken back to Baker Street and his brother had begged her to come over and observe him, make sure he didn’t die on them because John didn’t want to be around him, not then. John was so angry. Like she wasn’t? No one had seemed to consider that. It was like they had conveniently forgotten the scene in the lab after he’d been picked up from the drug den.

But this was Sherlock. She would do anything for him, and they all knew it. He was her bloody weakness, her kryptonite. And so she’d gone home, gotten her comfortable pillow and her favourite quilt and a few changes of clothing and made her way to Baker Street to tend to her charge.

And that was when it had all changed.

In his drug induced ramblings he’d said he couldn’t bear to be away from them, he’d rather have died on the plane then be sent to his death. He’d known he wouldn’t, of course, that there would be a Hail Mary play by the opposition to keep him on the field, but he’d rather die than be without her.

That had brought her up short, that he would rather die than be without her. Not John, not Mary, not his family…without her.

She had sat and pondered the implications of that as he slept, as he went through withdrawal. It wasn’t until he was through the worst of it that she let him kiss her, that she allowed him that. It had quickly become quite passionate, as though years and years of pent up needs and wants were threatening to come spilling out on both their parts, and it was only through sheer force of will they didn’t end up in bed together.

At least that night.

There was affection between them. She knew he did care, quite a bit. Perhaps…perhaps he did even love her, in his own way. He showed he did care, in little ways that were uniquely him, and she treasured those moments. But he had not said the words, had made no moves to show that….that whatever was between them was an actual relationship, not just a dalliance with meaning.

And now she had twenty-eight pregnancy tests that meant they were going to be tied together for the rest of their natural lives, whether he wanted to be or not.

She picked one up and studied the lines on it. She was usually quite good at remembering to get her injection, but he had asked for her help on a case, and it had meant leaving England, and they were in Monte Carlo, and it had just been so dazzling and the shagging had been amazing and she had all but forgotten the shot until she started to feel queasy when she was around the coffee with the hazelnut creamer that one of the interns had every morning, and then this morning she’d had to rush to the jets after she got a good whiff and then she got a sinking suspicion so she got every test she could at a Tesco as far away from Barts and Baker Street and her flat as she could and then hightailed it home and with the help of a few containers of cranberry juice peed on every little stick.

And they all said she was preggers.

She sighed and leaned her head back against the cabinet door. What was she going to do? Did Sherlock even want to be a father? Did he want the responsibility? Would he want her and a baby? They hadn’t talked about a future together. She was sure his brother would take care of financial responsibilities, and making sure she and the child were well taken care of, but would Sherlock have anything to do with them? She wanted him to. She loved the man. She wanted him in her life, in their child’s life, but realistically, she had to be prepared to raise this baby on her own, if it came down to it.

She heard movement outside in her sitting room and froze. Bloody hell, he had to have let himself in. He couldn’t see this! She quickly moved away from the cupboard doors and began shoving pregnancy tests under the sink. How on earth was she going to tell him. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Molly?” she heard him ask.

“Yes?” she answered, her hand gripping three pregnancy tests.

“Do you need any saltines? Or a wet washcloth?”

She blinked, and then lowered herself so her arse was on the tile of the bathroom floor. “What?”

“For the morning sickness. Are you done expelling the contents of your stomach? Do you need anything?”

Her eyes went wide as she looked at the door. He knew. He bloody knew! “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, open the door now and get in here,” she said, her voice steely. The door opened and he leaned against the doorjamb, a bag of saltines in his hand. She realized she must look a sight, sitting on the floor with pregnancy tests all around her, staring up at him. “How did you know?”

“I’m quite observant to your monthly cycles, especially as they’re irregular,” he said. “You still have them even though you’re on the injectable birth control shot. But you have not had a cycle in roughly two months. So, I assumed either your body had adjusted to the shot or you were pregnant, and as you were showing other signs indicating pregnancy, I assumed that was the case.” He lowered the package of saltines towards her. “Do you need them?”

She shook her head, and he pulled them back up, opening up the package and pulling one out to eat. “You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal,” she said slowly.

“That’s because I’m not viewing it as one,” he said. “We’ll eventually figure out which residence is more suitable, yours or mine. Marriage can be discussed and agreed upon or not later. I would like to accompany you to obstetric appointments, of course, and any prenatal classes you choose to take. And I’ll take fewer cases once the child is born and you return to Barts, if you choose to do so.” He took a bite of the saltine. “You don’t have to, by the way, but I think you’ll miss your post greatly if you choose to stay at home. And I would miss having the best pathologist in the UK to work with.”

Somehow hearing it all laid out so clinically made her want to cry, and she felt a sudden choking sob come over her. “But you don’t even love me,” she said, trying to swallow it down as tears fell from her eyes.

In an instant a look came over his face as if he realized he had gone about this all the wrong way. He set the saltines on top of the counter, then knelt down in front of her. He framed her face, using his thumbs to wipe her tears away. “I should have told you many times before today,” he said. “Every day, every hour, every minute. But I do love you, Molly. I have for so long, and I will for as long as I can draw breath. You have captured my heart, and I am glad for that.”

She smiled up at him, and then let go of the pregnancy tests in her hand and reached forward to embrace him tightly. He held her close, pulling her against him and smoothing her hair back. Whatever else happened, at least now she felt as though they were in this together, that she wasn’t going to have to face this alone, and she was more thankful for that than words could express.