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rsadelleSummary: Molly's pregnancy is a surprise, but not to Sherlock.
Warning: Miscarriage.
Story on AO3
"Molly," John says when that turns out to be who's at their door. "Come in."
"Thank you." Molly manages a smile, but it falls away when she gets into the flat. Her voice trembles when she says, "Sherlock."
Sherlock looks at her, once.
John looks at him, and looks at Molly struggling not to cry. "Molly?"
"It should be obvious," Sherlock says, "even to you. You are a doctor. Her eyes are red; she's been crying. She's wearing baggy clothes, trying to hide even though she's only gained a pound and a half. Five weeks ago, she was uncharacteristically happy - even you commented on it - and she's been vomiting in the middle of post-mortems for two weeks."
John looks at him, and looks at Molly again. "Oh," he says. "You're pregnant."
"Yes." Molly sniffles.
"And you came here because?" He trails off at the end of the question. There's a long, long moment of silence in which Molly looks at Sherlock and Sherlock does not acknowledge either one of them. "Oh," John says again, in a different tone of voice. "You. Oh."
"Yes," Sherlock says, "it's my child. Do stop repeating yourself." He glances up at Molly. "You're going to keep it," he says. It's not a question. "If you want to work out tedious details like custody or child support, don't. It's boring."
Molly's lip trembles.
"John," Sherlock says, "do check on her."
"Right," John says. He leads Molly to one of the armchairs. "Sit down. I'll get you some tea."
"Medically," Sherlock calls after him. "I meant medically, not tea."
"I'm not her doctor," John calls back, "and she needs tea more." He comes back with three cups and does the pleasantries. "Have you seen your doctor?" he asks when they all have tea.
Sherlock has his phone in his other hand.
"Yes," Molly says. She's calmed a bit with the tea. "And I ran my blood in the lab. Twice. Everything's fine. If you care." She aims the last bit at Sherlock, who ignores it.
"Good," John says. "That's good."
*
"You slept with Molly," John says when he comes upstairs after walking her out.
"Sleep is not what I did with Molly," Sherlock says without looking up.
John grips his hands into fists and shakes them out again. "You had sex with Molly."
"Yes," Sherlock says, "I did. Obviously. Clearly during her ovulatory phase and clearly she was using less than reliable methods of birth control."
"She was-" John starts, and then he stops and thinks. "You," he says, voice tight. "You did this on purpose."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock says.
"Yes, you do," John manages through his anger. Not anger. White-hot fury. "You did this on purpose."
*
John doesn't speak to Sherlock beyond what's absolutely necessary for the better part of a week, at which point he starts to forget that he's mad.
They don't see Molly again for longer than that.
*
John waits for Molly at the doors, and catches her on her way out of the morgue.
"Oh, John, hi!"
"Hi." John's smile is as stiff as his arms at his sides. "Want to get a coffee? Or," he says with a glance at her stomach, "tea?"
"Sure."
They don't speak until they're seated, Molly with herbal tea and John with coffee.
"It's not the same, you know," she says. "The tea. They tell you you'll get used to it, but you don't. At least not yet." She sips it anyway. "Are you here to check up on me?"
John looks up at her, surprised.
She shrugs one shoulder. "We're not friends, not really."
John's mouth twists, but what he says is, "Checking up on Sherlock."
"Sherlock?"
"I know what he said," John says, "but do you want to have this baby?"
"Oh." Molly sits back, hands around her tea cup. "Yes." She meets John's eyes. "I don't have any family. I was an only child, and my parents are gone. I'm ready for this baby to be my family." Before John can say anything else, she tells him, "I have mates who've already told me it's silly, but this is what I want."
"Right," John says. "Well, good."
"I know what he said," Molly says after a moment, "but do you think he'll want to share custody or provide support?"
John sighs. "I couldn't presume to guess what he'll want. If he does, you'll probably get a visit from Mycroft. If you haven't already."
"No," she says. "I haven't seen him since-" she hesitates, and doesn't finish the sentence.
John mmms and changes the topic.
"You're nice to talk to," Molly says when they leave. "Not put off by all the gross bits of working at the morgue."
"Yes, well," John says, "Army doctor. And Sherlock."
Molly smiles, not so much at him as just smiles. "Yes," she says, "Sherlock." She hesitates in the doorway. "Tell him that if he wants to be a part of it, or know anything about the baby, he can."
John squeezes her arm. "I'll tell him."
*
"How was Molly?" Sherlock asks when John enters the flat. "Uncoerced, I expect."
"Yes." John flops down into a chair.
"Really, John. Did you think I would force her into carrying my child?"
"I think," John says carefully, "that you underestimate your influence on her. On most people," he adds after a moment. "She did say that if you wanted-"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock says. "Bring me a laptop. Either will suffice."
"You're two feet away." John gets up anyway and goes all the way across the room to get Sherlock's laptop for him.
*
John doesn't know where they're going until Sherlock throws himself into a cab and gives the driver the address to Barts.
"Sherlock," John says.
Sherlock strides away from him down the halls of the hospital.
"Molly," he calls as he pushes through the door of the morgue.
She doesn't answer, but she's not always there. Sherlock strides through the room as if he has every right to be there, John following along and nearly bumping into him when he stops as he turns the corner around a table.
"Molly," he says.
John can hear the worry no one else would be able to hear in his voice, and he pushes past Sherlock to kneel next to Molly. There's blood on the floor.
"Gloves," John says. He doesn't look up from where he has two fingers pressed to Molly's wrist. "Sherlock, gloves."
Sherlock hands him a pair from one of the boxes scattered around the room.
"Get some help," John says. "Now," he snaps.
Molly stirs as Sherlock turns.
Sherlock stops and turns back.
"Get help," John snaps at him. "I can't do this myself." To Molly, he says, "All right. I'm going to take care of you."
"Miscarriage," Molly manages. "I know. I know what's happening."
"Then you know," John says, "that I need you to stay still and calm."
Sherlock comes back with a handful of other people who help John lift Molly onto a gurney that they rush upstairs to the hospital proper.
John gets pushed out, and he sits against a wall while Sherlock paces.
*
John stands between Sherlock and the door. "No."
Sherlock frowns at him. "Yes."
"No. You will not hurt that girl any more than you already have."
"I haven't-"
"You have!" John shouts. "You have, and I won't let you do it again."
They stare at each other for a long minute before Sherlock pushes past him into the room.
Molly is nearly as pale as the sheets she's lying between, and her eyes only open when the door does.
Sherlock stops just inside the door, then goes all the way into the room. He doesn't loom over her. He crouches down beside the bed.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice low.
Molly half smiles at him. "It wasn't your fault."
"The combination of our genes," Sherlock says. "They weren't viable."
Tears catch on Molly's eyelashes.
Sherlock reaches out, carefully, and only lets his hand settle onto her stomach when she doesn't stop him. "I'm sorry."
Molly curls around his hand and begins to cry in earnest.
*
"She can come home with us," Sherlock says when a doctor answers Molly's question about going home with a question about whether or not there's anyone there to stay with her.
"I'm sorry, what?" John asks.
"You're a medical professional," Sherlock says. "You're highly qualified to keep an eye on her."
"Sherlock!"
"John," Sherlock says. "She's coming home with us."
John lets Sherlock stare him down. "Can you manage the stairs?" he asks Molly.
Molly hesitates, then nods.
"And you'll be all right with me keeping a medical eye on you for a bit?"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock says, "of course she will."
"Sherlock," John snaps. "We are talking about Molly and her health. It has to be all right with her."
"It's all right," Molly says.
It takes a while for someone to come back with her discharge paperwork, and another while for John to bully Sherlock out of the room to let Molly get dressed.
"All right," she says, opening the door to the hallway where they're waiting. She has a bag clutched in both her hands.
"Here," John says. He takes the bag from her, and Sherlock takes her arm.
"Aren't you meant to be in a wheelchair?"
"Wouldn't let them." Molly barely leans on him. "You might have to help me up the stairs though."
"Of course."
*
"Right," John says when they get to Baker Street. "Right."
"Honestly, John." Sherlock takes Molly's bag from him. "She can stay in my room."
"Right, of course. Tea?"
Sherlock comes back while John's still making tea, coat still on, and calls, "Going out," as he does just that.
John puts one of the cups away.
*
"You brought home a cat?" John asks when Sherlock comes back with a cat and a bag of things to go with it.
"I brought home Molly's cat." Sherlock puts the cat down.
John eyes the cat. "I see." He hmms and crouches down to let the cat smell his fingers and butt up against his hand. "Are you," a pause, "okay?"
Sherlock looks sideways at him. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
John gives up. "Molly's asleep. Try not to wake her. She needs the rest."
*
Molly wakes up to find Sherlock next to the bed, his head level with hers.
"I brought your cat," he says.
"Oh." She smiles faintly. "Thank you."
Sherlock keeps looking at her steadily.
Her smile fades. "I'm sorry," she says, "that I couldn't give you what you wanted."
Sherlock does something complicated with his face, eyes widening and narrowing. "You know."
"Yes," she says. "You're Sherlock Holmes. If you'd only wanted sex, you wouldn't have come to me. If you'd wanted to have sex with me without me getting pregnant, I wouldn't have." There's a moment, and then she says, "I'm sorry."
"John says I've hurt you."
"Yes."
"You wanted," Sherlock pauses as if he, for once, doesn't know what to say. "You wanted the baby."
Molly blinks against tears. "Yes."
Sherlock sounds wretched, even to her, when he says, "I'm sorry."
Molly does touch him then, her hand just brushing over his hair. "I know." After a moment, she says, "You should come to bed. No," she says quickly, "no, not like that. Just to be close. Just to be here." She watches his face for a long moment, and then she turns away from him.
The blankets lift a minute later, and he gets into bed with her. He arranges the two of them, her back to his chest, and drapes an arm over her.
"Our child would have been brilliant."
"Yes."
Sherlock rests his face on her hair, and Molly covers his hand with hers.
--
End Note: Title loosely taken from Charlotte Bronte: "There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."
Warning: Miscarriage.
Story on AO3
"Molly," John says when that turns out to be who's at their door. "Come in."
"Thank you." Molly manages a smile, but it falls away when she gets into the flat. Her voice trembles when she says, "Sherlock."
Sherlock looks at her, once.
John looks at him, and looks at Molly struggling not to cry. "Molly?"
"It should be obvious," Sherlock says, "even to you. You are a doctor. Her eyes are red; she's been crying. She's wearing baggy clothes, trying to hide even though she's only gained a pound and a half. Five weeks ago, she was uncharacteristically happy - even you commented on it - and she's been vomiting in the middle of post-mortems for two weeks."
John looks at him, and looks at Molly again. "Oh," he says. "You're pregnant."
"Yes." Molly sniffles.
"And you came here because?" He trails off at the end of the question. There's a long, long moment of silence in which Molly looks at Sherlock and Sherlock does not acknowledge either one of them. "Oh," John says again, in a different tone of voice. "You. Oh."
"Yes," Sherlock says, "it's my child. Do stop repeating yourself." He glances up at Molly. "You're going to keep it," he says. It's not a question. "If you want to work out tedious details like custody or child support, don't. It's boring."
Molly's lip trembles.
"John," Sherlock says, "do check on her."
"Right," John says. He leads Molly to one of the armchairs. "Sit down. I'll get you some tea."
"Medically," Sherlock calls after him. "I meant medically, not tea."
"I'm not her doctor," John calls back, "and she needs tea more." He comes back with three cups and does the pleasantries. "Have you seen your doctor?" he asks when they all have tea.
Sherlock has his phone in his other hand.
"Yes," Molly says. She's calmed a bit with the tea. "And I ran my blood in the lab. Twice. Everything's fine. If you care." She aims the last bit at Sherlock, who ignores it.
"Good," John says. "That's good."
*
"You slept with Molly," John says when he comes upstairs after walking her out.
"Sleep is not what I did with Molly," Sherlock says without looking up.
John grips his hands into fists and shakes them out again. "You had sex with Molly."
"Yes," Sherlock says, "I did. Obviously. Clearly during her ovulatory phase and clearly she was using less than reliable methods of birth control."
"She was-" John starts, and then he stops and thinks. "You," he says, voice tight. "You did this on purpose."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock says.
"Yes, you do," John manages through his anger. Not anger. White-hot fury. "You did this on purpose."
*
John doesn't speak to Sherlock beyond what's absolutely necessary for the better part of a week, at which point he starts to forget that he's mad.
They don't see Molly again for longer than that.
*
John waits for Molly at the doors, and catches her on her way out of the morgue.
"Oh, John, hi!"
"Hi." John's smile is as stiff as his arms at his sides. "Want to get a coffee? Or," he says with a glance at her stomach, "tea?"
"Sure."
They don't speak until they're seated, Molly with herbal tea and John with coffee.
"It's not the same, you know," she says. "The tea. They tell you you'll get used to it, but you don't. At least not yet." She sips it anyway. "Are you here to check up on me?"
John looks up at her, surprised.
She shrugs one shoulder. "We're not friends, not really."
John's mouth twists, but what he says is, "Checking up on Sherlock."
"Sherlock?"
"I know what he said," John says, "but do you want to have this baby?"
"Oh." Molly sits back, hands around her tea cup. "Yes." She meets John's eyes. "I don't have any family. I was an only child, and my parents are gone. I'm ready for this baby to be my family." Before John can say anything else, she tells him, "I have mates who've already told me it's silly, but this is what I want."
"Right," John says. "Well, good."
"I know what he said," Molly says after a moment, "but do you think he'll want to share custody or provide support?"
John sighs. "I couldn't presume to guess what he'll want. If he does, you'll probably get a visit from Mycroft. If you haven't already."
"No," she says. "I haven't seen him since-" she hesitates, and doesn't finish the sentence.
John mmms and changes the topic.
"You're nice to talk to," Molly says when they leave. "Not put off by all the gross bits of working at the morgue."
"Yes, well," John says, "Army doctor. And Sherlock."
Molly smiles, not so much at him as just smiles. "Yes," she says, "Sherlock." She hesitates in the doorway. "Tell him that if he wants to be a part of it, or know anything about the baby, he can."
John squeezes her arm. "I'll tell him."
*
"How was Molly?" Sherlock asks when John enters the flat. "Uncoerced, I expect."
"Yes." John flops down into a chair.
"Really, John. Did you think I would force her into carrying my child?"
"I think," John says carefully, "that you underestimate your influence on her. On most people," he adds after a moment. "She did say that if you wanted-"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock says. "Bring me a laptop. Either will suffice."
"You're two feet away." John gets up anyway and goes all the way across the room to get Sherlock's laptop for him.
*
John doesn't know where they're going until Sherlock throws himself into a cab and gives the driver the address to Barts.
"Sherlock," John says.
Sherlock strides away from him down the halls of the hospital.
"Molly," he calls as he pushes through the door of the morgue.
She doesn't answer, but she's not always there. Sherlock strides through the room as if he has every right to be there, John following along and nearly bumping into him when he stops as he turns the corner around a table.
"Molly," he says.
John can hear the worry no one else would be able to hear in his voice, and he pushes past Sherlock to kneel next to Molly. There's blood on the floor.
"Gloves," John says. He doesn't look up from where he has two fingers pressed to Molly's wrist. "Sherlock, gloves."
Sherlock hands him a pair from one of the boxes scattered around the room.
"Get some help," John says. "Now," he snaps.
Molly stirs as Sherlock turns.
Sherlock stops and turns back.
"Get help," John snaps at him. "I can't do this myself." To Molly, he says, "All right. I'm going to take care of you."
"Miscarriage," Molly manages. "I know. I know what's happening."
"Then you know," John says, "that I need you to stay still and calm."
Sherlock comes back with a handful of other people who help John lift Molly onto a gurney that they rush upstairs to the hospital proper.
John gets pushed out, and he sits against a wall while Sherlock paces.
*
John stands between Sherlock and the door. "No."
Sherlock frowns at him. "Yes."
"No. You will not hurt that girl any more than you already have."
"I haven't-"
"You have!" John shouts. "You have, and I won't let you do it again."
They stare at each other for a long minute before Sherlock pushes past him into the room.
Molly is nearly as pale as the sheets she's lying between, and her eyes only open when the door does.
Sherlock stops just inside the door, then goes all the way into the room. He doesn't loom over her. He crouches down beside the bed.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice low.
Molly half smiles at him. "It wasn't your fault."
"The combination of our genes," Sherlock says. "They weren't viable."
Tears catch on Molly's eyelashes.
Sherlock reaches out, carefully, and only lets his hand settle onto her stomach when she doesn't stop him. "I'm sorry."
Molly curls around his hand and begins to cry in earnest.
*
"She can come home with us," Sherlock says when a doctor answers Molly's question about going home with a question about whether or not there's anyone there to stay with her.
"I'm sorry, what?" John asks.
"You're a medical professional," Sherlock says. "You're highly qualified to keep an eye on her."
"Sherlock!"
"John," Sherlock says. "She's coming home with us."
John lets Sherlock stare him down. "Can you manage the stairs?" he asks Molly.
Molly hesitates, then nods.
"And you'll be all right with me keeping a medical eye on you for a bit?"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock says, "of course she will."
"Sherlock," John snaps. "We are talking about Molly and her health. It has to be all right with her."
"It's all right," Molly says.
It takes a while for someone to come back with her discharge paperwork, and another while for John to bully Sherlock out of the room to let Molly get dressed.
"All right," she says, opening the door to the hallway where they're waiting. She has a bag clutched in both her hands.
"Here," John says. He takes the bag from her, and Sherlock takes her arm.
"Aren't you meant to be in a wheelchair?"
"Wouldn't let them." Molly barely leans on him. "You might have to help me up the stairs though."
"Of course."
*
"Right," John says when they get to Baker Street. "Right."
"Honestly, John." Sherlock takes Molly's bag from him. "She can stay in my room."
"Right, of course. Tea?"
Sherlock comes back while John's still making tea, coat still on, and calls, "Going out," as he does just that.
John puts one of the cups away.
*
"You brought home a cat?" John asks when Sherlock comes back with a cat and a bag of things to go with it.
"I brought home Molly's cat." Sherlock puts the cat down.
John eyes the cat. "I see." He hmms and crouches down to let the cat smell his fingers and butt up against his hand. "Are you," a pause, "okay?"
Sherlock looks sideways at him. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
John gives up. "Molly's asleep. Try not to wake her. She needs the rest."
*
Molly wakes up to find Sherlock next to the bed, his head level with hers.
"I brought your cat," he says.
"Oh." She smiles faintly. "Thank you."
Sherlock keeps looking at her steadily.
Her smile fades. "I'm sorry," she says, "that I couldn't give you what you wanted."
Sherlock does something complicated with his face, eyes widening and narrowing. "You know."
"Yes," she says. "You're Sherlock Holmes. If you'd only wanted sex, you wouldn't have come to me. If you'd wanted to have sex with me without me getting pregnant, I wouldn't have." There's a moment, and then she says, "I'm sorry."
"John says I've hurt you."
"Yes."
"You wanted," Sherlock pauses as if he, for once, doesn't know what to say. "You wanted the baby."
Molly blinks against tears. "Yes."
Sherlock sounds wretched, even to her, when he says, "I'm sorry."
Molly does touch him then, her hand just brushing over his hair. "I know." After a moment, she says, "You should come to bed. No," she says quickly, "no, not like that. Just to be close. Just to be here." She watches his face for a long moment, and then she turns away from him.
The blankets lift a minute later, and he gets into bed with her. He arranges the two of them, her back to his chest, and drapes an arm over her.
"Our child would have been brilliant."
"Yes."
Sherlock rests his face on her hair, and Molly covers his hand with hers.
--
End Note: Title loosely taken from Charlotte Bronte: "There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."
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Date: 2012-12-20 05:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-21 03:35 am (UTC)