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"Sherlock."
His name sounds like a prayer on her lips, and every time she utters it, he feels as though he's died and gone to heaven. He could spend one thousand and one lifetimes listening to her say his name that way: as though he was a god she was devoted to and his name was a litany of unspoken hopes, dreams, and fantasies; as though his name could make everything better for one moment, though his person would surely destroy it.
From the moment he met her, he knew she was different. Even with how furious she would get, with all the ways he hurt her, and all the hell he put her through, the way she said his name never changed.
Until the day it did, and she began murmuring another's name with the same loyalty and devotion that she used to utter his.
He knew then that his name would never be said with the same reverence again. Things had changed and he knew without her even saying a single other word that they would never go back to the way they were before.
But he found that he didn't mind one bit. Circumstances had changed in a major way, but he'd fight the Powers That Be himself if he could keep them, and her, the way they were in this exact moment: the moment another's name fell from her lips.
Because he found himself saying the exact same name with the exact same love and devotion as her:
"Christopher Hamish Holmes," he murmured in awe, as he held his hours old son in his arms.
He looked at her and his heart clenched at the way she beamed at him, despite her exhaustion from giving birth. For though Molly may never say his name the exact same way again, but he knew she'd never stop looking at him the way she was in this very moment, while he cradled their son: with so much love her heart could burst.
He could, and gladly would, live with that.