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Molly sits sideways in Sherlock’s chair, lounging in the wide seat with Toby lying on her stomach. She doesn’t like seeing the chair unoccupied when he’s been gone for any length of time, and sitting in it tends to calm her nerves when she starts to worry. She’s okay with knowing Sherlock hasn’t been home in three days; it’s not the first time he’s gone out of town for a case. It’s better than the time he picked up a ten and was determined not to stop until the case was solved; the fact that he only sent her a single text was distressing to the point where she phoned around to ask how afraid she should be, and when both John and Greg assured her that he’d be fine... Well, she only had them at the time, and he did end up returning in one piece a day and a half later. She didn’t let him go to bed that night without giving him a piece of her mind. The lecture wasn’t lost on him, thankfully, and there hasn’t been a repeat of the event.
Toby’s purring is melodic and relaxing, his eyes closed contently as Molly pets his fur, starting on top of his head and stroking down his back. The dim light and quiet of the flat, the repetitive motion, and the vibrating hum from the cat all synergise to lull Molly into a state of sleepy peace while she pretends not to be waiting up. She lets out a deep sigh for no other reason than to breathe, watching with amusement as Toby's body rises and falls as she inhales and exhales. He doesn't even twitch as she moves; she can roll him around on the floor and he won’t even fuss, the silly creature.
His ears perk up as he snaps to attention at the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Molly’s care is forgotten as he turns his head to the closed door, his tail swishing. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs he bounds to the floor with a tiny grunt, stepping forward with a babyish meow.
"Is Daddy home, Toby?" Molly coos, sitting up when the cat returns to her, winding around her legs before trotting back to the door. She stands and walks over to Toby, picking him up as the door opens and a tired-looking Sherlock enters. “Who’s that, Toby?” she whispers, hearing a quiet chuckle from her husband while he removes his coat and shoes. “How was Belgium?”
“Windy,” Sherlock says quietly, pulling her in for a quick but firm kiss as Toby struggles to free himself from her hold. Sherlock takes him from Molly’s arms with a sigh and the cat immediately nuzzles into his neck, purring happily. “What a bizarre baby,” he mumbles before continuing. “It was a bit disappointing. Barely turned out to be a seven. Lots of paperwork on this end, though, and for some reason I had to be present all day.... The Eurostar was all right, though.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed that, at least.” Molly scratches behind Toby’s ears as he cuddles Sherlock. His purring is even louder now than it was earlier, and she’d be jealous if it weren’t such an endearing sight. “The little one’s been missing you. She wanted to wait up for you.”
“I’ll go up and see her. You can head to bed if you want.” Sherlock leans down to release Toby, brushing some of the fur off his front before making his way upstairs. Molly shakes her head and follows behind him, Toby staying put in the sitting room as he was trained but meowing in protest all the same.
“I wish you’d Skype us when you go away,” Molly mutters as they reach the top of the steps. “It’s not the same when you just phone.”
“I know.” Sherlock stops on the landing, his hand on the doorknob to the bedroom. She can barely see him when he turns to her in the dark, the only light coming from the bottom of the stairs, but from the angles she can distinguish, he looks sad. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll stop leaving London for work.”
“Sherlock, I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong.”
“I know,” he repeats. “But I don’t like leaving you on your own anyway. I’m missing too much.”
He leans against the wall and looks up at the ceiling and they stand in silence for a moment, not discussing the times he wasn’t around to see first words and first steps. She’s seen the way he spirals down when he remembers, and she still sometimes wonders what he believes she thinks of him in those moments. It’s disappointing not to be able to share the memories the same way, of course, but she’s not upset with him. With her only being on part-time and clients coming less frequently knowing the responsibility he carries, he’s been picking cases strategically, with well-paying ones coming few and far in between. He knows they have enough saved up for a rainy day, but he hasn’t stopped fretting about the what ifs and the just in cases. She doesn’t blame him. She wishes he didn’t feel so guilty.
He lets himself into the bedroom and Molly stays behind, leaning against the door frame. The glow of the metre-wide moon sticker attached to the ceiling casts the room in a mellow turquoise light, making Sherlock look ethereal as he approaches the child’s bed against the far wall, and the little human cocooned in her blankets. Molly will never forget the look of wonder on the little girl’s face when she and Sherlock succeeded in placing it on the ceiling; her love of the night sky grows as she does, and she likes to tell everyone she meets that her mummy and daddy brought her the moon.
He kneels by the head of the bed and gazes at her sleeping form, the look of complete and unconditional love in his eyes making Molly’s heart warm. Molly loved her with her entire being from the moment she discovered the little life growing inside her, and likewise, the moment he learned she was coming, she became the most important thing in Sherlock’s world.
“It’s pretty,” Molly said, running a hand through Sherlock’s hair as he lay with his own on her extremely round bump. “It matches yours.”
“My mother would be broken-hearted if we didn’t put an Irish name in there somewhere,” he disclosed, pressing two fingers against the little foot pushing outward near her side. “If I tell you it means ‘of a ruling family’ would it make a difference?”
“Your name means ‘fair-haired’, love.”
He let out a rumble of a laugh. “You like it, then?”
“I really do. Middle name?”
“That’s yours to decide, I think.”
And so there she is, Fallon Mairead Holmes, with a name like her father's and a face like her mother's. Molly is convinced she'll grow out of her chubby cheeks to look as striking as Sherlock, but then, she doesn't want to rush anything. At almost four years, it already feels like she's growing up too fast. Her beautiful black-haired baby is already helping Mummy and Daddy pick her books. Before they know it she'll be reading The BFG on her own....
"Hey, Bumblebee." Sherlock brushes the dark locks away from Fallon's round face, waking her just enough that she’ll be able to drop back off with a minute of silence.
"Hi, Daddy," the little girl says in a quiet, sleepy voice, sitting up to talk. "I missed you."
"I missed you too, darling."
"As big as a star?"
"As big as the biggest star."
She lets out a titter and raises her arms for a hug. Sherlock wraps his arms around her tiny form and pulls her close, placing a kiss on her cheek.
“I just wanted to tell you how much I missed you while I was gone. I’ll let you go back to sleep now, all right? I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Sherlock pulls back and waits for Fallon to lie down before tucking her blankets around her and placing another kiss on her forehead.
“Good night, Bee.”
“Night-night,” she hums, burrowing into her covers once again. “Night-night, Mummy.”
“Night-night, baby,” Molly says with a smile.
Sherlock stands with one last adoring look before making his way back to Molly, the pair backing out of the room as he closes the door gently. With silent steps they head back downstairs, switching off lights as they make their way to their own room.
“You’re like a superhero to her, you know,” Molly mentions as they shed their layers and change into pyjamas.
“I’ll enjoy it while I can,” he says, turning a t-shirt inside out before pulling it over his shoulders. “Around eight she’ll start to recognise that we’re not as amazing as she once thought—”
“Don’t say that!” Molly hisses, swatting his arm as he steps around her. “I’m still getting used to her being three, and she’s only got two months of that left.”
“And Rosie is five,” he reminds her once he’s safely on his side of the bed.
“I don’t like it.” It’s something her mother used to say whenever she’d notice Molly’s growth. It was funniest when they first realised she’d outgrown her mother’s sixty-one inches. “They’re getting so big.”
“Relax,” Sherlock advises, barely waiting for her to lie down before putting his arm around her waist and pulling her forward until their noses are touching. “You’ve done a wonderful job of accepting the reality of time so far.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she giggles.
“All the better for you,” he replies smoothly.
He lets her go so she can get comfortable and they settle in facing each other, their fingers entwined. His wedding band is a cool weight against her undecorated right hand; her left rests by her face, and she can see her own ring in her peripheral. It’s an amazing feeling to see the two silver bands together, knowing that it basically all started with something as simple as fish and chips.
“I’m working tomorrow,” Molly tells him. In the darkness she sees the wrinkles around his eyes as a big, warm smile lights up his face. He loves nothing more than having Fallon all to himself; it’s like Christmas when he gets to spend his first day back from a case with his daughter. Also, Molly thoroughly enjoys witnessing their excitement when they sit her down to tell her about their day.
“Perfect,” he says with clear joy in his voice. “I think I’ll take her to the Aquarium. She’s still small; we can probably pass her off as under three....”
“Go to sleep, Sherlock,” she giggles, stopping him before he can keep himself up with planning his day. “You can figure it out in the morning.”
Sherlock hums his acceptance, shuffling forward to kiss her softly. “Thank you,” he murmurs against her lips.
“For what?”
He closes his eyes, face relaxing into blankness.
“Everything,” he sighs, and then, he’s asleep.