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Setting: 'The Empty Hearse' in 221B Baker Street at the point Sherlock and Mycroft are discussing if he (Mycroft) has found himself a “goldfish.
//
“As a matter of fact I have,” said Mycroft quietly, looking directly into Sherlock’s eyes. “But if I were you I wouldn’t call my wife a goldfish to her face.”
Sherlock was stunned. Had his brother really, honestly, and truly, just told him he was married? The brothers sat in silence staring at each other as this new piece of information made its way into Sherlock’s brain and tried to find a place where it made sense.
“Your wife?” Sherlock stammered. “You now have a wife?”
“Yes,” said Mycroft simply.
There were so many questions running through Sherlock’s head none of them made it to his mouth.
Sherlock squinted at Mycroft. “You never cease to amaze brother dear. Obscure royalty, divorced aristocrat or stalking horse?”
“None of the above,” was Mycroft’s quick reply.
“What’s left?” asked Sherlock with a shock.
“Love,” Mycroft dropped this bombshell as he got up from John’s chair.
Sherlock’s jaw hung open as he stared up at Mycroft.
“We shall be expecting you tonight at 7pm for dinner,” Mycroft said as he was putting on his coat to leave.
“Yes— of course,” Sherlock shook his head trying to regain a sense of reality. “Mycroft — before you go,” Sherlock too, was now standing, “I need your help.”
“This is a red-letter day, isn’t it,” smirked Mycroft as he turned back to face Sherlock. “I’m married and my little brother is asking for my help.” After a slight pause, “Of course, what is it, Sherlock?”
“When was the last time you went to the morgue in St Barts?” asked Sherlock.
Mycroft’s face frowned and he shrugged, “Nearly six months.” To be precise brother dear it was exactly five months, two weeks and three days since I collected Molly’s personal things from her office.
Sherlock looked concerned and sighed, “This morning I went to Bart’s to see Molly, to let her know I was home. She wasn’t in the morgue and her lab has been assigned to someone else.”
“Perhaps she has a new position,” offered Mycroft hopefully.
“I’ve checked her personnel file; it says she is on medical leave,” answered Sherlock with a sigh. “I then went to her flat. Apparently, she moved out more than a year ago,” he continued, defeated.
Actually, Sherlock, Molly carried the last box out of her flat 14 months, one week and five days ago. “Have you tried her mobile?” suggested Mycroft.
“Yes. She has texted so I know she is alive. But she won’t pick up. And she won’t tell me where she is,” explained Sherlock.
“Sherlock, you have been gone a long time. Maybe she has moved on,” Mycroft gave him a weak smile which didn’t seem to provide Sherlock any comfort. “Okay. I will look into it. Just to make sure she is safe.”Don’t worry Sherlock, it won't be long before you see her.
//
At 6:55pm Sherlock arrived at Mycroft’s house and as he stepped over the threshold he had an involuntary sharp intake of breath. The transformation was astounding.
Mycroft’s house (any of them) had always been cold. It didn’t matter the décor, never had there been a sense of warmth or comfort. But now … there was life in this house. Sherlock’s eyes darted around. It was astonishing— the ornaments were the same, just as he remembered, but the whole feeling of the house had changed. There was now had a warmth that he had not ever anticipated being associated with his brother.
Looking at Sherlock and reading his mind, Mycroft softly chuckled,
“I agree. The transformation is extraordinary. Sometimes after being gone for a few days I can still hardly believe it myself. I have had many houses, but I finally have a home.”
“These are for— um— my sister-in-law,” Sherlock handed a bouquet of flowers to Mycroft to hold as he slipped off his coat. Sherlock smiled and shook his head while he looked at Mycroft.
“My brother-- married. I never thought I would see this day Mycroft.”
You have no idea Sherlock.
Mycroft simply smiled and said, “My wife is just finishing getting ready. Shall we wait in here?” as he pushed open the door to his study. Walking into the room Sherlock repressed the urge to instantly scrutinize the photos in chic silver frames that were dotted around the room. Sherlock declined the drink Mycroft offered.
Are you sure bother dear, you are going to need it.
The leather couch now held a few cushions as well as a cashmere throw draped across its back.
“Mycroft,” began Sherlock after the pair sat down, “did you have a chance to check up on Molly?”
Sherlock watched Mycroft inhale and knew that the next sentence was going to shake him.
“Sherlock, she’s--,” Mycroft was interrupted by the study door opening.
Both men stood up in unison, eyes towards the door.
“Hi Sherlock,” said Molly quietly walking into the room and giving him an unconscious wave.
In an instant Sherlock rushed across the room and scooped Molly up into his arms, engulfing her in an enormous hug. He was repeating her name over and over like he was reminding himself that she was indeed real.
Remaining where he was, Mycroft simply watched the two of them. He had calculated that this was going to happen. And any second now—
Sherlock pulled back slightly with a smile spreading across his face, “Molly, are you—? Or have you swallowed a small football?”
“No. No football. It is a baby,” Molly laughed as she smiled up at him. She put her hand tenderly on his cheek. “Welcome home Sherlock,” she kissed him gently and moved out of his embrace.
Sherlock swiftly went over to Mycroft and uncharacteristically threw his arms around him; the embrace pinned his brother’s arms by his sides.
“Thank you for finding her for me,” whispered Sherlock. He now stood between the Mycroft and Molly with a huge grin on his face. He was so happy to see Molly again he had so many questions to ask her-- but slowly a frown formed on his face, "Mycroft, should we be worried that your wife hasn’t appeared yet?”
Mycroft looked at Molly. Their glances said the same thing. Oh, dear. The Consulting Detective hasn't figured it out yet. This is suddenly not going to plan.
It was exactly at that particular moment that the photograph on Mycroft’s desk caught Sherlock’s eye.
It showed a couple, caught candidly, leaving a church. Wedding photo thought Sherlock.
Mycroft was wearing a morning suit So that’s what he looks like when he smiles thought Sherlock.
Holding Mycroft’s hand was a bride so beautiful Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat. Her vale had been flipped back to expose her radiant smile. Molly looks gorgeous in that photograph.
I’m looking at Mycroft and Molly in a wedding photograph.
Molly is in Mycroft’s wedding photograph.
That means …
Sherlock froze trying to process what his eyes were seeing.
Slowly Mycroft and Molly gravitated towards each other, hands unconsciously linking together, unsure about what was going to happen next. They both kept quiet while Sherlock deduced what had happened while he was away:
Initially only friendship
Long courtship leading to romance
Cohabitation
Marriage
Baby conceived on honeymoon
A few issues early in the pregnancy
But all is fine now
“Sherlock?” Molly gently spoke first.
“I am not speaking to either of you.” he said flatly his eyes flicking between the pair.
“Lie down on the couch. I wish to speak to the baby,” Sherlock instructed. Molly looked up at Mycroft unsure of what to do. Mycroft nodded, @Go ahead. I can’t see the harm. I’ll rugby tackle him if necessary."
Molly made her way over to the leather couch and lay down. Mycroft put a pillow under her head and perched on a near chair – just in case.
“I must wash my hands!” Sherlock raced down the hall to the cloakroom. Soon he was back, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, holding his hands up like he had done a full surgical scrub on them.
He knelt down on the floor beside the couch were Molly lay.
“
Pull up your shirt. Push the waistband of your trousers down,” Sherlock unceremoniously told Molly. She complied while looking at Mycroft. I hope you are sure about this.
Mycroft was no longer sure about this at all but kept his thoughts to himself.
Molly gasped when Sherlock put his hands on her swollen belly. His hands were warm and moist from the recent wash. Most people when they touched her bump did so with gentle reverence. Sherlock, on the other hand, had the confidence of an experienced obstetrician. He moved his hands around her abdomen pressing hard enough to feel the different parts of the baby.
Sherlock; was enchanted— his expression moving between surprise and questioning like he had a whole list of questions that he was finally getting answered. After exploring her bump fully, Sherlock looked Molly in the eye. “You will want to hold his hand for this.” Without question, Molly took Mycroft’s hand.
With a mischevious smile, Sherlock laid his left hand on the far side of Molly’s belly. Using his right hand he pushed deep into her right side just up from her hip bone. Molly’s breath caught in her throat as the skin of her belly undulated, contorting into an oblong shape before it settled back down into a sphere. Molly was glad Sherlock told her to hold Mycroft’s. There was no pain but it certainly was an odd sensation.
Sherlock now rested his hands on either side of Molly’s belly.
“Hello baby,” Sherlock said quietly. “That’s better now isn’t it? Now that you are the right way up I can introduce myself properly. I am your Uncle Sherlock. I’m sorry I haven’t met you before now but I have been away.” Sherlock smiled down at the bump. “I have known about your existence for five minutes and I’m already besotted with you.”
“As your Uncle,” explained Sherlock, “when you are tiny I get all the good bits. I will put a little cot in the corner of my flat for you. When you don’t sleep Mummy can bring you over and I will play you lullabies on my violin so she can have a rest and a cup of tea with Mrs. Hudson. During those long afternoons when you suffer from colic, I get to push you around the garden in the pram so Mummy can Daddy can have a break. When Daddy is tired of you throwing up on his expensive suits he will pass you to me to burp and then drool on my shoulder while you sleep.”
Sherlock smiled and continued, his thumbs stroking the bump, “Then when you are a little older, I will take you to Regent’s Park to feed the ducks,” Sherlock felt a little kick under his right thumb and gently laughed, “okay the swans too. We’ll play on the playground and share an ice cream then I will return you to your parents— filthy and exhausted,” Sherlock flashed a cheeky smile.
“Someday you will come to me,” sighed Sherlock “and you will tell me your father is too protective. He watches your every move and it drives you crazy. And your mother has brought diseased lungs home to show you after she caught you with a cigarette. I will listen and I will understand because I am your Uncle.”
Molly could feel the movements in her belly slowing down.
“Ummm. Yes, just think of all the fun we will have. Sleep well baby. I look forward to meeting you soon.” Sherlock kissed Molly’s bump, pulled down her shirt and rose to his feet. Mycroft helped Molly sit up.
“I will take a rain cheque on dinner. Mr. Holmes if you would be so kind as to show me out.”
Rolling his eyes Mycroft followed Sherlock out the front door.
Stopping in the middle of the circle drive Sherlock took a deep breath of the cool night air.
Moving next to his brother Mycroft held out a cigarette.
Raising his eyebrow Sherlock took the peace offering and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He took a long drag.
“Folic acid”
“Began the moment she moved in.”
“Regular and through prenatal appointments?”
“Obviously.” Mycroft snorted.
“Does she know it’s a boy?”
“No,” Mycroft suppressed a smile. “I have had my architect draw up plans for a rather fabulous tree house. I would welcome your comments when we are once again speaking.”
“Of course.”
Sherlock crushed the stub of his cigarette on the drive, flipped up the collar of his coat and began walking off into the darkness.
“Sherlock,” called Mycroft before his brother passed through security gates. In the darkness, he heard footsteps stop and the scrape of gravel as his brother turned back towards him.
“Welcome home.”