|The Diary Excerpts of Hollis MacDowell
Author: BuzzCat PM
Title explains it all. Hollis MacDowell has a secret from Sherlock, and he finds out. His reaction? Read and see. COMPLETE.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Family - Sherlock Holmes - Words: 1,285 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Published: 04-21-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8046759
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I'd known he was going. He'd told me he wouldn't be in town for almost six months. So why do I keep waiting for him to waltz through that door, to climb through that window?
"Hollis, I won't be in London for a while. Some business in France. I'll miss you." said Sherlock Holmes, my man and my lover. I squirmed closer until my bare back was pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arm around mine and kissed that spot just beneath my ear on my neck.
"I'll miss you too. Whatever will I do, take up knitting? I'll need something to occupy those lonely nights." I said. He leaned in and whispered,
"I'm sure you'll find something." And he left.
I'm writing this now, four months after he left. And I know it now, for certain. Any doubt I ever had left me this morning as I dressed. I am pregnant with Sherlock Holmes's baby. And I wonder that he will ever know. There is no way to be certain, but I think it to be a baby girl. She is docile, barely twitching. I feel her beneath my fingers now, in my belly. I shall name her Molly Adelaide MacDowell. MacDowell, my husband's name. Adelaide, the name of her father's mother. Molly, the name of my own soul.
I am not the type of woman to be comfortable sleeping with a man besides my husband. But as I have never shared a bed with my husband, there is no guilt in it. My husband, Ivo MacDowell, finds his pleasure with men, leaving me to my own. Sherlock has no qualms with me being married. On the contrary, it leaves him without the worry of navigating a woman's desire for commitment. Have I any illusions that I am the only bed he shares? None. I know that in his time in France, he is sure to have at least one woman, if not more. But perhaps I am one of the few he truly cares for. Ivo doesn't know I will bear a baby. I shall have to tell him today.
I have told Ivo of my baby. He was at first confused on the possibility of this. But once I reminded him of the identity of my lover, he was happy for me.
"She's going to be one beautiful girl, with you for a mother and him for a father." He placed his hands on my dress, barely able to feel the bulge through my clothes. I know he is unsure of how his relationship with the child will be, but I think we will figure that out later. For now, I will rejoice in my daughter's existence.
Sherlock will be home in two months or so. It has been a month since I last wrote. My baby is becoming more and more noticeable every day. Ivo has agreed to keep me and the baby. Most men would immediately turn out or hide away a woman pregnant with another man's baby, but I think it is because of his sexual persuasion that he keeps me on. He is happy for me, I think. My daughter is moving more and more. At times I know her movement would be noticeable to others besides myself, but few have ever felt her move beside me. My joy hasn't diminished for her existence, and I thank God every day for Sherlock Holmes and his virility. His response, however, is starting to worry me. Will he reject me? Will he rejoice as my husband does? Or will he entirely ignore even the possibility that this baby could be his? I know for sure she is, but perhaps he will doubt me. Oh, I wish he were already here and already knew, that all this suspense could be at an end.
Sherlock returned tonight. He returned almost a month later than expected, and for a long time I feared he had left forever. But tonight, as I lay in bed attempting to sleep, I heard the click of the window opening and the well-recognized thump of Sherlock stepping into my room. I squeeze my eyes shut and think, Here it goes. He crawls into bed behind me and wraps his arms around my much-expanded waist. He kisses my neck in exactly the same place and says,
"Good night, my dear Hollis." Just then, my darling daughter aims a particularly hard kick at one of Sherlock's hands. I feel him stiffen behind me, and she kicks again. He whispers, "Hollis?" I know that this time there is no feigning sleep.
"What was that?" He whispers. His hands have not left my belly, but I know he is growing more and more nervous. I sigh and turn over, rising from my warmed bed.
"Stay there while I turn up the lamp." I stand and walk over to the lamp, switching it on. My belly seems to almost glow in the small light. Shadows on my white nightgown make something normally beautiful look absolutely seraphic. I glance up at Sherlock, and I can feel the color in my cheeks. His eyes are wide. His mouth opens, and I know it is dry. He swallows and says in a hoarse voice,
"Did I do this?" I stand in my place, a dark braid flowing over my shoulder. I nod to his question. He shakes his head, "Not possible." I cannot repress a laugh at his denial.
"You mean to tell me that in three weeks of nightly lovemaking, it is entirely impossible that at even one point you succeeded in planting your seed?" Sherlock blushes at that, and I know that he knows it entirely possible. He slowly steps out of the bed and toward me until we are separated by the six inches between him and my belly. He stares down at it. I gently take one of his hands and say,
"Touch her again. She needs to know her father's touch." I place the hand on my daughter's home, and his other hand hesitantly joins the first. At first Molly does nothing, then slowly, tentatively, she begins nudging at his hands. I know that at first Sherlock cannot feel it; the touch is too soft. But just as he is about to pull away, Molly gives him one good solid kick. He gasps, and I laugh. His hands push on my belly more firmly, searching for another movement. And he receives it. Molly is quickly becoming more and more comfortable with her father, and I think that Sherlock is adjusting to the idea of his daughter. After a few minutes of hide-and-seek with Molly, he asks me,
"How does Ivo feel about this?"
"His is the only jubilance that even approaches my own." I say with a smile. Sherlock smiles as well,
"Good, good. Do you suppose that he would allow me to visit my daughter?"
"There's not a doubt in my mind he will want you around as her father." Sherlock leans over my belly and holds me and kisses me, then my belly. We go back to the bed and spend a full night of not sex, but merely enjoying one another's presence. I believe he is alright with this, and I rejoice in the feel of his strong, lovely body in my bed and my arms. Sherlock will be a good father. He will love my daughter as much as she needs and more, and will help my husband and I raise her, my little Molly Adelaide MacDowell.