Summary: After the Fall, Sherlock and Molly are intimate. When Molly finds herself pregnant, she's stuck making the most difficult decision of her life.
Disclaimer: Sir ACD, The Grand Moff and Godtiss have a tight hold on these things. If I had my way, Louise Brealey would be in the main cast.
Author's Notes: Thanks to PetraTodd for the hand holding and encouragement.
Mycroft Holmes constantly worried about his brother. His latest stunt only increased the concern.
Sherlock hadn't come to him after the fall from Barts roof, but certainly he must have known that Mycroft would figure out the scheme. He played the part he hadn't been asked to, knowing exactly what he needed to do.
He had observed Sherlock at Doctor Hooper's flat. He remained there for two weeks while he recovered from his injuries and kept a low profile.
When Sherlock left, he kept an eye on Doctor Hooper. She had been tasked with looking after John and Mrs Hudson, but someone really needed to watch her as well. Especially as her relationship with Sherlock had deepened during his convalescence.
The shift was subtle, but unmistakeable.
Mycroft constantly worried for very good reason. Sherlock was never aware of the true damage he left behind.
Molly stared at the results of the test. It was blurred, her tears clouding her vision. But she knew what they were. They were the same as the last time she'd run them.
She'd skipped the home test, utilizing her workplace to perform the test. Now, she wished she were safe at home so she could break down and sob.
It had only happened three times. They had used protection. Were the condoms out of date? It had been quite a while since she had a lover.
It didn't matter. The end result was the same.
She felt sick to her stomach. She didn't know of the nausea was caused by her pregnancy or the nerves that were overwhelming her. She bet on the latter.
What was she supposed to do?
What would Sherlock say?
What would everyone else say? She couldn't exactly tell everyone she was pregnant by a man they all believed was dead.
She couldn't talk to anyone. She didn't have any family she could rely on. Her friends would never understand. Sherlock was probably halfway around the world.
She was alone.
The young pathologist whirled around at the sound of Mycroft's voice. He was halfway down the corridor from her. The morgue was quiet at time. They could speak freely.
He skipped the cloak and dagger he usually employed when speaking with one of his brother's associates. She was in no state to put up with it. Her eyes were puffy, reddened from continued bouts of crying.
She tried to hide it. She gave him a smile too big, one that did not reach her eyes. "Is there something I can help you with, Mister Holmes?"
"I know," Mycroft replied.
Doctor Hooper pressed her thin lips together tightly. "I'm sorry... You know what?"
Mycroft took a few steps towards Molly. "I know. About Sherlock." He paused, searching her face. "And the baby."
Doctor Hooper shook her head slowly. "There's no baby."
Mycroft frowned deeply. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Doctor Hooper..."
She pulled back quickly, hissing in a breath. "There is no baby."
Mycroft stepped away from her. Her features had twisted, the anguish clear. "Are you sure you want to do this, Doctor Hooper?"
Doctor Hooper looked up at him. Tears had begun to slip down her cheeks. "I don't have any other choice." She turned to walk away.
Mycroft watched her go. He gripped his umbrella tightly. "Have you talked to him about it?"
Doctor Hooper paused and looked over her shoulder. "Maybe I would if I had any idea where he was."
Molly had considered taking a sabbatical from Barts. As it was, her work with Sherlock had her put on leave anyway while they investigated her.
She stayed in her flat for days, considering the situation. She stared at herself in the mirror, looking down at her flat stomach.
She grabbed a throw pillow and shoved it under her jumper. She looked at the bump, imagining it was actually her stomach swollen.
She then imagined further. What it would be like when the baby was born. What kind of mix of her and Sherlock would the baby be? Would it be a girl who looked like her, but with Sherlock's piercing blue eyes... Maybe a boy with Sherlock's dark curls and her thin mouth.
She pulled the pillow out and fell to the floor, shaking as she sobbed. Could she really do it?
She had always said that she believed it should be the choice of the woman. But she never thought she would be in a position where she would have to make that choice. She always thought if she were pregnant, she would be married and ready for it.
But she was as far from ready as she could be. Even if she and Sherlock were together, she wasn't ready for this.
But she wasn't ready to make this decision.
If anything, she felt like she completely lacked choice.
Doctor Hooper had not left her flat for days. He was certain she was weighing her options.
It gave him time to work on tracking down Sherrinford Sigerson. Mycroft alone knew of his penchant for that pseudonym.
He called Doctor Hooper on her fifth day locked away. "I wanted to see if you've made up your mind."
Doctor Hooper was silent for a long time. "I have an appointment for tomorrow."
Mycroft sighed. "Are you sure you want to do this without speaking to Sherlock?"
"He'll probably be relieved."
Mycroft actually agreed with her. Sherlock had never shown any interest in being a parent. He doubted the reality of it would change his position. "I will pay for the procedure, Doctor Hooper."
"I can take care of it," Doctor Hooper replied. "It's not your responsibility."
"But is it Sherlock's," Mycroft shot back. "And he is always my responsibility."
The Doctor was very kind. She sat down with Molly and talked about her circumstances. Of course, Molly was unable to be completely honest, but it was close enough. She felt more relaxed as she talked through the situation.
She got a blood test and was screened for STIs. She was given an examination. When it came to doing the ultrasound, she kept her eyes shut tightly. She didn't want to risk seeing it, even if the doctor kept the machine turned away from her.
She knew what it looked like. It was barely the size of the chickpea. It had tiny webbed fingers and toes.
Once again, she thought she might be sick, but didn't think it had anything to do with morning sickness.
Mycroft knew Doctor Hooper had no desire to see him. He sent Anthea to her flat to slide a cheque beneath the door.
He wasn't sure how he felt about the situation himself. Yes, Doctor Hooper was being logical. However, he knew that to those outside of his family what was logical was not always the easiest.
Molly was early enough along that she could have a medical procedure rather than a surgical one. On her next appointment, she was given the mifepristone.
She was told that she could go about her normal activities after it was ingested.
But how was she supposed to go about any normal activities? How could she do anything but focus on what she was doing?
She went back to her flat. She ordered takeaway. She snugged with Toby and tried to concentrate on whatever crap telly she could find.
What felt the strangest was how she didn't feel anything. There was no pain, no bleeding. She knew what was happening to her body, but she felt none of it.
When she went to bed, she curled around one of her pillows. She remembered when she'd been curled around Sherlock. He'd stroked her hair and given her a kiss on her sweaty brow.
For as many years as she had wanted to be with Sherlock, now that it had happened, she would have given anything to take it back.
Mycroft continued to watch Doctor Hooper. John had heard of her leave from Barts and when he'd gone to see her, Mycroft had abducted him- making up a story about settling Sherlock's affairs.
Right before Doctor Hooper's final appointment, Mycroft sent her a text that consisted of only a phone number.
A few hours after she took the prostaglandin, Molly felt the effects. She was twisting on her bed in pain. She had been told she could take a painkiller, but the idea of getting out of her bed to take it was too much.
She cried and she whimpered, her stomach cramping. She barely made it to the bathroom in order to void herself.
But soon, she had calmed. She lay back on her bed and she knew it was done.
She took a deep, shaky breath and she wiped the tears from her eyes.
With a shaking hand, she reached for her phone. She dialled the number Mycroft had sent her.
After a few rings, she heard the dark, smooth baritone. "I knew you would call."
"Sherlock," Molly breathed.
"It's done?" Sherlock's voice wavered slightly.
Molly began to cry anew.
"It's all right, Molly," Sherlock soothed. "I am so sorry, I am so, so sorry."
Molly curled herself up, clutching the phone tightly as Sherlock continued to comfort her from a distance.