The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 41

            Molly loved to hold her, and Sherlock loved to watch Molly hold her.

            And John and Mary loved to have a few minutes of rest from their new, busy lives as parents.

            Molly leaned against Sherlock as she cradled the infant in her arms. Sherlock had his arm wrapped around her waist as she stared down at Rose. The whole situation was heart-warming, Sherlock had decided, but he still was undecided on whether or not he liked babies. Rosamund Mary Watson seemed to do only three things: eat, sleep, and mess up her nappie. He didn't know many babies, of course, but she didn't seem like as much trouble as people claim babies are. She was only two weeks old, though. Maybe she'd get worse as she aged?

            "Rose certainly seems to like you, Molly," said Mary as she looked lovingly at the infant in the pathologist's arms.

            Molly looked over at her, a bright smile on her face. "Does she?"

            "Good thing too," John said, leaning forward on the sofa, "because we've made it official, Mary and I."

            "Made what official?" Molly asked.

            "You and Sherlock being her godparents, of course," John said.

            Molly looked over to Mary, who nodded and said, "It only makes sense."

            "Of course," said Sherlock, who had remained silent throughout the whole of their visit until this moment, "We are the only friends close enough to the two of you to have that honour. Mary, of course, has other friends, such as Janine and Cathie, but even though they were her bridesmaids, they aren't close enough to her for her to trust with the life of her own baby were something to happen to she and John. John, however, has a smaller number of friends, almost none at all. He even has friends that really aren't his friends because he finds them completely annoying, but he lets the relationship stay one sided because he doesn't want to be rude. His only other true friends are war veterans with lives overtaken by their PTSD. Therefore, dear Molly and I are really the only­—"

            "Sherlock?" John interrupted.

            "Yes?"

            "Shut up."

            Sherlock nodded once and looked down at his lap. "Sorry."

            Molly's smile didn't fade as she shook her head at the detective. "He means thank you, and so do I. Thank you both." She looked from John to Mary. "I'm happy to know that you to trust us so much."

            "Well of course we do," said Mary, smiling at her.

            "Sherlock may be the biggest arse in the universe," John said, "but there isn't a man on earth that I trust more than him." He was blushing in the slightest, but his eyes spoke the truth as he looked over at Sherlock.

            Sherlock held a hand to his heart as he faked his shock. "Oh, John, I'm touched. I never knew you cared so much."

            Molly, careful not to disrupt the baby, nudged Sherlock in the side. He turned his gaze to her, raising his brows. She raised hers, and they both stared each other down until the two of them cracked at least the tiniest of smiles.

            "And you, Molly," Mary said "I don't think there's a soul on earth who couldn't trust you."

            Molly was the one blushing now. "I'm honoured, truly."