Work Text:
March 2015
“It’s not too late to get married before the baby comes, you know.”
“Yes, perhaps we can get Greg Lestrade to stand over me during the ceremony with a shotgun. Properly set the mood. Then I can give birth during the reception, really give everyone a show.”
“I’ve had worse ideas. There’d be a minister on site to perform the christening. It would save us money, really. We’d only have to order one cake.”
April 2015
Official birth announcement posted on the twitter pages of both Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. It’s possible that Molly’s was hacked by an unknown person. *cough* Sherlock *cough*.
Alexander William Jonathan Holmes was ripped screaming from his mother’s womb at 8:16 PM on April 8th weighing a robust 8 lbs 12 oz.
Alexander was sensibly less than eager to be born into a world rife with problems and had to be evicted from his mother’s womb. We were admitted to the hospital on the evening of April 7th where a medication was applied to Molly’s cervix <the following medical description is censored at the moronic request of the pusillanimous individuals who flagged this message as inappropriate>. In the morning, the doctor came in to break the bag of waters, commiting us to the birth and officially voiding the warranty.
Labor proceeded slowly, and the doctors began to grow concerned that Alexander’s heart rate was slowing. A C-Section was deemed necessary, and thus the doctors prepared to carefully retract <the following is again censored, you cowards>. As soon as the initial incision on the womb was complete, Alexander thrust his hand out of the womb, presumably to finish the job himself. The surgeon explained to him that, as an infant, Alexander was unqualified to participate in the procedure. Alexander reluctantly allowed his appendage to be placed back into the womb.
We eagerly awaited his cries and a scant few minutes later, we were not disappointed. Alexander was born with a full head of hair and superior lungs which he used to excellent effect.
He engaged eagerly in nursing and is losing a minimum of birthweight. I’m told I’m not allowed to report the state of Molly’s nipples, but suffice to say that breastfeeding is going swimmingly. The family is tired, but doing well.
William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Molly Elizabeth Hooper (her name certainly could be Holmes if only she agreed to marry me, but I respect her independence and sense of timing) welcome our first child, Alexander William Jonathan Holmes, into the world.
November 2015
“Now John, as a doctor you must recognize that one of the salient features of a well-designed baby carrier is that it keeps the carried baby in a correct ergonomic position. I’m sure you can see that Alexander’s carrier keeps him in position to promote a healthy development of his hips and spine, whereas that cheap monstrosity you drag Rosamund around in will lead to discomfort and eventual hip dysplasia. But you do what you think best.” Sherlock patted his son’s bottom, well-covered by the expensive carrier he was currently sleeping in. The baby was currently drooling on his father’s equally expensive bespoke suit, but said father appeared not to care.
John growled and reminded himself he couldn’t hit his best friend while he was wearing a baby. “Mate, I’m not the one about to bring my baby to view a murder victim. Mine’s at home and it’s Mary’s turn.”
“Pssht, Alexander is sleeping. I doubt he’ll have much insight to add to the official report,” Sherlock retorted as they reached the yellow tape at the edge of the crime scene.
Sally Donovan lifted the tape as they approached and waved them through. “The body’s down by the water— is that a baby? An honest to God baby? Did you bring your kid to a crime scene?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “You must be accustomed to viewing evidence by now, Lieutenant Donovan. What does it suggest?”
“Yeah yeah, don’t have the vapors over it. But I’m telling you the boss is never gonna let you bring him down there.” She moved closer and rubbed Alexander’s head with her thumb. “I’ll give you this, Holmes, you make cute kids. Probably Hooper’s influence.”
“On that, we can agree,” he replied with a smirk.
Lestrade marched up the hill. “Oy, what’s taking so long?”
They explained quickly with some huffing and eye rolling on Sherlock’s part. He finished, “Molly is at work. I can hardly leave an infant at home alone, can I?”
Lestrade shook his head. “Saw Molly yesterday; could’ve sworn she said that today is Xander’s first day at the crèche. Weren’t you dropping him there this morning?
Sherlock froze. “Well I didn’t, obviously ! Are we viewing the body or not?”
Lestrade groaned. “Fine, whatever. One of the uniforms’ll hold him for you. Saunders! C’mere!”
“I think not! I’ve seen Saunders collect evidence. I’m hardly going to allow an incompetent moron take responsibility my child!” He paused as he unstrapped the carrier. “Donovan will hold him.”
Sherlock held the dark-haired bundle out to the surprised woman and flashed her a tight smile.
After a moment, she held out her arms with an answering grin. “You don’t suck yourself, Holmes.”
He huffed in response and turned to pick his way down the muddy hill. He called, “For God’s sake, John, hurry up! Alexander will need to be fed in 35 minutes.”
Lestrade and Donovan watched John follow his friend down the hill. At the edge of hearing range, Sherlock’s phone began to ring out the Addams Family theme. He answered it quickly. “Molly, I know what you’re going to say, and I have a rational explanation.” A pause, then, “Well, no. No. Yeeees? Oh, fine.” Then they passed out of hearing range.
Lestrade chuckled. “Same old Sherlock.”
Donovan petted the wispy hair of the child in her arms as she watched the pair disappear down the hill. One side of her mouth quirked into a wry smile. “I disagree.”
January 2016
Molly had been surprised when Sherlock had suggested going back to Italy for their first post-baby vacation, but she had to agree that it felt oddly appropriate.
Xander had gone to stay with Sherlock’s parents, and they had been enjoying a leisurely tour around the country. She hadn’t made it to Sardinia on her previous trip, and her partner (“I’m not your boyfriend, Molly; we are both well over the age of 14 and have a child together!”) was happy to accommodate her.
They had spent the day hiking to see the Bronze Age beehive-shaped stone ruins that dotted the countryside. Now the two lay cuddled together, drinking wine and eating nibbles in front of a fire in their rented cottage. She half expected soft jazz to begin playing any moment, thus confirming that they were in a romantic comedy montage or a travel commercial.
She took a sip of wine and then put her head down on his chest, breathing in the delectable and familiar scent of him. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”
“Oh do you? And what am I doing?” He tightened his arm around her, wrapping a large hand around the back of her head.
“Convincing me that I want to contractually obligate myself to have and hold you for all eternity, of course.”
“In the event that I were embarking upon such an obvious attempt, which I’m not saying I am… is it working?” he asked with a nonchalance she knew was feigned.
She hummed contentedly. “Quite desperately. You are rather a catch, my love.”
He sat up on his elbows. “So does that mean…”
She giggled and sat up as well. She took a deep breath. “Yes, an entire bloody year later; I will marry you, Sherlock Holmes.”
A elephantine grin split his face and he kissed her forehead. “Wonderful to hear!” Then he moved the arm that had been around her to check a nonexistent watch on his wrist and said, “But I’m terribly sorry. I proposed to you exactly one year and...three hours ago. The statute of limitations has run out. It’s common knowledge that proposals have an expiry date.”
She smacked his arm. “Don’t joke!”
“I’m not joking. If you want to marry me, Molly Hooper, you’ll need to get creative.”
“Am I meant to convince you? I can think of a few ways.”
“I don’t need convincing; my mind is quite made up. I need a proposal,” he said with a carefully innocent expression.
She blinked at him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Fair enough. Sherlock, will you--”
“Convention insists that you’re to get down on one knee.” He was trying and failing to suppress a grin.
“I was on my knees last night and that certainly seemed to impress you,” she said breathily, and delighted in his shiver of recognition.
“Don’t distract me. Eye on the prize, Hooper!” They both began to chuckle in earnest.
Molly rolled up to one knee, and Sherlock sat up tall on both of his so that she could look up at him. He primply gestured for her to continue.
She beamed up at him. “Sherlock Holmes, will you do me the honor of agreeing to mar--”
“Yes! Sorry, got impatient. But yes!” he said quickly. He folded her into his arms and kissed every inch of her skin that he could reach, as she did the same.
She was crying, she realized, and laughing too. He seemed to be similarly affected, if the wetness against her lips as she kissed his face was any indication. She hugged him again, and felt the surety of his arms around her.
He pulled back slightly. “Oh, you can wear this now.” He extracted a small box from his front pocket and snapped it open with a flourish. The ring was, of course, perfect. A beautiful channel-set sapphire was surrounded by smaller diamonds. She had no doubt it would be exactly her size.
“Have you been carrying that around for the last year?” she quipped.
“Don’t be silly. We both knew you couldn’t resist me forever. And Italy was a brilliant plan.”
Something clicked in Molly’s head. “This was Mary’s idea, wasn’t it?”
His eyes slid sideways guiltily. “Possibly... It worked, didn’t it?”
“Fantastically. I don’t even know why I was waiting; the timing just never seemed right. I know it’s silly, but I think I was nervous you’d change your mind once the magic wore off. Having a baby made everything so much more immediate. I know it’s silly.”
“Nothing about how you feel is silly, Molly. I would wait for you to be sure for my entire ridiculous life, if need be. But,” his smile grew broad, “I’m quite glad I don’t have to. How soon can we marry?”
“Well… I’d like it to be a nice occasion. Small,” she said reassuringly, “but I’d like to be married in a church or nice space and have a reception at a hall and you have to reserve those ahead. So as soon as we can get a space, I guess.”
“Allow me to test my understanding - marrying soon feels right to you as long as it’s the way you imagined your wedding? You have no reservations or discomfort about having a short engagement?”
“Riiiight… Sherlock, what have you done? I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and have all our family and friends here, am I?”
“Of course not, that would be ridiculous and completely over the top.”
“Mary wouldn’t let you?” she guessed.
”Mary wouldn’t let me,” he agreed quickly. “But I have been reserving halls and churches in advance on a quarterly basis since last year in the event that you might say yes. I’ve picked them based both on practicality and how visually appealing they are in the varying seasons. And the next date will be coming up in March, so we’ll have six weeks to get ready. Is that - would that be acceptable?”
Molly found her heart incredibly full, wanting to laugh and cry all at the same time at how insanely beautiful he was. “More than acceptable. Shall we celebrate?” She leaned forward enticingly.
He let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Absolutely! I’ve some swatches hidden in the suitcase to show you. What do you think of cerulean, or maybe plum with lemon accents?” He kissed her forehead and leaped to his feet, running for the bedroom without waiting for an answer.
She stared incredulously after her mad genius of a fiance ( Ooh, fiance! ), then shrugged and picked up her wine glass. This was going to be an impossibly interesting life.