Molly was quite sure she’d never been so excited to get home in her life. When she finally got there, an hour after her shift, no thanks to London’s rush hour traffic, she found her husband reading a book whilst their son practiced on his violin.

“I have some news...” Molly announced to her inattentive boys, slipping her jacket from her shoulders and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Dad, Mum’s talking to you,” Victor murmured, concentrating intensely on his playing. Behind him, Sherlock frowned and turned a page loudly.

“Victor, your mother’s talking to you.”

“Actually...” Molly said with a grin plastered to her face as she moved to the kitchen, switching on the kettle, “I'm talking to both of you.”

Victor paused his thoughtful tune and turned to his father; Sherlock had also ceased his reading, apparently trying to deduce what his wife was talking about. The eleven-year-old shuffled over and sat opposite his Dad, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“She looks happy.”

Sherlock nodded; he knew better than that, though. “It might be a trap.”

“She might have found a broken something,” Victor added with a shrug, glancing at his mother over his shoulder.

In his haste to defend himself, Sherlock neglected to whisper, “well I didn’t do it!”

“I’m pregnant!”

Victor couldn’t help but smirk at the look on his father’s face; apparently, he was just as shocked as he was. The boy coughed and lowered his gaze to the floor, taking advantage of his father’s stunned silence.

“Looks like you did.”

Victor was too busy sniggering to dodge the leftover newspaper Sherlock sent flying in his direction.