#whenisayrunrun

“Molly Hooper?  You’re sure you’renot just misreading something?  You do, ah, tend to jump to the wrongconclusions around her.”

Sherlock held up the pregnancy test(the first one, the important one; he’d saved it).

“Oh,” John said, looking atthe test.  "Wow.  Didn’t even know she was seeing anyone.  Goodon her, then, if that’s what she wants.“

"What about what I want?  I can’tbe a father.  I can’t even take care of myself.  Look at this place! I had a bowl of crushed up Oreos and coffee whitener for breakfastbecause Mrs. Hudson was out and there wasn’t anything else edible inthe flat,” he said miserably.  Crises (existential, midlife, -ofconscience, spiritual or, in this case, identity) were not his area,but he was branching out and having one anyway.  Doing it in style,too.

John’s face did a series of thingswhile he struggled his way through a thought until finally thelightbulb flickered.  "So when you said ‘we,’ it really wasn’tjust you making it all about you.  You, ah, actually had a hand init.“

"Not a hand, no,” he said. Though hands were involved at at least one point in the proceedings. Rather effectively, if he did say so himself.

“Funny, that’s funny.  How longhave you two been…?”  He did another thing with his face andhis hands.  

Sherlock eyed the half-full bottle ofscotch on the kitchen table (a gift from a client, had been saving itto regift to Mycroft when he was being particularly annoying; hewould think it was tampered-with and would never drink it, soultimately, the joke would be on him), willing it to float over andrefill his glass; he was starting to sober up and that was not whathe wanted to be at the moment.

“Not long, forever, take yourpick,” he said, giving up and sprawling back in his chair.

“Not sure what that even means,but—yeah.  Wow.”  John went to the kitchen and got down aglass, then poured himself two fingers from the bottle on the table. He emphatically did not top up Sherlock’s glass.  So much for 'bestfriends.’  "So, uh, what are you two going to do about it?  Areyou even together, as a… couple?“

"No idea.  She said it didn’t haveto change things.  It sure as hell changes things!  How am I supposedto sleep next to her now without being able to touch her?  It washard enough before, but now that I know the promised land andshe’s carrying my child—”

“So you’ve been sleeping together,but not sleeping together.”  It was a question.

“Do keep up.  Honestly.”

“How long?”

“That’s a bit of a personalquestion, isn’t it?” Sherlock deflected.  John would be cross,he got cross over the silliest things.

John made a face.  Cross.

“Ever since I got back, more orless.  I didn’t like being alone.”  He hated being drunk, hetalked too much.  In vino veritas.

“But she was engaged.  Did allthree of you—?”

“Ugh, oh God no,” he said,shuddering for emphasis.  "Though I’m probably the reason theysplit.“

"Ya think?  So what about sleepingtogether?  Sex,” John clarified.

“A month, ish.  Only twice.  Well,three, if you’re counting—”

“I’m not counting anything,”John said, holding his hands up.  "And wow, yeah, that’s someluck.  Only you.“

"Bloody well better be only me,”Sherlock grumbled.  He’d know if she had a date or a one-night stand. Wouldn’t he?  John said it himself, there were very big things hemissed about Molly, more than once.  He thought he’d got better atlooking for them since he’d been away, at seeing her, but whatif he really hadn’t?  And how the hell could he hope to raise a childwith her if he didn’t even know what she was thinking or feeling?

He was not nearly drunk enough forthis.  What he wouldn’t do for the warm embrace of opiates rightthen, but that would surely mean the absolute end of it all.  He’dprobably never even get to see his child’s face, let alone be part ofits life.

“How far along is she?”

“Five weeks, about.  Just foundout last night.  She texted me this morning after running a bloodtest on herself.  Definitely pregnant.”

“Wow,” John repeated.  Wasthat the only thing people could say?  "I can, ah, pass on thename of Mary’s midwife, if she’s looking for someone.  We liked her.“

"For all the good she did, youdelivered the baby yourself.  Really still trying to delete thatwhole experience, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, don’t delete all ofit, in nine months you might need it.”

Sherlock felt queasy, and he knew itwasn’t from the alcohol.  Or even the memory of Mary and blood and…fluids.  

“You alright, Sherlock?  You’relooking a bit pale.  Should I get the bin?”

“I did this to her.  It’s not likeit’s just some inconvenience, like accidentally stepping on her footor shutting her finger in a door.  I very well may have ruined herlife,” he said quietly, feeling the full weight of his guilt.

“Oh for—you are the world’sbiggest drama queen.  You should have your own reality show on telly. I know you’ve failed to notice, but she’s had feelings for you for avery long time and I have personally overheardher talking with Mary about wanting kids and time running out.  Sonow, it’s really up to you get yourself sobered up, cleaned up, andnut up to go be there for her, because I’m sure she’s not having theeasiest time with this herself,” Captain John Watson said.

He tried to stop it, but a tiny tendrilof hope unfurled in his chest.

“Besides, I see how you are withRosie.  You might not be a great father, but you’ll be a good one.”

Yes.  He could do this.  He woulddo this.

“Can I borrow your speculum again?

*

“Oh, what a cutie!  Is she yours?”

“No, just sitting for a friend,”he said, turning and pacing back toward the windows, patting Rosie onthe back in the vain hope of a burp that was only air this time. “Now, back to why you’re here…”

“Oh!  Yes, sorry.  Well, you see,I think my stepfather is trying to kill me.  I found this in my bed,”she said, opening the carrier bag she’d brought and producing anempty plastic box.  "Bugger.  It was still there when I was inthe cab…“

*

"Molly!  Shut the door and get upon a chair.  Quickly!”

“Wha—?  Why?” she said,pulling the door closed.

“Because the floor is lava,”he said sarcastically.  "There’s a venomous snake loose in theflat, probably Agkistrodonpiscivorus by the client’s description.  They’resemi-aquatic and not prone to climbing, so this should be relativelysafe.“

She gave him a flat look.  "Beserious for two minutes, please.  You don’t even have a client.”

“Because she ran when she figuredout the snake was loose in the flat and that it actually waspoisonous.  Now get. On. The. Chair,” he hissed, pressingRosie’s head against his shoulder and covering her ear just in casehe was louder than he thought he was being.

Finally, finally, she realized he wasbeing completely serious and clambered up on the chair next to thesofa.

He heard movement behind him, comingfrom the bookshelf; he thought it best to be on the other side of theflat just in case they could climb.  Probably safe to walk across thefloor, considering its position, but one could never be too careful. He pushed the side table a bit closer to the desk to make bridgingthe gap to the desk easier.

“What are you doing?”

“Fairly obvious,” he grunted,thinking he really needed to fix that wobble sometime, beforelevering himself onto the desk.

“Oh my God,” Molly said,throwing her hands in the air.

“Always knew you thought highly ofme, but that’s really a bit much,” he said, stepping down ontothe second desk chair before preparing for the leap to the coffeetable.  Rosie seemed to be enjoying herself at least, if all theshrieking baby-laughter in his ear was any indication.

“So this is where you impress me,right?  You hand me the baby and then you find the snake and wrestleit like Steve Irwin?”

“Noooo, I called a herpetologistfrom the London Zoo to come and collect it,” he said slowly. “Is it like a cartoon inside your head all the time, or is justwhen you’re with me?”

Molly scowled, then cocked her head asthey both heard the front door.  "Wow, your friend is reallyfast.  I mean the Zoo isn’t that far, but the traffic right now—"

“It’s not the herpetologist,though she’ll be delighted to find a second reptile in the flat,”he said.

“Wh—”

“Don’t come in!” Sherlockshouted, covering Rosie’s ear again.

Mycroft, idiotic and arrogant asalways, mistook that for an invitation to stroll right in as thoughhe were the guest of honour.  He surveyed the room, smiling in hisstupid condescending way.  

“Oh, the lava game.  And you lethim pull you into it, too.  Honestly Ms. Hooper, aren’t yousupposed to be the adult?”

“There’s actually a snake on thefloor, you should, ah, probably get on a chair,” Molly said,eyeing the distance between all the raised surfaces in the room.  Shewas going to give up her chair and try to make it to the sofa.

Mycroft rolled his eyes so hard hiseyelids fluttered, jaw going slack from the sheer tedium of his verycoexistence with mere mortals.  Molly hopped onto the coffee table.

“North American swamp adder, alsoknown as a water moccasin or cottonmo—” Sherlock clarified,holding out his hand to help Molly onto the sofa.

“Yes, I have taken biology, I’mfamiliar,” Mycroft said, hauling his bulk onto the chair Mollyhad vacated.

“Mm, I’m sure.  Wouldn’t besurprised to find copies of Snake Lover’s Digest shoved underyour mattress.”

“Says the man who has a stack ofGuns & Ammo next to his bed.”

“They’re not next to the bed,they’re next to the toil—” he cleared his throat and lookedaway.  "Nevermind.“  Really, he had nothing to be ashamedof, Molly kept the Journal of Clinical Pathology (and a fewothers) next to hers.

"Quite.  Mother always said you’dget haemorrhoids, but you never did listen.”

“You’re a haemorrhoid,”Sherlock retorted.

“And you’re both setting a shiningexample for Rosie,” Molly said, giving Sherlock a Look beforeturning one on Mycroft.  

“She’s only five months old,”Sherlock dismissed.  "Right.  Sorry,“ he said when Molly’slook went from ‘you’re on thin ice, mister,’ to 'I’m going to startcounting in minute, do you want me to get the spoon?’

*

"You’re not going to breathe aword of this to Mary and John,” Sherlock said after Dr. Lacertaleft the flat.  He’d phone Lestrade later to see about an attemptedmurder charge for the stepfather.

“As much as I would love to seethe look on their faces when I tell them their only progeny was putin mortal peril by her Godparents—”

“Hey!” Molly interrupted.

“You are an accessory,”Sherlock reminded her, sotto voce.

“Pfft, what else is new?”Molly said, throwing one hand in the air and walking back to thekitchen with Rosie.  "Mycroft, are you staying for dinner?“

"Seeing as I know the kinds ofthings my brother keeps in there, no, but I thank you for your kindoffer,” Mycroft smiled tightly.

“A little medical waste never hurtanyone,” Molly cooed at Rosie, leaning into the fridge.  "Well,maybe some people, but that’s only because they don’t follow properstorage and disposal procedures.“

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows.  "Atleast this one won’t be at the centre of an international incident orcausing a sex scandal, though one involving the trafficking of humanremains isn’t exactly a step up.  Really, brother mine, your taste inwo—”

“Don’t you have somewhere else tobe?” Sherlock snapped, looking nervously at Molly’s back.

“At the moment, no.”

“Fine.  Why are you here, anyway?”

“Mummy and Daddy will be in townagain at the weekend.  We have dinner reservations for seven onFriday.”

Molly came into the lounge with a platebalanced on one hand, keeping it well away from Rosie.  "Are yousure I couldn’t interest you in some finger food?“ she asked,serving Mycroft like a cocktail waitress.  

Sherlock bit his lip; the look onMycroft’s face was priceless.  She’d put the fingers from the saladdrawer on crackers and garnished each with a half of an olive.

"Do consider a vasectomy.  Ishudder to think of what the two of you would produce,” Mycroftsaid once he’d regained his composure.

“Got to get back on the horsesometime,” Molly replied, not looking up from the joyous task ofdotting Is and crossing Ts.

Sherlock was quiet; she risked a glanceup and yep, he was trying to decide if she’d been alluding to sex. She sighed internally; sometimes she wondered how he’d made it thisfar into adulthood with that level of innocence intact.

“It’s been five months.  And heseemed nice.  It’s better than spending yet another night at homealone, I can only reorganize my spice cupboard so many times.” She didn’t even know why she felt like she needed to explain.

“We were going to play Cluedotonight.”

“No we weren’t?”  That wassomething she thought she’d remember agreeing to.

“I texted you.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t.”

“I did, check your phone.”

“You check your phone.”

“I always delete our texts.”

“Rude.”  

“Smart.  Do you really want thenext Moriarty to know your phone number, where you work, whattoppings you like on your pizza?”

“The first Moriarty knew allthat.”

“Yes, and you got lucky.”

“Sure didn’t,” she mumbledunder her breath.  She was glad she hadn’t actually slept with himand she’d been a little shaken afterwards, but she could joke aboutit now.  "Anyway, you really didn’t text me.  You can see foryourself,“ she said, digging her phone out of her pocket andhanding it to him.

He scowled while he scrolled throughtheir text history.  "Fine.  I thought about texting you.”

“Oh, silly me, how could I nothave known that?”

“My replacement’s name is Colm? Yech.”

“Do you really think I could everreplace you?” she asked a little sarcastically, channellingMary’s pouty sweetness a bit.  She didn’t really want to examine howthe bite in his voice when he said ‘replacement’ made her feel a bitwarm, like he was actually jealous, and not just because someone wassnatching his friend away.  Wishful thinking, probably.

“Well you’re obviously trying. This one’s not going to work, by the way.  He’s a workaholic in anon-again-off-again with a colleague, someone higher on the food chainthan he is by the look of it.  Not worth your time.”

“Did… you just delete hisnumber?”  Like she even needed to ask.  He’d wrecked herrelationship with Tom, of course he wouldn’t think twice aboutdeleting someone’s number from her phone.  Give him an inch…

“Finger slipped.  So, Cluedotonight?”

Nothing for it; he was probably rightand she’d rather be with him anyway, even if she could really use abit of two-hand touch.  "Holmes rules?“

“Like there are any other kind.”

“Mm.  Calvinball: The Board Game. Can’t wait.”

“Real life murders are never soneat as Professor Peacock in the kitchen with the lead pipe—well,except for the one time, that one was fairly straightforward andlacking in imagination—but the point stands.  Verisimilitude.”

“It’s Professor Plum.  And Mrs.Peacock.”

“No, this was an actual case. Oxford, four?-ish years ago.  It was the plumber, murder for hire.”

“Ah.  So, see you around seven?”

“Six, we’ll get pizza.  Oddlyhungry for it now that I mentioned it.”  His eyebrows drewtogether like he’d confused himself by being swayed by the power ofhis own suggestion.

“I want pineap—”

“No.”

“Prude.”

“I have both good taste andrespect for the elegance of plain pizza.”

“Oh, fuck off, you purist.  Ham?”

“If we must,” he said,long-suffering.