Molly stared at the pregnancy tests laid out on her counter. Anthea, the darling girl, had run to the shops to fetch them, said nothing, and even waited while Molly took each one.

"So…" Anthea swiped through her phone, still answering texts from Mycroft so he wouldn't suspect anything was wrong. "Blood test next?"

"Yes," Molly nodded, collected the tests and threw them into the trash. She was still reeling. Pregnancy tests could be wrong sometimes, but four in a row? Unlikely. She had a good feeling that they were correct, but a blood test would be undeniable proof. Somehow, and she figured nobody would fault her, she felt the need to insist on a definitive answer, and not from some pee-on-a-stick thing one got out of a corner shop.

Grabbing her purse, she turned to Anthea. "Come along?"

"Try and stop me," she smiled comfortingly at the pathologist. "Shall I call up Mary as well?"

"Would you?" Molly asked, beginning to feel tears prick the corners of her eyes. At this moment, she didn't want to be alone, she needed her two closest friends by her side.

Mary was known for being able to keep a secret, she was the sort who could be intolerably smug about what she knew, but she always knew to button her lip. She met them at the hospital, baby Rosie in the carrier. Bouncing on her heels, Mary smiling gently at Molly as she stepped up onto the curb.

"Ready then?"

"No," Molly sniffed.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked, putting an arm around her. "Is it because you don't want it?"

"No…no of course I do…it's a shock and-" she wiped her eyes, glancing around. "Let's go in, I'll tell you about it once we're downstairs."

While the blood-test ran, Molly told them about her one-night stand a month or two ago.

"Who was the chap? Someone you knew?" Mary asked.

"Oh lawks, was it Greg?" Anthea asked. "Not that he's bad, he's lovely but I don't know, I thought you two were more chums than…y'know…friends in the nighttime."

"It wasn't Greg," Molly shook her head. She heaved a sigh, tipping her head back. She considered not telling them at all, but Mary would figure it out, or worse yet conduct her own blood-test, if she ever got a suspicion as to who. "It was Sherlock."

Mary guffawed, then covered her mouth, forcing her laughter down, rolling her lips to try and smother her grin. "Sorry, I am so sorry," she managed to choke out. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise Molly, I was just- I'm sorry…Sherlock?!"

"Were you both completely pissed?" Anthea wanted to know.

"No, and thanks for suggesting that he'd only want me if he was drunk," Molly answered sourly.

"No, that's not what I meant," Anthea said quickly. "But you know Sherlock, he doesn't make a move…well…ever, he's too nervous. He'd sooner flash the press than ruin what he's got with you!"

"We weren't drunk exactly," Molly answered finally. "Just tipsy enough. I don't think he remembers it at all, really, or if he does, he's not said a word to me about it. He's gone on as if everything is fine...which...I rather think is out of his capacity to do so if he knew about this."

"Exactly," Mary said. "So it's likely he doesn't remember, because, knowing him, he'd have talked to you by now, or shut himself off completely."

"Right," Anthea nodded.

The machine slowed, alerting them all that it was finally finished processing.

"You know whatever happens, Molls, we're here for you, John and I, and Anthea," Mary said as Molly collected the print-out.

"It's not for certain, yet," Anthea offered, trying to play devil's advocate. "But yes, we're here no matter what."

"Well?" Mary asked. For once, Molly's expression was unreadable.

"Well?" Molly parroted. "Well I suppose I'd better register for some baby things." Her smile was bittersweet, and she covered her mouth. "So I did it out of order," she gave a choked laugh, wiping her eyes. "It'll be it and me, and that's fine."The paper crinkled noisily in her hands as she began to shake, crying more than laughing. She was happy, after all, she'd always wanted to be a mum. But she wanted what went with it too, a husband, a house. "I'm happy," she sobbed, trying to reassure Anthea and Mary who gathered her up, resting their heads against her, gently shushing her. "I promise I am I'm just-" she shook her head, returning their embraces. "It's going to be fine."

"Yes it will," Mary hugged her, careful not to crush Rosie between them. She thumbed away Molly's tears. "You just tell us what you need, we'll help."

"I need you both to promise not to tell Sherlock," Molly said, more firmly.

"What?" Anthea started

"Molly, no-"

"I mean it," she cut them off. "I mean it, if you're my friends, you'll let me handle this my way. Maybe it's wrong, but…but I need to just process this myself first. If I tell him, if he finds out it's his, he'll run off, or he'll- I don't know…" she trailed off, worrying her bottom lip. "Just promise me you won't tell him it's his."

Mary and Anthea exchanged looks, clearly not in agreement with Molly's choice. Finally, though, Anthea nodded.

"I won't," she relented. "Neither will Mary, will you?"

"Not if that's what you really want," Mary agreed. "But I will say that you shouldn't keep it from him forever," she squeezed Molly's hand. "This is the sort of thing he'd figure out, maybe not right away, in fact, knowing him, probably not until your wee one is in primary school. You know how dense he is sometimes."

Molly sniffled, laughing, and Mary shared her smile. "Promise me you'll tell him though, it doesn't have to be now, but someday soon."

"I promise," the pathologist nodded.

"Preferably before the baby starts school," Mary added with a grin. "Come on, let's get going before the boys come barging in here and our cover is blown."