Precious to Share

"Mummy?" Alethea asked, once her head had come through the pajama top that her mother was helping to put on her.

"Yes, Lithi?" Molly answered, smiling as she helped her four-year-old daughter get her arms through the armholes of the top.

"Nana and Poppy are Daddy's Mummy and Daddy, right?"

Alethea had spent the weekend with her grandparents in Surrey, and she'd had a wonderful time. She had baked cookies with her Nana, and planted flowers with her Poppy. She had also seen funny pictures of her Daddy and Uncle Myc when he had been little. That had been fun, even though her Daddy had looked like he'd swallowed a grapefruit when he found out.

That had been this afternoon when he had picked her up to bring her home. Mummy had come home from work right after they'd unpacked her things, and the small family had shared dinner before Daddy had been called away to a crime scene by Uncle Greg. This left only Mummy to put her to bed, but Alethea didn't mind at all; Daddy always came into her room when he came home to kiss her goodnight, even if she was already asleep.

In response to her question, Molly said, "That's right, Lithi."

Then, Alethea had looked at her mother with the big brown eyes that they both shared and asked, "Then…where are your Mummy and Daddy?"

For a moment, Molly's breath caught and her movements froze. Her own brown eyes brightened until she blinked a bit forcefully. Caressing her daughter's dark curls, Molly said softly, "Well, Alethea…they're gone. They passed away before you were born…before I met your Daddy, actually."

The four-year-old's brown eyes got very big and bright. She then crawled across her bed and wrapped her arms around her Mummy's neck. Molly responded by enveloping her tiny daughter in a tight hug, glad to have a few moments to get her emotions under control. She had known that this day would come, that this question would come, about the grandmother and grandfather that Alethea would never have the chance to know. Oh, she had dreaded it, terrified that her emotions would get the better of her and only result in upsetting Alethea. But the moment had come, and Molly was going to rely on every ounce of strength that she possessed to get through this with her daughter in the best possible way.

When the hug ended, Molly kissed Alethea's forehead and whispered, "Thank you, my sweet girl. You knew just what I needed."

Alethea then asked, almost timidly, "Please tell me about them?"

Her hesitant tone made Molly give her a tender smile, and she found the strength that she needed. "Of course, Lithi. But I would greatly appreciate a cuddle from you while I do."

Alethea smiled, and gladly made room for her mother after she had gotten into her bed. Molly got in after her, sitting up against the white headboard and holding out her arms to her daughter. The four-year-old gladly snuggled into her mother's embrace, her curly head resting on Molly's shoulder. The mother then took a deep breath and began to speak about her parents…

When Sherlock Holmes returned to 221B, the first place that he went after hanging up his coat and toeing off his shoes was his daughter's room. He tiptoed up the stairs, knowing that she would be asleep since it was after ten o'clock at night. But when he quietly opened the door to the room and looked inside, he was surprised to find that Alethea was not alone.

Molly was propped up against the headboard and a pillow, fast asleep with her arm around Alethea, who was cuddled against her mother and sleeping just as soundly.

For a moment, Sherlock had to grip the doorknob a little harder as his heart filled with this beautiful image of his girls, the two great loves of his life. His vision blurred and he wiped away the warm tears right away, not wanting this image to distort. He stood there for a few moments, perfectly preserving this image inside his Mind Palace – making it an exquisite portrait in his throne room, actually. Eventually, though, he broke the spell and moved towards the bed.

First, he leaned down and kissed Alethea's cheek gently, careful not to wake her. Then, he gave Molly her own kiss, this time on the lips and with more insistence so that she would wake up. She did, her brown eyes slowly blinking open. Her eyes saw her husband's face when they had adjusted to the dark; she had known it was him from the moment she had woken up because she recognized his scent. She smiled sleepily at him and he happily smiled back as he carefully helped her out of their daughter's bed. Once she was on her own feet again, Molly bent down and gave Alethea a good-night kiss of her own. The mother and father then silently left the bedroom hand-in-hand.

Once they had arrived downstairs, Molly held her husband to her tightly, burying her face into his chest. "I missed you," she breathed.

Sherlock returned the embrace immediately, his worry rising. He would expect this from Molly if he'd been away on a case for a few days, not a few hours. He kissed her head, and he felt her relax in his arms. When she pulled her head away, she asked, "So, did you solve the case?"

"Ye-p," said Sherlock, as always popping his lips at the end of the word. "Merely a four. Certainly not enough to take me away from our daughter's bedtime, in my mind."

Molly smiled, lifting one of her hands so that she could run her fingers through his curls. "I planned to take a shower before turning in…will you join me?"

"Of course," Sherlock immediately replied. Usually, when Molly made a suggestion like this, her tone was saucy and suggestive. Now, it was shy and almost pleading. Yes, something was definitely wrong, and Sherlock deduced that she wanted to feel as close to him as she could in order to confide what was bothering her.

In other words, she wanted them to be in their own little world. And Sherlock was only too happy to create that for her.

So, minutes later found the two of them in the bathroom under a hot shower. Sherlock waited silently for Molly to open up, knowing that she eventually would. And when she did, her large brown eyes were red with tears.

"Lithi asked about my parents."

This was all that Sherlock needed to hear, Molly's behavior now perfectly clear to him. Without a word, he pulled Molly to him, and they embraced again more tightly than before. With nothing between them and soothing warm water soothing their bodies, Molly felt safe enough to let herself cry without restraint. Sherlock just held her, having learned from experience that words were useless in these situations. He couldn't help but get a bit choked in the throat himself, though.

Despite how Sherlock complained and bemoaned how "ordinary" and "boring" his own parents were, he was extremely grateful that they were still alive and doing very well at their age. And from the moment they had first laid eyes on their first grandchild, they became wrapped around Alethea's tiny finger. Alethea loved the time that she got to spend with her Nana and Poppy, as she had always called them, spending more than a few weekends a year with them. Sherlock was extremely grateful for this, and not only because it gave him and Molly some romantic alone-time at 221B.

Before he and Molly had finally become romantically involved, the only time that she had ever mentioned either of her parents to him had been that instance just before the Fall when she had compared him to her father. Since becoming a couple, she had opened up to him bit by bit about her parents. Having lost her mother when she was quite young and her father when in her late teens, the topic was not an easy one for her, even now. So Sherlock knew how strong Molly had been to hold in all of her emotions up until now.

So, when he felt Molly's sobbing calm and they were just holding each other, he said the first thing that came to his mind from his heart: "From what you've told me, they would have been wonderful grandparents to Alethea, because they were wonderful parents to you."

Thankfully, it had been the right thing to say. Molly snuggled closer into their wet, naked embrace and spoke softly. "It's quite easy for me to picture them…my dad would read her stories…my mum would sing to her…It's a strange thing, Sherlock. I've never missed them more than since we had Alethea."

"That's understandable," Sherlock murmured. "I don't think that I ever truly appreciated my parents until I became a parent myself."

Molly managed a tiny chuckle. "The circle of life…" she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Is that a coming saying in today's pop culture?"

Molly made the sweetest sound he could hear: a genuine laugh. "In a way," she said. Then, she turned off the shower, as they had already washed each other's hair and bodies. "Come on, let's get into our warm pj's and warmer bed. I'm really tired."

"Excellent proposition, Mrs. Holmes," said Sherlock, kissing her. "We both need sleep now."

They soon had each other dried and changed. They fell asleep very quickly after they had gotten into bed and into each other's arms.

Sherlock woke up to find that he was alone in their bed. Opening and rubbing his eyes of sleep, he soon saw that Molly was standing at the window, staring outside at the steady rain falling. Sherlock roused himself fully and slipped out of bed. When he wrapped his arms around her waist, Molly barely jumped – either she'd heard him get up or she had watched him do so in the reflection of the glass window.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Sherlock, pressing his cheek to her temple. In the window reflection, her furrowed brow raised his concern. "What is bothering you?"

"I was just thinking…" Molly said quite softly. If Sherlock hadn't been so close to her, he wouldn't have heard her. "In a few months, Alethea will be five years old…that was how old I was when I lost my mother…"

Sherlock's hold around Molly tightened, and he pressed his face to her neck. His mother had been such a strong presence in his life growing up, and he couldn't fathom losing her at the age which Molly had lost her own mother. And the thought of him and Alethea losing Molly was a thought much too terrible to contemplate. While he felt confident in the security detail that Mycroft provided for his family, Sherlock had learned through harsh life experience that nothing in life was guaranteed. So, as he kissed Molly's neck several times and breathed in her scent, he reminded himself that the only thing that mattered was that she was here now.

Molly hummed appreciatively at his actions, and then resumed talking. "Some days, I feel like I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing as a mother…I have so little to go on in my life. I'm just scared that, as Lithi gets older…I'll fail her, even when it's the last thing that I want to do."

Sherlock immediately lifted his head and turned Molly around so that he could lock gazes with her. "Molly, you are the best mother that our daughter could ever have. I knew even before we really knew each other that you would make an excellent mother. You are so loving, so patient, firm when you need to be, loyal to the core and possess a strength that most people only dream about, including me. Never doubt that again, Molly. Alethea loves you and wouldn't change you for the world. Neither would I. Ever."

Molly smiled as her eyes brightened. "And you are the best father that our daughter could ever have, Sherlock. You've proved that from the moment we found out that I was pregnant, and I know that you won't ever stop. Both of us are so blessed to have you. Don't you forget that."

With that, Molly pulled down her husband's head for a passionate kiss. In the next moment she let out a squeal against his mouth as he picked her up and carried her to their bed. As he laid her down onto the rumpled sheets, he said in a low voice, "Alethea won't wake up for at least an hour."

Molly smirked and ran her fingers through his curls, causing him to let out a primal groan. "You've read my mind, Mr. Consulting Detective."

A week passed, and the weather improved somewhat. Molly texted Sherlock when she had finished her shift at Bart's, letting him know that she had an errand to run but that she would be home in time for dinner. When she did arrive home, a wrapped parcel in her arms, she found her husband and daughter in the kitchen making Alethea's favorite: spaghetti. "It smells wonderful, my favorite chefs," Molly said, announcing her presence.

Alethea immediately hopped off the chair that she had been standing on and ran to her. "Mummy!" Alethea hugged her mother round the waist, and Molly hugged her with one arm as she held the parcel in her other. "Daddy rolled the meatballs so that they're the exact same size as eyeballs!"

Molly snorted and looked at her husband, who looked quite pleased with himself as he stirred the noodles in the pot of boiling water.

"What's in the parcel, Mummy?" asked the four-year-old.

Sherlock turned his head in curiosity, raising her eyebrow.

Molly smiled, caressing her daughter's dark curls. "I'll show you both after we eat, ok?"

Alethea pouted. "We have to wait?"

"Yes, Lithi," said Molly firmly, ruffling her curls. God, she absolutely mirrored her father sometimes. "I can see that it's almost ready to eat. Now, please help me set the table?"

Sherlock smiled, extremely curious himself as to what Molly had brought home, but knowing that the best thing to do was to wait until after they'd eaten dinner. "Better do as your mother says, my little bee."

"Yes, Daddy," said Alethea. She then turned her head back to her mother. "But can we see right after dinner?"

Both Sherlock and Molly laughed. "Yes, I promise," said Molly as she took plates and glasses down from the cupboard. "Before or after dessert?"

Alethea took her time to think about it as she carefully put each plate on the kitchen table. Then she answered: "Before. My kur-io-sity," She looked at her father to make sure that she had pronounced the word correctly, "is bigger than my…um…"

"Appetite," Sherlock instructed, grinning.

"Appy-tight!" Alethea said triumphantly.

All three of them were still laughing as they sat down to dinner.

After dinner had been eaten (Molly'd had to remind both Sherlock and Alethea to not eat so quickly or else they would get tummy aches), the family of three seated themselves on the sitting room sofa, little Alethea in the middle. Molly carefully unwrapped the parcel, which had several things in it.

First, she pulled out what looked like a box, but it unfolded, revealing itself to be three picture frames attached to each other. However, the frames were empty.

"Where are the pictures, Mummy?" asked Alethea.

"I have them here," said Molly, hiding the images to her chest. "I thought that Billy the skull could use some company on the mantle, if that's ok?"

The last three words she directed to her husband, who nodded. He trusted Molly's judgement, just like everything else about her…wait, why did she now have a slightly guilty look on her face?

"This first photo I got from your mother," she said in a tone that could only mean an apology. "I believe that you may have seen this photo while you were staying with Nana and Poppy, Lithi."

She revealed the first photograph by placing it on Alethea's laugh. The little girl let out a delighted giggle and nodded her head. "Oh, yes, that's one of my favorites!"

Sherlock grimaced and ran a hand over his face. The black-and-white photograph was a picture of him, as a newborn baby, with his parents. His mother was smiling at the camera, and his father was kissing her temple. He was in his mother's arms, wrapped in a blanket, eyes open and his mouth open even wider.

"Nana said you were…um…babbling, Daddy," said Alethea, who had taken a moment to remember the specific word that her Nana had used.

"She exaggerated," said Sherlock almost wearily, looking at the picture. "I'd say I was yawning. No newborn, no matter how intellectually gifted they are, is able to speak."

"I think what your mother meant was that you were not a quiet baby," said Molly, smiling down at the picture. "She told me once that you loved to make sounds and babble in that way all babies do when they are learning to speak. Right from the beginning, you had so much to say, it seems."

Sherlock's ears were still a bit red from embarrassment, but he gave a small smile at her comment. Yes, pictures like this were a great source of embarrassment to him, but there were many that were a lot worse than this. Unbidden, an image of him at Alethea's age came into his head, when he had been going through his Tarzan phase…Yes, Molly could have picked something much worse. And anyways, he didn't really mind this picture. It was rather beautiful, in its way, all the more so because his seven-year-old, chubby, big brother wasn't in the picture!

"So, which frame shall this go in, Molly?" asked Sherlock, telling her with his eyes that he wasn't annoyed or angry in any way.

Smiling, Molly pointed to the left frame. "Here, Lithi, you can help me."

The two soon had the photograph placed carefully into the frame, which wasn't hard since the photograph was the perfect size for the frame. Once that was finished, both Alethea and Sherlock turned to Molly for the next photograph. But Molly still held the two remaining images to her chest, and she was biting her lip as though she were mentally preparing herself. Sherlock reached around his daughter and gently brushed some hair back from Molly's shoulder. This seemed to snap Molly out of her state, and she laid the second photograph on Alethea's lap.

This second photograph was also in black-and-white, and also consisted of a mother, father and newborn baby in a hospital room. The mother was facing the baby to the camera, cradling her gently in her arms. Her head was lowered so her cheek pressed to the baby's rosy one. The father, who had his arm around his wife, also had his own cheek pressed against the baby's other one and was grinning joyfully. The baby was smiling too, and her dark eyes sparkled.

"That's you, Molly, isn't it?" asked Sherlock, pointing to the baby. The smile on his face was tender and adoring as he stared at the image. He knew that Molly did not have many pictures from when she had been a child, and he'd never seen an image of her as a baby before.

Molly nodded, not really able to speak at that moment as she stared at the image.

Alethea's small fingers touched the image of her mother as a baby. "Oh, Mummy, you're so cute! And you're smiling, too!"

Molly chuckled, finding her voice again. "My Dad said that I was always quite a happy, sunny baby. That it never took much to make me smile. That sometimes they would just look at me and I would smile, as if I instinctually knew that's what they needed to see…that my smile could warm anybody's heart like the sun…"

"And that hasn't changed, Molly," said Sherlock softly.

She turned her head to meet his eyes over Alethea's head. He gently wiped away a tear that had escaped, his aquamarine eyes shining with too much love to be measured. Alethea, in that instinctual way that she had inherited from her mother, knew what her mother needed and cuddled against her side. So of course she smiled, kissing Sherlock's hand and then leaning down to kiss Alethea's head.

"Would you two please put the photo in the right frame, please?"

They did quite quickly, and now only the middle frame remained empty. Sherlock now had a good idea of what was going into that middle frame, though he didn't know exactly how that would be possible, for he couldn't recall posing for any photographs on the day that he was thinking of.

But Molly answered that question for him as she placed the last photo on Alethea's lap. "John snuck the shot on his phone before announcing his arrival."

Though this one was in color, the photograph was yet another picture of a new set of parents and their new baby in a hospital room – the same family of three now sitting on the sofa in 221B Baker Street. Molly lay reclined in the upturned bed, and Sherlock was stretched out beside her, his dark trousers a sharp contrast to the light yellow hospital bedsheets. Sherlock's and Molly's heads leaned against each other, both staring down at the little bundle of pink blankets in Molly's arms. Alethea's head, already covered with dark wisps of hair, was supported by Sherlock's head gently resting under it. Her little hand was tightly holding one of her mother's fingers, and her large eyes were wide open, staring at her mother and father.

The four-year-old pointed to the baby in the image. "Is that really me? Was I really that little?"

Sherlock chuckled and ruffled his daughter's curls. "Oh, yes, you were. You were a bit tiny for a newborn, because you came two weeks earlier than you were expected to."

"Really?" asked Alethea, her eyes widening a bit.

"Yes, little love," said Molly. "You took us all by surprise with your early arrival, and we couldn't have been happier about it." She kissed Alethea's forehead. "Now, let's put this last photo in the middle."

They did so. Now the three attached frames were full and complete. Carrying it gingerly, Molly got up and walked to the mantle. Sherlock lifted Alethea into his arms so she would have a better view. Once they had reached the mantle, Molly carefully placed it next to Billy the skull, who had a deerstalker perched atop his head ("Only his appearance could ever be improved with that thing," Sherlock had said).

Molly took a step back to look at it more fully. Separately, each image was beautiful, but as a whole it was truly breathtaking. This is my family, thought Molly, her heart full to bursting. Some were still here, some had passed on, but the love was still as alive as it was in each picture.

A hand on her shoulder made her turn her head, and her face burst into a huge grin. Sherlock squeezed her shoulder, his eyes holding all of the love and gratitude in the world for her and the family that they had. Then her beautiful daughter reached out an arm to her with a smile, which was all of the invitation that she needed. She stepped into their combined embrace and hugged them right back.

And when she felt her husband whisper, "I love you," in her ear, Molly was quite sure that, for that moment, no happier person existed in the universe.