AN: A birthday story for the dearest lady in the world, Moriah AKA LadyCorvidae. For all your support, kind words, and recommendations on rum thank you.

Molly was a vision in white as she walked down the aisle. Hair in ringlets, lace veil framing her delicate features beautifully, she bore a bouquet of daisies in her hands as she slowly walked down the aisle to the music. Her eyes rested upon him and her smile only grew, eyes sparkling as she beamed at him. A last minute case had pulled him away and, despite John's protests, he'd taken it. For a short while he'd been uncertain if he was going to reach the ceremony in time, but how could he miss it?

This was Molly Hooper. His pathologist. The woman who counted. The woman who had saved his life and sheltered him during the fall. She'd never asked to be repaid either, only had embraced him tightly and welcomed him back with relief in her voice.

He owed her this.

Meeting her smile with one of his own, he nodded to her as she approached him. She truly was lovely, he mused to himself. The shade of lipstick she had chosen was perfect, her lips looked neither too large or too small, and the slight heel she had chosen to wear did wonders to give her the illusion of height. She was beautiful. Everything a bride should be on her wedding day.

She reached his side...

...and walked past him.

His eyes followed her as she reached the alter, joining hands with William, her fiancé, as soon as they were within touching distance of each other. Their eyes met, sparkling with mutual delight and joy as their fingers entwined and they turned towards the priest. The congregation sat and he mentally prepared himself for a long and probably tedious ceremony.

John leaned over towards him slightly, his voice a hiss. "Are you sure you're alright with this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Molly Smith nee Hooper, laughed and squealed as her new husband spun her around the dance floor. Her smile was wide enough to split her face and her cheeks were flushed with delight as he lifted her by the waist and spun them around. It was sloppy considering that the music playing was better suited to a waltz. They obviously hadn't invested in dance lessons. Then again, Molly simply didn't have the time for lessons and William - call me Bill - didn't seem the type. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so happy before.

Checking his mobile, he noted the time and decided that politeness mandated he remain for at least an additional forty-five minutes. Sighing, he scanned the room and hoped that one of the guests had murdered another or at least had spontaneously combust into flames. No such luck though. Dull.

John wandered over, his wife Mary gone to coo over the wedding cake and take photos with a swarm of other women. His former flatmate's brow was furrowed and his step was even and quick with military precision. He was concerned and suspicious. Lifting his wine glass to his lips, he wondered what had set him off this time.

"You got Molly a gift," John said, voice accusing as he stopped in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow at that. "This is a wedding. I was operating under the assumption that such things were expected."

"You didn't get Mary and I a gift when we got married."

"I knew you wouldn't expect one from me."

Lip twitching, John looked for a moment as if he were debating whether or not to be cross before sighing deeply. "So what did you get her then?"

"Something she needed."

"Really? You picked something from the registry then?"

"No." He hadn't understood Molly's gift registry. It was full of things like cookware and china that she'd never use, that she would have no time for. There was no sense in purchasing her a gift that would remain in its box, unopened and unused, for months or years.

For some reason his answer made John pale. He grabbed at his arm, gripping it tightly. "Oh God, what did you get her? Please tell me that box isn't full of organs?"

Shaking John's hand off, he scowled. "Why would I give Molly biohazards as a wedding gift? She's my primary source for all organ and tissue samples and has considerably easier access to them then myself." He sneered the last bit as he mentally derided the fools at St. Barts for limiting his access.

"Then what did you get her?"

"An album," he said shortly. At John's blank look he sighed and continued. "The sort that you place photographs and the like into in order to help the masses preserve memories. Sentimental drivel really, but Molly's like that."

"Full of drivel?"

"Sentimental. Really, John you're being remarkably dense today."

Instead of arguing, John nodded. Sliding his hands into his pockets he stood next to him and watched Molly and William laugh and spin themselves around the dance floor. "Sherlock, are you sure you're alright with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You locked yourself into Baker Street and did nothing but sulk and play your violin for two weeks after Molly got engaged."

"Coincidence. I was in the midst of a most taxing case."

"When she sent out the invites you pinned the RSVP card to your wall and used it for target practice. With my gun, by the way. You have to stop knicking that."

"Another case. The card was the correct size and shape to represent a target at a set distance. It was simply conveniently at hand."

"Sherlock," John sighed and turned towards his friend. "As much as you try to deny it, you have to admit that even you're human. It's okay to have feelings for another person. I know that your chance with Molly is gone now, but there's lots of other women out there who could-"

"Thank you John," he interrupted, setting down his wine glass with a clink.

The older man frowned, brow furrowing. "For what?"

"For taking up my remaining forty-five minutes." Striding away, eyes firmly on the coat check he walked away from it all. From the laughter and lights and the way Molly's eyes lovingly followed only one man who wasn't him. "Laters."

Molly Hooper (Smith she would remind him with a smile and chide him for being so resistant to change) came back from her honeymoon a little bit sunburnt, a little bit heavier, and a little bit pregnant. He deduced it all at a glance, the fine foods, the beach, and the copious lovemaking, and then asked her to prepare a slide for him.

She did so with a grin.

It was the nurses, Mary, and John that she shared the honeymoon photos with though he got a glimpse of stunning sunsets and white sand beaches when Mrs. Hudson asked him to help her access them. The landlady was still uncertain of her laptop's e-mail and it was a small thing to aid her in cracking her password. He saw enough with the first shot, Molly in a bikini laughing uproariously as William carried her bridal-style into turquoise waves.

Sometimes he found himself hating William a bit. He had no reason to. William was a good person, an upstanding citizen who had no black smears on his record and who treated Molly well. She loved him desperately. Almost as much as he adored her.

He waited a week, nearly trembling with impatience as Molly showed her honeymoon photos to anyone who expressed a passing interest. His precious lab and morgue was becoming crowded with well-wishers. All he wanted was for them to go away. For things to go back to the way they had been before.

"Wasn't it terribly dull?" he asked as yet another nurse wandered off after cooing over the photos. "Having nothing to do except eat and splash in the water all day? It would drive me mad."

"That's not all we did," Molly said, and she had a slight flush on her cheeks. It escalated to beet redness as she stammered and insisted that she meant they'd also visited a series of cultural sights but he had known what she'd actually meant. Sexual relations. With William. A capable lover who could cause Molly to become aroused with a series of text messages.

The hatred bloomed in him again.

Three weeks later and Molly had determined the thing he had deduced instantly upon seeing her. He'd found her in the lab, face pale and drawn as she stared at the results of a blood test in her hands. Swallowing heavily, she looked up at him with hollow eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

Telling her that he had known already seemed more than a little 'not good' so he settled for pasting a false smile on his lips and nodding. "Congratulations. May I have that liver sample you were working on yesterday?"

She nodded absently and he went to fetch it out of the cooler, settling in front of his favorite microscope.

"I don't understand," Molly muttered, rubbing her face. "I'm using-"

"Oral contraceptive which you have been using in an unreliable manner." Molly opened her mouth to protest and he continued quickly. "Your recent honeymoon. You neglected to take into account time zone differences when taking the pill 'at the same time every day' and likely skipped a day or two as well in the excitement. Assuredly, you made up for the skipped days by taking additional doses once you noticed, but the damage had likely already occurred by then."

Mouth snapping shut, Molly looked very near to tears as she buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders heaved. "What am I going to tell Bill?" she gasped, sounding on the edge of panic.

Instantly he was by her side, kneeling next to her. "He disapproves of children?"

She shook her head. "No, but we were planning on waiting a bit before we started trying," she said, wiping at her nose. Her eyes squinted to try and hold back tears. "We were going to finish paying off the wedding and maybe get the down payment together to buying a flat before we had a baby. I've fouled all our plans up!"

Hesitating on the edge of elation and worry, he gently touched her knee. It was like an electric shock ran though him, shaking him from head to toe. Molly felt it too if the way her eyes darted to him was any consideration. "Will he react with anger or attempt to force you to terminate? If you are concerned Molly, I-"

Shaking her head, she pulled away and smiled at him weakly. "It's okay, Sherlock. I'm sure it's all going to be fine. I'm probably just making mountains out of mole hills. Bill and I, well, we can make this work. He'll be fine with it."

Worrying her lip, she stood and walked to the door. Fetching her mobile out of her pocket as she walked she cast a smile back at him. "Thank you for being worried for me," she said, pausing by the door. "We've been through a lot together, but I'm so glad we're friends now."

The door swung shut after her and he knelt there frozen on the floor.

Friends.

William Smith was delighted at the news of the baby.

Molly Hooper (never Smith) glowed as she grew, leaving the lab and its chemicals behind as she took on a teaching role.

He threw himself into his work and yet hovered by Molly's side as much as he could. He was there when Molly felt the baby kick for the first time, allowing himself to be dragged over to her and his hand pressed to her stomach as her face lit up with wonder and tears. He was there to fetch her whatever monstrosity her cravings created, badgering the canteen to produce pickles and peanut butter whenever she asked for it. He was there when she brought in her sonograms, proudly announcing to everyone that it was a girl. He was always there.

Yet it was always William who met her at the doors to escort her home.

Molly Hooper should have gone on maternity leave three weeks ago. She laughed when he told her that, resting her hand on the huge belly that had overtaken her tiny form. "I'm saving it up for after the baby comes," she said with a smile. She rubbed herself absently, lips twitching as she felt the baby squirm within her. "I want as much time as I can to bond before I go back to work."

His shoulders sagged even though he didn't have a reason to preform that action. "So you do intend to return to Barts?" he asked, adjusting his slide and peering through it to the bacteria he'd been culturing.

She laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth. "Don't worry, Sherlock. I know how you hate change. I'll be back here before you know it."

Taking notes he was about to argue that 52 weeks maternity leave was not any sort of time he'd be able to ignore when Molly gave a surprised little gasp. Looking to her, he noted the sudden appearance of a pool of wetness underneath her chair with detached confusion that turned to horror as her eyes widened and she clutched her belly.

"Call Bill. I think the baby's coming."

Time sped up after that. Ignoring her wishes he focused instead on getting her upstairs. Out of the lab where the dead were dissected and into the world where they were born. He barked out orders to nurses, hassled doctors as Molly paled and began to cry out as contractions hit. She seemed so little and more than a little bit afraid as they clutched each other's hand.

She continued to ask for William. He continued to be selectively deaf.

While he ignored her, the nurses didn't. As they were hurried towards the delivery room, William ran up eyes wide and freshly scrubbed. Molly nearly sobbed in relief to see him, dropping Sherlock's hand to reach for her husband. He stepped back, hunching into the shadows as they embraced and William kissed her brow. Shouting a 'Thank you!' back at him, William followed Molly and their midwife into the birthing room.

He watched the door close.

He needed a fag.

Catherine Hooper (Smith, John joshed him. It doesn't work that way, mate.) was born red faced and wrinkled. Her chubby hands were like claws that pawed through the air unless bound in a swaddle and she made the most alarming mewling and sobbing sounds.

She was beautiful.

He could already see the Molly in her. The infant had her nose, her pointed chin, her mouth. Unfortunately, she'd inherited William's cabbage ears and he feared his squat hands, but it was so difficult to tell at this stage of development. Watching over John's shoulder as he held the baby, he took it all in and dared not to touch.

William had offered to let him to hold the baby. Right after asking him if he wanted to be the godfather since he was 'such a good friend to Molly.' There hadn't been any malice or hidden agenda in his words. It just made him hate him more. Refusing both and muttering about superstitious nonsense, he had retreated to the back of the room as the family and friends trudged through.

Now he found himself desperately wishing that Molly would ask him if he wanted to hold the baby. Everyone who held her seemed to be filled with delight as they marveled over her tiny nails and soft skin. There was something mysterious about it, nearly magical and he wanted to know if he would experience it as well. So he hovered behind John, hoping that the man would turn and hand him the baby once he was done and-

Catherine yawned and sleepily batted her eyes open. It took his breath away.

Her eyes were blue.

His heart pounded in his chest, mouth going dry as he stared down at the eyes that were nearly the same shade as his own. Molly's were brown as were William's yet the infant's was clearly blue. Palms sweating, he rubbed them against his suit jacket and panicked and hoped vainly.

"Her eyes are blue."

Mary laughed, eyes dancing as she played with Catherine's little foot. "Of course they are, silly! Most babies are born with blue eyes. They'll darken up soon enough. To brown maybe like your Mummy and Dada?"

There was no reason for the pain in his chest to nearly overwhelm him, but it did. Stiffly, he gathered up his coat and marched from the room not even bothering to mutter a goodbye.

"What's the matter with him?" William asked as he stomped away. There was only concern in his voice. There was no bounds for his hatred of that man.

"Too much baby, probably," Molly said with a chuckle. "Honestly, I'm surprised he stuck around as long as he did."

That hurt. More than the fact that Catherine's eyes would not remain blue. Texting Lestrade to demand a case, he burst out into the streets of London and put all thoughts of babies that shared his eyes and Molly's face out of his mind.

Molly Hooper (she'd given up by now) slowly changed the lab. Her office was no longer a domain of cat pictures, instead photos of Catherine as she grew dominated the walls. Her eyes had darkened to brown. Her curly hair was growing in straight. She was still the loveliest child he'd ever seen, but he hated how so many of the photos were polluted by the presence of William in them.

Molly's name tag changed to reflect her married name. She transitioned her publications to appear under her married name as well. He hadn't seen the point to either of those.

Nearly four years after Catherine was born he breezed in to pursue a case, two cups of coffee in his hands and froze. Molly was sitting at her lab bench looking grim. She looked up at him with an apology already in her eyes. "Sherlock we need to talk," she said softly.

Despite his mind screaming at him to turn and walk away, that she couldn't hurt him if he didn't give her the opportunity to talk, he moved to the opposite side of the lab bench and sat down. He nearly pushed her cup of coffee to her before his mind caught back up and he stopped, pulling it back.

"You're pregnant again," he said, voice hollow. Swallowing hard, he looked away as Molly nodded. "You're leaving."

"Bill's received the most amazing opportunity near his family," Molly said. Her voice was soft but hurried as if it would be easier if she got it over quickly. "We were going to take it anyway and figure out what I was going to do once we got there, but with the second baby coming... Well, we think we can make it on one income. I can be a stay-at-home Mum with them."

He frowned at that. "I did not think you wanted that."

Shrugging, she beamed. "I knew I'd never get the chance at it here. London's just too expensive. Things are a bit cheaper down there though and Bill's parents are going to loan us a bit of money to help us afford a home. We many even get a garden. But Sherlock," she reached across the table to take ahold of his hands, "I don't want you to worry. Before I leave I'm going to find you a replacement. Someone who can work with you and that meets your standards for the morgue and lab. Mike's agreed to it already. We figure that you've helped bring the quality of the Bart's morgue up high enough that it's only fair for you to help determine my replacement."

Removing his hands from hers, he stood and left the room without a word. He ignored the sound of Molly calling out for him and hurrying after him. Stalking back to Baker Street he threw himself onto the sofa and didn't move for three days.

On day four, John lost his patience and broke in the door after hours of shouting, threatening, and attempted bribes did nothing. He expected to find the flat a wreck but the reality was much worse. In his four day old suit and coat, he was curled up on the sofa, knees almost touching his chin as he stared at the dark leather.

John's gaze traveled over his friend and he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat down on the chair that was formally his. "Still?"

"Of course still. Always still." His voice was hoarse with disuse and thirst as he pulled himself into a tighter ball.

"She's married Sherlock. She has a family."

His eyes closed tightly. "I know," he murmured, heart twisting in his chest.

"She's happy."

"I know."

"Then why are you... What is this really all about? You're not trying to-"

"Ruin everything? No." He sat up slowly, banishing the dizzyness from staying still for so long. Sometimes, usually late at night, he wondered what life would have been like if he had been a good man instead. If he had been the type of man who could remember things like anniversaries or birthdays or dinner with the family. If he had been the sort of person who would be affectionate in public and send flowers just because it was a Tuesday and she liked flowers. Daisies. Molly was so simple sometimes.

Standing, he slowly walked to the bathroom, stripping off his clothing as he went. Turning back to gaze at John he nearly smiled but decided against it at the last moment. He would know that it was a lie. "I'm going to do the right thing, John. I'm going to learn to let her go."

TBC