Chapter Text
Forty-one and a half weeks later, Molly Hooper lay half-asleep in the maternity ward of a hospital in Christchurch. In the bassinet beside her bed, little Lachlan (well, not so little Lachlan, she should have known Sherlock's child would show up late, have a bloody enormous head, AND decide to enter the world upside down) was currently sleeping soundly. She'd forsaken the numerous rather dreadful names Mycroft had suggested via text in favor of her own grandfather's name. Molly thought it was a perfect fit, honoring her family, but nearly quirky enough for a Holmes as well.
Naps have always made me rather groggy. Perhaps he'll be the same.
Molly's eyes flew open. No. That wasn't possible.
Lachlan Hooper. Seems a bit much but I suppose he'll grow into it. Apologies for the upside down bit, by the way. My mother could have warned you about that but I suppose it really wasn't appropriate to have her involved.
"You have got to be kidding me," Molly said in spiraling disbelief, then glanced over to make sure she hadn't woken the aforementioned son. Her son. "You aren't supposed to exist anymore."
Yeah, about that. She pictured Sherlock's sarcastic, explanatory wince. Apparently the genetic modification only allowed you to actively support one parasite at a time, which necessitated that I power down in order to allow our offspring to thrive. And thrive he has, eight pounds, nine ounces. Excellent work, Molly. Did you request to have the placenta dehydrated? Even if you don't want to consume it I'm sure it has some scientific value –
"You're supposed to be dead –" Molly heard her voice go up into a little shriek at the end, which resulted in Lachlan opening his eyes in surprise...and then starting to wail. "Oh, no – no, no, no, darling, it's all right."
Molly sat up and carefully lifted Lachlan into her arms, still terrified at how small he seemed, how much he needed her. She tugged at her gown with one hand, settling Lachlan in to nurse with efficiency she hadn't know she possessed until she suddenly found herself in charge of a very tiny person who liked to eat every two hours.
Not dead. Sorry about that.
"Shut up and let me enjoy my oxytocin, Sherlock." Molly stroked her son's feathery hair, and thought of her new house, her new lab, her new garden, and the little group of friends planning to come and fuss over Lachlan that very afternoon. "And welcome home."
Thank you, Molly. With a gentle smile, Molly settled into the bed, watching as Lachlan's eyes slowly closed in contentment while he nursed.
The impact of pregnancy and nursing on your breast size is remarkable, Molly. I trust your bonding is proceeding according to developmental norms.
With that, Molly sighed. It was going to be a very, very long life from here on out...but definitely not a lonely one.
Fin