Taken from this list, for Molliarty and Sherlolly.
TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE.
It was Molly who had always been good with children. No, he had never wanted them – it was bad enough that he had her – a complete and utter liability. He didn’t need a child to add to the number of things that could walk the rest of their days with an ‘X’ on their head.
She was… not something he had expected.
His game with Molly Hooper had gone for far too long, had been taken far too seriously and had been far too much of a hassle. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need her smiles, her sentimental drivel or her unnecessary politeness. He couldn’t offer her a handkerchief without her saying “thank you, Jim,” half in tears.
Jim didn’t know what to make of her.
He could never categorise Molly Hooper, and after a while he stopped trying. It was clear that Molly Hooper was an idiot – a beautiful, gentle little idiot – and it didn’t matter what kind of idiot she was.
She came home, and she was pale. She had not said anything to him for weeks – scheduled her appointments in secret, kept it to herself for endlessly long. It was Sebastian who pointed him in the right direction – when her assigned security detail had been following her to the gynaecologist a few times.
Jim hated the fact that his first thought had been how beautiful a child who came from Molly would be.
He didn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to think about this young child – but he told Moran – in a matter-of-fact way, to segregate funds for the child, whoever he or she may be. Moran understood – he had his own illegitimate child in America, and a similar procedure had been carried out there.
That had been an unfortunate one night stand.
When he came to an empty apartment – dark, silent. Not even Toby could be seen anywhere.
Molly had folded herself into her closet. She didn’t look up at him – the dried tear tracks on her cheeks accompanied by red eyes.
Jim had preferred to think of it as a child. It was easier.
That’s what Molly Hooper had said the day she had lost blood, the lining of her uterus, the burden of eighteen years and more, the emotional liability of a lifetime, and the fertilised egg from her ovaries.
Jim wondered later what the child would have been like. Perhaps it was better – perhaps it would have been him.
But then – perhaps – perhaps – it would have been a Molly.