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Molly took a quiet moment to herself an observed how pregnancy and birth had affected her body. Her small, pert breasts were fuller, but now small silvery marks dotted them. Similar marks, and ones much darker, peppered her stomach, seemingly radiating out from her belly button.
Overall, she believed that her body had fared well, but she wondered whether or not Sherlock would still look at her in the same way. The burning, passion-filled glances. The worshipful, longing looks. He might have once argued that physical bodies were merely transport, but since the shift in their relationship from friendship to dating to marriage to parenthood, she knew differently.
His ability to apply his intense focus and dedication to showing Molly how much he appreciated and loved her was a complete surprise. Of course, she had known he was single-minded in his focus and avidly sought out knowledge of many things. But finding the best ways to please Molly, to bring her to the edge of pleasure, he learned her body and what makes her melt in order to make them both happy. Molly was blessed to know that Sherlock derived almost as much pleasure from finding ways to pleasure her than he did from seeking his pleasure with her.
It was those moments she currently was striving to remember, to tell herself that Sherlock would love her and her body with or without the tiny marks covering her flesh.
Their daughter Margaret stirred in the other room and Molly turned to go and peek in on her but was stopped by the presence of her husband in the doorway.
“They are just striae gravidarum, Molly. Almost four weeks ago, after nine long months, you did the most amazing thing I have ever seen and gave me the most precious gift all in one. Margaret is perfect. You are perfect. And I wish for you to know that whether we are young or old, sound or infirm, that I will love you and your body no matter what.” He moved to stand behind Molly, wrapped his arms around her stomach, and lovingly embraced her curves both new and old. His fingers danced across the stretch marks that dotted her abdomen.
“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly breathlessly replied. It was no surprise to her that he had known the direction of her thoughts, but his tenderness could still sneak up on her. Her fragile emotions already made her a bit weepy, but his loving words brought tears to her eyes.
“Although,” he clarified, “I do not believe I will ever allow myself to become infirm. My mind palace will keep my mind strong and active well into my 80s.”
“Sherlock – you always say such horrible things. And occasionally such nice ones, too. I do love you.”
“And I love you, Molly. Now let’s go check on our girl.” He wrapped her warm robe around her shoulders and steered her towards John’s old bedroom that was now their daughter’s nursery, holding her hand the whole way.