TRIGGER WARNING: Miscarriage. I apologize if this upsets you, or you've experienced this yourself.

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Molly Hooper walked around 221B, humming happily. She was content with her life at the moment. She was married to the love of her life with their first child on the way. She was three months pregnant. She didn't think she could feel happier. Molly settled down on the couch with a book. The flat was quiet since Sherlock was solving a case at the moment, and therefore wasn't home. Everything was peaceful.

After thirty minutes of reading, pain suddenly coursed through Molly. She gasped, not ready for it. She had no idea what was happening. She reached for her phone to call Sherlock, and then doubled over in pain again. An idea of what was happening gnawed at her, but she pushed it away.

"No, no, no..." she whispered. She sat, trying to push away the pain, but it only got worse. She finally stood up, and her worse fear was confirmed. Blood stained where she had been sitting on the couch.

Molly was most likely having a miscarriage. 

Molly grabbed her phone, sobbing as she shakily called Sherlock. How was she going to tell him? Would he think it was her fault? If he did, would he want a divorce?

The phone rung a few times before Sherlock picked up. "Molly, I told you to only call me if it was an emergency."

"Sh-Sherlock," Molly choked out.

"Molly, what's wrong?" Sherlock suddenly sounded concerned. "Are you okay? Is the baby alright?"

The baby. Molly suddenly started sobbing uncontrollably. She was aware of Sherlock talking to her, trying to get her to tell him what was wrong, but Molly didn't hear him over her grief and shock.

"Molly, I'm coming home right now," Sherlock was saying. "Stay on the phone."

"Sherlock, there's so much blood..." Molly breathed out. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Molly," Sherlock said, now getting scared as he was in a cab, silently praying that what he was thinking wasn't true.

When Sherlock got to 221B, he raced up the stairs. He found Molly curled up on the floor, crying. He deduced what had happened and felt his heart break. He hoped he was wrong, but as soon as he saw the blood on the couch, he knew he wasn't.

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock said, kneeling down next to her. 

"It hurts, Sherlock," Molly let out another sob. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Sherlock said, running a hand through her hair. "Can you stand?"

"I don't think so," Molly said. 

"Alright, I'll carry you," Sherlock said. He picked up Molly and carried her downstairs to the cab he had waiting.

"St. Barts hospital, please," Sherlock said. "Hurry."

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Sherlock sat in the waiting room, his face in his hands. He didn't know what to do. Molly had been with the doctor for some time now. He didn't know if that was good or bad. Sherlock hated not knowing. What did know was that Molly had probably had a miscarriage. Finally, a doctor came into the waiting room. He locked eyes with Sherlock, who sat up straighter. The doctor took a deep breath and walked over to him. Sherlock sighed.

"I know," he said when the doctor came over. "I know."

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said, putting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. For once, Sherlock didn't flinch away from the contact.

"How is she doing?" Sherlock asked.

"She's asleep. We're going to keep her here for the night since she lost a lot of blood, just to be safe," the doctor said.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Can I see her?"

"Of course," the doctor said. "Right this way." 

Sherlock entered Molly's room and saw her asleep. The miscarriage had probably taken a lot out of her, both emotionally and physically. Tears stained her delicate face. Sherlock waited until the doctor had left before pulling a chair up to the bedside and sitting next to it. He held her hand gently. The grief that was filling him was unbelievable. He hadn't even met his child. He didn't even know their gender. Yet he had loved them more than he had ever thought possible. Sherlock sighed and angrily wiped his tears away. He had to be strong for Molly.

Molly woke up about an hour later. What had happened hit her like a slap to the face and she took a shaky breath as more tears began to fill her eyes. She noticed Sherlock sitting next to her bed. He was staring off into space, his grief evident on his face.

"Sherlock?" she said. Sherlock looked up at her. 

"Molly," he said. "How do you feel?"

Molly looked at Sherlock for a moment before breaking down and crying. Sherlock moved onto the bed to join her, wrapping his arms around her and letting her cry onto his shoulder. He let a few tears escape his own eyes, but he didn't let it get farther than that. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

When Molly had finished crying, Sherlock sat back on the chair. Neither of them said a word. They didn't know what they could say to console each other. Sherlock just looked out the window, numb to everything around him. Molly laid down and put her head on the pillows, letting tears stream down her cheeks. She was also numb to everything around her.

Why? they both thought. 

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When Molly and Sherlock arrived home the next day, everything was as it had been. Sherlock looked at the bloodstain on the couch and sighed. He picked it up and threw it into the trash before getting a pillow out of the closet and throwing it onto the empty spot before retreating to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door. Molly sat on the couch and put her face in her hands. That space on the couch wasn't the only thing that was empty. Molly started crying again. She had lost her baby. They both had, but Sherlock didn't seem to be showing much emotion towards it. She knew he usually didn't show much emotion, but this was their child. Sherlock hadn't really seemed to care after her breakdown when she had woken up yesterday. He seemed sort of angry at her. He hadn't said a word since he had asked her how she was feeling. Molly sobbed quietly, her thoughts filled with those of the child she would never know, and worries of her marriage.

In his room, Sherlock lay on the bed. He knew he was being unfair to Molly, but he had his own amount of grief and he had to deal with it his own way. That way was locking himself in his room until he felt better. He didn't know how long that would be. Molly might have to sleep on the couch. Sherlock had thought about using drugs, but he didn't think that would do any good. He didn't even think he had the strength to get up and get the syringe that he kept in the closet. A bone-crushing sadness weighed him down. He felt like he was going to cry, but he didn't. It seemed like he was just too numb to cry. He didn't know how long he'd lain there until he fell into a somewhat peaceful slumber.

When Sherlock woke up, it was dark outside. He looked at the clock next to his bed. It was one in the morning. He decided that he should check up on Molly. She was probably asleep on the couch or something. When he opened the door to the bedroom he saw Molly on the couch, asleep. Red marks from where tears had left their tracks stained her beautiful face. He walked over to her and sat down on the couch next to where she was curled up. He ran his hand over her leg before gently picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom. He laid her down and tucked her in. She would be much more comfortable in here. He would throw himself into his work to take his mind off of the miscarriage. He started to get up to leave when Molly moved slightly.

"Sherlock?" she said, stretching and opening her eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Molly," Sherlock said. "I'm going to try and find a case."

"At...one fifteen in the morning?" Molly asked. "Isn't it a little late?"

"I'm bored, Molly," Sherlock said. 

"Sherlock, we just had a miscarriage, and you're bored?!" Molly exclaimed. Sherlock didn't answer. "Are you angry at me?" 

Molly couldn't hold the question inside her any longer. Sherlock had frozen in his tracks and he was standing very still. Molly held her breath, wondering if she had caught him or if he was stunned. This would be a defining moment in their marriage.

"Why would you think that?" Sherlock finally asked. His voice didn't sound shocked or angry, just...defeated.

"Because you're treating me like this is my fault," Molly said. "You haven't spoken a word to me since you saw me in the hospital yesterday, you locked yourself in the bedroom for hours, and now you want to leave."

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock murmured, turning around and getting on the bed with her. "I'm not angry at you at all. It's not your fault we had a miscarriage. I'm... I have to deal with grief in my own way, and that means retreating to myself."

"So...you're not mad?" Molly asked.

"I'm furious, but not at you," Sherlock said. "I'm angry we lost our baby. Even if I didn't show it, I was...excited to be a father, and I loved our child," Molly was now crying again; curse her hormones, "We can always try for another baby, but it won't replace the child we lost." 

"No, it won't," Molly agreed. "What should we name him or her? They at least deserved a name."

"Let me think... John, if they were a boy," Sherlock said. 

"John. I like that," Molly said. "And for a girl... Cora?"

"That's very beautiful, Molly," Sherlock said. He kissed his wife's head and laid them both down. "I think you should try and get some rest."

"The same goes for you," Molly said, smiling for the first time that day. She rested her head on Sherlock's chest. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, Molly," Sherlock whispered. 

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Meh, this is crap. I tried to convey emotion, but I can't fathom this kind of grief, and I'm already not an emotional person. Maybe I'll fix it later when I'm not thirsty as hell and I can find sad music to help my writing along.