Margaux shuffled down the hospital corridor with her hair tied into a messy bun and her dry lips coated in thick balm. She smiled, thanking one of the midwives who waved at her as she passed. Sherlock walked in front carrying their newborn daughter in her car seat. He glanced behind, noticing how far ahead he had walked, and stopped for her to catch up.

They walked across the car park. Margaux tilted her head back, relishing in the warm spring sun as she waited for Sherlock to unlock the car.

"Do you want me to do it?" she asked as she watched him struggling to strap in the car seat.

"No, I can do it," he said. "I just don't understand why they have to make it so complicated."

"Hm, maybe to ensure the baby's safety?" she replied sarcastically.

He let out a grunt in frustration before the seatbelt finally clicked in place. He closed the door and stood up straight, blowing the hair out of his face and placing his hands on his hips.

"Right," he breathed, "Shall we?"

She climbed in carefully, wincing in pain as she sat down and relaxed slowly into the seat. Sherlock climbed into the driver's side and pulled the door shut with a slam. She closed her eyes and sucked the air in through her teeth.

"Sorry," he said.

"Just... please drive slowly."

He pulled out of the car park onto the main road, braking suddenly as they approached a line of traffic.

The sudden stop sent them jerking forward. Margaux placed both hands on the dashboard. "Jesus, Sherlock!"

"Would you have preferred I crashed?"

"I'd prefer for you to drive in a way that doesn't make me feel like my stitches are going to explode."

He navigated the traffic slowly after that, turning smoothly around corners and avoiding speed bumps. He reached over and held her hand as she continued to wince and swear under her breath. He thought he had prepared for everything, but seeing his wife in pain was something he never got used to.

They pulled into the drive. Margaux looked out the window at the cars parked outside the house.

"Are people here?" she asked.

"It's looks that way."

He helped her out of the car and unclipped the baby's seat before holding out his arm for her to link with him. When they stepped through the door, the murmuring of conversation faded to silence.

Margaux stepped into the living room first, gasping when she saw the group of excited faces waiting for her.

"Oh... my god. Hello," she laughed as everyone began to greet her.

"How are you?" asked Mrs Hudson as she ushered her to sit down.

"You look healthy," Molly added as she stood nearby with John and Rose.

"I'm... alright," she replied, holding her breath as she sat down.

She felt dirty, tired and sore. Placing a hand instinctively on her still-round stomach as it protruded from beneath a baggy old T-shirt.

Sherlock stepped into the room, the handle of the car seat hooked in the fold of his elbow. He looked around with an emotionless expression, one that Margaux was somehow able to recognise as surprise.

He placed the car seat down gently, watching as Mrs Holmes hurried over and scooped the baby into a loving cuddle.

"My god, she's tiny," said John.

"She didn't feel tiny," said Margaux bluntly.

Everyone laughed as they began to coo, taking turns to hold her.

Sherlock crouched down to hug Vaughan. "Was uncle Mycroft good to you?"

He nodded. "We ordered a pizza and watched a scary film."

Sherlock looked up at his brother with a raised eyebrow. Mycroft shrugged, keeping his fists wrapped firmly around the handle of his umbrella.

"Mycroft, do you want a hold?" asked Mrs Hudson as she stepped towards him.

He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.

"Yeah go on, Mycroft, hold the baby," Margaux teased.

He glared at her. "Really, I'd rather not. Babies and I don't see eye to eye."

"Can I hold her?" asked Vaughan.

"Of course," said Margaux. She struggled to her feet and stepped aside. "Sit here."

He jumped up on the couch, waiting patiently as they propped his arm up with a cushion and lay a blanket across his lap. Mrs Hudson lay the baby gently in his arms, stepping back with a smile as she watched him looking down at his new sister - holding her with such care.

"So what's the official name?" asked Molly.

Margaux cleared her throat. "It's Mary Flora..." she paused, glancing across to Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes."

He gave a smug grin

"You are joking," John laughed.

"I wish," she replied.

"How the hell did he get you to agree to that?"

"I was on strong painkillers and he's very persuasive."

"Told you it was a girl's name," said Sherlock proudly.

Six Months Later

A chill in the breeze blew dying leaves from their branches, sending them fluttering through the air like rust-coloured butterflies. Tyres on the busy London roads ground them into the wet tarmac, while pedestrians crunched over them as they rushed along the pavement.

Sherlock and John walked down a high street lined with shops. John looked up at the sky and held out his hand, feeling for the first spots of rain that were threatening to break from the heavy clouds. He zipped up his jacket and quickened his pace to keep up.

"So this guy we're going to see; you said he owes you a favour..." he said.

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he continued to walk, always a few steps in front.

"And it's great and all," John continued. "But I'm just wondering what exactly you did for him to owe you one."

He glared ahead as his friend kept walking, the bottom of his long dark coat wafting in the wind.

"Sherlock... hello?"

Sherlock stopped walking and turned to face him. "Hm?"

Beneath the coat, his daughter was strapped to his chest. Her fluffy dark hair just visible over the top of the carrier, her little legs hanging down from either side.

"I was talking to you," John replied.

"I know you were. I wasn't listening."

"I just wanted to know a bit more about this guy."

"Oh." He shrugged and began to walk again. "He did some time in prison, so he should be able to give us some information about our suspect."

"You're bringing your baby daughter along to visit an ex con?"

"I got him exonerated, hence the 'favour'."

"Ah."

"It helps to pay attention, John."

Rain began to fall. John looked around the high street as hoods rose and umbrellas began to bloom. He watched as Sherlock wrapped his coat around Flora to shield her from the downpour and the pair quickened their pace until they reached the doorstep of a flat.

*

Margaux sat at the kitchen table in Mr and Mrs Holmes' cottage. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug of tea in front of her and glanced out the window as the rain began to patter against the glass.

Mrs Holmes walked to the back door and opened it. "Come on, all of you inside or you'll catch a cold!"

She stepped aside to let Mr Holmes into the house, followed quickly by Vaughan and Rosie giggling as their hair dripped with rain.

"Wipe your feet," said Mrs Holmes as she closed the door.

"We were beating Grandad at football." Vaughan grinned.

Mr Holmes laughed as he sat at the table. "They ganged up on me."

"Holmes and Watson - it's a deadly combo," said Margaux.

The children ran off into the living room, shedding their wet coats and shoes as they went.

"It's nice that they have each other," said Mrs Holmes. "It's nice too, for little Rosie to have you Margaux, what with Mary being gone."

"I try my best to be there for her. It's funny though, she's so like Mary without even realising it."

"We all take after our parents no matter what. They're in our blood," said Mr Holmes, taking a sip of tea.

Mrs Holmes hit her husband on the arm and shook her head. "See, no tact. That's where Sherlock and Mycroft get that from."

"What? What did I say?" He furrowed his brow before looking over at Margaux. "Oh right, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry, unfortunately it's true."

"Are you a lot like your mother?" Mrs Holmes sat across the table with her eyes fixed, as if she had been dying to ask the question for years and was finally getting the chance.

"I hope not." She pondered for a moment. "I know I look like her. I'm hoping that's about where the resemblance ends."

"Aren't you at all curious?"

"Sometimes. But every memory I have of her is negative - I have to remind myself of that. There's a part of me that always worried, with the job I do, that one day I'd walk into a crime scene and she'd be the victim. Or worse, the culprit." She looked up from her tea with a laugh, noticing their straight faces. "But I doubt it," she cleared her throat, silently chastising herself for the morbid joke. "My mother was a narcissist. The fact that I've been in the papers and she's never tried to sell a story on me makes me think she's probably dead."

"Well," said Mr Holmes. "If she ever did anything right, it was having you."

Margaux smiled, a slight blush warming her cheeks. He was so like Sherlock, from his tall frame to his charming smile. But he was softer than his son; calm and kind. She wondered if he was always that way or if, like Sherlock, love had mellowed him.

"Yes," Mrs Holmes added. "We got a lovely daughter-in-law out of it and two beautiful grandchildren. Now all we need is for Mikey to find someone and I can die happy."

Margaux laughed. "Well stranger things have happened. After all, Sherlock married me."

"Mm, Sherlock was always the more emotional one. Mycroft, he's logical. Sometimes to a fault."

"Maybe one day someone will catch his eye. Melt his heart."

They continued to discuss Mycroft's love life. Margaux wondered if she should warn him of his mother's plans to find him a partner but, in the end, she decided it would be a lot more fun to watch him squirm.

*

Molly stood in the lab of St Bart's, her round eyes shielded beneath a pair of thick plastic goggles. She lifted a test tube carefully from its holder and carried it to a machine, almost dropping it when she heard the door swing open behind her.

Sherlock walked over in long, fluid strides as John followed behind carrying the baby in his arms. She was fidgeting. Wide awake and looking around curiously at their clinical, bright surroundings. She looked over at Molly, pointing and babbling beneath the dummy in her mouth.

"Ah Molly," said Sherlock. "Good, you're here. I was hoping to borrow the lab for an hour."

She took off her gloves and slipped her goggles onto her head. Cooing as she approached John and the baby.

"Hello Flora," she sang before turning around. "I've told you before this isn't the best place for a baby, Sherlock."

"She's fine, John can watch her while I work."

"Mm," said John. "Apparently I've become a travelling nanny."

"Why is she even with you?" she asked.

"I'm being a good husband," Sherlock replied as he pulled up a chair in front of the microscope. "Told Margaux I'd give her a break."

"She doesn't know you're working a case, does she..."

"Of course not."

The baby let out a squeal and spat out her dummy. Sherlock's arm snapped out and caught it, his eyes never leaving the lens of the microscope.

"Show off," John muttered.

Molly glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed. "Well I suppose you can stay if you really need to..."

"Where is he taking you? Somewhere nice?" asked Sherlock.

"W-what?"

"Your husband. Clearly you have a lunch date - is it somewhere nice?"

"What makes you... think-"

"Lipstick. Hair. New blouse. And you keep checking the clock every few minutes."

"Oh." She could feel herself blushing. She smoothed her hand awkwardly over her hair. "Well, yes, he should be here any second. We've both been busy with work so this is the first chance we've had to spend some time together."

Sherlock glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was nervous, focusing her attention on the baby.

There was a tap on the open door. They looked up to see Arthur standing in the doorway. He gave an uncomfortable wave as he noticed the two men with his wife.

He cleared his throat and forced a smile. "Ready to go?"

Molly slipped off her lab coat and nodded. He placed a hand on her back as they made their way out.

"Arthur." Sherlock's voice was low and commanding. "A word?"

Arthur turned to Molly and patted her on the arm. "You go, I'll just be a second."

He walked tentatively into the lab, raising an eyebrow as John began to grin triumphantly.

"She's asleep," he whispered. "I got her to bloody sleep."

"Arthur..." Sherlock began, ignoring his friend's quiet celebration. "I'm aware we haven't spoken since the incident in your home earlier this year."

"You mean when you attacked me? Accused me of murder?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Molly Hooper is my friend. I don't intend for that to change. And since she is now Molly Westbrook - your wife - it's clear we'll be seeing a lot of each other." He paused. "It's important that you know I have no intent to reveal your past identity to Molly. As long as you treat her well, your secret is safe with me."

Arthur blinked rapidly, taking a deep, relieved breath. "Thank you," he said quietly, before instinctively reaching out for a handshake.

Sherlock looked down at his outstretched arm for a moment before taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

"Oh, and just so you know, she's going to tell you she wants to start trying for a baby," he said plainly.

Arthur's eyes widened. "What?"

"Just thought I'd warn you so you're not completely caught off guard over your lunch."

"Wh- I... Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't have to, it's obvious."

Arthur paced the floor for a moment before looking down at Flora as she slept in John's arms. He reached out, stroking her cheek gently with his finger. "Well I suppose I could get used to the idea..."

"If you wake my daughter, I'll break your arm." said Sherlock bluntly.

*

Doyle Street was laden with fallen leaves, blanketed in browns, golds and oranges. Trees lined the pavements either side of the road, bending and swaying into an arch that encased the road like a tunnel.

The car pulled slowly onto the driveway, splashing through puddles and rolling to a stop beside the house. As Margaux pulled her keys from the ignition, the children had already broken free from their carseats and opened their doors. She climbed out, following them as they ran up to the front door.

"Daddy's home," said Vaughan as he stood on the doorstep.

"Is he?" asked Margaux as she locked the car behind her. "How do you know?"

He pointed down at the off-centre doormat. "Someone's wiped their feet. And there's no post sticking out of the letterbox. Which means someone's gone inside and taken it."

"And we can hear them talking inside," Rosie added innocently.

"Rosie!" Vaughan whined, before folding his arms and beginning to sulk.

Margaux laughed, ruffling her hand through his shaggy dark curls. "It's okay, love. Those were very good deductions."

She unlocked the door and let them inside, taking off her coat and hanging it beside the door. She followed the voices into the living room where John sat on the couch, Sherlock paced the floor and Flora sat contently in her bouncer.

"Hello baby!" She smiled as she approached her, taking her out and sitting her on her hip.

"Hi," Sherlock replied.

John stifled a laugh and glanced up at him. "Don't think she was talking to you."

"Hm?" He turned around to see Margaux laying kisses on Flora's cheeks. "Oh."

She laughed and walked up to him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Hi baby," she repeated sarcastically.

"Hello," he replied.

She kissed him lightly on the lips before sitting down and bouncing the baby on her knee.

"So what have you been up to today?" asked Margaux.

"We, er, we went out..." said John.

"Where?"

"On a... bit of a walk around London." He glanced up at Sherlock who was glaring at him, silently warning him to stop talking. But he couldn't. "Then we stopped by Bart's to see Molly."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You went to see Molly? While she was working? Why would y-" She stopped, her attention turning slowly to her husband. "Did you take a case today?"

"Perhaps one little tiny case may have come in this morning..." he replied.

She sighed. "Of course it did."

"Daddy!" Rosie shouted as she ran into the room. She jumped up on John, making him groan in pain as she accidentally kneed him.

"Have you had a good day?" he asked.

She nodded. "We beat Vaughan's Grandad at football."

"Oh, wow! Well, what do you say to a walk through the cemetery to see mum? You can tell her all about it."

She smiled and jumped down off his knee.

Vaughan walked into the living room. Rosie rushed over, grabbing him by the sleeves of his jumper.

"Vee I'm going to see my mum."

He looked down at her and smiled.

When they stood beside each other, it was hard to tell if Vaughan was destined to be tall, or if the handful of years between them was still apparent. He had always been patient with her, protective, loyal. When the grown-ups watched the moments between them, it was easy to imagine a day when they would both be adults; Rosie still tugging on his sleeves, Vaughan still looking down and smiling.

The Watsons left, disappearing hand-in-hand down the street. Margaux waved one last time and closed the door, trapping in the heat that was escaping into the cold autumn air.

"So..." she began, returning into the living room. "A case?"

"What?" Sherlock replied as he picked up Flora. "We had fun, didn't we!"

"Why did the baby get to go on a case but I didn't?" asked Vaughan.

"You can come next time." He winked.

"Erm, no he can't!"

"Right, yes." He nodded, waiting until her back was turned before winking at his son again.

Margaux sat down on the couch, watching quietly as Sherlock swayed around the room with Flora in his arms. With every day that passed, she saw a change in him. He had learned quickly with his son; learned to be kind and nurturing, patient yet stern. But it had never been instinctive - there was a thought process, a conscious effort to be a good father. Yet since his daughter was born, he had begun to move with the intuition of a father; he held her with ease, understood her cries, made silly faces and cooed over her as she slept. He made time for Vaughan, joked with him, encouraged him.

Margaux knew there was a part of him reserved only for her. A place where he was soft, loving, romantic, vulnerable. But for his children, it wasn't just a part. For them, he gave every last piece of himself entirely.

*

Moonlight shone through the bedroom window, dancing over the planes of Sherlock's face. He sat quietly on the floor with his legs crossed, palms together, fingers pressed against his lips, watching through the wooden bars of the cot as his daughter slept. He observed with fascination as her little chest rose and fell, her mouth parted slightly, her long, dark eyelashes resting against her plump cheeks. She was his; the idea that he could have created something so perfect was a concept he didn't think he would ever grasp.

Margaux stepped into the room. She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind. The silence was serene, she wanted to bask in it, let it envelop her like the moon on Sherlock's alabaster skin.

She sat down beside him, crossed her legs and rested her head on his shoulder.

"They can say what they like about us, but there's no denying we make beautiful kids," she whispered.

"Who's saying things about us?" he whispered back.

"It's a figure of speech." She paused. "Though in our case, people probably do talk about us."

She took his arm and draped it around her shoulders, leaning further into him. He kissed her on the side of the head.

"Have I told you I love you today?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "Hm, actually no, I don't think you have."

He looked at his watch - it had gone midnight. He turned back to her. "That's the first time I've gone a whole day without saying it..."

She laughed quietly, placing a hand on his face. "I won't hold it against you." She rose to her knees and took his hand. "Come on, we should go to bed."

"I'll be through in a moment."

He felt her hand turn his face toward her. She leaned down and kissed him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck.

"When I said we should go to bed, I didn't necessarily mean to sleep..."

He returned another kiss, closing his eyes as she melted into him.

"Mm," he said, his lips still pressed against hers. "That is rather tempting."

"But..."

Flashing blue lights illuminated the room followed by the sound of cars pulling up outside the house. Margaux furrowed her brow, rising to her feet and walking over the window. She looked down as a car door opened and Greg Lestrade climbed out.

"What have you done now?" she asked as she felt Sherlock standing behind her.

"I haven't done anything," he replied. "But clearly someone else has."

"And here's me, thinking the wife, house and children had turned you into a normal person."

There was a knock at the front door. Sherlock rested his hands on Margaux's shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"My darling, I don't think I'll ever be normal."

The End

Authors Note:

Thank you all so much for reading and supporting this series. Writing this story has been a dream and I've loved every second of interacting with you in the comments. I'd like to say this isn't the end of the Glass series, but as of right now, I can't say for certain. If you're wanting more, theres a book on my page titled 'Glass: Reader Requests', if you have any ideas, I'd love to bring them to life for you.

P.S I hope you like the photo edit for this chapter. I had a vision for a classic, old fashioned picture of Sherlock and Margaux and really enjoyed making it.

Thank you all so much again. I love you all!