Work Text:
"You are ridiculous," John whispered, not understanding what was going on completely.
Sherlock nodded, digging his arms deeper into the hamper. "I will give you that one, but just this once,"
"This whole place smells like..." John stopped. He wasn't sure if he wanted or needed to finish the sentence since it was so blatantly obvious.
"I know, John, I am not an invalid...I'm just pregnant, with your child I might add. I can smell everything. But, since we are on the subject, you are at fault for my brain not working properly." Sherlock grumbled, still elbow deep in a laundry hamper that wasn't his.
"Smell kind of takes me back, reminds me of my rebelious teen stage," John chuckled.
Sherlock looked up. "Smoke a lot of marijuana then, did you John?"
"Is that important or relevant at the moment?"
"No, I was just going to say that it explained a lot if you would have answered yes,"
"Sherlock, your drug of choice was quite a bit stronger than what I did as a teenager. You have no argument to make here."
The pregnant consulting detective didn't give John the satisfaction of a valid response. He went back to digging through the soiled clothing, searching for something he knew was there.
"Aha! I told you I would find it! Quick, get Lestrade! No! Wait! Help me up first!" Sherlock shouted as his gloved hand caressed the blood stained butterfly knife almost affectionately.
John assisted Sherlock back into an upright position. Sherlock took off in the direction of the Detective Inspector.
"You are getting slow," Lestrade laughed at his friend as he took the apparent murder weapon.
"Really? Because I almost guarantee that your men would still be looking for the dammed thing had I not showed up." Sherlock was quickly on the defensive, worrying that someone would think he was weaker in his current state.
"I was only kidding, Sherlock," Lestrade should have known better.
"Good," Sherlock caressed his large belly, rubbing a spot that was previously occupied by a tiny foot. "The son did it, by the way, but it is not his knife. That is why it was hidden in the bathroom with the laundry. I almost bet that the clothes he wore when he murdered his father are in here as well, but I am not getting on my knees to find them since I had a hard enough time getting up the first time."
All the officers seemed to find his words amusing. He huffed and left the room, John trailing right behind him. Thankfully, John was smart enough to hang on to Sherlock's coat.
Once they were outside Sherlock leaned up against the building and attempted to hold back the urge to cry. He was beyond overwhelmed at this point and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. To top it all off, it had began to snow.
John wrapped the long coat over Sherlock's front, hoping to protect him from the cold. "Sher...you okay, babe?"
"No,"
That was a shock to the doctor who had asked the question many times since meeting Sherlock and the answer had always been the same. Sherlock Holmes never needed any help, he had always been okay.
"No?" John repeated the word in disbelief.
"My stomach itches so much, I am pretty sure that I am getting stretch marks, I can't wear anything that doesn't have an elastic waistband, I have no control over my emotions...it is awful. You can't even imagine." Sherlock explained, holding back a sob.
"I know all of this already, Sherlock, I live with you,"
"Right. Right. Forgot about that." Sherlock giggled. John hit his playfully in response.
"Should we get a cab?" John asked.
"Yes, but one more thing," Sherlock bit his bottom lip, trying so hard to figure out how his future husband would react to what he was about to say.
"Go on, Sher,"
"I have been keeping something from you, a lie if you will,"
"Alright, I am all ears,"
Sherlock decided it was best not to comment on that, instead chosing to move forward with the proper topic of conversation. "It is about our baby, well, even saying that is in a way wrong,"
John's eyes enlarged. "The baby is mine, isn't he?"
"Do you honestly think many other people would want to engage in any sort of carnal act with me? And out of those people, how many are men that I would actually be willing to take to bed. Be serious here."
"Sorry, just thought I would ask,"
Sherlock shook it off. "Moving on, do you recall when I asked you how you felt about the name Josephine?"
"Vaguely, only because I burnt my tongue on the sauce I was making,"
Sherlock laughed, he remembered it perfectly. A funny memory locked away in a vault in his mind palace.
"I asked you that because we are having twins, fraternal, a boy and a girl,"
John stepped back. He took a deep breath. His attempt to hold himself was failing miserably. The shock was definitely setting in.
"By god, don't fall because there is no way I will be able to help you up...no fainting,"
Lestrade walked outside to see the two men standing as if they were deer in the headlights of a car. At least, that was what the extra pale Doctor Watson looked like.
"Why are you two still here?" He asked after assessing the situation.
Sherlock bent over in pain. With time still left before the heavily planned cesearean section, this was not a good time for his body to betray him. He wanted them to be Braxton Hicks Contractions more than anything. "John is about to have a heart attack and he might need a doctor,"
"We are having twins," John mumbled, realising he needed to lean up against a wall or even against Lestrade.
"Are you sure that you are not the one who needs the doctor, Sherlock? Wait...twins?" Lestrade asked.
"Braxton Hicks, I think, almost 89% sure," Sherlock spit out. "Howwasyourdate?"
John did faint, of course. Lestrade didn't answer the question, either.
***
John woke up in his own bed. Sherlock was sitting at the edge watching him sleep. He smiled at the beautiful brunette in the dressing gown, wonderfully pregnant with his child. That was the same beautiful brunette he was going to marry on the twenty-first of December.
"Ha! I never really realised how wide your nose has gotten during your pregnancy," John said groggily.
"Thank you for pointing that out, John. I have been thinking, about sentiment and displays of blah dull boring, those which you hold so dear..."
John cut Sherlock off. "Not going to ask me if my head is okay? I barely missed the pavement."
"Oh good, so you do remember fainting? Gary was worried you wouldn't."
"Greg, not Gary. Geez, you were doing so well. My head feels fine, by the way, since you are pushing that subject to the side. I did have an interesting dream though, you told me that we were actually having twins."
Sherlock rasied his eyebrows. "That did happen, John,"
"Brilliant," John mumbled. "If you hadn't told me, if you had waited until after they were born I would have...I would have been incredibly upset!"
"You would have been pleased,"
"Probably," John admitted defeat.
The slightly drowsy doctor yanked his lover down on the bed. The two shared a sweet kiss before John took to talking to the babies.
"Yes, Oliver and Josephine it is true, your mum is crazy," John whispered.
"Hamish," Sherlock said in a correcting tone.
"Hamish?"
"Yes, Hamish,"
John quickly sat up. "But you don't like Hamish, I do not even really care for it and it is part of my name, what gives?"
"Hamish Oliver Mycroft Watson-Holmes and Josephine Bernadette Watson-Holmes,"
John kissed Sherlock's naval. "I love you, Sherlock and Hamish and Josie,"
"Feelings are reciprocated. Promise."