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"Sherlock?"
Silence was the only response. John rounded the corner from the loo and spotted Sherlock absorbed in a slide on his microscope and scribbling furiously in his notebook.
"Sherlock," John tried again.
"Hmmn," Sherlock mumbled. He did not look up.
"Sherlock." With a fond smile, John stepped nearer the table.
"John, I thought you were going to bed." There was no malice in the statement, no frustration or heat. Sherlock was simply functioning in his element, distracted from the world around him.
John smirked. Time to be more fascinating, then.
"You said you'd come with me."
"John." Without looking up, Sherlock switched his slide and went back to making his notes. "Critical phase. You understand." The pencil lead snapped under the pressure of his furious scrawl, he growled, tossed the useless thing aside and fished another one out of the random assortment of odds and ends littering his workspace.
"You need to sleep too, you know." John stepped up just behind Sherlock's stool. He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair and let it come to rest lightly on his shoulder. He chuckled when Sherlock shrugged away from him.
"John, you know how this works. I can't just..." he waved his free hand, motioning from his experiment to the general direction of their bedroom. Intending that as sufficient explanation, he stirred a solution in a coffee mug next to him and used a pipette to place a drop on a new slide.
"Not even for something more mysterious, more intriguing than any mystery or puzzle you've ever solved?" John only smiled as Sherlock huffed.
"John. Sex is no longer a mystery to me, as you well know. And while I find you endlessly intriguing..." He finally looked up and met John's eyes. "I... I uhm..." He stuttered.
Let it never be said that John Watson ever resorted to using omega wiles to influence his alpha mate. It felt like cheating, like presenting himself as weak. Sherlock, he knew, liked the chase. Liked to play games. Liked to earn his reward.
But Sherlock also liked to torment John by traipsing around the flat in nothing but a bed sheet. And though John was never one for coy and docile simpering, he was not above good old fashioned revenge.
John stood before Sherlock, warm and fresh from the shower. The alpha tracked a single droplet of water as it traced its way from his mate's jawline, down his still well defined chest, and along the curve of his belly, only to disappear into the towel wrapped loosely around his hips.
Sherlock swallowed hard. He opened his mouth, then closed it with a click.
John smiled sweetly. "Hi."
"Not fair," Sherlock whispered. He leaned toward John, and John took a tiny step back.
"Turnabout is fair play," John chuckled. "Besides, this isn't about sex. I'm disappointed in you, genius."
"Then... I..."
John stepped back into Sherlock's personal space, so near he could feel the moist warmth radiating from John's skin. Sherlock swallowed hard once more, and fought to control his breathing.
Without a word, John picked up Sherlock's hand, the one he'd been taking notes with, and worked the pencil from the death grip he had it in. Using both his hands, he massaged and gentled Sherlock's hand until it relaxed. Sherlock watched in earnest fascination as John kissed each knuckle, then his palm and the pulse point on his wrist. Then ever so slowly, never breaking eye contact, he placed Sherlock's large, warm, pliant hand low on his belly, just right of his navel.
Breathlessly they waited, Sherlock's eyes wide and fixed on John, his fingers itching to twitch even as he willed them to stay still. John smiled, his hands resting lightly over Sherlock's.
Finally, finally, John's breath hitched, and he laughed. Sherlock gasped as he felt the movement under his palm. Faint, but stronger than he'd ever imagined possible.
"Oh..."
When he felt it again, he dropped to his knees, grabbed John by the hips in order to reposition him, and pressed his cheek to John's belly.
"John."
"I know, love." John sighed and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I know."
Sherlock pressed a kiss to the spot where he'd felt the signs of life. He knew, he did, that the baby growing inside of John was a living and thriving being. But now, now...
"It's real. This is real," he whispered against John's skin.
John laughed once more, a bright joyful thing, and nudged Sherlock's chin so he could look at him. "Very, very real, love." He used the pad of his thumb to wipe the tears gathering in Sherlock's eyes, then wiped at his own eyes. "And little one seems excited to meet his papa soon."
"John." Sherlock sniffed as a fresh wave of tears blurred his vision and he used the towel to pull John nearer.
John tensed for a moment and tried to step away. "Baby also seems to enjoy kicking my bladder."
Sherlock held tight as John tried to maneuver himself away. "I'm not joking, Sherlock," he laughed. "If you want to talk about critical phases..." John grunted and pressed his hand low on his belly. "Christ."
Sherlock gripped the towel with more force, and tried to press his face nearer once more.
"Nope." With surprising agility, John twisted, releasing the towel from around him, and dashed back toward the loo.
"John!" Sherlock stumbled as he pushed himself up off the floor to follow after him, only tripping on the abandoned towel twice. He made it to the bathroom as John clicked the door locked.
"I wasn't kidding, Sherlock!"
"But, John!" Sherlock rushed through their bedroom and reached for the second door to the bathroom as John pulled it open. He stood, illuminated by the vanity lights, stark naked, practically glowing. And beautiful.
Sherlock stood there, panting for breath, and staring.
With a roll of his eyes, John huffed a laugh, shouldered his way past Sherlock, and slid into bed. "You're wearing too many clothes right now."
Sherlock cast a single glance back to the kitchen, growled, and began the fight to undo a ridiculous amount of tightly fitted buttons.
John watched Sherlock's struggle and made a valiant attempt not to laugh. "But, Sherlock, your experiment," his tone held only a hint of mocking.
Sherlock growled again, and kicked his trousers and pants away. He leapt onto the bed and crawled over John, wrapping himself completely around his mate. "You are a sneaky, conniving, evil man, John Watson."
"I love you too, Sherlock."