Work Text:
Now
This was not the plan.
This was not the plan, at all. Mycroft was supposed to be here by this time, at this place and he was supposed to arrest CAM. The same Alpha that was glaring at him, flicking at his face, his thick and long finger leaving a sharp and painful impression against his skin. This was not the plan. They were not supposed to have stayed here this long.
John stalled.
John stalled, his eyes boring deep at the other’s, glaring with the silent taunt. If CAM wanted to flick at his face and talk about Mary, John was not about to stop him. John was not about to stop the Alpha when just a few feet away, the Omega pregnant with his baby was standing. Probably calculating.
Probably calculating wrongly with the onslaught of hormones coursing through him.
Still, John had to play his part. He had to remain oblivious, all while aware of the increasing distress in Sherlock’s scent. Sherlock was simply a few feet away from him, his swollen belly protruding, their eight-month-old fetus possibly tumbling under his skin.
John Watson would do anything to keep his family safe.
--
Sixteen hours earlier
“John!” A deep laugh echoed through the living room. Sherlock swatted at John’s hand, the same hand that had managed to escape his grasp and that was currently rubbing at his side. The detective looked absolutely comfortable, dressed in a dressing gown and one of John’s old shirts, his belly rounding out above his hips, jutting out, low and heavy.
Just one more month. Sherlock smiled and placed a hand against his belly, his gaze dropping to where John's hand remained it on his side.
“Say it,” John teased. Sherlock had just survived a minute of tickling, the Omega having been clingier than usual. His hand lingered at the other’s waist, fingers poised for another attack. Sherlock chuckled in response and rubbed at his belly, and John’s heart almost soared at the sight of it.
“Fine,” Sherlock said, then crossing his arms over his belly. He mocked being upset, but the clever smile stayed on his lips. John wished to kiss it away. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.” John smirked. They were alone in the Holmes' living room, Sherlock’s parents asleep and Mycroft only arriving tomorrow. Leaning in, John pressed a tender kiss against the other’s lips. He felt Sherlock stutter and breathe and still, the other man's hand reaching up to curl around his collar. As usual, Sherlock clung close to him. John pulled away only to press another kiss between Sherlock's eyes, and the detective let out a small sigh of contentment.
“Can I have another?” Sherlock broke the momentary silence, his voice small. John chuckled, but hesitated in his reply. Sherlock continued. “He likes it.”
As usual, the mention of their son was enough for John to succumb.
Damn. “And after this, you promise to go to bed?”
“Promise.”
With a smile, John nodded and proceeded to get up, to get another warm mug of hot chocolate for his pregnant detective. And to think that drinking his and John’s five minutes ago, would have been enough to satisfy his craving.
--
Now
John had to stall, but he also had to pretend.
“Sherlock?” He asked, when Charles decided to flick his eye. He had to pretend his oblivion, pretend that Sherlock had the final plan. All while waiting for Mycroft to arrive. John refused to know what was going on in that mind of Sherlock’s.
His hand came to rest against his swollen belly, the detective rubbing at the underside of it. His voice was soft. “Let him. I’m sorry.”
John lets.
--
Eight hours earlier
“When is Mary coming?”
“Not sure.”
“Well, I do hope that she doesn’t come anytime soon. I’m comfortable like this,” Sherlock murmured. He was resting with his back against John’s chest, having squeezed himself between the other’s open legs. He had insisted at them cuddling in his bed, slotting himself impatiently into the Alpha's lap as soon as John sat beside him. He had then grabbed at John’s hands, placing them against his belly. John sighed and ducked his head to nose at Sherlock’s neck, breathing in the sweet scent.
"Me too," John whispers.
John cradles his belly and breathes him in.
John loves.
--
Now
“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” Mycroft’s voice echoed, surrounding them along with armed man, helicopters hovering in the sky. “Stand away from that man.”
Thank god, John thought, their plan worked. But then, he saw it, Sherlock’s calculating gaze, penetrating and intense.
“Do it now.” Mycroft ordered. John reached out to grab at Sherlock’s arm to pull him back, but the Omega twisted away from him.
It was too fast, a blur, unexpected - Sherlock’s hand slipping into his pocket to take his gun, and then the detective pointing the gun at CAM’s head. John stuttered in reacting.
Sherlock wouldn't.
Sherlock yells, his eyes widened with anger and fear, with the gun still pointed at CAM’s head. The Omega is afraid, terrified and it showed in the way he clutches the gun, in the way his gaze momentarily shifts to John and then he yells again.
“Merry Christmas!”
He shoots.
--
Four hours earlier
“Mary,” Sherlock mentions when she arrives. He ignores the fact that her belly was almost as big as his. She seems to notice the comparison, as well. He places a hand protectively over the crest of his belly, holding back a wince at the horrible way she shifts and sighs and rubs at her belly. She smiles at John.
His John.
He hates the way John places his hand on her lower back and greets her with a kiss, out in the open in front of him and his parents. For everyone to see.
He bites back the words threatening to leave his mouth. He watches the lady who almost shot him kiss the man who saved him. The man who had unknowingly entered the room and caused her to flee, all when Sherlock was convinced that he was about to die that night. She had her hand on the gun. She almost pulled it, she almost shot him in his belly. She almost killed him out of jealousy, not only over the fact that John utterly loves him, but the fact that he was having John’s baby.
And she wasn’t.
Sherlock swears under his breath as the baby kicks at his bladder. A pair of concerned, deep blue eyes turns towards him. John loves.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
The same pair of eyes turns back towards his wife, a small smile playing on his lips.
Oh.
John loves Mary.
--
Now
“Give my love to Mary. Tell her she’s safe now.”
“What? Sherlock, what -” John stutters. His eyes are wide in disbelief. His hands are still above his head, surrendering, laser lights darting over his skin. At least, John has Mary now.
Sherlock turns. He kept his hands up high, his head cast down towards his belly, feeling their baby tumble and kick and stretch. Oblivious to the world, his baby stretches inside of him.
Sherlock weeps.
--
Fourteen hours earlier
John Watson was quiet as he brushed a gentle hand against Sherlock’s curls. The detective had fallen fast asleep, clearly exhausted from the demands of his body in his third trimester. They laid curled up together, Sherlock’s face pressed against John’s chest while his belly rests against John’s. Their baby was as asleep as his mother.
This was his family.
Tomorrow, CAM would be arrested and restrained from making any more threats and John would leave Mary. He would be back home at the Holmes household with Sherlock, in time for dinner, all while knowing that CAM would not be free to threaten his family. In fact, to threaten anyone. Then, Mary would be arrested in connection to CAM and that would give enough leverage for John to leave, without even a second glance. It would be easy to leave, when he knew he had Sherlock and their son to return to.
John smiled a small smile, and pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s temple.
Tomorrow would be a good day.