She was sitting on a bench in park, arms around her large pregnant belly. To everyone else, she looked like a normal woman who was expecting, but if only they knew the baby father had no idea it even existed. She had pretended to die when she was a couple months along and escaped. She didn't know that today would be different.
It hadn't been long for his limp to come back. Thank god, he supposed, that he had never disposed of his cane. Came in handy now. He had passed the park sadly at first, walking around it as he always had, when he had the odd urge to move through it instead, breaking his pattern. This was where he had found Mike all those years ago. Mike who mentioned flatshares and brought him to Sherlock Holmes.
Dead for five months.
It never got easier, did it? He sighed, passing the bench Mike had occupied, waiting to hear his name called, waiting for it all to start over. He'd do it differently, this time. He wouldn't leave her side. He wouldn't call her a machine. But the pregnant woman wasn't Mike and she didn't call his name. And then John froze. Spun on his heel, gaping.
Hallucination. Great. John was hallucinating. "Sherlock?"
She was rubbing her stomach and brooding. Mycroft had contacted her and told her, once again, that she needed to tell John. She refused...again. It wasn't because she didn't want to, it was just she didn't know how. She moved her eyes to people's faces, stopping when she saw something familiar. Wait...was that...oh no John! She tried to get up,to get away, but she was a bit too slow this time.
Damn his leg! He needed to get to her, needed to stop her, because she was leaving. Extremely pregnant - John was already counting backwards and yelling at his mind for creating her pregnant, for giving her the baby he had always wanted but never dared ask for. "Sherlock!" He pushed past someone in his way, not even thinking to apologize. His Sherlock. He caught her just as she managed to stand, his hands actually grasping her arms. He was madder than he thought. "You're pregnant..." he murmured, before raising his eyes to meet her frost-colored ones. "You're alive."
John had caught her, nowhere to run now. "I know." She said quietly, not looking at him. A tear slipped down her cheek.
He wiped it away quickly without thinking, hating to see her cry. Wracking his brain, he couldn't actually remember ever seeing her cry. And then anger filled his stomach, hot and sudden and raging like a tropic storm. "You didn't tell me. Any of it, you didn't tell me." The pregnancy - what if it wasn't his? - the faked death. "I've been mourning, Sherlock. Do you know how many people I've had to bury? And y- you..." he flushed as his voice cracked. "You were too much."
"Jim threatened to kill you." She said. "Go into hiding, don't tell him and maybe I'll spare your stupid life." She put it in quotation marks. "I didn't want to, but I did."
"You could have told me. I would have understood. I would have helped," he hissed, trying not to make a scene in the middle of the park with an extremely pregnant woman. "I've spent the last five months thinking your death my fault!" His whisper was strained as he fought his own tears. Why was he fighting? She was alive! "And-" he looked down to her swollen stomach, "is the baby...?" His?
"Yours. I don't let people touch me John." She said, frowning. "You of all people know that."
He gently rested a hand on her planet-sized stomach, marveling at the fact that his child was in there. "I thought, maybe..." She had let John touch her. Perhaps another man had caught her eye all those months ago. His eyes shined. His cane hit the ground. John looked up to Sherlock, grasping her face and pressing a desperate and passionate kiss to her lips. She was alive. There was a baby, and soon. And perhaps his life wasn't so fucked up anymore.
She kissed him back, feeling the baby move as she did, trying to get a little closer.
John eventually pulled back, grinning, before pressing a kiss to her nose, her jaw, her cheek. Sherlock was real and beautiful and alive and having his child! He laughed a bit like a fool, his hands moving to her stomach and resting there as he bent to press a kiss to that, too. "Hey, love," he murmured. "Hey, Daddy's here. It's okay. Daddy's here." He looked up to Sherlock. "Gender?"
"Boy." She said, smiling a bit.
"A boy!" He gasped, delighted. He kissed her stomach. "Our son." He straightened, cupping her cheek. "I'm so sorry you've gone through this alone. But I'm here now. And you're here. Will you come home?" He hoped she would. He prayed she would.
"Of course John." She said, looking up at him. "Good," he said taking her hand.
She followed him, one hand in his, the other over her stomach. She felt the baby kick and she smiled.
It was good to go home.