𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬³ | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

He let out a small gasp. His fingers gently gazed the glossy surface as his eyebrows lifted.

"You're- you're..." He looked up, right into my eyes.

I nodded, tears flowing once more. The purest smile broke out on his face and seeing the joy on my husbands face, my lips mirrored his. He opened his arms and I collided into him, my hands gripping his shoulders tighter than I had ever held anything, crying harder against his neck. His hands held me close and he began to cry too, laughing as the tears fell. I embraced and held each other like a lifeline, sobbing and laughing.

Sherlock moved his hands up to my cheeks and I pulled back slightly, our foreheads and noses pressed together, smiling through a mess of hair and tears.

"I love you, so much," he gasped, pushing your lips to his. "Why were you so worried?"

I sniffled, gazing at him, "I'm scared, Sherlock. I hadn't ever thought about children...I'm not even sure if it's something I can do," tears started falling once more.

"I'm scared too, but it will be okay. It will, I promise." He stroked my hair as I nodded, no longer crying tears of fear.

Six months later and the news was out; Sherlock Holmes was going to be a father. John and Mrs Hudson were of course the first to know, later followed by Sherlock's family, who were positively delighted- even Mycroft struggled to hide his joy. My belly had started to grow and even at seven months it was still quite small and could be hidden easily, so I was still allowed to tag along with the consulting detective and remain working at the Yard (as long as either Sherlock or Lestrade remained with me the entire time- he was a lot more protective than I had anticipated). And life, it seemed, couldn't get better, and nothing could get in the way.
But then came the matter of the baby itself: choosing names, a suitable nursery theme, possible schools and deciding on Godparents proved to be harder tasks than expected-

"No, Sherlock, we are not naming our child Redbeard!"

"Why not? It's much better than Rory or Agatha!"

"What's wrong with those names?"

"They're so boring!"

I rolled my eyes, "so what are we going to call the baby then?"

"Well, I guess we'll just have to call it child until we agree."

"Great, so we're calling our baby, Child."

A week away from my due date, still no name was chosen and the nursery was only half-decorated. I was stood in the corner, watching John and Sherlock paint the old walls a pale grey (we had decided to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender), rubbing my abdomen.

"John, are you sure it's normal for a bump to be this small? I mean, I'm nearly nine months but I look six," I asked, for the hundredth time that day. He sighed, grinning,

"I'm sure, y/n, don't worry. It's your first child so the muscles in your abdomen are tighter and more toned, which makes quite a large difference in size. But also don't forget that both you and Sherlock are naturally slender."

"Also, she's shorter than a mouse," Sherlock muttered, giggling with John like school children. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, smiling at my immature husband. I sighed, gazing around the small room.

In the corner, there was a small, oak cot, topped with grey spotted blankets and tiny dog-shaped cushions.

"Hey, Sherlock?" I asked, a sudden thought springing to mind.

"Yes, my love?"

"Do you ever think about getting a dog? I've always wanted one and I know you have too..."

Sherlock paused and turned, thinking. "Hm. I would love that but we live in the city, with no garden and I'm just not sure we could handle one, with my work and yours."

"Mm, that's what I was thinking. Also, the financial side of things. But...maybe one day, we could move? You know...to the country and have a cottage. And have a dog."

Sherlock smiled, "that sounds lovely." We smiled at each other, agreeing on something for the first time in months, when John started chuckling.

"Oh lord, you two," he began, "you put more thought into a dog then you did into a child."

I shrugged, "dogs are better." Sherlock nodded in agreement as he placed his hand over my abdomen and kissed me on the forehead. I leaned my head against his shoulder as he rubbed my back gently.

Later that evening, I was propped up on the headboard, reading while Sherlock fussed about in the bathroom. I heard him singing softly- something which had never occurred before. Curious, I strained my ears, trying to capture every syllable. It was a sweet, soothing sound, deep like the ocean and soft as cotton clouds. I closed my eyes gently as a smile broke out on my face. I could feel our baby kicking gently and I giggled.

"What's so funny?" Sherlock asked softly, moving into the bed and slidding under the covers.

"Child's kicking again. I think," I paused, looking over at him, "they like your singing." Sherlock turned red and looked down, smiling. I moved my hand and stroked his cheek, "how comes I've never heard you sing before? It was beautiful." He looked up and shrugged,

"I guess I just don't sing all that much. Maybe I've just never been happy enough...but I suppose I have every joy in the world right now. You really think the baby likes it?" I nodded, smiling. Sherlock leaned over and kissed my forehead, then rested his head against my shoulder and started singing a soft melody;

"My love, so sweet, so tender and true;

With skin so soft and eyes deep blue.

Do you feel the soft wind that calls?

Through emerald ferns and trees so tall.

My darling, here you're safe 'till light,

In the land where dreams and hopes take flight.

So close your eyes and let your soul soar,

I promise to love you forevermore."

Sherlock's hands were over my belly and he laughed softly, feeling our baby gently prod his hands. I stroked his hair and watched his smile dance.

"My mother used to sing that me. When I was much younger. It's sort of like an old family song, sung down through generations." He spoke softly, still caressing my stomach.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, noticing the few tears that had fallen. Sherlock moved and kissed me on the forehead, then laid on his back, eyes closed. Smiling, I placed the book on the floor, shut off the lamp and snuggled under his awaiting arm, resting my head on his chest.

That was the last day of just us two Holmes'.