Beautifully Stormy Skies (Johnlock mpreg)

Chapter 8

Sherlock sat in his usual chair, his hands steepled under his chin as he tried to ignore the constant kicking of his daughter. Narrowing his closed eyes and trying to concentrate, he figured it was time to give up on his mind palace and tend to his unborn child.

"Ugh! Alright then little one, let's see how you enjoy this." He hauled himself up from sitting with a deep grunt as he pulled his shirt farther over his growing belly. As with his stomach, he figured it was useless to pull his trousers up above his waist as they would just roll down again below his belly. He made his way to his music stand as he picked up his violin and started to play a personal piece he wrote called 'A Little Stars Second Chance'.

It was a slow and melancholy start as it picked up towards the end, much like how it was based on Sherlock's life. The beginning was rocky and rough with the first incident of his first child, but meeting John and becoming pregnant with their baby, it was a new start; a second chance.

A small smirk played on the detective's lips as he swayed with the music and felt his daughter slow her movements. "That's my girl." Sherlock whispered as he continued playing.

He finished the piece as he set the violin down, sitting back in his chair and placing a hand on his belly as the baby rolled against his hand. Sherlock smirked.

"I see you're getting along nicely with our daughter." John came in to see Sherlock smiling at his belly as the blogger sat across from him and smiled as well.

"What other choice do we have? I wasn't allowed to love Peyton, though I don't know life would be like if I kept her." Sherlock stated, never removing his hand from his belly. John grinned, sliding off the chair and to his knees as he kneeled in front of his husband and ran his hands over his swollen stomach, the motion loving and well-practiced. He lifted Sherlock's shirt and peppered kisses over the stretched skin, being completely free of stretch marks or blemishes of any sort. John's hands moved from the top of his husband's stomach to below it as if he was cupping it and gently lifted, earning him a relaxed moan from the detective.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" Sherlock let out in an exasperated breath.

"Mrs. Hudson told me to. She thought that you've been a little...well...cranky." John said, keeping his hands under Sherlock's belly. "You would be cranky too if you were carrying another human." The detective joked but being entirely serious as his blogger grinned.

The sitting room fell silent as John would gently rub Sherlock's belly, though the detective knew that something else was on his blogger's mind besides their daughter.

"I'm sensing that you have something else on your mind that you would like to be known by me?" Sherlock asked, looking to John to see a look of worry but hidden excitement right behind it.

"I may have done something, and I don't know how you will take it." John got back up and started to pace the sitting room as Sherlock sat up in his chair and pulled his shirt back over his belly. "Alright, I'm listening." The detective reassured.

John pressed his hand to his lips in thought then turned to face Sherlock, seeing a look of deduction set deep within his face. "Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"That, look. The look you get when you are deducing somebody. You're doing it to me." John complained.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Look, John, stop beating around the bush and tell me what you did." Sherlock gave a sincere look of apology before letting his husband continue. Seeing that he couldn't do it standing up, the detective watched as John paced a little more before sitting back across from him and running his hand over his mouth in worry.

"I found Peyton."

"What?" Sherlock asked, hearing what John said but believing it couldn't be true.

"I said I found Peyton, I found where she is. We can go meet her and hopefully get to know her a little better."

A stiff second of silence was shared between the two men as the tension grew to where you could cut it with a knife.

"No."

"Wh-Sherlock, this is your chance to meet your daughter."

"My daughter hasn't been born yet! That part of my life is dead to me! It means nothing to me anymore! And you told me you would never bring up that part of my life! You lied to me John! You lied to me!" Sherlock was standing now, not even realizing he was until he stopped yelling.

John sat frozen in fear as the look of absolute destruction and anger in Sherlock's eyes. But being the soldier that he is, John didn't let it show as he grabbed his jacket and headed outside.

"What is all this shouting about? Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson came upstairs as soon as John had left to see what the yelling was all about.

"It's nothing Mrs. Hudson, go back downstairs and fini-" The detective's sentence was cut off as he felt the vaguely familiar pain surge through his lower stomach.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" The landlady asked, noticing the sudden look of pain set into his face.

"I believe I am experiencing contractions, I need my phone to call...John." Sherlock barely managed to speak as his voice was strained from the need to push.

He breathed deeply and pressed his hand to his lower belly but moved it down further to see blood cover his hand. His eyes widened as did his landladys' as she rushed to give Sherlock his phone and she went to go call the ambulance.

-----------
John was the exact opposite of what Sherlock was feeling. He felt more than regular anger and fear, something entirely different that was beyond any real words.

He did remember to never bring it up again, and he went against his husband's wishes. John knew it was touchy subject to bring up Sherlock's past, but he thought it would bring him more joy than anything. He expected some reluctance of the meeting but never as much as calling that part of his life dead. He understood of such things, he just needed to wait it out now.

Trudging through the snow, pulling his jacket closer in as the blistering wind hit his skin like needles, he was already halfway down the block before he heard his phone ring. He looked at the caller ID: Sherlock. With a suck of cold air and bitter regret, John answered the phone.

"Sherlock, if you're looking to apologize-"

"I'm...not...apologizing." Sherlock said, his voice sounding hoarse and strained through the phone.

"Well what is it then?"

"Contractions...need...help. I need-Nnnnaaagh!" John's face went pale as he almost dropped the phone. "Stay right where you are, I'm on my way. Do NOT move!" John hurriedly slid his phone back in his pocket as he made a dead sprint for their flat.

John came back to see Sherlock on the floor with one hand under his belly and another bloody hand gripping the carpet until his knuckles turned white. The detective looked up from the floor, this time with the fear in his eyes as the stubborn curls fell in his sight. Eyes widened, John grabbed Sherlock's jacket as he brought it around the detective's shoulders and supported him to the curb and almost immediately hailing a cab.

"Hold on just a little longer Sherlock, we're almost there."