The Only Child of Doctor Watson and Mr Holmes

Chapter One

Sherlock’s PoV

“John?” My eyes were closed but I knew he had heard; his body, which had been snuggled up against mine for the last half an hour, had twisted slightly, and the keys on the laptop paused in their percussive dance. I smiled. Doctor John Hamish Watson-Holmes. It had been months since the wedding, but I still got a thrill out of hearing it. My John. But now something had changed… I wanted something more; something more precious than the rest of the world, something more intriguing than any crime, something even more perfect than my husband’s soul. I opened my eyes, and suddenly lost all train of thought. God.  His eyes are so beautiful.

“Something wrong, love?” The concern in his voice was adorable, his eyes wide and curious, his gorgeous mouth slightly open… I leant down and kissed him, very softly. He looked confused as I pulled away, and turned himself to face me. I began to panic – what if he didn’t want this too? What if he did?

“I…” I swallowed hard, and reclosed my eyes. This was harder than I had expected, but I had to tell him. That’s what marriage was about – being truthful and honest and in love and all those human emotions that are generally considered to be desirable… He’d want to know – he deserved to know. “I’d…um... don’t worry.” I got up, and walked over to the table, my latest experiment sprawled across it like the after effects of an explosion. I felt John’s eyes on my face, but ignored it, squinting down my microscope at some Praseodymium. It was a rare earth element, and absolutely crucial to a dead man’s alibi.

I couldn’t ask it of him. I couldn’t tell him how much I wanted to start a family with him. The emotions were confusing me to the point of insanity – I couldn’t think straight. I could just imagine her… Little blonde ringlets, big, wondrous blue eyes, John's grin etched on her face, extremely clever... But she wouldn’t be mine - no biological way to achieve both of our DNA in the child. So then who would the mother be? Not one of his ex-girlfriends – that might bring back unwanted feelings… But then she couldn’t be a complete stranger – that’d just be too awkward. I wanted a natural conception, but the idea of John sleeping with anybody else was just unbearable. He’s mine. I don't share.

“Sherlock?” His voice was suddenly very close, making me jump; the tone said ‘I need you to listen without judging me or butting in’. I sighed internally, and turned to him, trying to keep my face from showing my internal conflict. He took my hand, and led me back to the sofa. “I need to talk to you about something. Something important… God, how to begin…” My mind started racing – what had I done wrong now? “Umm… well we’ve been married for some months now… We have a decent income between us, and… um… my old bedroom and all that so I was thinking… that er... Hang on a sec – this calls for tea.”  He jumped up, and practically jogged to the kettle, evidently trying to phrase his request sufficiently well. My mind was still reeling. Did he want to have his sister come and live with us? Did he want to turn his room into a study? Did he want to move back into his old room? The fear of losing the love of my life took over me; I’d be lost without my blogger. My heart-rate quickened, but it was not an enjoyable feeling - nothing like the adrenalin fuelled, thrill of the chase heart poundings I had come to be so accustomed to.

 I stood up slowly, and went to help him make the tea, trying to read him. Nothing. After nearly spilling the milk, I gave up and went to sit back down, throwing myself into my mind-palace for a few quiet, rational moments, more specifically the room filled high with the memories of our wedding day. It’d been so perfect: our vows, the tears that glistened in his eyes and threatened to fall, his smile as I said ‘I do’, the relief that he would be officially mine and mine alone forever...

“So what do you think?” I dropped back to reality, to see John’s expectant face looking sheepish, but honest and open. I’d evidently spent more time in the room than I had thought…

“I’m sorry? What do I think about what?” Instantly I knew I had hurt his feelings – his face dropped, he turned away slightly (not enough for a normal person to notice, but it was blatantly obvious to me), and he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“You never listen, do you Sherlock? It was that bloody case wasn't it - you were thinking of that bloody case and not us. You never care enough to actually listen to what I have to say. Why do I even bother? You might as well be married to the bloody case. I’m going for a walk. I need some air.” And with that, he stood up and walked out. I just watched. He was going to leave me – I was sure of it. I should have run after him. I should have begged him not to go. Instead I just sat there, frozen, my ring feeling heavier than it ever had before.