Tough Times

Oh No

"John?" Mary asked as she opened the door. "What brings you here? I haven't seen you in ages. Not since..."

"Yes, yes. I know, but this is important. Please just hear me out."

She sighed and motioned him inside, "I suppose I should start some tea then, shouldn't I?"

"Not necessary, I'll only be a moment."

John looked around the flat as he stepped inside. The room surely gives away way more than she means it to. Over the mantle are pictures of the doctor and her smiling like it was the best day of their lives. John remembers that day; it was the day he was going to propose to the love of his life... at least that's who she was to him until Sherlock came back from the dead. Around this picture are smaller pictures of the two of them, picnics and the likes. He was younger then, much younger.

Every decoration is old school feminine; the walls are covered in ugly floral wallpaper and the couch is just as hideous. In the center of the room is a coffee table, though it's barely distinguishable under the piles of papers and books scattered all over it.

Mary noticed him staring and began to make space on the couch.

"Very well. Sit, sit."

"No thank you."

"Very well then. Now, what's so bad that you need my help?"

"It's Sherlock. He's —"

"No, John."

"Please, Mary."

She glared at the doctor and, for a split second, he remembered why he loved her so much. She reminded him of Sherlock with her ability to defy orders and display signs of the alpha that she yearns to be. "I will not help the bastard that took you away from me!"

"I suggest you change your tone when talking about him." He growled and she wavered, but didn't stop, "Why? Because little Sherly has you on his leash?"

"Stop it, Mary. I'm warning you." He tried to keep his cool, but she refused to let up, "He should be your bitch, John! You shouldn't be —"

John shoved her against the wall, put his elbow to her throat, and whispered harshly into her ear, "I told you to stop. Now you will be ready to help Sherlock when I say to without one word more or else I will break each one of your bloody bones all while naming them!" He moved his head away and looked into her eyes, "Have I made myself clear?"

She gulped and nodded.

"Good." He left her go and she rubbed her throat. "I'll ring you when I need you." With that, he left.

**********

John was welcomed by a completely silent flat when he returned.

Brows pulling together in confusion and mild worry, the doctor quickly hurried up the stairs and entered the flat, tucking his keys into his pocket.

"Sherlock?" he called, quickly checking the kitchen to make sure he had not missed the detective on the way up. John frowned as he saw no sign of the detective anywhere nor heard him in any of the rooms.

Fearing the worst, John hurried back into the bedroom. "Sherlock?" he called worriedly, already pulling out his phone. The doctor paused, however, upon hearing a soft, muffled shuffling sound coming from the bathroom.

Frowning slightly, John hurried into the room, not even bothering to knock. "Oh," he sighed quietly upon seeing the detective's thin frame dry heaving into the toilet, his pale skin somehow seeming almost translucent in the dim light as he grasped onto the side of the bowl.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked worriedly, pausing in the doorway.

"Yes, John. I'm fine," the detective sighed, quickly shoving himself away from the toilet. "Just a little bit of nausea, that's all." He looked up at his mate and smiled reassuringly.

"I'll be in the sitting room when you're... finished. You okay?"

"I'm fine, John. Thank you. I'll uhh... Be out in a moment."

John stared at his omega, eyeing him with a skeptical gaze. "Right. Okay. See you in a few." With a few moment's hesitation, the doctor turned, and headed into the sitting room.

Sherlock watched as John left and moved to the sink, bracing himself with his shaky hands as he bowed his head, brow furrowing in discomfort.

Quirking his lips as he tried to ignore a new wave of nausea, Sherlock looked up, assessing himself in the mirror. He frowned slightly upon seeing how pale he truly seemed, how hollow his cheeks appeared.

With a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, Sherlock started some cold water running in the sink, cupped a handful of the cool liquid in his hand and splashed it across the face, enjoying the refreshing feel of it. He turned off the water and slowly went into his room to change because he certainly would not look like this and make John leave for Mary again.

Roughly five minutes later, Sherlock sulked into the sitting room and sat down next to John, practically on top of him, and laid his head on his shoulder. The alpha kissed the top of his head, "You sure you're alright, Love?"

"Mmm, fine now."

"Good, good."

John held his omega closer to him, feeling an overwhelming need to protect him. He closed his eyes and listened to the heartbeat of his pup and mate, but frowned when he heard a third heartbeat. No, no, no, no... Tears came to his eyes and he kissed the top of his head again, realising that he was right. Sherlock is pregnant with not only his pup, but also the pup of whoever did this to him. Twins with different parents.