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Four Weeks
John had no idea why he was so nervous. He fiddled with the white stick where he’d placed it on the bathroom counter and checked his watch. Two minutes to go.
He hadn’t been nervous the first time. Granted, the first time around, they’d been trying for ages when it finally came down to doing a pregnancy test. This time had been slightly more spontaneous.
Only six months prior, Sherlock had completed his work to destroy Moriarty’s network. He’d returned to John and Kit once and for all, putting an end to the as-possible, clandestine meetings at Mycroft’s top secret safe house in order to keep Kit connected to his alpha father. The freedom to resume their lives together, as a family, had been a tremendous relief for all of them.
In quiet moments at the safe house during their hiatus, with Sherlock still “dead,” they had managed to work through most of their issues related to Sherlock’s deception and the trauma John and Kit had suffered as a result. There had been tears and some shouting, though John had never made good on his warning of a possible punch.
In the end, he could hardly fault Sherlock for protecting their family, and John was as anxious as anyone else for the end of Moriarty’s games. And, frankly, he loved Sherlock too much to even consider anything other than reconciliation.They had all suffered, but they would all heal.
The press had run wild with Sherlock’s return from the dead. John had expected Sherlock to bask in the attention, but instead he’d insisted they take Kit to Margaret and William’s to get out of the glare. They had spent two glorious weeks there: pouring over and organizing Sherlock’s case notes, taking long walks, playing with their son and—on one delightful occasion when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had taken Kit to the seaside for the day—making love on (and against) every surface in the cottage.
Settling back into 221B had been easier than John had imagined. Having Sherlock in his arms most nights (excepting those when the detective restlessly paced the flat pondering a case) felt right and normal and good. He hadn’t hesitated at all when Sherlock asked him to renew their bond.
Just a couple of weeks later, John had come to the realization that he wanted another baby. He hadn’t expected the strange yearning that had begun to niggle at him after Sherlock’s return. He loved Kit more than he could have imagined was possible. The thought of giving his son a sibling, and sharing another pregnancy with Sherlock, and this time giving birth with his mate beside him, and holding another baby in his arms…well, the desire had become so potent that he’d simply blurted it out in bed on the morning of Kit’s second birthday. It had taken Sherlock by surprise, but he’d been over the moon.
“John?” Sherlock asked through the bathroom door, having rapped once.
“Yes, Sherlock?”
“Are you all right? Have you fallen in?”
“Funny,” John snickered. “I thought you and Kit were finishing breakfast.”
“He’s decided he’s done. Apparently, he doesn’t like porridge.”
“This week, anyway,” John muttered under his breath, smiling at his son’s recent food whims. “Yeah, okay. Why don’t you two read for a bit? I’ll be right out.”
There was a long pause. John knew that Sherlock was deducing exactly what he was doing in the bathroom, and that he was debating barging in to pester John for the results. Instead, there was a sigh of resignation.
“Fine. We’ll be on the sofa.”
“Good,” John called back. He checked his watch and reached for the stick. He took a deep breath and looked for the plus sign.
And it was there.
“HA!”
The sound burst out of him before he could stifle it. He slapped a hand over his mouth and stared at the pregnancy test. Positive. He was pregnant.
Captain (retired) and Doctor John H. Watson-Holmes—no-nonsense adrenaline junkie, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers—was pregnant.
John stood and smoothed his loose-fitting white t-shirt over his belly. He smiled a little at the thought of the life growing there. He had never imagined that he would want to give birth to or raise children, but now he couldn’t imagine his life any other way. He smiled at himself in the mirror before opening the door to join his family.
__________________________
Eight Weeks
“John?”
“Greg, hi,” John replied. He swallowed hard against the wave of nausea that still threatened. It was well past noon, but of course “morning” sickness was so terribly misnamed. At least this particular treat was on time. It had kicked in right after the one-month mark—almost as though his body was rewarding him for the positive pregnancy test—and was only getting worse at eight weeks.
DI Greg Lestrade hustled over to where John was waiting. John had already had a look around the edges of the crime scene, but was conscientiously avoiding the two rapidly decomposing bodies. Greg smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding to where Sherlock was poring over the corpses.
“Not having a look yourself?”
“Ah, no,” John said, wincing. “I’m a little off today. Stomach bug, I think.”
“Right. ‘Course. Has Kit been sick?”
“Uhm, yeah,” John hedged. He shrugged with a grin, mentally begging his son’s forgiveness. “Kids.”
Greg’s expression was a little wistful as he turned to watch Sherlock once more. “It’s good to have him back.”
“He’s glad to be back.”
“And you and the mite—you’re all right, are you?”
John couldn’t help but feel a certain tenderness for Greg Lestrade. He’d kept his distance during Sherlock’s absence (which was good, in the end, as John would have felt terrible lying to him), but he’d checked in occasionally. And John knew the omega copper had continued to act as Mycroft Holmes’ eyes and ears, even though Sherlock was gone.
John had never had the heart to ask if he’d ever been told Sherlock’s death wasn’t real. Greg had wept at the funeral—it felt cruel, somehow, to remind him of what he’d been put through.
“We’re good. Now,” John acknowledged solemnly. “Thank you.”
Greg nodded once more with a lopsided smile. “Look, I hate to ask this here. I know you’re not really seeing many patients these days…”
“Well, Mike Stamford is managing partner in the practice now, but I do still take appointments two mornings a week.” John’s brow furrowed and he dropped his voice. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, it’s—I don’t—” Greg sighed. “Probably nothing. Well, not nothing. Just that time, I suppose.” Greg’s usually cheerful expression faded and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t expect it to bother me like this. I always thought Tara and I might have a chance at a kiddie before the end. But then she left and I—well, I guess that’s me done.” He shrugged. “It’s just part of life, isn’t it?”
“What is?” John asked softly.
“I’m—I’m…” Greg swallowed. “I think I may be starting andropause. I’ve just missed a heat and I feel…different.”
John schooled his features. “How old are you now?”
“Forty-four,” Greg admitted.
“And the omegas in your family: What sort of age were they when it started?”
“My mum was in her early fifties. My granddad was closer to mid-forties, though—pretty typical for a male omega. I’m the eldest, so I don’t know…” Greg sighed again. “Would you have a few minutes some time soon?”
John laid a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Absolutely.” He pulled his phone out and consulted his calendar. “Oh, damn. Sorry. I’m afraid I don’t have any time for about two weeks. If you like, I can set you up with Mike or with Dr. Faulkner.”
Greg shook his head. “Nah. I’d rather face this with a friend. And it’s not like I’m in a hurry, is it?”
“Right,” John said kindly, his smile warm. “I’ll have Lucy pencil you in for 8 a.m. on that Friday, then.”
Greg’s grin returned. He looked decidedly relieved. “Perfect. Ta. And if you could see your way to not letting him know?” He jerked a thumb in Sherlock’s general direction.
“Not a word, I swear. Patient confidentiality.” John mimed that his lips were sealed.
“JOHN!”
Greg rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s demanding bark. “That’s for you, then.”
John smirked, taking a cleansing breath before he ventured too near the smell of death. “It is indeed. Wish me luck.”
______________________________
Nine weeks
“Vitamin,” Sherlock repeated for the third time.
He’d been bothering John about it since they returned home from picking Kit up at the crèche.
“Piss off.”
“Daddy, no!” Kit crowed, setting his milk down on the table and frowning at John.
“Sorry, sweet boy,” John soothed. “You’re right—bad words.”
Kit smiled his satisfaction and resumed eating his lunch, which was his current favourite of cheese toasties and quartered cherry tomatoes.
John scowled at his mate who was looking very smug. He hated it when they took sides against him, which was beginning to happen with more frequency. He snatched the tablet from Sherlock’s open palm, still extended in his direction. He took the glass of water from Sherlock’s other hand and swallowed the pre-natal vitamin he’d forgotten to take before breakfast.
As they had deliberately gone through his heat without protection, he’d felt it wise to start taking the supplements beforehand, though they had only just had their first visit with the midwife.
“One time, Sherlock,” John grumbled. “One time I forgot. I’m not a child.”
“No,” Sherlock concurred. “You’re a busy doctor and detective’s assistant who has a toddler to care for. You can’t possibly do everything on your own. This is me helping.”
John softened instantly. He was utterly unable to resist Sherlock when he was being sweet, which didn’t always look the way other people thought it should. Sherlock’s affection was often expressed in ways only John (and now Kit) could understand.
“Sorry,” John sighed. He leaned in and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist. He nuzzled into his mate’s neck. “I don’t mean to be so moody.”
Sherlock embraced John and kissed the side of his head. “It’s fine. Are you still—”
“Yeah, a bit,” John said wearily, referring to the lingering nausea. “It’s worse than with Kit.”
“Interesting. I wonder…”
“No. No, you don’t. You don’t wonder anything,” John started. “You promised: No treating my pregnancy as an experiment. Remember?”
“But, John—”
“Please, Sherlock. Just no.”
“Oh, fine.” Sherlock sighed. “And don’t think because Daddy and Papa are hugging that we’re not fully aware of those tomato bits going on the floor, young man.”
John turned in time to see his son’s delightfully artless (and wholly Sherlock) expression of innocence. His eyes were wide, brows raised and little cupid’s bow lips slightly parted.
“An admirable attempt,” Sherlock said, his tone gentle but disapproving. “But your cheeks are very pink for someone who has been eating his vegetables.”
Kit’s mouth turned upside down. “Don’t like ‘matos.”
“But you loved them two days ago,” John said, puzzled.
“No,” Kit insisted. “Yucky.”
“Right, then,” John said, reaching for the refrigerator door. “What about…snow peas?”
Kit shook his head, curls bouncing.
“Courgette? Cut into sticks—”
“No!”
“Uh…cucumber? I can slice it up.”
Kit wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Well, the only thing left is the baby spinach I used for my salad yesterday—”
“The ‘salad’ covered with segments of Chocolate Orange?” Sherlock muttered under his breath.
John glared at him.
“Yes!” Kit shouted.
John turned back to his son, in shock. “Raw spinach leaves. Really?”
Kit nodded enthusiastically and licked his lips. “Mmm-hmm.”
John shrugged, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. “Well, all right,” he said sceptically. “Not going to turn down an opportunity.”
He handed the bag from the refrigerator to Sherlock who took a small pinch of leaves and set them on Kit’s colourful plastic plate. Sherlock stepped back to join John where he was leaning against the cupboard and they watched together as their boy studied the new addition to his lunch.
Kit leaned in close to sniff at the pile of greens before picking up one of the leaves. He nibbled at it cautiously and considered this for a minute. At length he nodded and took another bite.
John nearly started giggling at their son’s very Sherlockian concentration. “Good?” he asked Kit finally.
Kit nodded and smiled up at his daddy. “S’good. Like it.” He took another bite and hummed happily. “Fuzzy.”
“Oh,” Sherlock said casually. “The calcium binding properties of the oxalates found in spinach cause them to precipitate as crystals on the surfaces of your teeth.”
Kit peered up at his papa, nose wrinkling in confusion. “Ock-slates?”
“Never mind.” Sherlock cleared his throat, ignoring John’s teasing smile. He nodded approvingly at his son. “We can talk about that another time.”
John watched as Kit picked up another spinach leaf. “Okay, well, I’ll just enjoy this while it lasts,” he chuckled. He leaned over to kiss his mate’s cheek. “Can I convince you to try some?”
“Dunno,”” Sherlock said mischievously. “Any Chocolate Orange left?”
John sighed and reached for the kettle. “I’ll take that as a no.”
______________________
Ten weeks
“Are you sure?”
It was the third time Greg had asked the question. He stared blankly at John, seated across the desk from him in John’s clinic office.
“The test is positive,” John confirmed. “But I can run it again, if you like.”
Greg shook his head, letting his gaze drop to where his hands were fidgeting in his lap. He was slumped in the chair looking as stunned as he sounded. “I believe you. I mean, yeah, ‘course I do. I just can’t wrap my head around it.”
He lifted his head to meet John’s gaze once more. His dark brown eyes were filled with tears. John’s own teetering emotions rose in sympathy and he reached for the box of tissues. He grabbed one for himself and offered the box across the desk to his patient and friend.
Greg snatched one in time to catch a particularly undignified sob. “Oh, my god. I just…”
John snuffled, swiping at the tears he couldn’t control with his tissue. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be—this is so unprofessional. I’m meant to be helping you!”
Greg guffawed through his tears, leaning forward across the desk to grasp John’s forearm. John clasped at the hand and held it there as they both struggled to regain control.
“A baby,” Greg marvelled. “I’m going to have a baby!”
Minutes later, tears nearly abated, Greg sighed and shook his head. “Well, I guess I have a lot to think about. And a lot to do.”
John nodded, scribbling on the pad in front of him. He passed the scrip over to Greg. “You’ll want to start on the pre-natal vitamins immediately.”
Greg blanched. “It’s late, isn’t it? I should have been taking care right from the beginning. Have I—is the baby at risk?”
“You can’t beat yourself up for what you didn’t know. You’re very healthy. I asked for a complete blood panel, and everything looks fine.” He typed another note into Greg’s electronic medical record. “I’ll have Lucy book you in with the midwife and in a couple of weeks you’ll have your first scan.”
Greg was staring down at his still-flat abdomen in wonder. “I can’t believe it.”
“Hey,” John said gently. “You’re not going through this on your own. I’ll help with whatever you need. We both will.”
Greg’s familiar toothy smile was radiant as he met John’s eyes. “Somehow I can’t feature Sherlock as particularly helpful in this situation.”
John patted his belly. “You’d be surprised.”
Greg’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! You mean…”
“Yup. You and I get to be pregnant together.” John grinned. “I’m not usually this soppy.”
Greg sat back in his chair. “Somehow that makes me feel a lot better. How far along are you?”
“Funny you should ask,” John replied cheerfully. “Based on the dates you’ve given me and your one missed heat…” John glanced at the monitor in front of him. “You are about ten weeks. Same as me.”
Greg’s mouth fell open.
“What is it? Are you all right?”
“Dates. Oh, god. I didn’t think. Oh, shit.”
“Greg…”
“I’m going to have to tell him.”
“Tell who? Oh, the alpha.” John nodded. “Is he still…in the picture?”
“Yes. Sort of. We didn’t plan…it was just my heat came on so suddenly, and we were caught together and it just sort of…happened. I mean, I was on birth control.”
“Which is only 98% effective—less than that if the alpha was in rut as well.”
“He was,” Greg confirmed. “I really thought I was beyond this. I didn’t think it could happen to me this late on.”
“A last burst of fertility,” John said gently. “Often happens to breeders a short time before meno- or andropause.”
“Oh, god, I have no idea what he’ll say.”
“But he’s still in your life?”
Greg covered his mouth with his hand, eyes still wide. He nodded weakly.
“Do you want him to be part of the baby’s life?”
“I-I think so. But he’s never shown any sign of wanting anything like this. And he’s never spoken about it since—my heat. He acts as though it never happened. It’s not like he’s an overly emotional sort…well, you would know. You’ve got one of your own.”
John started, jerking backwards in his chair. “One of my—wait. Ten weeks? Ten weeks? But…ten weeks ago Mycroft was supposed to take Kit out to his grandparents’ while I had my heat. His PA came ‘round herself; said Mycroft’s helicopter had been grounded by bad weather in Scotland.” John blinked several times. “Mycroft Holmes is your baby’s father?”
Greg nodded again, still looking stricken.
John ran a hand over his face. “Well, that certainly makes things more interesting.”
________________________
Twelve weeks
“I don’t understand why we had to wait,” Sherlock said. He was sitting on the edge of their bed, still not undressing.
John had stripped quickly and was aching to get into bed. The first three weeks of September had been brutally busy and he was utterly exhausted. He was still plagued by morning sickness (which still very often lasted well into the afternoon) and their latest case had taken up almost three full days. This was in addition to the two mornings he’d put in at the clinic, and Kit’s (actual) bout of stomach ‘flu.
He rubbed his hand over his eyes and yawned. He turned and regarded his handsome alpha, still wearing the dark green shirt and navy trousers he’d put on that morning. “Are you planning to sleep tonight?”
“Hmmmm?” Sherlock glanced down at himself. “Oh. Yes, I suppose.” He stood and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Why did we have to wait?”
John stuffed the last of his clothes in the hamper; they did far more laundry than they ever had before. Today Kit had managed to spill juice in his lap and get grubby fingerprints all over the front of his jumper. Not that he would have it any other way. Kit was happy and healthy, and John delighted in every single sticky kiss.
“I know you know this,” he replied evenly. “Most people wait because of the odds of something happening during the first trimester. I’m sure we’ve talked about it. I suppose you deleted it. Or you were filtering.” John brushed his lips over Sherlock’s shoulder as he passed him on the way to their bed.
“Probably,” Sherlock admitted. “There is so much—”
“Witless babble,” John finished for him. He slid underneath the covers and stretched out over the mattress with a deep sigh of satisfaction. He tucked the duvet under his arms and grinned up at Sherlock, who was now down to his grey briefs. “So you’ve said.”
Sherlock grinned back, comfortable in John’s acceptance and affection. He dropped his pants and hurriedly tugged on a pair of jersey pyjama bottoms. “But we’re safe now?”
“Safer, statistically speaking,” John mused. He smoothed a hand over his abdomen and the just-noticeable bump there. This, too, was different than with Kit—with his first pregnancy, John had hardly shown at all until his fifth month. “Anyway, it’s pretty common to start telling people at this point.”
John yawned again, letting his body sink into the bed. He felt the dip as Sherlock crawled in beside him. He let his eyes drift closed as his alpha shifted closer. The scent was wonderfully calming.
“Did you lock the gates at the stairs?” he mumbled.
“Of course,” Sherlock assured him, joining his fingers to John’s over the baby bump.
“Monitor on?”
“It is.”
“Good.” John let himself drift.
“So, can we tell them tomorrow?” Sherlock prompted softly.
“Tell who?”
“Mummy and Dad. I’m sure Mycroft knows—the smug bastard—but I can text him anyway. Maybe Lestrade?”
John hesitated. Lestrade still hadn’t told Mycroft about his own pregnancy and therefore had been putting off telling anyone else. “’Kay.”
“What is it? You tensed up when I mentioned Lestrade,” Sherlock said briskly. He narrowed his eyes at John. “You’ve told him already, haven’t you?”
John relaxed a little. “Well, yes. Don’t be upset. It’s an omega thing.”
“Is it because he’s also pregnant?”
John’s lips tightened. Should have known. “Yes.”
Sherlock shrugged, snuggling in against John’s body. “Makes sense, I suppose.”
“You’re not shocked?”
“That he’s pregnant or that you told him you are?” Sherlock rumbled, brushing his lips over John’s neck. “As to the first: Is his pregnancy in some way out of the ordinary? As to the second: Not at all. I expect it’s nice for you to have another omega to share this with.”
Soothed, John sighed heavily as sleep beckoned once more. “Tis. He’s a friend. S’good.”
“And your scent is starting to change anyway, so I don’t suppose we really need to announce it broadly,” Sherlock rambled on. “But I rather enjoyed sharing this news the last time. It felt…nice.”
“Mmmm.”
“Is it the same for you?” Sherlock asked suddenly. “When people realize you’re pregnant and offer congratulations or some other such nonsense—how does it make you feel?”
John groaned and pulled the covers up and over his head. “Go to sleep, Sherlock,” he begged.
Sherlock slipped beneath the duvet and set his head right next to John’s on the same pillow. “But I can call my parents?” His breath was warm and sweet so close to John’s face.
John sighed and rolled into his alpha’s body. Sherlock’s arm pulled him close.
“Talk tomorrow. Promise. Please…so tired…”
Sherlock’s lips pressed into his brow. “Sorry. Sleep now. Don’t get up if you hear Kit. I’ll go.”
“Mmmmm…”
_______________
Fourteen Weeks
John strode lightly along the pavement between the tube station and the flat—shopping bag in one hand—humming to himself. It was a lovely afternoon, his morning sickness had finally ended and Sherlock had stayed home with Kit so John could go to the shops without their very curious (and, at the moment, very grabby) toddler.
“John?”
John smiled as he saw Greg Lestrade getting out of his BMW in front of 221B. “Hello. How are you feeling?”
Greg’s smile was a little crooked. He pushed the edges of his overcoat aside and shoved both hands into his trouser pockets. His shirt was untucked to disguise the slight swell of his abdomen. “Good, yeah. Really good. In fact, I had my first scan a couple of weeks ago.”
“And?”
Greg pulled his wallet out. He removed a photo from it and handed it over to John. “She’s a good size, and her heartbeat is strong. It’s…well, it’s a miracle, really.”
John smiled sentimentally at the grainy scan picture. He had one of his own hanging on their refrigerator now. “She?”
Greg flushed a little. “I don’t want to know, but I just have a feeling.”
“Yeah, I had a feeling about Kit,” John said. He handed the picture back. “So what brings you today? Case? Sherlock will be overjoyed. He’s insufferably bored this week.”
Greg’s worried expression returned. “Thing is, my scent had finally changed enough and I was showing enough that my team noticed.”
John stifled his ongoing jealousy that Greg hadn’t experienced a single moment of nausea with his pregnancy.
“So I had to tell my Chief Superintendent about the baby. I knew Mycroft would find out somehow and I didn’t want it to happen that way so I went to see him this morning.” Greg cleared his throat. “I told him. I told him and I think—I think I may have…broken him. He went a funny colour and started sputtering. And then he just buggered off.”
“Shit.”
“I’ve looked in all the usual places; his PA is trying to track him down. I don’t know why, but I thought he might have come here.”
John was about to answer when his mobile buzzed, indicating a new text. He sighed heavily at the words on the screen: Bring Lestrade in. I have what he’s looking for.
“What is it?”
John put his phone away and reached out to usher Greg toward the door. “Come on. He’s upstairs with Sherlock and Kit.”
John and Greg took the stairs cautiously, listening carefully for any signs of Holmes’ fighting. John pushed through the door to the flat first to find his brother-in-law sitting in the middle of the floor.
Mycroft was cross-legged, staring vacantly, passively allowing Kit to draw on his face.
“Sherlock!” John dropped the grocery bag and reached for their son. “Kit—no!”
“Daddy look!” the boy cried enthusiastically.
“Kit, we don’t draw on Uncle Mycroft!” John dropped to his haunches, instantly feeling like a brute as the boy’s bottom lip began to tremble at his tone. “It’s okay, pet. No one’s hurt. But we draw on paper, don’t we?”
Kit swiped at a fat tear, nodding.
At that moment, Sherlock strolled out of the kitchen, still in his dressing gown. He had a handful of freshly washed beakers, which he set back on the shelf before moving to settle into his chair.
“For god’s sake!” John snapped at his alpha, taking the washable (thankfully) felt-tip pen from Kit’s hand. “Come on, sweet boy. Let’s get you washed up.” He lifted the toddler into his arms and turned back to point at his mate. “You!”
“What?” Sherlock protested innocently. He waved a hand in the direction of his catatonic brother. “I didn’t do anything to him. He’s been like that since he got here!” He raised a brow at Greg, hovering in the doorway. “And would that have anything to do with you?”
John stood right in front of his mate, his temper simmering. “One: Your brother is clearly having a crisis and you let our son use him as a sketch pad.”
“I think it’s an improvement.”
John ground his teeth together. “And two: Why did you allow our two year old to use FELT PENS without supervision?”
“In my own defence, I was supervising. At least initially.”
“NOT! GOOD!”
“Fine,” Sherlock grumbled. He rose from his chair and spun to flop down to the floor facing his brother. He squinted at the older alpha, clicking fingers in front of his face. “Mycroft?”
John shook his head, turning back to Greg. He gestured at Mycroft. “Can you clean him up? And try talking to him?”
Greg swallowed hard and nodded once. He stepped into the flat and moved to the kitchen.
John took Kit to the bathroom to wipe him down. By the time they’d returned, Greg had taken Sherlock’s place on the floor in front of Mycroft. The copper was gently wiping a soapy flannel over the bureaucrat’s face, his features unguarded and remarkably tender as he did. Sherlock had retreated to a safe distance, pacing by the window as he watched the couple on the floor.
Mycroft, for his part, had progressed to single-syllable words. Or rather ONE single-syllable word.
“How?”
“How, what?” Sherlock enquired. “How do you manage to fit into your suits when I know you’re still eating pain au chocolat every morning?”
John glared at his mate. He set Kit down on the floor next to Mycroft and knelt beside them. Kit leaned in between Mycroft and Greg, looking very grave as he patted Mycroft’s cheek.
“Unca Myc?”
Mycroft blinked several times, turning just enough to focus on his nephew. “Kit.”
“Okay?” the boy asked, his little brow furrowed exactly as his papa’s might do.
Mycroft peered around Kit to look at Greg. The copper’s eyes were rapidly filling with tears.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Sherlock sighed. “You’re having a baby. It was unplanned. You’re both frightened. You need each other. All right?”
“Sherlock!” John protested, rolling his eyes at the man’s untimely insensitivity.
“It’s fine, John,” Mycroft said quietly. “He’s right.”
“I-I’m sorry about the way I t-told you,” Greg stammered. “You must believe me: This was an accident. I never intended—”
Mycroft raised a hand. “I know that, Gregory,” he replied more gently than John had ever heard the man address anyone before. “The most important thing is, are you well?”
Greg released a burst of relieved laughter through the tears that had spilled over. Kit was looking at Greg with concern now. He moved to settle into the man’s lap and swiped at his damp cheek with one chubby hand.
Greg smiled down at the boy before looking back at Mycroft. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. We are.”
John stood and crossed to his mate. “How long have you known?”
“I didn’t,” Sherlock admitted with a smirk. “Not definitively. Not until today. But I’ve had my suspicions about the two of them for some time.”
“But Greg said they only mated once,” John insisted softly.
“Oh, but you could see it,” Sherlock insisted, wrapping his arms around John’s middle from behind and rubbing over his growing bump. “Bubbling just below the surface. The way they looked at one another. And Mycroft’s unnatural interest in Lestrade’s ex-mate! That’s how I found out about the PE teacher.”
“Is that so.” John said. “You couldn’t tell by the way Greg was wearing his ties or the smudges on his shoes?”
“”Hmmm, that, too,” Sherlock replied without a hint of irony.
John shook his head. “Of course. So why did Mycroft leave you to tell Greg?”
“He insisted he didn’t want to get involved, but that it was for my benefit. That he didn’t want Lestrade losing focus on the work fretting about where his alpha was.”
“And you didn’t think to share this with me?”
“Honestly, John,” Sherlock sighed. “I was beginning to think my idiot brother was never going to do anything about his little crush!”
“I heard that,” Mycroft snapped.
“I know,” Sherlock replied in a singsong voice. He nuzzled into John’s neck. “When I realized Greg was carrying, well, I started putting the pieces together. Though I still wasn’t sure Mycroft was going to—”
“Well, I am,” Mycroft said sharply, pushing to his feet and reaching down to help Greg up.
“Good! Then maybe we can all just get on with it now,” Sherlock groused.
Greg rubbed his back as he straightened. “Mycroft, I think we should go somewhere and…talk.”
“Yes. Of course.” Mycroft reached down to pat the head of the little boy waiting expectantly at his feet. “Goodbye, Kit. Thank you for being so kind to Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
“Bye-bye Unca Myc!”
“Bye, Kit,” Greg said gently. “Maybe you and I could go to the park one day next week?”
Kit turned to his parents for approval, his little face all lit up.
“Sure,” John agreed. “Ring me and we’ll sort it out.”
“Come along then, Gregory,” Mycroft offered the omega his elbow, which Greg took with obvious pleasure. “I think we need some privacy.”
They were nearly at the door when Sherlock called after them, “Don’t wait too long to call Mummy!”
________________________________
Eighteen Weeks
“Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god…”
John braced his free hand against the shower wall and continued stroking himself with the other. He bit his lip trying to contain more cries, but it felt so good.
Once his morning sickness had evaporated, his energy had returned…and with it, his libido. He’d been relentlessly horny for a month.
It hadn’t been ideal timing: Sherlock was going through a period of disinterest in sex. Which was fine. John had been managing on his own.
Over and over.
He grunted as he felt his rear passage began to moisten. He shuffled around in the bath until his back was to the wall where he had stuck the new alpha dildo. It was the closest in size to Sherlock that he’d been able to find and had a fully formed knot. And he really needed to be full.
He backed into his toy, easing himself onto it inch by inch.
“Oh, fuck, yes…”
He slid up once more, allowing the slicked silicone to slide almost completely free of his body before arching his hips back to take it inside once more, grunting as the knot pushed against his rim. He shivered at the glorious friction of the toy against his inner walls. He squeezed his nipples with his free hand and rubbed over the head of his cock as he established a rhythm. He slapped back against the cold tiles, speeding up the pace of his fingers over his prick as he did.
He was far too absorbed in his heated body’s demands to notice the sound of the bathroom door lock being picked. Or the sound of a creeping detective just outside the bath.
“JESUS!!” John shouted as the shower curtain was torn back to reveal a very naked Sherlock. “Sherlock! Are you trying to scare me to death?”
“I’m investigating our recent lack of hot water,” Sherlock replied dryly. “And exactly what are you up to, Dr. Watson-Holmes?”
John’s cheeks flamed. They had discussed it. Sort of. And of course John knew his recent wanking habits had not gone unnoticed. But it was something else altogether to be caught in the bath impaled on a dildo.
He started to pull himself free of the toy, his erection beginning to flag, when Sherlock’s hand settled over the small mound of John’s belly. “Don’t,” he said, his voice husky.
“But you’re not…” John glanced at Sherlock’s flaccid cock.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t derive pleasure from seeing you come all over yourself,” he said gently, stepping into the bath with John. He pressed in close to John’s side and kissed his omega’s neck. “Go on. I know how badly you need to come. I’m here.”
“Oh, god. I do,” John groaned, shifting his hips once more. He slid back down onto the thick toy; Sherlock moved with him. “I need it so badly, Sherlock. I feel like I’m on fire.”
“Shhh, I know,” Sherlock soothed. He sucked at the tender flesh beneath John’s ear and his fingers brushed over John’s nipples.
John’s knees nearly buckled mid-thrust, but Sherlock’s strong arm braced him. “Sher—Sher—oh, god. Love you. My alpha. My alpha. So good to me.”
“My omega. My lovely omega.”
John pumped and pumped, panting and gasping his mate’s name. Sherlock whispered his encouragement, then bent and captured John’s nipple between his lips.
“FUCK!” John’s hips stuttered at the spike of pleasure from his chest. His breast tissue had not fully developed yet, but his nipples had already become terribly sensitive. He wound his fingers into Sherlock’s now-damp curls and clutched his mate to him. “Fuck, yes. Oh, god, suck hard. Oh, Sherlock…”
Sherlock hummed his delight into John’s sensitive teat, dropping his hand to wrap around John’s cock.
And that was all it took.
John sank back onto the dildo and let the knot pop through his swollen hole. His body contracted around the object inside his passage as he shot his load out all over the shower curtain.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh…”
He rolled his hips around the lovely fullness inside him. Sherlock gave his nipple one last lick, causing John to squeak with the over-stimulation. He was suddenly irrationally grateful for Sherlock’s presence—he hadn’t considered how weak he would be after he’d come. Were it not for his alpha’s strong embrace, he’d have collapsed onto the floor of the tub.
John dropped his head into the crook of Sherlock’s shoulder, sucking in a lungful of Sherlock’s scent. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Shhhhh.”
“I know you’re not—”
“Not right now, but I thought I might be able to help,” Sherlock said, almost shyly.
John met his eyes with a smile. “You’re always welcome, whenever you would like. You know I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable, though. That’s why I’ve been coming in here.”
“I know,” Sherlock said softly. He kissed John several times, rubbing over the bump where their baby was growing as John rode out the last of his knotted orgasm.
John eased himself off the toy, his legs shaking. Sherlock held him tightly as he rebalanced.
“Perhaps,” the alpha suggested gently. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to engage in these activities in the safety of our bed from now on?”
John smirked at his mate. “Are you saying I’ve become big and awkward?”
Sherlock’s brow crinkled. “If you’re asking if I think you’re at risk in the slippery tub, then yes. Your balance is compromised, and it appears your orgasms are taking more out of you than they normally would.”
“True,” John agreed.
“If you’re asking if I think you have in some way become physically unattractive,” Sherlock sniffed. “I don’t think I’ll dignify that with a response.”
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just that I’m starting to feel a bit…rotund. But that’s how I feel, not how I think you see me. I’m sorry.”
Sherlock kissed their bondmark. “You are the handsomest man I have ever known, especially like this. You are wonderfully soft, and your skin is so lustrous.” He mouthed over John’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I’m not—”
“No,” John stopped him, pushing back to place a finger over his lips. “We don’t do that. Ever. I love you, and that’s it. So you don’t always want to have sex. That’s okay. I know I’m the only person you feel that kind of attraction for, and you show me that in a hundred different ways every day. And when we do make love, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”
Sherlock gaped at him, his cheeks tinged with pink. He nodded once, rubbing over John’s naked back. “Thank you,” he whispered.
______________________________
Twenty-five Weeks
“How’s this?”
Greg stepped out of the changing room, arms held wide for John to get a good look at the outfit. John tried to appraise it objectively—he’d never been much of a judge of clothes himself (as Sherlock would happily tell anyone who’d listen to him lament John’s jumper collection), but he knew it was important to his friend.
The paternity shirt was a good colour for Greg (the deep amethyst was very nice with his salt and pepper hair), but it was a bit too full across the shoulders and chest. The pinstriped charcoal trousers were fine, though. They fit Greg well and the straight cut legs gave no hint of the elastic panel at the waist.
“I think the shirt needs to be a different size,” John suggested, shifting to get comfortable on the hard bench. There hadn’t been anywhere for him to sit while he was waiting, so one of the clerks had offered to bring the bench from the front of the store. And he was very grateful. They’d been walking for some time in search of the perfect thing for Greg to wear to meet his baby’s grandparents for the first time, and John’s hips were beginning to ache.
Greg looked down at himself. “I dunno. I’m just worried about it clinging to me. I don’t want it too small.” He frowned. “Midwife says I have to stop gaining so much weight.”
“He’s just being cautious. Mine said the same thing to me, first time.”
“I could bring one size down, just to try. If that would help?” Their young male omega clerk—Jeremy—had returned, looking eager to please.
“Yeah, all right,” Greg conceded. He rubbed over his back as the young man disappeared. “I just have a really bad feeling about this.”
“They’re lovely, honestly,” John started. “I don’t know why their sons are so paranoid about introducing them to their boyfriends.” He considered his own first meeting with his in-laws, on the day of his bonding celebration. “Margaret can be a little intimidating at first. She talks a lot and tends not to take no for an answer. Apples don’t fall far, do they?”
Greg snickered. “They do not.” His expression grew more serious. “I just worry they’ll think the worst. I’ve been bonded before and Mycroft and I had never even dated before my heat. The baby was an accident.”
“So the baby was unplanned,” John said. “William told me Sherlock was. Not all pregnancies are thought through.”
“My whole relationship was unplanned,” Greg sighed. “I had no idea Mycroft was interested in me. He was always so formal. So distant. Even after Tara and I split.”
”Do you mind my asking,” John started cautiously. “How did it happen? Your heat, and…everything.”
Greg smiled. “It was a balls up. Right from the off.” He turned and settled onto the bench beside John with his hands over his belly. “It all happened so fast.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“Yeah, you and Sherlock happened pretty quickly, didn’t you?”
“God, yeah. No time to think. Not that it would have made a difference. I’d still have chosen him.”
“Me, too,” Greg admitted. “So anyway, he asked me to come to his office. He was concerned there might be a leak in the department, given some of the stories in the press after Sherlock came home.” Greg stood as Jeremy returned. The young man handed him a new shirt and he ducked back into the roomy cubicle and pulled the curtain closed. “I went to his personal office—you know the one.”
“Yeah,” John agreed, casting a glance at Jeremy, who was hovering nearby.
“I’d been feeling a bit funny all day, but not like heat,” Greg continued through the veil between them. “I was so focused on the Trafalgar case that I hadn’t paid any attention to my calendar. Tara’d had me on suppressants so long so that I’d got used to my semi-annuals. I forgot when I switched to straight birth control that it was likely to throw the dates off. The last two years I was on my own for my heats anyway, so it just wasn’t anything to get fussed about. It was my fault. I should have been aware.”
“Your alpha bondmate left you alone for your heats?” John shared a look with a scandalized Jeremy, who wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending he wasn’t listening. “That’s barbaric.”
“I know,” Greg sighed. He dragged the curtain back and stepped out. The new shirt was a much better fit and showed off his broad shoulders and muscular upper arms. “Good?”
John smiled. “Perfect.”
Another of the store’s staff popped her head in. “Everyone all right back here?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I think we need a cardigan here, don’t you?”
The girl looked Greg up and down. “Ooo, yes. That might be nice.”
“The cashmere?” Jeremy suggested. “In the window?”
“Oh, lovely.”
“Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Back in a tick.”
Jeremy stayed behind, no longer making any pretence of not eavesdropping. He waited, looking between Greg and John.
John stifled a smirk. “So you were at his office?”
“Uhm, yeah,” Greg answered, shaking his head when he realized Jeremy wasn’t going to risk missing the end of the story. “Anyway, we talked for a bit when I suddenly got a bit woozy. I must have blacked out, because I woke up in a lovely big bed.”
“Oh, yeah, in his private suite.”
“And he was there, standing at the end of the bed, just watching me. He told me he thought my blood sugar must have dropped. He’d had some juice and biscuits left by the bed. While I ate, he told me that as my heat had advanced so quickly, it might be best if I stayed there. That he wouldn’t stay, of course, and he would make sure I was given absolute privacy.”
“He wasn’t affected by it?”
“I was beginning to wonder, because my god, he smelled like chocolate and the first drag of a cigarette and dark roast coffee and fresh cut flowers all in one. I was so wet that I had to dig my fingers into the duvet to keep from crawling across the bed to get him.”
“And?” John prompted.
“He wiped a shaking hand across his brow and that’s when I realized he was sweating. The cool, detached, control freak I’d always known was coming apart right in front of me. And I really wanted him to. Have you seen the colour of his eyes?”
“Uh, no,” John admitted, feeling a bit uneasy at the idea.
“Well, they’re amazing. I’d always thought so. But I was bonded, and he wasn’t interested. I thought.”
The female clerk returned then, a grey cashmere cardigan shot through with silver thread in her hand. She passed it to Jeremy with a polite smile and disappeared.
“Anyway, I went over to him and I just…well, I kissed him.” Greg shrugged into the cardigan Jeremy held for him. “And it was unbelievable. It was like the thing I’d been waiting for all my life that I didn’t even know I was missing. I thought he might push me away, but he didn’t. He had hold of me by the shoulders, like he was drowning. When we parted to breathe, he looked stunned. But…happy.”
“God,” John breathed, feeling a little swept away in spite of himself.
“Then he whispered my name and I more or less melted. The only other thing he said to me before he slipped into rut was ‘Are you quite certain?’”
John chuckled. “That sounds like him, all right.”
Greg shrugged, turning to face the mirror. “He quickly sent a text to his PA and then…you know.”
“But why didn’t he ask you to bond? Why did he push you away?”
“Guilt. He’d been right on the cusp of his annual rut when we met that day—my heat pushed him over the edge, but he’d convinced himself that it was his fault. He believed he’d as good as forced me to share my heat with him. He couldn’t bear to face me. Idiot.”
“Alphas,” John muttered, shaking his head.
“Exactly,” Greg concurred. “But we’re good now. He’s asked me to bond with him once the baby is born. And he’s had me looking at places—wants us to move in together as soon as possible.”
“So romantic,” Jeremy breathed. He looked horrified as he realized both his customers were staring at him, and that he’d actually said the words aloud. “I’m…so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Greg chuckled. “It is romantic. And pretty hot. Especially the last few weeks. God, sometimes I wonder if the man ever had sex before me. It’s like he’s been saving it all up.”
John flushed a little—his own sex life had started to hot up again, too. His own libido had been in overdrive for a while, and Sherlock’s was now catching up.
“What do you think?” Greg asked, staring at his reflection. “Is it okay?”
“You look great,” John promised, standing with a bit of a wobble before making his way to stand behind his friend. “They really are going to love you, Greg. The Holmes’ aren’t nearly as frightening as they seem. Remarkably normal, actually.”
Greg released a big breath then started, a hand grabbing at his belly.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine. Just a particularly good kick.” He grinned at John in the mirror. “I think she’s going to be a striker.”
________________________________
Twenty-seven Weeks
“Greg, darling, let me get you some more potatoes.”
“No, really, Mrs. Holmes, I shouldn’t,” Greg protested, waving a hand. “I’m meant to be watching my weight.”
“Oh, rot,” Margaret said. She reached for the dish of mash her omega husband, William, handed to her. He was seated beside her across from Greg and a very subdued Mycroft. “You look absolutely splendid. Robust and rosy cheeked. After all, you’re eating for two, aren’t you?”
“Mummy,” Mycroft started. “Gregory knows his own mind. If he doesn’t want any more…”
Mycroft trailed off as his mother’s narrow-eyed glare—so very like Sherlock’s, John thought—skewered him to his chair. John tried not to giggle as his mate poked him in the side gently with his elbow. Sherlock was positively delighted not to be the object of his mother’s scrutiny. He’d very nearly begged to be included, along with John and Kit, in the dinner that would bring his parents together with Mycroft’s intended for the first time.
“Granddad!” Kit piped up from his booster seat next to William and tugged on his grandparent’s sleeve. “More ‘tatoes? Please?”
“Of course, my dear boy,” Will said genially, ruffling his grandson’s curls. He was clearly delighted to stay out of any battle involving his strong-willed alpha.
“So, Greg,” Sherlock interjected, raising a forkful of carrots. “Are you and Mycroft planning to have a bonding celebration?”
His brother scowled at him and Greg shot him a look of terror.
“Oh, you simply must do, Myc!” Margaret jumped in. “The baby will be about 12 months old then, when Greg goes back into his heat cycle. And we’d be happy to baby-sit, if you wanted to take Greg away on a honeymoon.”
Greg flushed. “We, uh, we haven’t discussed much about that,” he started shakily. “We’re just trying to focus on the baby right now.”
“Of course. You have more than enough to think about.” Margaret agreed, reaching across to pat Greg’s hand. “Still, it never hurts to think ahead. These things have a way of sneaking up on you. I mean, baby’s first year will simply fly by, won’t it, dear?” She addressed this last to Will, who was happily leaned over Kit’s plate cutting up the last of his chicken for him. Will nodded dutifully before surreptitiously sharing a wink with John seated directly across from Kit as Margaret launched into a discussion about caterers.
John smirked into his next mouthful of supper. He nearly choked on it when Sherlock’s hand slipped under the tablecloth and began sliding up his thigh. He looked at his mate with wide eyes. Sherlock, seated without self-consciousness at the head of the table, leaned in so he could tuck his fingers beneath the swell of John’s tummy to fondle his cock through his trousers.
John jolted, snapping back in his seat. He fumbled his fork, only just preventing it from clattering to his plate. He glanced around the table quickly, relieved to find that no one seemed to be paying them any mind. He cleared his throat as Sherlock continued to tease at his rapidly hardening prick.
With his free hand, Sherlock dabbed at the corners of his mouth delicately before setting his napkin up on the table. He shoved his chair back with a squeal of wood on wood and stood, halting the rest of the dinner conversation immediately. “Mummy, I’d like to show John the room you’ve set up for Kit to stay over when the baby comes.”
“What, now?”
“Won’t be a moment,” Sherlock continued, ignoring his mother’s disapproval and Greg’s amusement. “Come along, John.”
John stood with an apologetic nod, suddenly very grateful for the length of his paternity shirt. “Uh, right. Sorry. Back in a moment.”
John took Sherlock’s hand and followed him back through the house to the steps. Sherlock led him up the narrow staircase and down the corridor to what had been his childhood bedroom. The grey and red decorated room had been upgraded with a toddler bed and a collection of some of Kit’s favourite toys.
“Oh, this is great,” John quipped, moving in to smooth a hand over the Thomas the Tank Engine bedding. “Kit will love having his own bed here, even if it’s only for a few days.”
“John.”
“Hmmm?” John turned to where his alpha was now standing with his back against the closed door.
“I didn’t bring you up here for a tour.”
“No?”
“No.” Sherlock prowled toward him, pupils dilated and breathing rapid. “God, John, do have any idea how you smell?”
“Like Kit’s shampoo and play-doh?”
John leaned back into the bookcase behind him as Sherlock loomed. The alpha smoothed John’s hair back from his face.
“You smell ripe.”
“I’m-I’m-I’m not in heat,” John stammered. He inhaled deeply, remarkably turned on by his mate’s familiar scent.
“I know,” Sherlock moaned, placing kitten kisses over the side of John’s face. One hand slipped between them and smoothed reverently over John’s belly. “You smell fertile. Bred. Mmmmine.”
“Sherlock…”
Sherlock’s wandering hand had followed the arc of John’s bump down to the crux of his thighs, where John’s cock was still plump with interest. “Yes, John?”
“Oh, god…I thought this was…over. I’m getting so big.”
Sherlock stroked firmly over John’s balls and nuzzled at his cheek. “You are radiant.”
John groaned. “We shouldn’t. Not here.”
“Please.” Sherlock tugged at the elastic panel of John’s pregnancy trousers. “God, please.”
John wiggled to help as Sherlock manhandled his trousers down and off, along with his pants. Standing there, in only socks and flowing shirt, John felt quite wicked with his omega cock reaching up toward the bulge of his abdomen.
“My John,” Sherlock sighed.
He took John’s hand and led him to the single bed in the corner of the room—what must surely have been Sherlock’s own childhood bed. It was still made with fresh sheets and cosy duvet, with a colourful old quilt folded neatly at the foot.
John allowed himself to be settled onto the mattress. Sherlock held his hand and helped ease him back against the pillows. He rolled onto his side and shifted back against the wall to make space for his mate. He rubbed gently over the mound of his belly as he watched Sherlock quickly strip.
He feasted his eyes on Sherlock’s familiar form—stunned that after years together, he could find his alpha as achingly attractive as he had the day they first met. Though John rarely thought about their age difference, sometimes it was brought home when he realized how much Sherlock had changed from the very young man he had been when they bonded. Age had given the boyishly lean frame some wiry tone and his limbs were taut and shapely. The dark hair on his chest, while still sparser than on many alphas, had filled in a little. The laugh lines John had once foreseen had begun to form around the changeable eyes.
Sherlock stared down at him for some time, brows drawn together. “You like watching me.”
“You know I do,” John said hoarsely. He reached out and drew a finger down over the line of Sherlock’s cheek. “You are the handsomest man I’ve ever known. God, how I want you.”
“And I want you.” Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and swung his feet up at lie down beside John. He tugged the old quilt up and over them as he did.
John was waiting, desperately needing a kiss, by the time Sherlock’s head reached the pillows beside his own. They tasted one another softly.
“Are they too sensitive?” Sherlock whispered.
John smiled against his mate’s lips. “No, my love. Please...”
Sherlock groaned into the open-mouthed kiss, making quick work of the buttons on John’s shirt. He pushed the fabric wide, pulling away from John’s mouth so he could stare down with unvarnished lust at John’s developing breasts. They were small, but his nipples were a little swollen now. Sherlock was utterly enraptured.
“Please,” John encouraged, weaving his fingers into Sherlock’s curls. “I need you to suck them,” he whispered against Sherlock’s brow. “It makes me so wet.”
Sherlock groaned helplessly and ducked his head to pull one rosy brown peak between his lips. John gasped, head thrown back, at the exquisite pleasure that sparked though his body and made his cock throb.
“Sherlock,” John breathed. “Oh, god, yes. Use your teeth…FUCK!”
Sherlock nibbled and teased and suckled happily while John stroked his head and tugged at his curls.
John praised him, told him what a good and clever and strong alpha he was. He murmured his affection and desire as his mate lavished attention on first one small mound and then the other.
Finally, though, John’s hips began to move of their own accord as his cock sought some kind of relief. He was very wet and ready to be fucked—he needed more.
“Love?”
“Hmmmm,” Sherlock mumbled against his sensitive flesh.
“I want to taste you before you fuck me.”
Sherlock drew off the sodden nipple with a wicked slurp. His eyes were heavy lidded at John’s suggestion. “Will you…” he began tentatively. “With your fingers…?”
“Oh, yes,” John said, smiling.
Sherlock grinned at him. “Best if you stay where you are and let me move up, I think.”
John nodded his agreement, propping the pillow up beneath his head. Sherlock shimmied up beside him until his own straining erection was near John’s eye level. He lifted up to rest with one knee on the bed beside John’s shoulder. The other he carefully lifted over John’s body to plant on the mattress on the other side of him. He held on to the headboard as he lowered himself to John’s waiting mouth.
John lapped at the nearly purple head of Sherlock’s impressive cock, tracing the slit repeatedly before curling his tongue around to flick over the fraenulum. Sherlock moaned as he looked down to watch John lifting his own fingers to his mouth. John held his gaze as he saturated the digits. He moved swiftly then, wrapping his arms around his mate’s narrow hips to settle fingers over his rim.
Sherlock’s mouth slackened as John circled him gently with fingers and tongue. John carefully moistened Sherlock’s hole before slipping his index finger just within and pulsing gently. At the same time, he eased his mouth down over as much of Sherlock’s prick as he could and sucked hard.
“John! Oh, god, like that,” Sherlock begged, eyes fallen shut.
John obliged, easing his finger deeper within the tight heat of Sherlock’s arse while he bobbed up and back over the man’s cock.
Sherlock’s hips moved in gentle time with John’s hand and mouth, but he refrained from pulling or pushing too strenuously. John closed his own eyes and sank into the feel of Sherlock from within and without.
Finally, when he knew Sherlock was beginning to reach his breaking point, John rubbed gently over his prostate. Sherlock crumpled forward with a helpless groan. He waited for John to pull off his cock before he rearranged his limbs to settle back on the bed.
He was shaking as he brushed gentle fingers over John’s reddened lips. “Mine,” he whispered.
“Mine,” John echoed happily, leaning in for a kiss. “And right now I want you inside me.”
“God, yes,” Sherlock agreed. He surveyed their narrow space. “You need to stay on your left side—can you shift forward?”
“With a little help.”
Between them they managed get John pulled forward nearly to the edge of the bed, with a pillow supporting his belly. Sherlock clambered over and settled in against the wall. Front to back now, Sherlock pressed in close and brushed his lips over John’s neck. He eased John’s top leg forward; John moaned as Sherlock began to stroke over his dripping entrance.
“So wet. John, you’re so wet.”
“Can’t help it—want you so much…”
Sherlock sucked at John’s earlobe as he guided his cock in. John sighed with deep satisfaction as his mate filled him.
“You feel so good,” Sherlock breathed into his hair.
“Sherlock,” John gasped, reaching back to grab at his mate’s hip to pull him closer.
“Do you need more?”
“All—I want all of you!”
Sherlock rocked into him, bottoming out against his rounded bum. “There,” he soothed, reaching around to fondle John’s cock.
“Move. Please.”
Sherlock began to fuck him, gently but with a steady pace. John knew, even as addled with need as he was, that his mate would not recklessly pound into him. Sherlock would make love to him—thoroughly, carefully and so very, very well.
It was Sherlock’s turn to murmur endearments, humming delicious words proclaiming the stoutness of John’s heart and the depth of his wisdom and the exquisite beauty of his body. “So ripe. So lush,” he murmured stroking reverently over the place where their child was growing.
John could only answer in grunts. He rubbed fretfully at his aching cock, but Sherlock stilled his fingers.
“Will you let me finish you with my mouth?”
John nodded, pushing back into the delicious glide of Sherlock’s cock inside him.
Finally, at length, Sherlock pressed home very deliberately and shuddered his release inside John. John clenched around him, mimicking the feel of his body milking Sherlock’s knot during heat. Sherlock groaned and held tightly to John as he rode out his orgasm.
“Are you…all right?” Sherlock panted.
“I’m all right, love. But I…I need you.”
Sherlock kissed a trail down his neck and over his shoulder. He gently withdrew and sat up. “I’ll make it better. Promise.”
John smiled up at him. “I know.”
Carefully, Sherlock rearranged them again until John was lying flat on his back with Sherlock face down between his parted thighs. John pinched at his nipples as Sherlock sucked his cock. He pushed into every stroke of the tender lips and tongue.
“Yes, yes, yes…Sherlock. So good. More right….oh, god, there,” he rasped, trying to keep his voice down.
Sherlock hummed, taking him deep and swallowing around him. John could not last— with a shudder, he came. He shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle a shout. He looked down, watching as his alpha suckled him clean and pressed his nose into the springy hair at his crotch.
“God, that was…”
“Mmmm,” Sherlock said with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Wasn’t it just, though?”
“They’re going to know, aren’t they?”
Sherlock raised a brow at him.
John started to giggle, a high-pitched giddy noise. “Christ, of course they will. Hardly need three Holmes’ and a DI to figure it out.”
____________________________________
Thirty Weeks
“So, to be clear,” Greg started, retrieving his ice cream from the van parked at the edge of the middle entrance to St. James’s Park off Birdcage Walk. “We’re not telling the midwives about this?”
John smirked, catching the first drip from his cone with his tongue. “Not a word. What’s the point in being pregnant if we can’t indulge every once in a while?”
Greg sighed, following John to a bench with a view of the lake. They’d decided to get their daily steps in walking over to the park from the Yard, leaving Sherlock sifting through some old case files looking for a correlation with their ongoing case. They both struggled for balance as they eased themselves down to sit.
The DI licked at his 99 Flake and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh, god, that’s lovely.”
“Really is,” John concurred. “Even if it is still a bit chilly for ice cream.”
“Don’t care. I’m fed up to the back teeth with carrots and celery,” Greg grumped, his voice rough. “I know he means well, but my midwife is mental. I’m nearly forty-five years old and I’m healthy as a horse—if I want to put on a few pounds while I’m breeding, then tough tits.”
“I think you look great.”
“Ta,” Greg replied. “Mycroft thinks so, too. And I feel great, which is the most important thing. If I’d known having a baby would be like this, I’d have fought harder to—well, doesn’t matter now. Besides, better to have waited for the right alpha to share it with.”
“You and Mycroft are getting on well, then?”
“Aside from the arguments over names, yeah. Who the hell would name their kid ‘Alphonse?’”
“Same sort of people who’d name a kid Mycroft. Or Sherlock.”
“S’pose. But Margaret and William seem to like my choices. They’ve been really supportive about everything, really, especially Will.”
“He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”
“Kindest man I’ve ever met.”
“So what have you got for names so far?”
“I like Emmeline. Or Lily. Or maybe Alexandra.”
“And for a boy?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll need one, but I’m partial to Thomas. What about you two?”
“For girls, I’m thinking Sophie or Isabella. Boys…I just don’t know. Sherlock is insisting we use my name in there somewhere.”
“John?”
“Hamish.” John grimaced. “I think Arthur is a great name, but I don’t know that a little boy would want to be called ‘Artie.’”
“Probably not.”
“Guess I’ll just have to see what we get. I can always decide what sort of name will suit once I’ve met him or her.”
“Good plan.”
“I can’t believe we have two months to go,” John lamented, using his free hand to tug fruitlessly at his shirt over his rounded abdomen. “I feel enormous already and the baby still has growing to do.”
“Are you going to keep working right to the end?”
“I think so, yeah. If I can. I did with Kit…” John trailed off at the thought of his son’s tumultuous birth at only 32 weeks.
“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to bring it all up. You all right?”
John nodded and took a cleansing breath. “I just need to keep reminding myself that we’re all together now and everyone is fine.”
“He’s a great kid, John,” Greg said. “He’s smart and well-behaved and he’s really happy. You’ve done a great job with him. You both have. Sherlock has turned out to be a great father.”
“He really has,” John said fondly. “Outside of the occasional felt-tip pen incident. Speaking of Sherlock, he’s informed me that we’re going to that posh new Indian restaurant a week next Tuesday.”
“Spicy food?”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve been bloody craving it for a month.” John sighed. “Anyway, I was going to ask Mrs. H to stay with Kit, but maybe you and Mycroft would like to try your hand at bath- and bedtime?”
“That’d be great,” Greg enthused. He crunched through the last of his ice cream cone and wiped sticky hands on a napkin. “I’m just going to text Mycroft now and see if he can do it.”
John smiled as Greg tugged his phone free and starting tapping at a message. “So you’ve got him texting, have you?”
“What’s that?” Greg said, not looking up from his phone.
“Nothing,” John said. “Just something Sherlock once told me about Mycroft. It’s not important.” John finished his ice cream and tossed the rubbish in the bin. “It’s good of you two to spend so much time with Kit. He’s so fond of Mycroft and he’s taken a real shine to you as well.”
“We’re happy to do it,” Greg replied cheerfully. “We both love the little guy and, frankly, I was keen to get some hands-on experience before this one makes an appearance. I’ve not been around too many kids, myself.” He was rubbing over his bump when his phone buzzed. “Good news—Mycroft’s in. What time do you need us?”
“About 6:30?”
“Good. I’ll mark it down.”
“Ta.”
John struggled to stand, Greg doing likewise. They set off on the path in a slow progress back to New Scotland Yard.
“Oh, and about the hands-on experience?” John began. “Don’t worry about it. I think you’re going to be brilliant.”
___________________________
Thirty-four Weeks
John was straightening the collar of his only paternity suit jacket when the doorbell sounded.
“Sherlock? That’ll be Greg and your brother. Can you go down?”
“Mrs. Hudson will let them in,” his bondmate shouted back from the sitting room.
“Mrs. Hudson has gone to the pictures with Mrs. Turner tonight, remember?”
John listened to Sherlock’s (grudging) footsteps out on the landing and on the stairs before turning to face the bed, where his son was happily “driving” his favourite toy lorry over the surface of the duvet with accompanying sound effects.
“Well, Kit, how do I look?” John self-consciously straightened the cuffs of the steel blue shirt. He’d paired it with his grey checked suit, but no tie. He had taken more care than usual with his appearance—his self-esteem had suffered a little with the latter stages of pregnancy and he wanted to look and feel his best for his night out with Sherlock.
Kit glanced up at him, pushing unruly auburn curls out of his eyes with one hand. He studied John for a moment before crawling down and off of the bed to cross to where his daddy stood. He patted his hands gently against John’s bump.
“Hello, baby!” he crowed.
Kit had taken to chatting with John’s belly of late, having finally begun to grasp the significance of it. He had decided—as he announced to John and Sherlock at breakfast one morning—that he was quite all right with having a baby brother or sister, provided they didn’t take his toys. At least not right away.
He reached up, and John took the hint. He lifted the boy into his arms.
“Look pretty, Daddy,” Kit said approvingly, patting his omega father’s cheek with one hand. He leaned in and wrapped both arms around John’s neck and rested his cheek against John’s shoulder.
John swallowed around the lump in his throat, patting his son’s back gently. “Thank you, my sweet boy.”
“Oi, oi, oi, what’s going on in here!” Greg’s voice boomed.
“Unca Greg!!” Kit cried, instantly wriggling to be free of his daddy’s embrace. He slid to the floor and rushed down the corridor toward Greg, who moved to scoop him up.
“Gregory,” Mycroft said warningly. He stepped in front of the omega and stooped to gather Kit into his arms. “Hello, Kit. Come and give Uncle Greg a kiss.”
Mycroft moved in close enough to where Greg stood in the kitchen that Kit could wrap his arms around Greg’s neck and land a noisy buss on the copper’s stubbly cheek.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Greg crowed. “Now it’s my turn!” He turned his head to plant a kiss on Kit’s cheek, but blew a raspberry there instead.
Kit shrieked with delight, one hand fisted in Mycroft’s lapel, and one in Greg’s hair.
“Ready?” Sherlock asked over Mycroft’s shoulder.
John nodded, passing the two men making his son giggle. “You three behave,” he admonished playfully.
He followed Sherlock down the steps, and then waited while Sherlock held the front door for him.
“Is Greg all right?” he asked.
Sherlock shrugged. He closed the door behind them and turned his attention to hailing a taxi. “He’s fine.”
“I just wondered. Mycroft seemed agitated when he moved to pick up our son.”
“Strained muscle in his back. Nothing serious. Mycroft is just being overly cautious.”
John snorted as the cab pulled to a stop in front of them. “Like you insisting on going down the steps ahead of me so I have someone to fall into if I stumble?”
Sherlock brows drew together. “That’s just sensible. Nothing overly cautious about it.”
“Uh-huh.”
An hour later, seated in the most beautiful restaurant he’d ever been in (overlooking the river) and stuffed with some of the best naan he’d ever tasted, John stood and pressed a kiss to his mate’s cheek.
“Just have to visit the loo. Again. Back soon.”
“Do you want another lassi?” Sherlock asked.
“Please. Ta.”
While the restaurant was focussed on modern interpretations of various Indian cuisines—and John had been delighted to order the highly recommended chef’s tasting menu—he was glad some familiar items like naan and mango lassi were available. Though it was probably for the best that he couldn’t order the vindaloo he’d been craving. Realistically, it would have tasted like heaven…and burned like hell on it’s way back out. And his bottom had enough to cope with.
John wandered off in search of the toilets, lamenting his wide, hip-rolling gait. He was waddling and he knew it. Still, he noticed one or two alphas sneaking a glance in his direction as he passed. The fertility of a pregnant omega was often as sexually alluring as an omega in heat.
A few minutes later, relieved and refreshed, he started back across the open concept dining room with vaulted ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that showcased the Thames. He slowed to appreciate the view. And tried to ignore the naughty wink offered by one of the alphas who’d eyed him initially. She was seated with a male beta who was clearly her husband. John scowled at her and continued on his way.
John approached his table, where his handsome alpha was waiting…but not alone. He stopped, nearly tripping over his own feet. His stomach gave a sickening lurch as he regarded the man now sitting in his chair.
Given the angle, he could see only part of a profile, but it was (damn it all) a very attractive one: a long, straight nose, nicely shaped mouth, even teeth. The light in the restaurant was not so dim that John was hindered from seeing that the omega currently batting his long lashes at Sherlock was young—very young. Twenty if he was a day. His ginger hair was nearly as curly as Sherlock’s.
John’s initial shock faded and fury flooded his veins. HIS alpha. HIS.
He stomped to the table—or at least waddled as angrily as he was able—and came to a stop between his rival and his mate.
“…and when I saw you from the bar, I just had to take a chance and come over. I mean, you’re easily the best looking alpha I’ve ever seen and—” The boy stopped in the middle of his chat-up and looked at John. “Yes?”
“You’re in my seat,” John said. His smile was utterly civilized and his voice low, but there was no mistaking the inherent menace.
The boy’s flirtatious expression faded. “Sorry?”
“My seat,” John repeated, now quietly seething. “You are in it.”
The boy looked back at Sherlock who—John now noted—looked utterly dumfounded and was staring at the young man in front of him as though he’d just arrived from Mars. He was apparently going to be useless in this particular situation. Of course he was. He’d never courted. He’d never challenged a rival, nor really seen John do it. He’d never had any interest in anyone but John. Certainly he’d have no idea how to deal with it.
The uncomfortable tightness in John’s gut settled a bit at that thought. He turned once more to deal with the misguided youth occupying his space. “He’s my mate and you’re sitting in my chair. Don’t say a word, just get up and take yourself off.”
The boy looked John up and down for a moment, his surprise morphing into an expression of scorn. “You’ve got to be joking,” he sneered. “What, you…mated with him? Give over. You’re forty, at least. What would an alpha like him—” He jerked his thumb in Sherlock’s direction. “—want with you?”
Fortunately the hand motion caught Sherlock’s attention and seemed to wake him from his stupor (or return him from his Mind Palace). He leaned in to peer at the young man. “Who are you and what on earth are you doing? John, what’s going on?”
John was stinging from the slight, but squared his shoulders. He pressed a hand to his belly as it clenched painfully. “I said, get up and go. You won’t win this fight. He’s mine. My bondmate and the father of our two children.”
The boy stood slowly (oh, why the fuck did he have to be tall?) and tugged at the very snug t-shirt that showed off every ripple of his toned young body. “If he wants me to go, he can tell me. Maybe he’d like a little bit more in a mate. At the very least, a much younger model.”
“John…?”
Sherlock stopped immediately when John raised his hand, not even looking in the alpha’s direction. This was not Sherlock’s fight. “Now, now,” John said evenly. “No need to get nasty. You’ve made a mistake, that’s all. Be a good boy and run along.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” the boy scoffed. “If you want him, you’ll have to prove you can keep him.”
John hadn’t even noticed the young man’s hand coming up until it was too late. It wasn’t a hard shove, but enough to knock his heavier than normal body a little off balance. John heard his alpha’s warning snarl, but by then it was too late.
John had always been small, even for a male omega. Over the years, he’d learned caution and humility. Unfortunately, he’d been a scrapper in his youth and his time in the army had only served to enhance his fighting skills. He swung the punch without waiting for his equilibrium. He didn’t need it.
The boy went down hard, spinning half a turn before falling flat on his face on the restaurant’s lovely hardwood.
“JOHN!” Sherlock was at his side immediately, wrapping both arms around him. “Are you all right? Let me see your hand. Good god—what was that child thinking of?”
John was breathing hard, though he now realized it was from more than just the excitement of the altercation. “Sh-sher-lock. Oh, god!” He doubled over, clutching his belly. “Oh, god, no. Not now. Please not now. Not like this. Not again!”
By now the scuffle had drawn restaurant staff in addition to the already gawping customers at nearby tables. “Sir, I’m afraid we cannot allow this kind of territorial behaviour in our establishment,” the young woman—clearly the manager—said sternly. “I’ve been on to the police and I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.”
“US leave?” Sherlock ranted, now clearly picking up the strong scent of John’s distress as the omega began to wilt in his arms. “Why didn’t you do anything to stop this idiot boy from accosting me at my table, where I was trying to enjoy a pleasant meal with my pregnant mate! Look what he’s done to my omega!”
The woman blanched as she took a good look at John, who was quite obviously in the early stages of labour. “I’m so sorry…please, perhaps we could remove your mate to a quieter part of the restaurant to wait for the ambulance?”
A stern-faced, older beta man at the next table jumped to his feet. “Just leave them be and get some help, for goodness’s sake!” he snapped.
The young woman nodded and turned to take the mobile phone a nearby waiter was offering.
“John, my love, what can I do?” Sherlock curled around him, attempting to support him as he shifted to lean heavily into the table.
“This isn’t fair!” John cried, his eyes filling. He was nearing panic at the idea of another traumatic birth. “It’s too soon. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! I wanted it be different this time!” He cringed as his body was racked with another contraction.
“John, breathe.” Sherlock’s deep voice, now so wonderfully soothing, washed over John, along with a flood of his alpha scent laced with comfort and protection. “John, I need you to look at me now. Come on. Look at me.”
John tried to straighten to look Sherlock in the eye. His alpha took his face in both large hands and placed a kiss on his brow. When he pulled back, John regarded the face of his beloved mate through a haze of unshed tears.
“It is different this time,” Sherlock said gently. “It’s not like last time because we’re together.”
John sucked in a steadying breath. “But it’s early…”
“Not too much so,” Sherlock continued calmly, stroking his fingers through John’s hair. “The baby will be fine and so will you. I will do everything in my power to make it so.”
John sniffled. “I’m scared.”
“I know. So am I. But we’ll be strong for each other. You’ve taught me how to do that.”
There was a horrible racket at the door as the ambulance attendants arrived and were directed by the restaurant manager to the spot where John was now panting and groaning.
“God, it’s coming on so fast!”
“Breathe, John,” Sherlock urged. He let John cling to him until the gurney arrived. Once the EMTs had him, Sherlock took his hand and held it tight to his chest. “Just hold on to me and breathe.”
____________________________________________
Forty Weeks +4 days
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweet boy?”
“He’s too little.”
John dropped to a crouch beside Kit. He was standing on tiptoes beside his baby brother’s day cot, watching six-week-old Andrew Arthur James sleeping. Kit had been remarkably gentle with the baby from the moment Mycroft and Greg had brought him to the hospital.
It had been a very speedy labour and delivery. After a quick ambulance ride, John had barely had time to get himself sorted out in the birthing room when he’d transitioned into active labour. Fortunately, the EMTs had determined that the baby was not in distress and there were no other apparent complications to the early labour. John’s own midwife had not been able to attend, but the young man who’d been there had been really wonderful.
As had Sherlock.
John had called Sherlock names and squeezed his hands until they’d both heard bones moving (for which John had apologized profusely). He’d cried all over his mate and sweated on him and thrown up on him once (a stomach full of naan bread and mango lassi didn’t mix with labour). Still, Sherlock remained steadfast and attentive throughout.
Only at the end, as John roared through the final pushes to bring their second son into the world, had Sherlock begun to break. He said later that he had never been as frightened as he was seeing John in that much pain.
At the first glimpse of the red, scrunched-up face of their premature infant, they’d both wept tears of joy and relief. They’d been allowed to hold the tiny little boy very briefly before he was whisked away to the neo-natal intensive care unit for a thorough going over. John had come through relatively well in spite of the way his labour had started. He’d been home within two days, and Drew had joined them three weeks later.
“You remember when Drew was in my tummy?” John asked softly.
Kit nodded solemnly.
“And remember how small Daddy’s tummy was in the beginning?”
Kit considered that for a moment before nodding again.
“Well, Drew started out small and then got bigger, until he was ready to come out. Now he’s out, he’s going to continue getting bigger every day—just like you are—until he’s big like Papa.”
“Wanna play wif him,” Kit said plaintively.
John kissed the top of Kit’s head, enjoying his son’s new, much shorter haircut. “You will, sweet boy. There will be years and years for you two to play together.”
“Like Papa and Unca Myc?”
“Heaven forfend!” Sherlock interjected, entering the sitting room. He was in his dressing gown, still towelling his hair following his shower.
Kit ran to Sherlock and was immediately swept into his papa’s arms. “Whatzat mean?”
“Papa just means that Uncle Mycroft was quite a bit older than he was, so they didn’t get to be little boys together,” John jumped in before Sherlock could reply.
“Oh,” Kit said, nodding knowingly.
“Not exactly, but that’ll do,” Sherlock mused. He kissed the boy and set him back down, leaning in then to press his lips to John’s cheek. “Do we need to do this?”
“Yup,” John replied firmly. “Your brother is having a bit of a wobble, so we’re going to go and help him get ready to bring Greg and Emmeline home. Your mum and dad and his PA are already there, so we’re mostly moral support.”
There was a snuffling whimper from the bassinet; John reached down and easily scooped the waking baby into his arms. “Hello, pet,” he said tenderly. He gazed down at his new son, who was blinking up at him. “Are you hungry?”
In truth, it was the only reason Drew really cried. He was remarkably placid, and had even started to sleep through the night. John knew he shouldn’t compare his two boys, given the circumstances of Kit’s first months, but he was still grateful for Drew’s mellow personality.
“I guess we’d better feed you before we go then, hadn’t we? And Papa can go and get dressed.”
“Right,” Sherlock muttered, turning back toward the bedroom. “That’s my cue.”
John wandered over to the sofa, Kit at his side, and settled himself into the soft cushions. Kit climbed up beside him and turned to try and hand John the nursing pillow. John chuckled as Kit struggled with the heavy cushion. He reached over the boy and helped tug the velveteen-covered nursing aid into place in his lap. He rested Drew down on the surface as he undid the buttons on his nursing shirt, leaning in close to kiss the tip of the tiny nose. Drew gurgled happily and Kit giggled.
“He likes it!”
“Hmm, so did you,” John replied softly, smiling down at his firstborn. “When you were very little, like Drew is now.”
Kit leaned in to pat his baby brother’s chubby thigh.
John shifted the baby back into the crook of his arm and settled him against his exposed breast. Kit perched up on his knees so he could watch as the baby latched on and began to suckle.
“There,” John said, satisfied. “He’ll have a full tummy in no time.”
Kit nodded his agreement with this, and rested his head against John’s shoulder.
By the time Sherlock emerged from their bedroom, immaculately turned out in a dark suit, Drew had nursed from both breasts and been heartily burped. Kit had eventually been distracted by his Thomas tracks on the floor, where he was now ensconced.
“Right,” Sherlock said, clapping his hands together. “What do we need?”
“Baby’s bag is by the door. Kit needs his jacket. I’ll get Drew into his car seat.”
“When is the car coming?”
“About eight minutes,” John said, quickly consulting his watch. “Come on, Watson-Holmes family! Let’s get a move on!”
“Do you need any help?”
“We’re fine,” John said cheerfully. He pulled the infant car seat out into the centre of the floor and stooped to settle a yawning Drew into it. “Down in a minute.”
John smiled as he listened to his bondmate chatting with their oldest son all the way down the stairs. Like two peas in a pod. Drew whimpered a little as John manoeuvred his arms through the seat harness and fastened it snugly.
“Hush, pet,” John soothed. He tucked a fleece blanket over his son’s legs and stood before pulling his own jacket on. Car seat in hand, he took the stairs carefully, chattering to the baby as he did.
“Off we go!” he said, knowing full well that Drew didn’t really understand and was already half asleep. “We’re going to see gran and granddad. And Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg. You are a very lucky boy—you have a new little cousin. Her name is Emmeline Margaret, and I have a feeling you two are going to be fast friends.”
He arrived down at the entryway to 221B to find his other two boys ready and waiting. Within minutes, they were safely tucked into one of Mycroft’s private saloons and on their way for the short drive to the new house in Chelsea.
Somehow, John had expected more than a little to-do when they finally arrived at Mycroft and Greg’s new townhouse. He was not disappointed.
A delivery lorry was parked outside and workers in coveralls were coming and going. There were several very large furniture boxes still on the pavement and Mycroft’s PA was on hand to direct traffic. She was joined shortly by Mrs. Holmes, who seemed to be giving some orders of her own.
“What’s all this?” Sherlock asked, helping Kit out of the car. He reached back to take Drew in his car seat from John.
“Sherlock, dear! So glad you’ve come,” Margaret started, sounding a little winded. “We’re all in a bit of a tizzy here, I’m afraid.”
“My goodness,” John remarked, emerging from the car and retrieving the car seat from Sherlock. “I thought they’d moved in months ago.”
“Well, yes,” Margaret sighed, pausing to pat Kit’s head and smile down at a still-sleeping Drew. “They had. Only Mycroft had some sort of fit yesterday and decided nothing they’d bought for Emmeline was ‘good enough.’ He’s had this poor girl on the telephone all night sorting out a new cot and other furnishings.”
Mycroft’s PA smiled, not taking her eyes off her phone. “I don’t mind.”
“Not to mention the painters and decorators upstairs.” Margaret pointed to the van parked across the street. “And the electronics people for the custom intercom system in the nursery.”
Sherlock was smirking. “Only Mycroft could turn something like this into a three-ring circus.”
“Oh, come on,” John chided, following his mother-in-law into the house. “She’s his first. Probably his only. Of course he’d want to do everything up.”
“I agree with you, of course,” Margaret said, taking the baby bag from Sherlock so he could help Kit off with his jacket. “But, honestly! Why didn’t he think of this at the beginning?”
“Because Greg didn’t want to make a big fuss,” interjected Will, entering from the sitting room just off the front hall. “Hello, Sherlock.” He kissed his son before turning to pat John’s shoulder. “And John—you look very well. How is our young chap?” He peered into the car seat at the sleeping baby. “What a handsome lad! Well, almost as handsome as…” he bent double to bring himself almost nose to nose with Kit. “Master Christopher! And how are you this morning?”
“Fine, Granddad,” Kit said shyly, beaming.
He reached for William, who picked him up immediately and placed a kiss on each cheek.
“There,” Will said brightly. “One for each year, and…” He placed one more kiss on the end of Kit’s nose. “One more to grow on.”
Kit threw his arms around his grandfather’s neck.
“What say you and I go through and investigate Uncle Myc’s garden, hmmm?”
“Yes, please,” Kit enthused.
The two disappeared down the corridor, leaving John and Sherlock to follow Margaret to the kitchen. The sunny room was a marked departure from the cool white of the kitchen in Mycroft’s previous home. Rich, dark woods and antique touches made for a very homey and welcoming space.
John set the car seat down on the granite countertop. Drew flinched a little, but didn’t wake.
“I’ve organized the cleaners and they are finishing upstairs now,” Margaret continued. She reached for a pitcher and started filling the tall glasses that were waiting beside it. “Lemon squash?”
Sherlock wrinkled his nose; John shook his head politely.
“And what are the painters doing?” John asked. “You know the baby shouldn’t be exposed to fresh emulsion.”
“Oh, no. Don’t worry,” Margaret assured him. “Nothing like that. They’re here to measure up for the new nursing suite Mycroft has decided Greg must have. Mycroft will bring everyone to stay with us for a week or so while they do they work—in a few days.”
“Nursing suite?” Sherlock scoffed. “They have one baby!”
“But she and Greg are very important to your brother. Mycroft wants his mate to enjoy every moment of being home with Emmeline while she’s tiny. He’s trying to make the experience as special as he can.”
“That’s very sweet, actually,” John said.
Sherlock sighed. “I suppose. God, he’s going to be insufferable from now on, isn’t he?”
“Your brother is very happy, Sherlock,” Margaret said ominously.
“Hello?”
“Ah, and speaking of the great, fat—Mycroft!”
Mycroft entered the kitchen at Greg’s side, carrying an infant car seat that held their newborn daughter. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect all of you to be here.”
“Darling!” Margaret gushed, rushing to Greg. “You must be so tired, love. Why don’t you sit down?”
“I’m fine, thanks, Margaret,” Greg chuckled. “I’m still pretty sore.”
“Of course you are, poor lamb. What am I thinking, offering you such a hard chair? Why don’t you go and get comfortable in that lovely lounge and I’ll bring you something to drink.”
“Only if everyone comes with me,” Greg said, eyeing his family. “Don’t want to go off and sit by myself when you’re all here to visit.”
“We don’t have to stay,” John offered. “We just wanted to come by to welcome Emmeline home and see if you needed anything.”
Greg laughed heartily at that, giving his mate a sidelong look. “As you can see, Mycroft has been pretty busy making sure we’ll never need anything again.”
Mycroft’s cheeks coloured and he shrugged, reaching into the car seat to adjust the baby’s blanket. “I just wanted—”
“I know,” Greg said gently, wrapping an arm about Mycroft’s shoulders and kissing his temple. He rested his head against Mycroft’s and they stared at their baby.
“Is she sleeping?” John asked, shifting around so he could see her. Sherlock moved with him and pressed into his side.
“Just waking up, I think,” Greg said. He grinned at John. “I’m still trying to sort out her signals.”
“Yeah, and good luck with that, mate,” John chuckled. He leaned in and admired the baby girl. “She’s a beauty.”
“Congratulations,” Sherlock offered, looking very sincere.
“Thanks,” Greg said. “It’s funny—I didn’t think I would ever have this chance and now…” He trailed off as he teared up. He turned his face into Mycroft’s neck.
“Oh, Greg…” Margaret cooed. She rushed in to rub Greg’s back.
“Aw, mate, you’re all right…” John said, patting his friend’s arm.
“Give me the baby,” Sherlock sighed.
Mycroft ceded the car seat handle to his younger brother so he could turn and embrace his mate properly. He petted Greg’s hair and let him cry softly for a few minutes. John was about to suggest that they leave the new parents in peace when Will and Kit popped in from the back garden.
“Hello, what’s going on in here?” Will asked. “What have you been doing to my son-in-law, hmmm?”
“Daddy?” Kit sidled up to John’s side, watching his two uncles with trepidation. John picked the boy up and cuddled him close.
“It’s all right, Kit. Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft are just so very happy about baby Emmeline.”
“Not sad?”
“Not sad,” Sherlock assured him. “Sometimes people cry when they’re happy, too. Though I really have no idea why.”
“Can I see?”
“The baby? Well, let’s ask Uncle Greg.”
This seemed to rouse Greg. He kissed Mycroft and reached for their daughter. Sherlock held the car seat while he undid all the buckles and lifted her free. He slid her into the crook of his arm and turned her toward Kit with a sniffle.
“Here she is. What do you think?”
Kit studied Emmeline and nodded. “Good!”
The adults chuckled at this very emphatic pronouncement.
“Why don’t we all go and take a seat in the lounge and rest a bit,” Margaret suggested. “The builders will be a few more minutes and the movers have to get all the furniture upstairs.”
Will nodded his agreement, waving his arms to herd everyone in the right direction. “Come on then, family,” he clucked. “Let’s take a moment to celebrate. New life; so much happiness. We’re very blessed, indeed.”
John smiled as he watched Margaret collect Drew from his carseat and carry him through, followed closely by Mycroft and Greg and Emmeline. “We are, indeed,” he echoed softly, kissing first Kit’s cheek and then Sherlock’s. “So much happiness.”
“More than expected?” Sherlock queried as they followed the others.
“More than anyone deserves.”