Sherlock Holmes awoke with a phone call in the middle of the night.
"Mmm?" he said, groggily.
"Were you sleeping?" asked the voice on the other end.
Sherlock didn't reply. Of course he had been sleeping. It was a logical assumption. Irene Adler had called at 2 A.M. in the morning, and he answered with a lagging voice and slurred speech. He had a good excuse, too. The past few nights he had stayed up extra late studying. Sherlock had taken extra classes at uni this year, in hopes (it was obviously going to happen) of graduating in three years instead of four. The more time he had in his life to get on with actual work, the better.
"Oh, whatever. I'm coming over in five minutes," she affirmed, and with that, hung up.
Sherlock rolled out of bed, lazily finding his slippers and dressing gown. He trudged to this kitchen and put the kettle on. Sure enough, in five minutes time, Irene Adler barged into his dorm room, with the air of nervousness and melancholy.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked. He needn't have said anything, as he was quickly deducing as much as he could (though not a lot, being that he could barely read the woman). Disheveled clothing, hair down. Came here in a hurry. Eyes red. Had been crying within the past seven minutes. A slight tremor in her hands. Anxiety and worry.
"Sherlock, sweetheart..." Irene began, but couldn't seem to finish. She covered her mouth with her hand. Concerned. On the verge of tears.
Sherlock decided that the best thing to do would be to hug her. It was a common physical response to the emotional distress of a friend (or in this case, a girlfriend). He walked over to her with open arms, and she fell into them instantly. He caressed her hair lovingly, pressing his lips to her head. "What is it?"
Irene spun out of his arms, looking slightly stronger than before. Intentional. Formal. Authoritative. She had news. She closed her eyes and braced herself to say it. "I'm pregnant."
Sherlock blinked. This, this he never expected. "Though the probability of that is low, I still find it hard to believe that it could happen...you're on the Pill, right?" Sherlock looked her up and down, and nodded with affirmation. "Yes, you're on the pill. We took necessary precautions of contraception all twenty-six times."
Irene just stood there, solemnly, eyes full of...it was almost regret, and for some reason that pained Sherlock significantly. He did not regret a single one of those twenty-six times they made love to each other, yet it was apparent that it was something she would have taken back in a heartbeat. He approached her carefully. "Are you...are you going to...?" Sherlock Holmes, (seemingly) not afraid of anything was too scared to say the words aloud.
"...Get an abortion? No, I don't think so," she said. He tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. For some reason, Sherlock was relieved. For some reason, he really wanted this baby. It was a piece of him, a piece of her...something that their love had made.
Sherlock leant down and kissed her. "Irene," he started, "we've got the whole year left. You're not due until...when? May?"
"...March," she cut in. He gaped at her. The math wasn't adding up. "I've known for a month, Sherlock."
"A month? And you didn't tell me?"
"Oh, Sherlock, I was afraid."
Sherlock held her close to him. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. You've got me. I'll help you. We'll raise this baby together, you and me." He pulled away to look her in the eyes. "We can get married." He knelt down on one knee and grabbed her hand. "Irene Adler, will you marry me?"
She began to cry. She shook her head. Sherlock was appalled. "Sherlock, I can't-I just can't..."
With that, she ran out of his room, sobbing. Sherlock sat down, barely able to get a grip on himself. What had just happened? Was this a dream?
THE NEXT MORNING
"I don't know what to do, John. She just...cried. And ran away." Sherlock put his head between his knees and ran his hands through his hair.
"I'm really sorry, mate. I don't have any ideas for you. Have you heard from her since?" John was assuming the role of the supportive friend, which was new and different. Usually that was Sherlock, though he never knew he was doing it. Mostly he just sat, thinking about other things while John rambled on and complained. It hurt a bit, but at least he would pretend to care.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Once. This morning at nine-eighteen. She said 'I'm sorry. Meet with me at lunch.'"
John blinked once. "Sherlock, isn't it lunchtime now? Where's Irene?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know. I texted her, I called her, but...I can't figure out where she is."
Sherlock was obviously frustrated. Never before had he known someone that was so hard to read, and that was what made her so intriguing to him. Well, at least, that was John's guess.
"Well, I'll always be here for you, Sherlock, okay?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but upon seeing the deathly look shot at him from John, he decided otherwise and chose a different path. "...Thank you."
John nodded. "No problem."
Truthfully, John didn't like Irene. She was bossy and rude and cheated on Sherlock several times (he didn't seem to mind; he didn't see anything immoral about it). She often stood him up for dates she arranged. And Sherlock, being one of the only friends John had (and vice versa), was too often not around when John wanted to hang out. He didn't believe Sherlock actually loved Irene, even though he said he did quite a lot, he had come to that "realisation" in under a week. He was so impressed with her wit and her ability to give him immense pleasure he confused it for love.
NINE MONTHS LATER
Sherlock wasn't allowed in the maternity ward during the birth, because he and Irene weren't married. Yet. Well...she didn't seem to want to get married. Maybe Sherlock would be fine with just living together. He would have to be, if that was the best he could get. Besides, marriage was...just a piece of paper. Neither of the two were religious, that was made clear by the way she yelled the Lord's name in vain at each orgasm. She wasn't even straight, Sherlock had deduced that much the first time they met. But he was different. They matched each other in intelligence, and she liked it.
Finally, a nurse appeared when she stuck her head outside of the door. "Sherlock Holmes?"
He stood, giddy with anticipation. He gestured to himself, unable to speak. She motioned for him to follow her, so he did. He entered the hospital room to find her, weak with the aftermath of childbirth and morphine. She was holding a baby in her arms. Their son.
Seeing this sight made Sherlock unbelievably happy and filled him with a combination of intense love and intense fear. He hurried to her side. "Have we decided on a name yet?" he asked softly. He reached out to stroke his son's cheek.
She replied in a strained voice. "Call him what you wish. He's your son, too."
Sherlock swallowed. "Could we...could we name him Hamish?"
Irene laughed. "After John? Sure, if you really want to." Sherlock laughed along with her and smiled widely.
Upon finally arriving back to Sherlock's dorm, Sherlock helped Irene right into bed. He deduced that she was acting more tired than she actually was, but he would do anything for her. Help her no matter what. He carefully put Hamish to bed in his crib, and settled in next to Irene.
THE NEXT MORNING
Sherlock awoke happily, remembering the events of yesterday. He reached over to kiss Irene, but was met with empty space. Smiling to himself, he arose and got dressed quickly, eager to meet with Irene in Hamish's room (well, sort-of-room, his crib was in the large closet near the toilets, but he would get his own room in a flat or house after they graduated this summer). He walked out of his bedroom, but didn't find Irene anywhere.
"Irene?" he called.
He called her, texted her; nothing. No response.
Panicking, he ran out of the dorms into the outdoors. "Irene?"
No answer.
Irene was gone.