Fallout

by Astrild Niflheim

Rating: T Language and Adult Themes

Summary: John gets news, Sherlock gets taken aback, and John wishes for the days when nothing ever happened to him. Slash.

A/N: My sincerest apologies to anyone who was ever interested in the story I started, Their Great Adventure, because while it will get updated I don't know when. Two things are happening: 1)I'm sick. I keep telling my family I have the plague, but they keep calling me an alarmist and saying I have a cold. 2) I've become obsessed with writing John and Sherlock not together but in lurv stories. I keep thinking of different scenarios. I guess that's because I'm still a newbie!

Chapter One – The Call

The case was exciting. Holmes had been looking for such a case for ages and was thrilled to have finally found one. He and Watson had been dashing around London, following the trail of a musician/cat burglar. The police had been baffled as to how the man was getting into his victim's houses, but within the day Sherlock had figured it out. Within the week, he had proof. The arrest made, John had finally been able to make him eat, and now he was enjoying the high that only came directly after having solved a case.

He knew it wouldn't last long.

Sherlock was playing a fairly spirited piece on his violin when John's phone rang. How annoying. He hated when things interfered with anything he was doing. Didn't the universe realize that whatever he was doing was so much more important than any call John could possibly be getting, especially since that call was probably from the annoying woman he had been complaining about not seeing all week? Really.

"John," he called, not missing a beat. "Your phone is ringing."

John came padding into the main room on bare feet, a book in one hand, turning pages with the other.

"Where is my phone, anyway?" he asked, not looking up.

"Left jacket pocket."

"What? Oh, of course. Why do you have my phone?"

"Had to text Lestrade. Mine was in the microwave."

"Why? Never mind."

John gave up asking before his brain melted and, sighing, walked over to Sherlock and reached in the other man's left inner suit jacket pocket. Sherlock smirked.

"I meant the jacket I wore out. It's hanging on the peg."

"Sure that's what you meant," John shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm, as he made a hasty retreat. "You just enjoy making me do that, is all."

Sherlock shrugged and kept playing. He ignored John as the doctor sighed (he seemed to have a lot to sigh about, Sherlock noted) when he saw he had missed the call, and then retreated to his room to return said call. For awhile, Sherlock allowed himself to drift away and not pay much attention to anything. It was a rare treat for him to be able to partially shut down, but the violin helped him do so when his mind was satiated from solving a puzzle. Otherwise, the violin simply helped him focus his thoughts.

His playing came to a screeching halt some time later when John came out of his room, slamming the door, and practically stomping into the front room. He proceeded to pace up and down the living area, alternately running his hand through his hair and over his face.

"John? A bit of trouble?"

"Oh god, oh my god, oh god, Sherlock, oh dear god."

Right words, wrong tone of voice, Sherlock mused as he watched his friend pace and babble. The man was working himself up into a right panic and he hadn't even shared what the disturbing news was. Sherlock started imagining a dead sister, a burned down clinic, something that would explain the look of pure horror on John's face. He had to have the answer and he knew of only one way to talk a person out of such a state.

"Dr Watson! Get a hold of yourself and tell me the problem, quickly!"

"She's pregnant. Sherlock, Mary's fucking pregnant."

Sherlock gently put his violin down.

"We used protection," John was going on, not noticing how pale the detective had gone or how pinched his expression had grown. "But, well, I am a doctor, I know it's not one hundred percent. But pregnant? Oh my god. I'm going to be a father. What do I do? What else can I do. She's nice, smart, beautiful, we get along great. And now we're having a baby. I guess there really isn't a question, is there? I'm going to ask her to marry me."

He had looked up as he said the last, and his voice trailed off at the end of the sentence upon seeing Sherlock's face. The other man was as blank as if he'd been carved from marble, his skin just as white though earlier he had had a touch of pink in his cheeks from finally getting a decent meal. His eyes, though, they were ablaze. But only briefly. They started to cool and become blank as well. John knew what he was seeing and felt helpless to stop it. Sherlock was shutting down and shutting the people around him out. The worst part was he didn't usually shut John out, but this time, that was his target.

Sherlock was indeed employing his best protective mechanism, however, he knew he was failing. This was John. John always wormed his way into places he didn't belong. He had been invited into Sherlock's flat and work because he was interesting and found the detective brilliant, but he had plopped himself down into Sherlock's heart without so much as a 'by your leave.' And now, now he delivered what had to be the most devastating news Sherlock had heard in a long time, was making plans to leave and didn't even have the decency to allow Sherlock to shove his feelings about him aside. All it took was that concerned look and Sherlock was regretting letting the annoying man in front of him talk him into having lunch before they came home.

John was shocked when, without a word, Sherlock turned on his heel, stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind him, and promptly heaved the aforementioned lunch into the toilet.

John wasn't sure what reaction he had been expecting from his temperamental flatmate, but he was sure that wasn't it.

TBC