Prologue:
Their wedding had been a small affair, just some quick vows in front of a few friends (mostly Jane's) two months to the day after the 'Pool Incident' as D.I. Lestrade referred to it. He actually wore a tie and she actually wore a dress. Anthea had brought it to her twenty minutes before they were to meet at the local magistrate. It was an odd ivory affair that Mycroft's assistant had brandished at her like there was little choice in the matter. She found she had absolutely no say when the woman then pushed her into a chair and pulled her sandy blonde, shoulder length hair into something resembling a bride's coif. When she was handed lipstick and eyeliner with a no-nonsense hand, she began to suspect something was not on the up and up.
Then, Gregg insisted on 'walking her down the aisle', even though there was really no aisle. It was an office, for Christ sake, and Jane had tried to convince him not to bother. He told her to shut her mouth, handed her a flower, and led her into the room with all the grandeur of a proud father and an indescribable look in his eyes - somewhat like sadness - when he looked at her and Jane actually blushed. She was used to being treated as 'one of the chaps' and, frankly, this whole affair puzzled her. All they had wanted was to sign a paper saying that should something happen, the other could be in the hospital room and make life altering decisions for the other should the need arise. Mycroft and Gregg made sure it was something more.
She entered the room with her arm in Gregg's and a slightly annoyed look on her face. Her grey eyes locked with Sherlock's ice blue ones and she smiled, then faltered. Was he holding his breath? What was wrong with him?
It took all of two seconds to be at his side, after all, it was just a room, and she hissed at him, "All right?"
"You took my breath away."
"Oh, God, is Moriarty here? I didn't bring my gun, damn! Blink once for yes – "
"No, don't be dull."
"Then don't be cliché!"
"I'm not. You're just stunning."
"….You're dying, aren't you?"
A funny look crossed his face for a split second before it smoothed into his usual haughty look, "I was trying to be romantic. All the websites say to be romantic on your wedding day."
"Well… don't. You're making it weird."
The judge coughed and they moved on with no further delays, and Jane Watson officially became Jane Holmes.
They spent the next three months travelling Europe on Mycroft's dime, chasing Moriarty and his men, holding each other a bit closer than they had before the pool.
"Do you think we'll catch him?" She asked one cold night in Munich, her back against his chest, playing idly with his fingers while he read Mycroft's latest report.
"Yes."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Come now, dearest Jane. I am the world's most brilliant consulting detective. I always get my mark."
"Oh, yes, that makes perfect sense."
"And you are fearless," he said as though she were daft, placing a small kiss behind her ear, "And a crack shot."
"And together we'll take over the world and rule it with an iron fist?" She asked with a lazy smile, rolling her eyes.
He pulled her so she lay across his lap and he could look into her eyes, "We should. We could just take Moriarty's place."
"Best idea in a while."
"Good. You begin planning that and be silent so I can think of where we are to go next." He snatched a map from the nightstand and placed it on her torso, scouring over it and making marks as he saw fit.
Jane smiled a bit and settled in for a long night of doing her favourite job: being a sounding board for her husband's astounding deductions.
It was in Meiringen, Switzerland where her world completely fell apart. Just fifteen minutes next to a waterfall and she was a widow after only seven months.
Chapter 1 – June: 1 month after Reichenbach Falls
Jane Watson met Gregg Lestrade in the dim pub only ten minutes after their agreed meeting time. She slid into the booth, noticing the pint already placed prominently in front of her spot.
"Thank you," she said quietly, as she wrapped her hands around the brew, the metal of her ring tinkling softly on the glass, and pulled it closer. She took a drink. Brains Bitter – her favourite.
He nodded his acknowledgement and took a sip of his own – Stella, most likely.
They spent a moment in congenial silence, the murmur of other voices wrapping them in a blanket of calm. There was nothing else quite like the warm corner bar of the pub at night with a close friend. Sherlock would've hated it.
"How are you holding up?" Gregg finally broke the peace.
Jane gave a crooked grin, "Well enough, I suppose. I don't think it's really hit me yet. Haven't even cried yet," she laughed lightly, then frowned, "I can't help but think…"
He cocked his head, "What?"
"Well, this is going to sound completely bonkers, but… I can't help but feel he's still, I don't know, still alive."
He nodded slowly, taking a long swallow of the stout, "I actually know what you mean. This doesn't seem …"
"Real?"
"I was actually going to say 'right', but, no, it doesn't feel real."
She sighed, "You must think I'm completely barmy."
He rushed to reassure her, "No, no I don't think that at all. You know, when Mary died it took weeks for it to really hit me. The funeral was just this odd congregation of all of our friends and I was just watching them from far away." He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. After a moment, he shook it off, "But, even this feels different. Like something doesn't add up."
They lapsed back into the still silence of before.
Gregg cleared his throat, startling her. "You know, we can always use you down at the Yard. If you want." He smiled sheepishly, "I hear Molly needs an assistant."
She grinned, "I think I would like being with everyone again. I don't think I could stand to lose Sherlock and you so close together."
He didn't grin back at that and her small smile faltered. He leaned forward, his intense gaze drilling into her, "Listen, Jane, it doesn't matter to our friendship if you take this job at the Yard or not. Sherlock may have been the reason we met, but he's not the reason we became so close. You're my... my friend and I swear on Mary's memory that you always will be."
That was the first night she cried and after she started, it was as though a spigot was opened and she couldn't close it.
She locked herself in her flat for a full week, doing nothing but sleep and cry. She made herself eat, although her stomach was constantly turning in her grief. All she could think of was Sherlock, laying at the bottom of the waterfall, laid out on the rocks, forever alone with his mortal enemy.
Her medical training was cruelly – and in great detail – informing her of every wound her husband's body would have and her stomach twisted once more, sending her straight to the loo.
She groaned as she lifted her head, swiping a palm across her sweaty brow.
"Are you alright, dear?"
Jane jumped slightly, banging a knee on the base of the toilet. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure it's just the flu."
She heard the woman tut and turned her head to see Mrs. Hudson frowning disapprovingly. "Are you preggars?"
She huffed, "No, Mrs. Hudson. I'm not pregnant." She turned her attention back to the loo as she lost more of her breakfast.
"Oh, dear. I'll turn on the kettle. It was the only thing that would settle my stomach when I was pregnant with my son."
"I'm not pregnant!"
"I'm pregnant." Joan groaned and dropped her head in her hands, trying to ignore the stick and its neon flashing lights, screaming that she had an even worse future than just being a widow. "Brilliant."
A small, hysterical giggle escaped and soon she was laughing like a loon. But then her thoughts turned to Sherlock and the child growing inside her he'd never see, and her laughter turned to tears. Before long she was sitting on the floor, back against the cupboards, spoon digging into a full pint of ice cream.
Damn that man. Damn him for leaving her like this. Alone, sobbing, alone, up the duff, and, did she mention alone? What was she going to do with a child? She was never very good with children. She usually passed them off to Sarah or one of the other physicians.
There would be no one to pass this one off on. No one to help her in the middle of the night when it needed a new nappy. No one to teach it the difference between blood spatter from a gunshot and a knife wound.
She stabbed the ice cream angrily with her spoon. How dare that bastard die and leave her in this position. When they met in the afterlife, he was in for a good thrashing.
'There is no such thing, dearest Jane, only death. It is only the unenlightened who believe there is a man in the sky controlling their every movement who will let them live beyond their time. Dull. Science, data – that is the religion of the intelligent. Don't be daft,' his voice came, unbidden, into her head, and with it the memory of the conversation. She gave a grudging smile and laid a hand on her stomach. She supposed they would be just fine. With time. Everything would be better with time.
Mrs. Hudson kept her completely stocked in Darjeeling tea – the only thing that would settle her stomach. The woman was a god-send. She knew what it was like to lose a husband, even though Mrs. Hudson's was a man few would miss. She still knew the toll of suddenly being without the one person you could truly and completely be yourself around. The one who would love you unconditionally. Mr. Hudson had once been that way, in the beginning. Mrs. Hudson was a widow before her husband was dead.
The grieving stages Jane was experiencing were not mixing well with her pregnancy hormones and as a result she was a complete wreck. Throwing things one minute and laughing at the shards of her tea cup the next. Sobbing at their wedding photo before hurling insults at Sherlock's stupid hair for being so poufy. She lay in bed for three days straight, leaving it only to go to the loo, too tired and sad to even think of eating.
Every morning for a full two weeks, Jane opened the refrigerator door fully expecting to see eyeballs or fingers or some other body part that should've rightfully been buried with the poor sod they had belonged to in life. She pulled the door and reached in for the milk, squinting her eyes in the sudden light before… no body parts. And it hit her every morning that Sherlock was truly gone. Sally and Molly had come in and taken all of the human remains and 'dangerous' experiments to St. Bart's while she was round the shop one evening. Every morning she was shocked. Every morning she grieved.
Until one day, she didn't. One morning she reached into the cold box and pulled the milk with no difficulty, no tears. She ate her breakfast and lost it and still no tears appeared. She left for the clinic and worked a full day without crying. She thought of Sherlock only five times, and each time she could pull herself together carry on. Deep breaths were her friend. She kept Sherlock's pillow to cuddle with and the skull on the mantle kept her company. Some days were better than others, but she had traditional British stoicism and she would persevere. She was going to be ok.
She just had to keep convincing herself of that.
Chapter 2 – July
Jane was always wary of visiting the Holmes' estate. For one, it was far too large. She was constantly afraid she would become lost. For another, Mummy Holmes terrified her. She would've rather taken on armed Afghani soldiers again.
This time, however, she was dreading the visit more than usual.
A butler, Michael if she remembered correctly, met her in the foyer and said reassuringly, "Do not worry, Doctor, Mrs. Holmes is in the Baltic and will not return until next month."
She gave a small grin, "That obvious, am I?"
He began leading her in the direction of Mycroft's office. "You looked a tad pale, Madam."
They stopped in front of the office door and faced each other. Jane raised an eyebrow.
"She scares me, as well, Madam." And with that, he left her to her task.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself to knock on the heavy wooden door, but she paused as she heard voices drift out of the room.
"Eyes need to be kept on him, my dear. I fear this Blackwood may be more dangerous than he seems at the moment. Something about him bothers me. We may have to bring him here. I need to know more about him." That was most definitely Mycroft.
"Yes, sir, I'll have Johnson and Welker on it." Anthea. A slight pause. "Should we warn-"
"No, no. No need to cause undue worry. She's always with-" here his voice faded, as if he turned away from the door. She thought she heard liquid being poured. Most likely he turned for tea. "However, I do want you to keep an eye on the situation. You understand, she is important to me and I trust you above all others."
Well, that was interesting. She smiled and pulled a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Mycroft with a girlfriend? Or maybe he was speaking of Mummy Holmes, though she was fairly certain if anyone came up against Mummy she would have them sitting down, drinking tea, and hearing of how she disapproved of their life choices within twenty minutes.
She snickered slightly at the thought and raised her arm to knock. Before she had the chance, Anthea threw the door open.
"Hello, Jane," Mycroft smiled warmly, but a tad sadly, at her, turning from the table with a cup of tea in both hands. "I was expecting you ten minutes ago."
She smiled back, "Hullo, Mycroft." She accepted the tea, laughing internally at the familiarity of their conversation. Sherlock had been inconsolable when he realized how well they got on.
They sat on a couch at the side of the office and Jane took a sip. Darjeeling; black with two. He always seemed to know.
"Congratulations are in order, I see." He paused thoughtfully, "Sherlock's spawn. I fear for our civilization."
She looked up quickly from her tea cup, surprise written clearly on her face, "How did you know?"
He smirked as he took a long drink from his own cup, "If I told, it wouldn't be nearly as entertaining."
She rolled her eyes, but accepted that he wouldn't tell her, "I meant to tell your mother while I was here. I want you both to be a part of this child's life."
"Of course we will be. I will be honoured to be an uncle."
Relief filled her, "Thank god. To tell you the truth, I feel a tad lost."
"You shouldn't worry about a thing, Jane. Sherlock set up an extensive fund for you before..." he cleared his throat, "It holds his earnings from cases at the Yard. Speaking of the Yard, I heard you plan to begin work there soon."
"Yes, in a few weeks. It turns out the morgue is looking for another doctor. I'm sure Detective Inspector Lestrade pulled a few strings. I'll be interning with Molly for a few weeks while I get a refresher course in pathology. It has been a while."
"I'm sure you're more than qualified for the position." They smiled at each other for a moment before Mycroft became more subdued. "You know, I am certain that Sherlock would... were he here... he would be very excited to be a father." He stared at his rapidly cooling tea. "He mentioned once..." He sighed as he trailed off. "At any rate, he would be thrilled."
Another moment of silence passed before Mycroft seemed to shake away the spider webs around his thoughts, "Now, drink up, dear Jane. Your tea is growing cold."
She smiled into her tea cup as she followed his order.
Jane took a deep breath before knocking on the door in front of her. She shifted her feet on the pavement beneath her nervously. Summoning her courage and squaring her shoulders, she fully committed herself to the visit and knocked.
It took a shorter amount of time than she was expecting for the door to be swung open wildly.
"'Ello?" The woman in front of her was bleary eyed and stumbling and Jane let out a disappointed sigh.
"Hello, Harry."
Harriet Watson and her sister held very little in common. The only shared feature was their nose, handed down through generations on their mother's side. Where Jane was of short stature and fair hair, Harriet was tall and dark.
Jane would consider herself, as it were, mostly plain; able to catch a few eyes if done up, but rarely bothered to do so. Men flocked to her for her amiable personality and skills, her quick smile and bawdy humour, for the blue eyes that shown above a crooked grin. She failed to see her own beauty, preferring to be in the muck and grime with the chaps.
Harriet, on the other hand, was long and lean. She had always known her own beauty, always been the envy of every girl in university – including Jane. She had used this to her advantage for many years, flaunting herself for favours, but always returning to Clara. She may have been a drunk flirt, but she was not a cheat. However, while she had once had a face and body that would make a grown man weep with want, now, her face was red with broken blood vessels, her emerald eyes almost permanently bloodshot. Her movie star smile now worn, her face forever pulled into a frown from the loss of her Clara, of her life. Now, Jane was the pretty sister. Harriet was only a tad jealous.
"Jane," she said cordially.
"I see you're drunk, again," Jane barged her way past her sister and into the house, heading straight to the kitchen and to the kettle. "You do remember part of your reconciliation agreement with Clara was that you quit drinking, right?"
"It was only one," Harry scoffed as she lowered herself into a chair with a wave of a hand.
"One plus how many, Harry? You need to clean yourself up. I thought we'd talked about this!"
"Oh, come on, Jane! Am I supposed to have no fun now that you're home from war? I'm allowed a few now and again, eh?"
"No, you're not. That's part of the deal, remember! No 'last ones'; no 'just a nightcap'; no 'but I'm celebrating'! No alcohol means no alcohol! I don't want you to be around your niece or nephew like this."
The silence lasted through the kettle boiling. Jane removed it from the burner and began to pour the water into mugs she had pulled out.
"You mean –" Harriet began.
Jane only nodded as she placed a cup in front of her sister.
"Is it a boy or a girl? Is it Sherlock's?" She was whispering excitedly, like a child who just found out they would get a new baby brother or sister soon, and Jane had to smile.
"It's too soon to tell. And yes, of course."
This time the silence lasted only until Harriet began to cry, "I'll be good. I promise."
"Harry-"
"No, I mean it. I've only been thinking of myself and how much I miss Clara and I... I need to... I love her and I want her back and I want to be in her life and in your life and I can't stand this anymore." She was yelling, rambling, and Jane could barely keep up with her train of thought. "Can I be in your life?"
"I... Yes, of course, but I-" Jane was wide-eyed and unsure of exactly what it was that Harriet was asking.
"I'm going to be an aunt!" Harriet whispered excitedly, taking a deep dreg of her tea.
And Jane could do naught but the same, still a bit confused, but hopeful.
Today had been a particularly good day.
Chapter 3 – August
Jane found the work in the morgue surprisingly satisfying. She had needed a bit of a refresher course – it had been a while since she had worked on a corpse – but Molly had been happy to accommodate her. The assistant before her had left rather abruptly under mysterious circumstances and Jane was happy to take his place without asking questions. Questions were not her job now; answers were.
She had fallen into a comfortable new routine. On Tuesdays, Gregg took her for lunch at the local pub. On Thursdays, Molly ate with her at the closest chip shop. She couldn't seem to get enough. On weekdays, she was usually off the clock and on her way home by six thirty. She stopped by the Tesco just down the lane and would purchase whatever little goodies happened to catch her fancy that day – more often than not a small bag of Walkers Pickled Onion or Cheese and Bacon crisps – anything salty, really – and a Cornetto. On days Gregg was off at a somewhat reasonable hour, he would stop by on his way home to keep her company. They would watch telly and eat curry and generally just enjoy each other's company.
On weekends that the detective had the night off, he would bring a film over and work on transforming Sherlock's old room into a nursery while Jane went to the market for ingredients and then made dinner. The nursery was still in its beginning stages and Gregg would use the opportunity of the distracted doctor to sort through Sherlock's old things, tossing or storing as he saw fit. Then, when dinner was finished, they would sit together on the sofa watching the – more often than not – absolutely horrid movie Gregg had brought with him. Usually Jane was asleep by the end of it, lying across the trapped detective, his hand absently stroking through her hair as his attention was taken up by the film.
It had been a bit awkward at first, but by the end of the month Jane found she couldn't bring herself to mind the closeness.
Saturdays were quickly becoming her favourite day of the week. She just refused to admit to herself that she truly enjoyed it.
Chapter 4 – September
"You need to go out. Go and meet people," Mrs. Hudson tutted around the flat, picking up pieces of this and that, while Jane lazed upon the sofa, her feet upon a pillow and a large book – Practical Principles of Cytopathology – that Molly had lent her after a case that had left her somewhat baffled.
"I meet plenty of people," she replied absently as she turned a page.
"I mean live people," Mrs. Hudson placed an empty tea mug upon the kitchen counter with what Jane was sure was far more force than was strictly necessary.
"Mrs. Hudson," Jane began but was quickly cut off by her overzealous landlady.
"Go out and date, dear. It's been four months. A woman needs a good man in her life." She quickly swiped a wet cloth over a spot on the counter before jumping and exclaiming excitedly, "oh! I know! How about that nice young man who's always over? Detective Inspector Lestrade? Isn't that his name?"
"You know perfectly well it is, Nanny," Jane raised an eyebrow at her over the edge of her book.
"He's such a sweet man. Always taking care of you."
Jane narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
"Handsome and fit," Mrs. Hudson continued as she avoided eye contact, "A good man. He does seem to fancy you."
Jane opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. Hudson continued quickly.
"And don't try to pull that you don't see something there, either. You smile much more around him than I've ever seen. You look well, lately, too."
This gave her a pause, "Oh, I don't know. What will people think?"
"Oh," Mrs. Hudson began innocently as she scooped one last handful of laundry into a basket and propped it onto her hip, "I was unaware that you gave a flying rat's arse what other people thought."
She walked out with that last thought and Jane only had time to yell, "and I was unaware you were my housekeeper!" before the door to the lower flat slammed closed.
"...Damn."
Chapter 5 – October
"I want to go to Switzerland."
"You... what?" Lestrade looked up from his paperwork, a disbelieving expression on his face.
Jane was standing on the other side of his desk, white jumper just beginning to bulge with the life within her. "I want to go to Switzerland. I want to see the waterfall."
He huffed out a sigh, "Why, Jane? Why would you..?" He trailed off, playing idly with the corner of the paper in his hand.
"I need this closure. I keep expecting to see him just show up any day, bursting into the flat and demanding I fetch milk." She dropped heavily into the nearest chair, letting herself splay out in an unladylike manner to better accompany her stomach. "It's time to put a stop to this nonsense. I'm ready to move on. I have a life beyond Sherlock and it's time to start it. And I fully intend on starting my new life in Switzerland."
He sighed unhappily, "Well, I can't stop you."
She nodded in agreement, "You can't. I want you to come with me."
"Come with – why?"
She frowned and cocked her head, "What do you mean 'why'? Because I want you to, that's why. Don't make it weird, just come along with me on a sudden, last moment trip to Switzerland just the two of us, sharing a room at a quaint little inn."
"Oh, no, that's not weird at all." He threw his pen onto the stack of paperwork as he leaned back with a heavy sigh. "I can't go tomorrow. Give me a few days to pawn my work off on the others."
Jane smiled brightly at him, "Good. I want you to be with me."
She heaved herself out of the chair as Gregg frowned at her, "You... want me with you?"
Her smile never waned, "Of course. There's no one else I'd rather have."
The hike to the falls took almost an hour with Jane struggling at some points – unused to her relatively new girth – and Gregg found himself grabbing her hand to help her over obstacles she would normally have leapt over. It was a cold, windy day and the funicular was offline so they had to walk. Gregg suggested they forget the entire endeavour, but Jane was adamant so on they went with the detective keeping a close eye on the doctor.
They finally reached the platform above the falls. They were alone; the cold, damp day had seemed to chase any other tourists away. And they both paused, staring at the deadly beauty of the water.
Gregg watched Jane walk cautiously to the railing and look over.
"Are you ok?" He joined her at the rails and was surprised when he felt her gloved hand worm its way into his.
"Yeah," she let out a heavy breath, her eyes never leaving the swirling bottom of the falls, "Yeah, I think I am. I've been having a hard time thinking that I wouldn't be able to do this alone." Her hand landed on her swollen stomach.
"Of course you can do this. And you aren't alone. You have Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft and me."
She finally dragged her eyes away from the edge to look at him. She smiled after a moment and moved a tiny bit closer and rested her head on his shoulder.
He smiled down at the top of her head and placed a soft, tentative kiss in her hair.
It was three in the morning when Jane sat straight up in the bed – every double room taken by Oktoberfest revilers spilling out from Berne – and began shaking Gregg in a panic.
"Gregg! Gregg, oh my god!"
"What!" He startled awake, heart racing, "What's wrong!"
"The baby-"
"What's wrong with the baby!" He reached over and turned on the lamp next to the bed and looked at her with wide eyes, "Are you alright? Do we need to go to the hospital?"
"No, no! Feel!" She grabbed his hand and placed it on her swelling stomach.
Slowly his eyes widened, "It's moving."
She nodded enthusiastically, her hand still resting on his, "The kicking woke me up."
She shifted closer so he could rest his hand on her belly without straining his arm and settled in, laying her head on his shoulder as they lay together in the dark. Gregg remained still; he seemed somewhat stunned at the movements.
"I'm sorry." Her words seemed to startle him out of his silence.
"For what?"
"For all of this. I... You've been so good to me. Indulgent, almost. And I just... I'm sorry for... for being a burden, I suppose."
"Well, you see," he rubbed her belly soothingly and the child within her slowed it's movements, seemingly content. "That's the funny thing about love."
Her head popped off her shoulder as she attempted to see his face in the dark.
"Burdens suddenly seem worth it."
She smiled and settled back down on his shoulder. "I think I'm ready for this."
Chapter 6 – November
"I don't think I need this, yet." Jane said with a raised eyebrow and a panicked look on her face.
"You always think you'll have time, but you never do," a three months sober Harriet said wisely as she sifted through a pile of baby clothes on display, ignoring the look of alarm on her sister's face. "Quite frankly, you've put it off quite long enough. Oh, do you know if it's going to be a girl or a boy, yet?"
Jane shook her head as she held up a small outfit with tentative fingers, "No, I haven't bothered. I don't really care as long as it's healthy. Sarah says the baby is fine. It will be an interesting surprise."
Harry sighed dramatically, a smile betraying the fact that she didn't really feel upset, "Well, what colours are you doing the nursery in, then?"
At Jane's non-committal grunt, Harry dragged her eyes away from the girly dresses on the rack, "Jane? Oh, Lord, why do you look guilty?"
"I may or may not have ever set foot in the nursery."
"Give me your phone."
Jane handed it off without a fuss and wandered off in the direction of breast pumps, an intrigued expression replacing the guilt. She vaguely heard her sister talking on her phone and taking down digits, but she couldn't bring herself to really worry.
Harriet had been true to her word. Not a drink in nigh on three months and Jane couldn't have been more proud. Her sister had flung herself into Jane's pregnancy; reading every book on babies she could get her hands on, joining websites dedicated to pregnancy, signing them both up for birthing classes, and generally doing everything an excited, expectant mother should've. As a doctor, Jane knew what was expected during birth. She fully planned on demanding as many drugs as they could legally pump into her blood stream and going through the rest in a blissful haze. Harriet seemed to be doing her best to stomp on that dream, but Jane couldn't bring herself to be upset.
"Green. And sock monkeys."
Jane looked up at Harriet, confused.
"That's your nursery." She handed her phone back, "I called Gregg. I figured he would know. He said to get a crib."
Jane smiled sheepishly as she tucked the phone away in her coat.
"How is it that everybody knows more about what's going on with your pregnancy than you?" Harriet tutted and began to lead her away to the furniture section.
"Well, you know what they say about too many chefs in the kitchen."
Their laughter filled the store and Jane had never felt so happy.
Chapter 7 – December
She had promised Mycroft that she would attend the Holmes' Christmas Eve dinner and she was not looking forward to it. She felt rather large and cumbersome, unable to perform any task with ease. The child within her was constantly moving, always active, and she figured that was probably the Holmes' gene. Unfortunately, that meant, more often than not, chest pain as the baby particularly enjoyed kicking her ribs. "Going to be a rubgy player," she grumbled as she shifted on the front porch, rubbing her protruding stomach soothingly, about to knock on the door, "I can feel it."
After being ushered inside and having her coat taken from her by a mysterious black blur she was fairly certain was Michael, she was met by Anthea.
Mycroft's assistant, peeling her eyes away from her blackberry for once, took a few of the gift bags Jane held in her hand and led her into the dining room, disappearing before Jane could thank her.
With a sigh, she lowered herself into the nearest chair and shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, will you stop kicking me?" She hissed at her stomach.
"Pardon?" A voice from behind her made her jump and twist.
"Oh, Mrs. Holmes –"
"Mummy, dear. Please, call me Mummy."
"Oh, yes," Jane began to raise herself from the chair to greet her mother-in-law, "Mummy."
"Please, sit down. I don't want you pushing yourself." Mummy approached the chair beside Jane and lowered herself into it with the natural grace of a dancer, barely disturbing the glass of scotch in her hand. "I haven't seen you in so long. You're getting big – and please don't take that as an insult, dear. I meant that you seem very healthy. I'm glad."
Jane didn't know what to say. The whole conversation seemed sudden. Where was everyone else? "Oh. Thank you."
"How are you getting along? Mycroft informed me that your friend Detective Inspector Lestrade was taking good care of you. I'm glad. You know," she tilted the glass in her hand thoughtfully and the ice tinkled gently, "You were always kind to my Sherlock. He was always a misunderstood boy. He never treated you right. Always a point of disappointment if I'm perfectly honest."
Jane began to search the exits, hoping for a way out of the conversation.
"Well," she began but Mummy cut her off rather quickly, swirling the spirits in her glass slowly, avoiding eye contact with the doctor.
"Sherlock was a good man. Smart. Independent. But he wasn't ready for the commitment of a family." Jane blushed, feeling guilt creep through her as she watched Mummy's drink twirl. "I'm glad he found some happiness with you. You are a woman of moral standing, brave and kind and you will always be in high regard with me." At this point, Mummy raised her eyes to Jane's, her ice blue gaze boring holes in the younger woman's brain, "I know I'm beating about the bush, if you will, so I will come to the point before this becomes far too uncomfortable for such a merry occasion. I like you, Jane, and I wish to remain in my grandchild's life. I understand that not every woman chooses to remain alone after being widowed and I can only hope that when you choose to do so, you will remember Sherlock's family."
"I... I will always want my child to know you," Jane responded in confusion. "Mummy... I don't think I quite understand."
"You will someday. And I hope you remember my words," she downed the rest of her scotch in one go and made a quick waving movement with her hand.
"A bit cryptic," Jane mumbled as the dining room doors were opened and quickly occupied by various members of the prestigious Holmes' family.
"Well, how else will I strike fear into those who oppose me, dear?" Mummy asked, eyebrow raised. She rose to take her place at the head of the table, "I rather enjoy it."
It was in her seventh month, with her belly protruding under her jumper and the baby kicking her ribs enthusiastically, that her well worn routine was interrupted.
It was a cold December afternoon, a few days before New Year's, and she was just leaving Tesco, juggling the bags around her ever growing belly. She dropped one and her crisps and biscuits scattered on the pavement.
Jane sighed and lowered herself with some difficulty. "Here, let me help you," a deep voice spoke from behind and hands reached around her to grab the Walkers. The man who helped her wasn't ugly by any means, but after Sherlock no one would ever be handsome in her eyes.
"Thank you..." she let herself trail off, waiting for his name, still on the ground.
"Henry." Something was off. He was standing too close and something niggled at the back of her head.
"Thank you, Henry. I'm Joan." He shook her hand firmly and, to her surprise, didn't give her bag back to her right away, choosing instead to help her to her feet.
"Where is your husband?" He clasped her hand tighter.
"Oh, um, he's... not here." She pulled at their locked hands, fingers squirming in his grip.
"Pity," he looked her up and down, his gaze resting on her stomach so long it made her slightly uncomfortable. "A lovely woman like you shouldn't be out alone in your condition."
"I'm perfectly capable, thank you very much," she edged away from him, dropping her bag and pulling hard, her free hand moving down to her trousers to grab at her phone.
His hand snaked out to grab hers like a lover would and he began to drag her closer, moving toward an alley, all the while chatting merrily about her condition being perfect.
"Wait. You're Blackwood," Joan gasped in sudden remembrance. Anthea had mentioned him to Mycroft, both speaking in hushed tones, "You worked for Moriarty."
He grinned and she felt a surge of fear, "Yes, dear, I did. And he specifically said I was to get rid of you. He wasn't specific as to how."
He pulled her hand, yanking her arm painfully until her back was against his chest, one arm wrapped so she couldn't move away from him, no matter her struggles. She looked around frantically for a CCTV camera, but there were none in sight. "Hold still, damn it!" He growled, tightening his arm around her middle – just above her belly – and bringing his other hand to her mouth.
He held a cloth to her face and she struggled frantically as she realized it was chloroform.
Spots danced before her eyes and her last thought was that she wished Mycroft weren't in Denmark.
She awoke with a headache the size of which she hadn't felt since her days at Uni and her stomach cramping uncomfortably. She twisted, attempting to curl around her stomach, but was stopped by restraints. Her wrists tied at her sides and her ankles were tied below her. Jane's breathing sped up and a sweat broke out on her brow.
"How nice of you to join me," Blackwood spoke from just behind her head, causing her to crane her neck backward in an attempt to see him.
He was dressed in black robes, the hood pulled up to shadow his face. Vaguely she saw metal glinting near his side. He moved around so she only had to turn her head to see him. "You look a bit flushed, Doctor." He lifted the ornate knife, "We haven't even really started."
"What do you mean 'You've lost her'!" Mummy shrieked at her son, the guilty look on his face doing nothing to alleviate her anger.
"Gregg said she left to the market while he was working in the nursery. She disappeared. Our CCTV cameras were disabled and Anthea was distracted by a false lead. We believe it was a set up."
"Of course it was a set up! It was a set up and you screwed this whole operation! You knew this Blackwood man was after her for months and the only protection she had was a Detective from the Yard and a little girl who is glued to her bloody phone! Now, you listen here, Mycroft Holmes!" Mycroft straightened nervously. "We've been through enough this past year. That girl is carrying my grandchild and I'll be damned if something happens to either of them! You'd better find her or there will be consequences."
The knife glinted in the light dangerously. "I have always been a fan of the occult. The mystery behind every strange thing that happens in this world is like a drug." He began circling her, trailing a finger down the slab of stone she was tied upon. "London is particularly fascinating. The old city, still living."
"Where are we?" She forced out, trying to follow his movement.
"Oh, deep within Old London. Underground where your brother-in-law cannot find us." He stopped his walking on her right side, placing a hand on her bulging stomach. The child kicked violently, as if sensing the evil of the man touching it. His face held wonder. "I've always thought there was a power in the reproduction of the species. A life growing inside someone – that is true power. I want to harness that power, possess it."
"You're insane."
His face grew dark and he pressed his hand hard into her stomach, causing her to gasp in pain as her already clinching stomach was assaulted. "I am not insane. I am a visionary. People will kneel before me. I wanted you here. The woman who was powerful enough to stand at the side of Sherlock Holmes, who was tenacious enough to catch the attention of the great Moriarty. Your child will give me this power."
"No." She pulled at her restraints again. She could feel blood on her wrists, pooling under her forearms.
Blackwood only chuckled darkly and grabbed her right hand, releasing the restraint from around her wounded wrist. She attempted to pull her limb from his grasp, but his grip was far too strong.
"Memento Mori, dear Jane." He sliced her palm in one quick movement, letting it drip onto the table. He squeezed her hand and the blood drained faster. "Sanguis bibimus; corpus edimus." He began to chant as he moved around the table slowly. "Sanguis bibimus; corpus edimus. Tolle corpus sataini."
Jane began to grow light headed. She attempted to move her unrestrained arm, to release herself, but it wouldn't cooperate. "The blade," she whispered, lazily moving her head to look at him through bleary eyes.
His eyes twinkled menacingly in the dark and he smiled at how quickly she understood.
"Sanguis bibimus; corpus edimus. Sanguis bibimus; corpus edimus."
The cramps in her stomach were fading and she knew that wasn't necessarily a good thing. She could feel herself shaking and it was becoming harder to breathe, but she kept at it. The child in her stomach was kicking viciously, helping keep her awake as Blackwood grew closer, raising the knife.
"Sanguis bibimus; corpus edimus. Sanguis bibimus; corpus edimus."
"Stop! Scotland Yard! Lower your weapon and move away!"
Everything started to grow dim, far away.
"Tolle corpus satani."
"I said stop!"
Jane faded out.
"Jane? Jane can you hear me? Where's that bloody ambulance, Sally? Come on, Jane, open your eyes, love."
"Fetal bradycardia. What was she given?" Lights were blinding, the people around her far too loud.
"I don't know. I –"
"C-clor-" she struggled to speak, to answer. The baby was moving and her stomach was cramping painfully. "Frm."
"Chloroform, Jane?"
She let out a whine of pain as her stomach cramped again.
"Doctor, her heartbeat's irregular–"
"Damn, cardiac arrhythmia. Symptoms seem to point to oxytocin."
"But isn't it –?"
"We need to take the baby. Now. You need to leave, Inspector."
"She seems to be perfectly healthy, Inspector, if a bit small. She'll be staying in the neonatal ward for a few days."
"Good. And how is Jane? Why hasn't she woken up?"
She felt tugging at her hand as IVs were adjusted.
"Oh, don't worry about that. She's just a bit knackered. There's no trace of the drug still in her system and she hasn't bled. She just needs a bit of rest. She has been through an ordeal."
Her other hand was encased in warmth and she smiled.
"Oi," Gregg's soft voice beside her prompted her to open her eyes, "I can see you're awake. Care to grace us with your presence?"
She huffed out a small laugh. "If you insist," she croaked out. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Almost four days. It's New Year's Eve. You've missed a few things."
She gave a twisted grimace as she rubbed her stomach. It was less swollen, somewhat sore, and she panicked momentarily, "The baby?"
Gregg smiled brightly, "She's fine. Perfectly fine. I haven't had the chance to see her, yet. They put her in the nursery and told me I could see her when they brought her to us." His tone of voice clearly showed his dissatisfaction with this arrangement.
"Her? It's a girl?"
Gregg smiled and shifted to press his forehead to hers, "A beautiful girl from what I hear. Are you disappointed it's not a little boy?"
"I'm just ecstatic I don't remember the birth."
Chapter 8 - January
The nurse who came in to change her IV was brisk. He seemed stiff under his protective face mask – Jane was unsure why he was even wearing one – and he fumbled with the needle.
She hissed and pulled her arm back as he missed the vein, "Ow! You must be new. I think you need a bit more practice."
He didn't seem to take kindly to her teasing, jabbing the needle home with somewhat more force than was necessary.
"Well, that seemed a bit rude," Gregg commented from the chair beside her bed as the nurse left. He had barely left her side and she was grateful.
"I'm afraid I may have come off the same way." Gregg yawned and moved his neck, stretching the muscles. "Why don't you go get a cuppa? I'll be fine here."
He frowned at her, "Are you certain?"
She squirmed a bit into her pillows, "I am absolutely certain. You seem to need it."
"I can use the stretch. I'll be back soon."
"Please take your time. You've been here for ages."
"Getting tired of me already, eh?" He smiled as he made his way to the door.
"I don't want you getting sick."
He laughed and left her.
It was a full five minutes before she was disturbed again. It was another nurse, this time wheeling a small, plastic cradle into the room. "Is that –?"
The nurse smiled brightly at her, "Yes, madam, it is. I can't let you hold her for too long. We don't want her getting sick." The Cockney nurse brought the squirming bundle over to the bed after helping her sit up. "The doctor said you can hold her for a few minutes before you sleep again. You haven't even gotten to see her, yet."
She stared at the squirming newborn that she had, until now, neglected to really notice. The first thing she saw was her hair. She had a startling amount of black hair, still somewhat flattened to her head.
"Well then," the nurse smiled kindly as she watched Jane stare at the tiny girl, "have you thought of a name?"
Jane looked up, panic evident in her eyes, "A name. I haven't … parents decide that early on, don't they? I mean, usually mothers have names selected so early and I … it hasn't even crossed my mind, I've just been calling it baby and she can't walk around with a name like that and I'm not ready for this, for naming her, I'll be awful -!"
The nurse cut her off sternly, "Here now, stop that. You'll make yourself sick and you need rest. Your fever is still a tad high. The little one can wait a few days. Deep breaths, that's a girl."
Joan did as instructed, straightening herself indignantly at being called 'girl'. She was a mother for Christ's sake.
Oh, God, she was a mother. She looked back at the tiny creature and noticed her tiny squished nose. She resisted the very childish urge to 'bop' it, telling herself that sort of behaviour was unbecoming a lady.
She waited a full three seconds before giving in to the urge, lifting a heavy arm to poke the girl's nose. She gave a somewhat hysterical giggle before stopping herself. "Stop it. We can't laugh in a hospital," she whispered to her daughter.
The newborn opened his eyes to look at her and her breath caught in her throat.
Ice blue eyes stared back at her and she suppressed the chocking sob that threatened to escape.
Gregg chose that moment to return, pausing in the doorway in surprise. "You're up!" He came closer with a smile, "I was worried. Oh," he stopped at her side and joined her in gazing upon the little girl. "She looks just like him," he whispered. The detective leaned down, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
Jane blinked tiredly down at the child. She seemed to be having trouble focusing. Her arms were tired and she tilted her head to lay it on Gregg's arm as he gently reached down to touch the girl's hand.
The moment her flushed forehead hit his arm he jerked back, "Jesus, you're burning!"
The nurse frowned and leapt to her side, placing a hand on Jane's head. "Oh my, let me get the doctor."
"Gregg?" Her arms didn't seem to be able to hold the tiny bundle and she slumped forward.
Lestrade grabbed her and the child, "Jane?"
Her head lolled as the door slammed behind Gregg.
"Hi!" The shrill voice echoed through her swirling head. "Oh, you don't look so good, Janey girl."
She swallowed heavily, "Moriarty."
Vaguely she heard Gregg whisper, "Moriarty?"
"You're dead."
"Mmm. Yes, that seems to be a common affliction."
Jane frowned and shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Beside her Gregg was silent, holding the baby tightly, torn between placing himself between Jane and the psychopath and keeping the baby away.
"I don't understand," she murmured, her head not clear in the least. She fumbled for her IV. "You were the nurse."
"Well, that didn't take you very long, Janey. Quite frankly, I'm impressed."
Moriarty's voice began to change, rising and lowering with no discernable pattern.
"What did you give me?" Her eyes were fixated on the shadow behind him. It was dancing, swirling, purple joined in the dance, the wall melted away.
"Oh just something I'm trying out. Sending around to my dealers. You're my test subject. What do you think?"
Jane's breathing began to deepen, her gaze still on the wall as she seemed to collapse contentedly into the bed.
"Jane?" Gregg was worried, reaching with one hand toward her, still trying to keep the baby from Jim's attention.
"I wouldn't move, Inspector." The sleek man in front of them held up a hand gun and Gregg froze. "I don't really like to get my hands dirty, but Sherlock has forced me to."
"Sherlock is dead."
"Oh, he would like you to think that." Rage filled the blue eyes locked with Gregg's own and he was truly fearful for a moment of this man. From near the bed a small tink sounded as something metal hit the floor.
"You're mad."
"Oh, no I'm not. Brilliant? Of course. Powerful? Undoubtedly. Angry that my carefully laid plans were so casually ruined by a detective at a waterfall? Oh, very much so. But I am far from mad."
Jane was moving – Gregg glanced at her and realized she had pulled her own IV out – and was shaking her head groggily.
"He is quite correct, Inspector." An eerily familiar voice sounded from the direction of the loo along with the clicking of a safety being released on a browning. Both Gregg and Jim turned toward it.
"Sherlock –"
"Finally you show yourself," Jim happily interrupted the very confused Detective Inspector. " I was wondering what I'd have to do to get you out of hiding. A bit pathetic, if you ask me."
"No one was asking." And with that, Sherlock pulled the trigger.
It was after four hours of questioning policemen and prodding doctors when Sherlock entered the room and made his way to the bed opposite Gregg. He moved to grasp Jane's hand and she pulled it away with an incredulous look on her face.
"You left me," she whispered.
He looked confused, "Yes. I had to."
She scowled, "You didn't have to! I would've followed you to the ends of the earth!"
Gregg coughed lightly as the baby began to snuffle.
The girl had finally calmed from the loud report of the gun and the subsequent excitement. The nurses had been reluctant to let Jane have the child back and Gregg had to promise he wouldn't leave. They had taken that to mean he promised to not let the girl out of his arms.
He looked down at the wiggling baby in his arms, rocking her gently, trying to disappear.
Sherlock's eyes flickered over to the D.I., but he soon regained his focus. "I had to," he said again, this time with more emphasis. His face maintained its confusion, "I knew Moriarty was after us. I couldn't allow him to harm you or the child. Or use either of you against me."
Jane bristled, "Use us against you!"
At the same time Gregg asked, "You knew about the baby?"
"WAIT, you knew about the baby!" She screeched.
Sherlock didn't look ashamed at her furious look; instead looking insulted. "Of course. Anyone with half a brain could've seen the signs. For instance, the larger breasts –" he was cut short by a fist to the face.
"Thank you," Jane smiled up at Gregg who was shaking the pain out of his hand, all the while cradling the girl with the other. She held out her arms and Gregg placed the infant in them. "But next time, please don't hit somebody with my child in your hands." She sighed and fussed about with the infant's blanket, "I think you need to leave, Sherlock. I don't want to be with someone who feels I – or his child – is a burden. We'll talk in a few days."
Gregg sat back in his chair as the consulting detective left, bouncing his knee with nervous energy.
Jane gave a small sideways grin at the detective, "Go ahead."
"He's your husband," he replied immediately.
"Yes, he was."
"Is," he looked pointedly at her as she shook her head.
"He left me alone knowing I was pregnant and an insane genius wanted revenge. Because we would've been a burden."
Gregg stared at the floor as though he could burn a hole in it with just the power of his mind, hands clasped between his knees, before whispering, "You would've been."
"Oh, I know that," she reassured him quickly. "But that's the funny thing about love."
He looked up at the familiar words as she smiled lovingly at him, "Burdens suddenly seem worth it."
"And am I a burden?" He smiled coyly as she slipped a hand over to grab his.
"Oh, undoubtedly."