Title: All I Crave
Author: Cupcake-999
Sherlock/John. Rated T.
Summary: This was in answer to prompt below at sherlockbbc_fic. It's just a short, less humorous distraction as I write Double Trouble, the sequel to Double Date.
Prompt: so, watson does the shopping, see TBB. I'd love it if he were one of those men who aren't embarrassed by buying feminine products. So, once a month he asks Sherlock if she needs any tampons. Only this time she replies "not for nine months" or something like that. Cue Watson: o.o
Turns out she and him have been having sex, and this was not the best way for her to reveal her pregnancy.
"Sherlock, do you want the bow tie pasta this time?"
"Yes."
"Or the curly one?"
"No."
She's just lying there on the sofa, not even listening, saying yes and no alternately, John suddenly thought halfway through his pre-big shop list trawl through the kitchen cupboards.
"So shall I get both?"
"Yes."
Knew it.
"And you'll need tampons. I didn't get any last month so you must be out." John was a doctor and not squeamish. Sherlock was a brilliant consulting detective who was lazy. Bottom line, John shopped. And cooked. And cleaned. And got to live with the world's most fascinating woman and have the most amazing, mind-blowing sex imaginable. It worked out well.
"No. Yes."
"Which?"
"Yes, I'm out. No, I don't need them. Won't be needing them for at least nine months."
John dropped pen and paper and went to lean heavily against the doorway so he could see his flatmate's long, slender form indeed stretched out on the sofa, her coltish legs revealed by her rumpled up skirt. Busy on the laptop balanced on her chest, she didn't bother looking up at him.
"What–sorry, I—"
"John, at least try to follow. I'm knocked up. Had an inkling, did the blood work at Bart's, confirmation. In sum–knocked up." Her delicate fingers pushed a fall of black curls out of her eyes.
John must have walked towards the sofa, but didn't remember moving. He found himself in front of her, staring down, opening his mouth and trying in vain to speak. She spared him a glance.
"Oh, perhaps I should mention I didn't sleep with anyone else. It's yours." She slid her catlike silver eyes back to the screen.
"Christ, Sherlock! For fuck's sake!" The fluent tirade of abuse which followed this would have made his former comrades-in-arms blush. Sherlock actually moved the laptop to the coffee table and drew herself up into a ball.
"Problem? I though you wanted children."
"Oh course I want children! You can't imagine how much I want to have children with you! I'd never even dared to dream that we–but to tell me like that; to let it slip telling me you don't need tampons because you're knocked up–that was just brutal! It may be unplanned, but don't you think I deserved to be told properly?"
"Not good." It wasn't even a question.
"Very not good, no." John sank into a sitting position on the edge of the table. "How are you feeling?"
"Only symptom so far slight tenderness of the breasts, although I'm expecting nausea to present in two days."
She leaned over and tapped a few keys, then turned the screen slightly so John could see. It seemed to be a chart. He ignored it.
"So that's how you were planning on letting me find out. Sorry, deduce. When I found you bent over the loo vomiting." He could see by the slight hunching of her shoulders as she swung her legs to the floor and started typing he'd been correct. Yay. Deducing skills improving.
"How are you feeling?" Oh, now she was concerned?
"Honestly? Shocked. Excited. Terrified. I mean, we've been together a year, but… How do you feel, about it, I mean?"
"Tickled pink. Over the moon. On cloud nine." She was still looking at the screen.
"Sherlock, if you're reading that off some pregnancy forum, I'll–"
Deciding actions spoke louder than words, John shut the laptop lid and gently pushed his brilliant, gorgeous flatmate, partner and co-parent-to-be down and crawled on top of her, eliciting an honest response in the best way he knew how.
"Mmm. Ow!"
"Sherlock, sorry! You said your breasts were sore. God."
"No, it's rather wonderful. The increased sensitivity…do it again, now my shirt's off. Oh!"
John would have been miffed at the way she soon wriggled free and returned to entering data if he didn't love the way she looked doing it in just her skirt. Absorbed, she let him remove this, too. She never wore underwear. Probably have to start soon.
"You're glowing. Enter that symptom on your spreadsheet," he murmured in her ear as he caressed her from his position behind her. He loved the way she shivered and had problems concentrating as he deliberately licked and nibbled. "Imagine all the changes day to day as the different hormones kick in and different areas get irrigated by increased blood flow. Oh. I see you've already mapped out a model."
"Yes, and comparing the actual to the theoretical will be so interesting. Need lots of field work."
The wicked look she threw over her bare shoulder almost made it all worthwhile, John thought. Almost.
"So this is just an experiment, a chance to study data." Of course it was. She was Sherlock Holmes. This was probably something to occupy her between cases. "Do you actually even want a baby?" Not just as some weird science project, he wanted to add.
"Obviously. Yours, at any rate. Or I would have had tubal ligation three months before we began sexual intercourse. You're right on schedule, John; the ever-shortening number of days per month you allowed for my fertile period due to your increasing disdain for and subsequent carelessness with condoms."
John pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache rolling in like thunder on the horizon. A headache named Sherlock. Oh well.
"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"
"Indubitably."
Not rolling his eyes he resumed his stroking, until Sherlock leaned back into his body, purring for him. He whispered in her ear:
"Have you considered hyperfecundation? It's a rare medical occurrence, granted, but there was a recent case of twins in the US conceived almost a month apart. We could try to beat the record…"
Sherlock left her laptop-victory!-and turned to John with an amazed and intent look in her eye. As she stretched her lithe body on top of him, John would have categorised the look as hot.
"John, you know how much it turns me on when you talk doctor, and when you know something I don't? Oh, yes, I haven't mentioned it before. But it's true and I'm really aroused right now."
"Mmm. I can see that. And as a doctor I know gravid women need their whims indulging."
But Sherlock soon stopped stripping him as naked as she was. "Oh, cravings! Add pickles and ice cream to the big shop list, John." And she turned back to her graphs and curves.
A resigned John stood and tidied his clothing, but soon stopped in his turn. "I'm not happy about a child of mine being born out of wedlock. I'm old-fashioned, as you know. I'm sorry, but I'm really going to have to insist that we—"
"The filled-in form for the licence is in that envelope on the mantelpiece. It only needs your signature. I was going to do it for you, but as you're here… You know, this has been worth it already, for me to discover your middle name! Who would have thought H stood for–umphh!"
John used his rugby skills to good advantage as he tackled Sherlock flat and then proceeded to ensure the only sounds she made for quite some time were incoherent moans and cries. And if the shopping didn't get done, there was always takeaway.