(A/N: This is the sequel to Six Steps of Courtship, and although you could technically read it alone, it probably won't make much sense. Also, fair warning that Sherlock is INTENTIONALLY a bit out of character because instincts are weird. Also, if mpreg freaks you out, stop reading now, because that's the entirety of the story. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.)

Nesting is a natural omega instinct. Expecting or newly mated omegas will nest with an aggressiveness that puts the rest of their gender to shame.

… …

"Are you sure?" John asked, feeling as though he were about to faint.

"Very sure," Dr. Fisher replied, outlining the different parts of the ultrasound's image with her finger. "You can see both of them, and there are two distinct heartbeats, of course. Not sure how your previous doctor missed it, although embryo number two is pretty well hidden behind embryo number one."

"It's just...twins. Jesus Christ." John put his head in his hands.

"Well, omegas are statistically more likely to have multiples," Dr. Fisher pointed out, glancing at Sherlock, who was staring at the image in mute horror. He looked like he had just been shown Dante's circles of hell.

Well, bringing two more Holmes children into the world at least earned you a spot in hell, if it wasn't already a piece of it.

"Are you alright, love?" John asked, resisting the urge to wave his hand in front of his husband's face. He could feel a sort of controlled terror through the bond, and was a bit more worried about that than the actual idea of trying to handle a thirteen-month-old and two newborns at the same time.

But God, that thought made him want to vomit...

"Sherlock."

No response.

"Sherlock."

"Should I give you two a minute?" Dr. Fisher asked after another silence. "I mean, is he okay? Does he have any medical problems that we should be concerned about?"

"I think he's just gone to his mind palace."

"His...?" She looked nervous and like she wanted to be anywhere else.

"He'll be fine. Could we have a moment? A lot to process and all that. You can go, I guess."

Dr. Fisher hurried from the room. John was impressed that she managed to look so put together and polite while she got the hell out of there.

"Sherlock."

Nothing.

John poked him.

Nope.

He sighed and took his husband's face between his eyes, turning his head until their eyes met.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, I know you need to process things, but I've got to get a sense of what you're feeling. It's getting a bit scary."

Sherlock suddenly took a deep breath, rejoining reality.

"Oh God, twins," he said, pulling away. "Two of them. Two. Jesus fucking hellfire shit."

"Wow. That's...more expletives in a single sentence than I've heard since you were in labor. Are you okay?"

"I'm good. I'm fine," Sherlock said, sounding anything but good or fine. "Just fucking fantastic. I can't wait to get so pregnant that my body is never going to recover. I can't wait to eat the entire kitchen every day because I need to feed three people. AND I CANNOT FUCKING WAIT TO TURN INTO A PSYCHOTIC NESTING OMEGA BECAUSE BIOLOGY IS BULLSHIT!"

John took a massive step away from his furious husband and held out his hands in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "Hey, I know we didn't plan this, but-"

"My body is betraying me, John. You know what I'm like. It's just bloody transport and I've had it so tightly under control and it is mocking me. My body is doing this just—just to spite me! Twins! God, I hate biology. And I hate being an omega. And I hate-"

"Sherlock!"

"What?!" he snarled, freezing when he saw the expression on John's face. "What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly panicked.

"Nothing," John said a bit roughly, forcing a tiny smile. "You're just…you're making me a bit nervous here."

"John?"

John took a deep breath, beat back alpha instinct, and asked Sherlock the impossible question. "Do you want these babies?"

Sherlock blinked. "Yes…?" Then he understood. "Oh! Yes! Of course! Of course I want them, I'm an omega. Don't be ridiculous John."

John was nearly knocked over by the powerful wave of relief that washed over him. "Oh, thank Christ. You were escalating there. I was getting scared."

Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile, projecting feelings of comfort over the bond. "I didn't mean to. I was going to end that rant with 'And I hate maternity clothing.' A bit anticlimactic, I admit, but we're going to have to get a whole new set because I'm going to be twice as big as I was with Silas. God, I'm going to look awful. There is no way to cut a suit to keep me from looking awful. I'm going to be a whale, John. A whale."

John stared at Sherlock very closely for a moment, trying to make sure beyond a doubt that he wasn't just trying to spare John's feelings.

"Now what?" Sherlock asked, sounding tired.

"Just trying to decide if you're telling the truth," John said at last. "I think that you are. You're usually too nice to me when you lie. I haven't forgiven the poisoned coffee yet."

Sherlock laughed. "And what would I have said if I was lying?"

"Probably something like, 'And I hate that I will be too tired to make love to you, my strong and handsome alpha.'"

Sherlock snorted. "Well, that won't be the case. I'll just lie there and make you do all the work. Help me get off out this ridiculous table and back into my clothes. I feel full of babies and I need to go home."

… …

"I'm going to start swelling any day," Sherlock lamented when they got into a cab.

"You're only eight weeks."

"I'll look six months pregnant before I'm twelve weeks. I already have a bulge."

"You are exaggerating."

"Just you wait, John Watson. You're going to have to roll me to crime scenes. I'll be too big to walk."

"People have twins every day, Sherlock."

"Why are you calm?!"

"I'm not calm, I'm just worrying about the parenting bit, not the pregnancy bit."

"Because you don't have to cart the bastards around for another seven months. Or less, you know, because of increased risk of premature delivery."

"Jesus, you are a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

"Fuck off, John."

"I love you."

There was a long pause.

"I love you, too."

… …

Silas wasn't old enough to understand, so Sherlock and John didn't bother to explain anymore than simply informing their six month old that he was getting two little siblings for the price of one.

Well, not really the price of one, John thought mournfully. He had no idea how he was going to get enough money to support two new babies. His pride wouldn't let him ask Mycroft or Harry for help (pride and alpha instinct, anyway) and he was a little too unemployed to rely on himself for the money.

"I need a job," John sighed, sinking into his chair.

"Don't you dare!" Sherlock called from the kitchen, where he was eating everything. "You promised not to make me a housewife staying at home with the pups!"

"Just for a few months," John called back. "We just need a little extra money for the babies—where did you get chicken?"

Sherlock had popped out of the kitchen while John was talking, a chicken leg hanging from his mouth.

"I stashed it," Sherlock said, looking mildly ashamed of himself. "It's cravings, John. You wouldn't understand. If you had eaten it, I would have cried. Tears and everything. God, this is horrible."

John smothered the urge to laugh with practiced skill. "What do you want me to do, then? We needmore money if we're going to be bringing two new pups into this flat. Oh, God. We're barely going to have enough room. We should talk to Mrs. Hudson. She might not want that many children running about, creating chaos."

"Don't even suggest it to her, she will skin you alive," Sherlock warned drily. "She never had children. She's been praying that we have at least six."

"Six?! Where would we put them, in the cupboards?"

"I think she secretly wants us to invade the rest of 221 with our progeny. She has an extra room in 221A that she'd love a child to stay in. And there's 221C. If that gets fixed up, then we would have plenty of space for the twins and another child or two."

"No more babies for a good while," John sighed. "Or maybe ever. I don't think we'll be able to handle three. We can't even handle one! I've totally lost track of Silas during this conversation. Do you know where he's scootched himself off to?"

Silas couldn't quite crawl yet at six months, but he could roll around and wriggle like nobody's business. He had honed the skill to an impressive level and often disappeared when no one was paying attention.

"He's under the sofa," Sherlock said dismissively. "He's fine. And if you really feel like we need more money, I have a few high paying cases in my in-box that I could pick up. They've been too boring to consider, but if funds are part of the picture..."

"Thank you," John said, sighing with a bit of relief. "I just need to feel like we have some cushion. You never know what can happen. Especially with pups."

"I'll check the cases now," Sherlock said, running his fingers soothingly through John's hair with the hand not still holding the chicken leg. He moved to the desk and sat down before sighing. "Goddammit, I just gave into the omega again."

"I like the little omega in that back of your head," John reminded Sherlock. "He's much nicer to me than you are."

Sherlock grumbled under his breath, going to back to eating his chicken while typing with one hand. "Get Silas," he ordered without looking up. "He's trying to lick up dust."

John went to go grab his son. He returned to stand behind Sherlock as the omega made a noise of disgust.

"What is it? Stupid people again?"

"Always," Sherlock grumbled. "But more specifically someone I went to Uni with."

"He sent you a case?"

"It's a stupid case," Sherlock complained. "And I hate him."

"Hate: the default hate you feel for everyone? Or hate: genuinely did something to wrong you?"

Sherlock snapped the laptop shut. "He's an alpha," Sherlock started. "And he felt that University was not a proper place for an omega."

"Twat."

"Yes. And, furthermore, he once skulked around outside my flat when I was in heat, hoping that I would be desperate enough to invite him in and bond with him."

John froze for a moment and clutched Silas closer. "Twat. What did you do?" It was practically impossible for an omega in heat to refuse a willing alpha.

"I shot up the rest of my heroine and spent my heat in a near-overdose daze. Couldn't let him in if I couldn't get out of bed to open the door."

"Don't take his case," John huffed, stomping into the kitchen to make tea. He set a fussy Silas into his high chair and got out the mugs more aggressively than he needed to.

"His pays the most," Sherlock pointed out from the sitting room. "I mean, it pays for all of Silas's schooling, even if Silas attends Eton and Cambridge. Apparently he's desperate. Also, I've been ignoring his pleas for several months, so he keeps upping the amount of money he's willing to pay me."

John stared at the mugs for a good long while, torn between alpha pride and practical thinking.

"Dada," Silas said, his tone implying that he was being ridiculous. "Dada yes."

John exhaled slowly. "Fine. But I don't have to like him."

"Well, I hate him. So we could form a club of mutual animosity. The opposite of a fan club. A hate club. There will be meetings. I get to be president. You can be vice president. Silas can be treasurer. Except he can't count, so our accounting books will be a mess. But we will be united in our hate and it will be horrible."

"Are you overtired?"

"Yes."

"Get some sleep."

"Respond to the e-mail for me. I haven't finished reading all the details. I'll take Silas with me, it's time for his nap."

"PAPA NO."

"Yes, Silas, nap time."

"NO. BAD. DEATH."

"'Death' is a new one," Sherlock said, coming into the kitchen and pulling Silas up from his high chair. "Maybe he'll be saying 'murder' soon." Sherlock brightened up at the thought. "Or 'experiment.'"

"Should I be concerned that most of his words have negative connotations?"

"He learned 'dog.'"

"After the case where the woman trained her wolf hybrid to kill people. Not the best context, he's terrified of dogs. Probably a bad idea to let him go to that crime scene."

"Well," Sherlock considered. "He can say 'cake.'"

"You taught him that to mock Mycroft."

"Worth it. He can say, 'tea.'"

John looked up from the computer and smiled. "That's a good one. Perhaps we haven't corrupted him after all."

"Oh, we've corrupted him. But at least he knows one nice word."

… …

John already hated Sebastian Wilkes. He hadn't even met the bloke, but he could tell via e-mail that the man was raging prick. He talked to Sherlock—Sherlock—as though he were an idiot, which John couldn't even fathom properly.

Dear Sherlock,

It's Sebastian Wilkes, remember me from Uni? Of course you do, we nearly bonded if I recall correctly.

Listen, I'm sorry to bother you after so many years of radio silence (you know how life gets) but I've run into a spot of trouble at my bank. There's been a break in, and I believe that it was an inside job.

I hope you understand that this is a very delicate matter. Meaning, we cannot involve the police. I'm sorry if that bothers you (I know how you omegas get about such things), but we can't let the press get wind of this. I'm sure you'll understand.

I'd be willing to offer you a nice sum of money to take the case and find the inside man.

Additionally, I was wondering, if you're still unbonded that is, if you would like to get some dinner sometime? We could stick to strictly business related topics, of course. I'd just be delighted to see you again.

I'll be in touch again soon, but I do hope to hear from you before then.

Most Affectionately,

Sebastian Wilkes

And then he left his phone number and—would you look at that? His home address. Prat.

Some time later he sent another.

Dear Sherlock,

I'm not certain you received my last e-mail, but it has been over a week since I sent it, and I haven't received a response.

I'm willing to offer you 25,000 pounds to find out which employee of my bank has been staging break ins. Yes, multiple. We've had another last night. Quite a few things were stolen, but we have managed to cover it up. We're trying not to let the media get wind of this.

Sebastian Wilkes

P.S. Would you be interested in going to get a coffee some time and catch up?

He sent them regularly for a few months, slowly upping the amount of money he was willing to offer until-

"Oh, Jesus," John breathed. Yep, that was definitely enough to hold them for a while. Swallowing his pride, John typed out a reply.

Dear Mr. Wilkes,

I do apologize for not responding to your case sooner. I've had a rather hectic year and have been unable to take many cases.

I would be happy to drop by your bank at your earliest convenience.

The aforementioned fee is more than acceptable, I thank you for your generosity in advance.

Let me know when you are able to see me.

Sincerely,

Sherlock Holmes

John read it over and sent it to Wilkes, intentionally leaving himself out of the e-mail. He was rather looking forward to seeing the look on the bastard's face when John was introduced as Sherlock's alpha and husband.

There was a reply before John got out of the chair.

Right away, if that suits you.

Sebastian Wilkes

… …

Of course, John waited until Sherlock and Silas had woken up from their nap before they bundled up against the winter chill and headed to the bank.

They decided to take Silas with them for several reasons. One, Sherlock was started to nest and was becoming even more protective of his baby. Two, the case wasn't dangerous. Three, fuck Sebastian Wilkes and his assumption that Sherlock was single.

The last one was solely for John's sake, but Sherlock didn't need to know about it.

"Bank's closing soon," Sherlock pointed out, watching the city pass while he bounced his son in his lap. "I don't usually go to the bank. Will that mean it's empty or crowded?"

"What day of the week is it?" John asked, sincerely unable to remember anything other than the fact that his omega was carrying two children inside of him. That sort of news throws your day off a bit.

"Friday."

"Friday is payday. It will be chaos. God help us all." John resigned himself to pushing people out of the way so that NO ONE TOUCHED HIS OMEGA. God damn nesting instincts.

"Bone," Silas said solemnly. He stared at John for a moment before sticking his fist in his mouth, as though that held all the secrets to the universe.

Hell, for all John knew, it did.

"How long has he been saying 'bone'?" John asked.

"About three days," Sherlock grinned. "It is a lovely word and I approve wholeheartedly."

They arrived at the bank and, yes, fought their way through crowds of excited Londoners with pockets full of cash to burn over the weekend. Sherlock somehow talked their way right to Wilkes's office, where John chatted with the nice receptionist lady until Wilkes could see them.

Sherlock handed Silas to John and entered the office with his usual, coat swirling dramatic flair.

"Took you long enough," the overly-slick Wilkes said in reproach, before seeing that John had a baby and catching the scent of a pregnant omega. "Ah..."

Oh, that completely dumbfounded expression. It was perfect. It was beyond perfect. It made John want to dance around the room and also punch Wilkes in the face for good measure.

"Sorry," John said, taking the seat beside Sherlock and settling Silas down in his lap. "We couldn't get someone to watch the baby. Don't worry, he won't leak anything to the press." John held out his hand. "John Watson-Holmes. Pleasure to meet you."

Wilkes looked like shaking John's hand was one of the last things he wanted to do, but he did it anyway. "Yes, ah. Pleasure's all mine. Well, I can see you've been rather busy, Sherlock. I'm sorry, but I am a bit floored by this. How did you two meet, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I stumbled across John while working a case eighteen months ago," Sherlock said easily. "We were bonded less than three days later. Love at first sight and all that stupid nonsense. So, you've got someone robbing you blind from the inside. I'm going to need details and I'll need to speak to all potential suspects."

"Right," Wilkes said, still looking a bit shell shocked. "And you have a baby?"

"Yes, that's Silas," Sherlock said dismissively. "He's six months old. He isn't relevant to the case. When did the break ins occur?"

"And you're pregnant?"

"For Christ's sake," Sherlock finally groaned. "Yes, I am pregnant. I'm an omega. It happens. Kind of a lot. Can we please just get to the case?"

"I just never would have guessed. A husband? Really?"

"Yes," John sighed. "Husband. I'm the husband, that is. Sorry to disappoint. You had a case to be solved? Rather pressing, if I do recall?"

Wilkes visibly shook himself and laid down the facts of the case.

"I don't know how they're getting in and out. No sign of forced entry. But our security deposit boxes are being emptied."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. "What, do you check the contents regularly? If there was no sign of entry, how would you even guess something was stolen?"

"Pure chance," Sebastian admitted. "A customer wanted to access her box and found that the contents were missing. We hushed it up, but in the interest of thoroughness, we checked the other boxes and found that hers was not the only one. I e-mailed you after this and set up a motion detector in the room. It alerted me about a week later that someone had entered at around three in the morning. The security tapes showed nothing. I believe we were fed a loop, like in films? Anyway, that's when I e-mailed you again. It has been happening regularly since the first incident several months ago. We keep hoping it will stop but… our bank is no longer a safe place for storing valuables. And I've already said why we haven't gone to the police. "

"Yes, I see why you don't want the media involved," Sherlock sighed, placing his hand on the small bulge of his abdomen as he thought. "No one would want to use to bank for security deposits again. And Lord knows the Yard can't manage to be discreet for more than an hour. Alright, I'll officially take the case. I won't drop it until I've solved it, although I don't think that it will take all that long. John, give me Silas. I feel the urge to snuggle."

John wordlessly passed his omega their son and gleefully watched Wilkes take in the exchange with something akin to horror.

"Shall we start now, darling?" John asked Sherlock.

"In the morning," Sherlock said, standing, snuggling Silas to his chest. "It's an international bank, and technically people will still be working here all night, but the regular staff will be heading home after closing. I believe that is where we need to focus the investigation, so for tonight it will be enough to get a look at the bank's layout. Seb, old friend, do you happen to have blueprints of the building?" The question was directed with a heavy layer of sarcasm and condescension. Wilkes looked like he was regretting those e-mails he sent.

"Of course, but I'd rather they didn't leave the bank. Can't have you using them to plan any robberies yourselves now, can I?"

"At the moment, leaving them in the bank hasn't exactly proved to be secure, has it?" John pointed out, to Wilkes's distaste.

Wilkes led them out of his instructed his secretary to get Sherlock the requested documents. The secretary delayed for several moments, which she spent cooing over Silas, but both John and Sherlock found this an acceptable delay, as Silas was adorable and deserved any and all cooing he received.

"Just get them the blueprints!" Wilkes finally snapped, losing patience at the scene of domestic bliss in front of him. He stalked back into his office and slammed the door.

"He really was counting on you being single," John observed as the secretary left them. "I'd feel bad for him if I didn't hate him."

"There are two alphas for every omega," Sherlock pointed out. "He's on the unlucky half of the spectrum. Not rich enough to get a mate through influence and not a good enough person to get a mate through mutual respect and affection."

"He should try Matchmaker," John suggested with a smirk. "I've heard that it's a miracle."

Sherlock snorted and clutched Silas tighter. "I know of a fascinating redheaded omega in prison that's still looking for a mate. If he doesn't mind having a psychotic omega, that is."

"He was interested in you, after all," John pointed out.

"Ouch. Touche," Sherlock conceded. "Although if I flatter myself, I would believe that I am better company than a serial killer."

"Marginally."

"Oh, shut up."

They were interrupted when Silas decided to suddenly start babbling at the top of his little lungs after being uncharacteristically quiet during the meeting.

"Shh," Sherlock halfheartedly tried to quiet the baby. "Screaming in public is frowned upon."

Silas kept screeching with a smile on his face, making noise for the sake of making noise.

The secretary took this opportunity to return, laughing when she saw that Silas was apparently testing the full potential of his lungs.

"I have it here. Mr. Wilkes requested that you look at it briefly and give it back to me when you finish."

Sherlock passed Silas off to John and flipped through the papers, doubtlessly memorizing ever single line.

"That will be all," he said, after a few moments, handing it back to the surprised secretary. "John, come. We need to get some food and head back home and then eat more food."

"I have to admit, I think I like pregnant you better than regular you. The eating habits anyway."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stalked off, but John was fairly certain he heard him asking his baby bump what it wanted for dinner.