Sherlock was still pacing when a small nurse approached where John was sitting and Sherlock was intently attacking the carpet with his feet.

"She is stable. She lost a good amount of blood and as long as we keep the wounds clean and get her the right nutrients and enough blood back into her system, she should be fine."

Sherlock had stilled. John looked at him before cautiously asking "What about the..." He motioned to his stomach.

"We'll have to wait until she produces enough urine to run any tests. She doesn't have enough blood to give and even when she will have enough, the blood still isn't her own. But we have taken precautions. Although she would have been more comfortable with something stronger, we have used a category C painkiller in her IV. It's not ideal but it should ease some of the pain and if she is pregnant, keep the fetus unharmed."

John let out his withheld breathe. "Thank you."

"Can we see her?" Both the nurse and John looked at the previously silent Sherlock, surprised at the clipped tone.

"She's sleeping but yes." Turning around, the nurse led them to a room, standing just outside the doorway as Sherlock brushed past her and John followed his flat mate, too exhausted and worried to apologize for Sherlock's behavior.

The nurse closed the door softly, leaving the two men alone with an almost lifeless Odella and a steadily beeping heart monitor.

Without any warning, Sherlock un-tucked the bed sheets at Odella's feet and folded them up to her ankles. Brushing each toe with a fingertip, he counted all ten before covering her feet up again.

"Sherlock."

Next, he gently examined each hand, satisfied only when he saw all of her fingers present. Moving to her head, Sherlock opened Odella's mouth, counting every single tooth.

"Sherlock."

Checking that both ears were there, holding up a nasal cannula, he began examining her scalp, cataloging each individual strand.

"Sherlock."

"What?!" With hands still in Odella's hair, Sherlock finally acknowledged John.

"Enough." The word had a force behind it that John didn't use often.

Looking back down at the woman who had yet to move, Sherlock realized what he was doing. Withdrawing his hands, he sat down heavily in one of the chairs next to the bed, still keeping his eyes on Odella, not wanting to look away. His eyes continued to flicker to the white bandage wrapped around her neck, his face darkening each time.

John picked up Odella's charts and sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed.

"Her doctor has planned for Odella to be released in a few days if everything goes well."

"The doctor. We both know you're the only doctor she will allow to touch her when she wakes up." Sherlock gave a small smile in affection, whether directed towards himself or Odella, John couldn't tell.

An hour and three cups of coffee each later, there was a knock on the door.

Although Sherlock was closer, John walked across the room and opened the door a crack.

"Is she doing okay?" Molly stood there nervously, her voice softer than usual. Nodding, John stepped back to let her in.

"I would have come as soon as I heard, but I couldn't leave the morgue until my shift was over." Stopping at the foot of her bed, Molly took in Odella's paleness.

"Has she woken up at all?" Her voice cracked.

Sherlock shook his head, eyes never leaving Odella. "No, but when she does, I'll call you. She'll be glad to know you checked in on her."

Molly hesitated before walking to John's side of the bed, leaning down, and placing a quick peck on Odella's cheek. "Get better."

John walked out of the room with Molly, leaving Sherlock alone.

Laying his head beside Odella's hip he held her hand in his own. "What she said," he pressed the words into her palm.

The first thing Odella became aware of was the feeling as if she were lying on a bed of hot rocks; her back stung with a painful heat and she whimpered, the noise weakly passing through her sore throat.

"Odella?" A deep voice that sounded as if it came from down a long, dark tunnel made her head pound. "Can you open your eyes?" She whimpered again, wanting the voice to both continue speaking and leave her alone.

"Please?" Another voice came out of the blackness. With both voices echoing in her head, she felt as if she was forgetting something. What was it?

It hurt to remember, or even think and she moaned, both in frustration and pain. Feeling a fog beginning to creep in, she considered fighting against it, but even considering hurt too much, so she let it settle over her again.

The next time she became aware of being conscience, she felt her body scream. The simmering heat on her back had turned into an inferno, the stretched skin holding the sensation of being scorched off in layers.

It wasn't just her skin that was screaming; so was she. The screeches ripped past her worn vocal cords and she became aware of tightening skin across her neck.

What she wasn't aware of was her nails digging into both the nurse's arm and John's as he helped the nurse change Odella's bandages. He had thought it would be easy, but after the first five minutes of screaming, he had had to unfurl her hand from his skin and leave the room, his chest threatening to burst.

Finally- blessedly- the screaming stopped and Odella slept peacefully once more.

"...physically, she should heal nicely. Her scarring should be limited since we have been taking care of the wounds religiously." Odella could hear a question being murmured but could barely push through the swamp that was her mind to even stay awake, let alone distinguish the quiet words.

"There is a possibility of losing the embryo; she has been traumatized and her body may reject caring for the it in favor of trying to repair her body and her mind. It may be too stressful on her to even allow it to grow into a fetus, let alone a baby."

Her eyes jerked open and she gasped for air as if she were a drowning victim. Discovering she was lying on her back, she attempted to sit up, only to scream through clenched teeth at the ripping feeling splintering across her back. She felt hands on her but she ignored them, trying to reach her stomach. Her own hands were heavy as she ran them across her abdomen.

Odella didn't know what to expect there, but she began slightly panicking at the clammy feeling of her skin, sure that it was a bad sign. Voices were swimming around her, whether in her head or outside, she wasn't sure. There were too many of them and she felt nausea rise.

Disoriented and dizzy, she felt herself leaning, being caught, and then her hair being held back as she retched into a pan held in front of her.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she let herself be lowered back down onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Anger and fear hovered in the clear patches of the thickening mist that would make everything go gloriously black.

Just before she closed her lids, she saw two pairs of blue eyes through her blurry vision; one the color of an England sky, the other an indigo. Both made her choke out a sob before going quiet.

Odella woke, finding she was propped up in bed. She managed to keep her eyes open to take in both of her hands being held by long, pale fingers, and tan, calloused ones.

She gazed at her own scarred fingers entwined with John and Sherlock's and, without her knowledge, tears began pattering against her hospital gown. Odella slowly turned her hands to see more of the ones holding hers, feeling both men stir at her movement.

"Odella." John attempted to pull his hand away and sit up but Odella only tightened her hold on the captured hands.

Both men looked at her, expecting her to speak. When she didn't, Sherlock frowned at her tears. "Are you in pain?"

"You have such beautiful hands, both of you." She only managed a whisper, her throat still raw from screaming. Ignoring Sherlock's question, Odella continued to study their hands, her tears still flowing. "I don't deserve to have them hold my own. But they do. The universe is cruel that way, I guess."

She slowly withdrew, her own fingers lingering before curling into fists placed by her sides. As of yet, she had made no eye contact, not even looking up from the appendages on the blanket. But now she raised her chin and blinked at the men on either side of her.

"I would like a few moments alone, please. And it would be wise to inform my doctor I am awake." Her voice wavered, her ability to not scream at both wonderful, beautiful, absolutely heartbreakingly, good men for just being there, with their eyes full of worry and pity making it hard to look at them.

She shouldn't have any of this.

"Are you sure?" John and Sherlock hadn't moved, watching Odella with matching frowns on their faces.

"Please. Just...just go." She stared at a spot on the wall, refusing to make eye contact.

They stood and as they headed towards the door, John laid a hand on her blanketed leg, making her flinch reflexively and deepening his frown. Odella still refused to look until the door was closed behind them.

Slumping in the hospital bed, she wrapped her arms around her middle. She stayed like that for awhile, staring at the closed door before the crawling sickness spread through her whole body and a straggled sob forced its way out.

There was an urge to throw something against the wall but it hurt to move. Curling up on her side to keep pressure off her back, she began shaking as more distressed noises came from her mouth.

The words she spoke to Adrian resonated through her mind. She really couldn't do this again.

"Ms. Wilde? I heard you were awake. I'm Dr. Jacobson." A man came in followed by a tired looking nurse. He picked up the clip board at the end of Odella's bed and wrote down something after checking his watch.

"Any pain at the moment?" He looked at her over his glasses, taking in her fetal position and frowning. She shook her head and looked away, blinking slowly.

Dr. Jacobson set the clipboard down by her feet and came to stand in front of her. "Can you sit up? I'd like to check a few things."

The accompanying nurse took Odella gently by the arm and help her raise herself up from the bed. She winced from the strain on her back but squeezed the nurse's hand gratefully, knowing she had limited her discomfort by assisting.

She sat numbly as the doctor ran tests, checking her reflexes and other things she promptly ignored in favor of watching her heart monitor, squinting her eyes at the continued waves that scrolled across the screen not knowing whether she was grateful for them or silently cursing their existence.

"Ms. Wilde? Odella?" Odella broke her empty gaze and focused on Dr. Jacobson. He was looking at her as if waiting for an answer and when he saw her wrinkle her eyebrows in confusion, he repeated, "How sure are you that you're pregnant?"

"I'm not. It was just a feeling, and the throwing up." She frowned at the sound of her weak voice.

"When was the last time you ovulated?" Odella shrugged and her fingers unconsciously found their way to her arm where the contraceptive bar had been, only a row of small stitches there after being removed earlier for fear of harming the possible fetus.

"You would have been maybe moodier, or your libido may have increased. Tender breasts are also a common sign."

"It might have been...almost two weeks ago, I think." She rubbed her forehead, trying not to think of the morning she left Sherlock lying in bed and found John in the shower. She shouldn't have had them both. She shouldn't love them both. She shouldn't have passed out on their door step.

Dr. Jacobson cleared his throat and Odella blinked away her sudden tears.

"We are currently testing your urine. In the meantime, you need to rest. Your body may still be shock and your back needs to heal properly." She felt her stomach sink at the reminder and she bit the inside of her lip, praying she wouldn't throw up.

Odella closed her eyes, trying to keep her empty stomach from attempting to heave itself up into her throat, feeling suffocated by the tightening in her chest. She didn't even notice the doctor leave.

"Odella. Calm down. You're fine. You're safe." Odella opened her eyes to the nurse perched beside her on the bed, her hand on Odella's knee comfortingly.

She nodded just barely and looked away embarrassed at panicking.

"The hospital employs a grief counselor for those who need it. Would you like to talk to her?" The woman looked at her in a way that reminded her of Mrs. Hudson.

Gripping her hand in her own, Odella slowly nodded. "Just her, please. I don't want to see or talk to anyone else for a while."

"Would you like me to tell the others?"

"Please. Just say that...I don't want them to see me like this." She waved towards her loose tears that had escaped.

The nurse patted her leg and stood. She pulled two tissues from the box on the bedside table and placed them in Odella's hand before leaving through the door Dr. Jacobson had left cracked when he left.

"She doesn't want visitors. She's personally requested that no one bothers her for the time being." The nurse spoke to the small crowd sitting in front of her.

"But surely-"

"She's agreed to see a grief counselor and no one else." She cut off Sherlock with the tone of finality before turning around and walking away, sending up a prayer for the sad-eyed girl and her gathering of loved ones. They would all need help if the broken-like demeanor of the woman wasn't repaired.

Odella watched the small woman pitter into her room and sit down in the bedside chair. She would have liked this woman a few days ago, but now, her inside shriveled at the woman's obvious- although currently detained- brightness.

Taking out a notebook and a small recorder, she got comfortable before smiling at Odella. She introduced herself but Odella immediately forgot it, something ugly in her head refusing to allow her to remember it.

"So. Dr. Jacobson said you may be pregnant. Are you excited?" Odella could see she was excited for her.

"I don't know. I only realized it in the last two days." Odella flinched at the sourness in her voice.

"Father?" Odella blinked at the question, her annoyance making an appearance at the woman's lack of a proper sentence.

She shrugged. "Could be either of the two men I live with." She glared at the counselor, daring her to judge her.

"And do you love either of them?"

"It doesn't matter if I didn't, does it? But yes, I happen to love both of them." It seemed as if there was something poisonous and mean rearing its head inside of Odella's mind, making her hateful.

"Good. Love is always good to have when recovering from something traumatic."

Odella nodded in agreement, shoving down the festering tumor of malice and venomous spite that seemed to be directed at the world.
She would play along with this woman, do what she wanted her to do, and then be free of this idiotic predicament she had asked- in weakness- to be put into.

Dr. Jacobson came back in soon after the horrendous woman had left in a wave of perfume.

"Congratulations, Ms. Wilde. You are, in fact, pregnant." He smiled at her but Odella only felt her chest tighten. It was one thing having a premonition, completely another to have it be confirmed aloud.

Seeing his patient deflate in front of him, his smile slipped and was replaced with concern. "Are you in pain?"

Odella almost shook her head but changed her mind. "I want to sleep."

The doctor nodded and unlocked a small drawer beside the door and pulled out a bottle. He handed her a small container of two pills and poured her a cup of water.

Odella didn't ask what it was, just swallowed and laid back tensely.

"Like I said, rest. If you need anything, press the button for a nurse." He scribbled something down on her chart and then left, dimming the lights.

She turned on her side and curled up, feeling as if the pills in her stomach where eating a hole through her, leaving empty blackness behind.

Mycroft strode into the waiting room, looking surprised to find Sherlock and John slumped in the chairs. Both had shadows under their eyes.

"She won't let us see her." Sherlock had his hands steepled in front of his lips half-heartedly, his intense gaze practically burning through the door to Odella's room.

"I will talk to her. She is not emotionally connected with me, nor the doctors she allows to enter, so I may be able to have a word with her."

John watched the older Holmes walk across to the door and knock.

"It's Mycroft Holmes. May I come in?" A shadow passed by the frosted glass in the door before a small crack appeared. Mycroft stepped in and John looked away. Sherlock continued his staring.

"I have been told you have not allowed my brother and Dr. Watson to see you." Mycroft sat in the closest chair and watched Odella slowly crawl back into her bed, observing her small winces and the twitch of her lips as she gently laid back against the propped up pillows.

"I don't want to see them. Not right now." She plucked at the bed covers and then smoothed out the wrinkles she had created. Mycroft remained silent as she repeated her movements obsessively and small warning bells jingled in his mind.

"Why won't you? They are sitting right outside the door, drowning in worry. They've been there since you arrived." Odella's face hardened for a moment before her lips turned down, fighting back tears.

"I don't understand why they're here. They shouldn't be. They should be out solving cases, helping people who deserve it. Not sitting here waiting for me to pick myself up and return to Baker Street like nothing's happened. But how can I? I feel like my soul has been ripped from my body and left me empty. I can't even have the luxury of dying; I'm pregnant." Odella pulled her knees up and buried her face in them, trying not to shake and strain her back.

Mycroft took out his handkerchief and hesitated before sitting on the bed beside her.

"Odella. This may not mean anything coming from me, but my brother and John care for you very much. I've never seen Sherlock stick with one person this long except for Dr. Watson. They're here for you, no matter what state you're in. You're safe; you're alive. That's what matters right now. Those other things can matter later, but they need to see you now. They need to know that you're physically okay at the moment." He offered his handkerchief when Odella raised her head from her knees.

Taking it, Odella nodded and wiped her eyes. "Thank you." She sighed, shuddering one last time. "Give me five minutes and then you can send them in."

Standing up and straightening his suit jacket, Mycroft turned to leave but paused with one hand on the door knob. "And Odella? I will do everything in my power to make sure those two wretched men are taken care of."

After splashing her face with cold water and dry heaving into the toilet for a few seconds, Odella braced herself against the bathroom wall with one hand, the other on her stomach. She wanted to scream and cry, throw a tantrum, hold her breath until she passed out. Something to reflect what she felt on the inside.

She grimaced at herself in the mirror, her eyes settling on the red, scabbed-over cut that stood out on her throat. Running a finger across it, she wondered, disgusted, if it would scar. Not that it mattered: What was one more hideous scar?

Odella shuffled back to her bed, making a detour to crack the door open a little, signaling that she was ready for John and Sherlock to came in. She didn't have to wait long.

Just as she had pulled her covers over her legs, the door creaked open wider slowly, both men approaching her bed cautiously. She could see how tired they were and she felt her stomach swoop with guilt. They settled on either side of the bed, both perched on the edge of their seat, holding back the urge to touch her.

Odella cleared her throat and winced. "I'm sorry I made you wait. And that you've had to go through this. You really should have gone home." She twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Do you really think we would leave you here by yourself? We're just relieved that you're okay." John felt her tense under the hand he laid on her knee but she slowly made herself relax.

Sighing, Odella shrunk down into the bed. "I wonder where I would have been at this exact moment if I had stayed in America." She let her head loll onto the pillow, lower her eyelids tiredly.

When neither men said anything, she turned her head forward, examining the ceiling. "I want to go home."

Sherlock shifted beside her. "I'm sure I can arrange for a flight back to America." She could hear his voice quiver slightly and then straighten out into an emotionless tone.

Without looking, Odella clasped John's and Sherlock's hands in her own. "America doesn't have you two, Mrs. Hudson, or the skull that sits on the mantle. But Baker Street does. That's home." She closed her eyes, hearing both men sag with relief. "And it will be the home I want my child to know."

Odella loosened her grip on John and Sherlock, falling silent and allowing herself to doze. Meanwhile, John studied her chart, not sure how he felt when the papers confirmed there was a baby on the way.

Odella suffered through the next two days, smiling at John, Sherlock, and the doctors, including the grief counselor, even though she felt as if her insides had been scooped out with a very dull spoon. She laughed and talked freely with everyone, knowing the sooner she seemed to be stable- physically and mentally- the sooner she could go home.

John and Sherlock could see that something wasn't fully repaired but each made their own excuses for why Odella would occasionally become obsessive about things, and why her eyes would become slightly emptier than the moment before.

Odella felt that when she left this unfamiliar place and settled back into Baker Street, her need to constantly adjust things to her liking and her dark thoughts would leave her.

"Could you roll my chair farther to the right?" Odella watched the tiles beneath her wheelchair disappear under her, the right wheel not rolling over the same amount of tile as the left one.

The nurse adjusted as she continued her pushing Odella out into the parking lot to be picked up by Mycroft's driver and taken home.

"John, could you get into the car first? I'd like to sit in the middle." John could see her tighten the blanket covering her legs in her fist, becoming agitated the closer she came to being home.

Sherlock helped Odella into the van before turning around and thanking the nurse and climbing in himself. He nodded to the driver after making sure Odella was settled.

Home. Odella stood just in the doorway of the flat, expecting everything to be in complete disarray, or at least changed. But it was the same as always. Same piles of books and newspapers; same stray tea mugs that she or John had missed while tidying up; same weak, England sunlight that highlighted swirling dust particles as they settled onto the rug.

She jumped when a warm hand came to rest on her arm, sighing apologetically at John's frown. Odella stepped away from his touch and perched herself on the couch carefully, rearranging her face to hide her wince of pain from John's and Sherlock's watchful gaze.

They watched her stare at the falling dust, her eyes following their descent and then moving to another speck once the previous had hit the carpet. She seemed content to stay like that but John could see her eyelids lowering slightly and her shoulders sagging.

He turned to Sherlock, seeing he had noticed the same. John gave him a silently agreed nod and they separated; John went to make tea and dinner, while Sherlock went to the bedroom, coming back with a pillow and blanket.

"Odella, why don't you lie down for awhile." Sherlock placed the things on the couch's armrest, speaking in low tones.

Looking away from the sunlight, Odella squinted at him as if she didn't recognize him. "What?"

"You should rest." Sherlock fluffed the pillow and propped it at the end of the couch and handing Odella the blanket. She took it slowly and placed it in her lap and went back to watching the air.

Sighing, Sherlock blocked her view, his exasperation growing when she didn't react. Taking the blanket back, he snapped it open and spread it out. "Lie down."

Odella looked up and blinked owlishly, sluggishly lowering herself down onto the pillow and allowing Sherlock to cover her up. He moved to go sit in his chair but she caught his hand. He stopped and looked down at her, but she had her eyes closed. Sherlock was unsure of what she wanted but she squeezed his hand once and then let it go, curling her arm under her head and sighing.

For the first few days, Odella was in a medicated fog; she rarely moved from the couch and ate very little. She mostly sat there, staring at things or John or Sherlock, answering things in short sentences or single words, and slept.

But once her pain meds were gone, she returned to some stages of normalcy. She hadn't moved back to sleep in the bed, claiming that she didn't want to bump her back against one of them or roll over on it, things the couch wouldn't allow.

Odella began to read again, write in her journal, and slowly talking more. She tried to make herself seem normal but she only felt as if she were waiting in anticipation for something. She wasn't sure if it was paranoia or something else.

Odella still found herself becoming overly frustrated at little things like John's pile of bills being in a slightly skewed stack, or when her tea bag string was on a certain side of her mug. Her irritation continued to build and when she was asked if she was ready to give her statement to Lestrade, she had stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

She hadn't been able to take a bath, John wanting her to wait until her back had properly scabbed over so she had been having to sponge bathe out of the sink and wash her hair under the faucet of the bathtub.

Leaning over the side of the tub, she flipped her head over and turned on the water. Odella reached for the shampoo, irritated that she had forgotten to get them before she soaked her hair. She felt her fingertips brush the bottle but she couldn't quite reach it from her kneeling position. She knew she could have easily slid over and gotten it, but she burst into tears instead, jerking the water off and turning around to sit on the floor, her head resting on the ledge of the bathtub.

Odella heard the door open and threw an arm over her eyes, trying to muffle her tears.

"Odella." John kneeled down beside her and removed her arm, looking at her like she was an injured wild animal.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. I just want to take a proper bath." She let him wipe tears and water from her face and watched as he reached across her for the shampoo. Heaving one last sob, she sagged against the tub, closing her eyes when John turned the water back on.

As she curled herself around him, he massaged the soap into her scalp, moving slowly in case she was still in danger of breaking down again. Odella realized this was the first time she had let anyone touch her since she had been home and she felt the threat of tears prickle behind her closed lids but she took a deep breath, smelling John and his tea, and her lavender shampoo.

"Take your time, there's no rush." Lestrade handed Odella a cup of coffee, settling in his chair with his own steaming mug. He could see John sitting outside the closed door while Sherlock paced around the station, terrorizing the other officers.

Looking over her shoulder, Odella saw him, too. She knew he was irritated that she had asked that he and John waited outside.

"I'm sorry if he causes any problems; I just thought it better if he didn't hear what happened." She turned back to Lestrade but kept her gaze down.

"And what did happen?" Lestrade had the photos his team had taken that night in front of him, but it was difficult imagining this woman mixed up in all of it. He knew that as soon as he had all three of their statements, he would have to hand the case over to someone higher up; it was considered too personal. And looking at Odella, with her drawn down lips and flat eyes, and watching John and Sherlock flutter around her as if she were made of brittle porcelain, he realized that it was getting personal.

"I was home alone- I had just woken up- when I heard a car stop in front of 221..."

"What did she say?" Sherlock appeared in front of Lestrade, his voice low so Odella couldn't hear him where she was sitting not far away with John.

"Sherlock, I can't tell you that. Even if I could, she doesn't want you to know." Lestrade put his finger up as his phone began ringing from its clip on his belt. He turned away to answer it.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at Odella who had just seemed to notice that the surrounding officers were unsuccessfully trying to act as if they weren't openly staring at her. He saw her clutch John's hand, looking panicked.

"Lestrade, I recommend your colleagues stop ogling Odella before Molly has too many new cadavers than she knows what to do with."

Hanging up his phone, Lestrade strode forward and said something to Odella. She stood up and let him guide her to a boardroom, silently thanking the challenging glare he gave his fellow officers as he walked beside her.

"You can stay here until I have both John's and Sherlock's statement." Odella nodded, sitting down in a chair, John sitting next to her.

Lestrade left and they sat there in silence until Odella cleared her throat. "Is Sherlock angry with me?"

"Why would he be?" John frowned at her but she didn't meet his eyes.

"Because I made him wait outside."

"I don't think he is mad at you, I think he just doesn't like you being out of his sight, to be honest. Not that he doesn't trust Greg- Lestrade- but he would just rather have you in arm's length. It's a protective instinct; especially for someone like him." Odella sighed, but he couldn't tell if it was from relief. She fell silent again for a while and then laid her head in her hands, her elbows propped up on the table.

"John. What if I do something to mess this up? I don't know what I'm doing; I don't know how to be mother." She hunched her shoulders, letting her hair fall around her as she ground the heels of her hands into her teary eyes.

"Don't say that. Everything will be fine; you'll have the baby and be an amazing mum." He stroked her back, shocked at the realization that this was the first time talking about the little one growing inside of Odella.

They both looked up when Sherlock opened the door. "Lestrade would like your statement, John."

Squeezing Odella's shoulder, John stood. As he passed Sherlock he leant in. "Be gentle."

He knew Sherlock was still agitated from being separated from Odella and knew he had trouble with being gentle when he was irritated.

Sherlock only nodded. "I've been standing outside for a while."

He waited until John was halfway to Lestrade's office before he stepped farther into the room and closed the door.

Odella had one arm stretched out on the table, the other crooked to lay on top of the first, her head cradled between them as she watched Sherlock. Her eyelids were only opened halfway and he could tell she would have happily closed them if she had been in a more comfortable position.

Sitting next to her, Sherlock turned so that their knees were touching. She sat up when she realized he wasn't going to get any closer and pushed her chair nearer until she she couldn't move any farther. Odella leaned over, resting her head on the left side of Sherlock's chest, sighing when he leaned farther back in his chair and took her weight with him.

It wasn't exactly comfortable but Odella felt better when she could hear the steady rhythm of Sherlock's heart instead of the constantly changing pace of her own. Sherlock let her doze, his hand unconsciously coming to rest on her stomach as he watched people pass by the frosted glass outside the room. He could see some of the officers stop and look in only to quickly hurry away when they were met with Sherlock's murderous glare.

Whether it was the hormones or the start of a mental break down, Odella steadily grew more difficult: she refused to be touched and handed out dirty looks over everything.

She stayed on the couch but at night, Sherlock could hear her moving around, only actually sleeping when she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Odella paced sometimes for hours, in the dark.

Occasionally, she would quietly cry, mostly when she thought Sherlock and John couldn't hear. They could hear her sobbing when she locked herself in the bathroom for a shower, but her body language afterwards challenged them to say anything.

Odella ate little, battling both morning sickness and all-day nausea. If left to her own devices, she probably wouldn't have eaten at all. But fortunately, John and Sherlock were constantly handing her mugs of tea and slices of toast when she wasn't either throwing up or barricading herself in the upstairs room they now used as a library.

The periods where she was apologetic and responsive to other's company became increasingly smaller, being replaced with a disturbing coolness and stinging sarcasm. Sometimes, she wouldn't make a noise for long lengths of time, sitting in places like corners and just observing. It was unnerving; her eyes betraying paranoia and intense focus.

News of Corbin and Adrian were filling the newspapers and broadcasts. John and Sherlock attempted to shelter Odella from it, but she watched and read with adamant interest. It reminded Sherlock of the rapt attention he himself held during a particularly exciting case. For John, it felt like he was waiting for some impactful event to happen; something eventually had to topple the card house that was 221 B.