AN: Hello there! This is an extended version of my fic "The Letter". You don't need to read that one to understand this one.

Don't forget to tell me your thoughts!


Everything was white and pristine. The entire place smelled of disinfectant. There were people running to and fro. There were plenty of doctors, nurses, couples, families. It was the maternity ward, of course there would be people. And no matter how much he disliked people, he knew this was the place where he and his child needed to be.

As soon as he arrived and announced himself and his condition, he was rapidly taken a room and asked to take off his clothes and put on a special gown. The nurse smiled at him tenderly as she asked him if he needed help with his clothes. She soon noticed he was alone and that he had not brought a baby bag. He was just a man wearing his usual pyjamas, his slippers, a long dark coat, and about to give birth.

"Is there anyone you'll want me to call?"

He considered it for a moment. He had signed legal documents promising to call the adoptive parents the moment he knew he was about to give birth. He promised them. He knew he had to call them and let them know the child he was having, and giving to them, was coming to the world. He had said it himself countless times. As soon as it was taken out of him, it was theirs.

But there was one person he knew had to be there. With him. And with their child.

"Doctor Watson."

The smiling nurse left with the number and promised to make the call. She asked him to please lie down and call her if he needed anything. After a quick ultrasound, Sherlock learnt the baby was definitely coming now, but still, he had to wait. The doctors said they needed the baby to move and then they were performing a c-section.

Everything should be all right, the doctors said.

So Sherlock lay down on the bed and let his hands caress his own belly. He knew only a layer of skin and muscles were keeping him from his baby. From that child he was giving away because he thought he couldn't do it alone. But not any more. Now he was not alone.

That same afternoon John said he wanted their baby.


Oh, really? "Why?"

"Because it's my child."

"It has always been yours. Why you want it now?"

"Sherlock -"

"You said you didn't want children."

John's eyes were red. "I'm sorry." He sniffed and looked away, as if using that tactic Sherlock would not see he had been and still was crying.

Damn you. "I'm giving it up for adoption."

"You can't." His soldier voice was back. He even stood with his back straight. While Sherlock remained on his chair, John stood up and decided to face this now. "I'm the father too. I know my rights."

The detective chuckled. "Please."

"Look, if we can't discuss this like civilised people I'm getting a lawyer."

Sherlock laid a bit back and curled his lips upwards. He knew how much John hated it, that sarcastic smile. With some effort, the detective managed to stand up and face the father of his baby. The man who, something like twenty-eight weeks ago, said he didn't want their baby. That he didn't want to have children. Who agreed when he said he was getting an abortion.

"Twenty-eight weeks ago you agreed I should get an abortion."

John swallowed and looked into the detective's eyes. "I swear to you I'll take things as far as -" Suddenly, his soldier voice failed him. He was now stammering. "If I have to take you to court, I will."

"It is my body you're speaking of, and therefore my choice."

"This is not about you getting an abortion. This is about keeping our child." John finally admitted. "If you're giving it up for adoption because you don't want it just... just give it to me, I'll raise it. I'll go... far away. You won't have to see it. Just please, don't give it away. I made a mistake, all right? I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock had never been able to understand people. The only way for him was through deductions and observation. He could never understand why people cried when watching a film, or when some tragedy took place. He could not even understand himself the moment he cried when he first listened to his baby's heart beats.

But there was the man he loved in front of him. There was the father of his baby, begging him. There was John, his baby, and himself.

He grimaced with pain and his knees failed him. John son took hold of him and asked him what was wrong, if the baby was coming, what should he do, if he needed anything. Sherlock merely said he needed to lie down as soon as possible.

"I'll get my stethoscope -"

"It's just kicking."

"You sure? How far along you are?"

"Thirty weeks," Sherlock lied.

John looked worried. "I'll call an ambulance."

"No, you are not!" Sherlock almost screamed.

Before John could argue about babies coming before time, Sherlock unexpectedly took his hand and placed it on his baby bump. At first, the doctor didn't feel anything. But then, as soon as Sherlock's eyes were on his, he felt their baby kicking.

"He's kicking."

"It's a boy?" John almost whispered. He smiled widely and soon Sherlock understood.

"Obviously."

John smiled some more. "May I?"

Sherlock nodded and then John placed both hands on his belly. He touched him like a doctor would, but his hands stayed on him for long minutes. The detective knew this was not John the doctor, making himself sure the baby was okay.

This was John the father feeling their child for the first time.

"I don't want to give it to them," Sherlock whispered, as he placed a hand upon John's. "But I can't have it alone. And you don't love me any more."

John blinked and endless tears rolled down his cheeks. "You said you didn't love me any more."


He still didn't know why he went to the hospital alone. It was in the middle of the night when he knew the baby was coming. Three weeks before the scheduled date. It was cold. He was only wearing his pyjamas, his slippers, and his coat when he hailed a cab and went to the hospital. On his own. He didn't even have a blanket for his child.

Nothing.

He never bought a thing because he knew he was not keeping it.

But now...

John finally arrived. He was also wearing his pyjamas. He was red. He said he almost ran all the way to the hospital, then he knew he could catch a cold, and it's a lot not good to have a cold and a baby around. He also realised they had nothing for their child, but nothing else matters. We have each other, said John.

And then, the doctor realised Sherlock never said whether he was keeping the baby or not. But the moment he saw him on the bed, looking so fragile, so vulnerable, so incredibly in pain, and with tears in his eyes, he knew it was Sherlock's body. It was his choice. John himself had given Sherlock no option the moment he told him he was pregnant. He still cursed himself for being such a heartless bastard.

"I want it, John."

"Are you sure?"

The detective nodded. "I didn't think of names."

"What did the doctors say?"

"They have to wait. The baby needs to move to a birth position."

John planted a kiss on his lips, and smiled at him. "I'm sure this baby is as stubborn as you are. We'll be here for hours. Plenty of time to think about names."

"I'm in pain, John."

"It's normal."

"Is it?"

The doctor nodded. "And he'll moving a lot."

"He hasn't." Sherlock said, his voice was cracking.

"Sure?" John smiled and placed a hand on Sherlock's belly. "For how long have you been here?"

"An hour."

"Has he kicked ever since?"

"No."

"But did he do it before -"

"Before I came here, yes. I knew he was coming for the way he kicked."

John knew what was going on, but somehow, he didn't want to believe it. He neither wanted Sherlock to know it. Surely he was wrong. Yes, he was probably wrong. Maybe it was a false alarm and Sherlock thought the baby was coming, but no. Maybe the baby was just kicking.

"I think we should call a doctor."

"John?" Sherlock almost jumped out of the bed when he felt a sharp pain across his lower abdomen. "Jo-John? What is it?"

He has told many parents this. He was a trained doctor. He knew how to deal with this. But not when the baby in danger is yours.

That was not their end.

This was just the beginning.