Mary pressed both hands against her stomach, inhaled, and stepped into Sherlock's hospital room.
He grinned when he saw her, but Sherlock not minding she'd shot him was not the strangest thing in her life. "How're you feeling?"
He shrugged. She started to apologize again and he said, "Don't. I know." His voice was rusty with disuse. Not many visitors. Except John. Every day, John.
She sat on the bed, careful not to jostle him, and settled her hand across her middle.
Sherlock squinted. "Everything's...okay?"
"Wonderful." She needed someone to know; there was no one else. "I felt the baby move. Rolling and squirming and I can feel it."
Sherlock's hand twitched on the bed. Mary nodded. "Please."
He splayed his long fingers over her belly. "I don't feel anything."
"No. She's not moving right now."
"She?"
"Just a feeling. I have a scan scheduled. But—" The other reason for her visit. "I need your help to convince John to go with me. Please."
Sherlock didn't move his hand. "Of course. I've been telling him every day to take you back. I'm making progress. A scan to check gender might be just the push he needs."
"Sherlock, if you can convince him." Her chest clenched at the thought; the baby gave a little kick. "I'll let you name the baby."