Sherlock scowled as he shook his phone angrily. John usually responded in seconds no matter the time of day, it was the only contact he got from John these days, and he wondered if he wouldn't meet him. He'd have to give the papers to Mycroft to bring to John. That would be less painful and would in theory require less lying on Sherlock's part; however, Sherlock did not trust his brother to keep his secret. He was always spouting nonsense about John having a right to know. John didn't, no one had a right to know in this other than Sherlock himself. He sighed setting his phone down on the edge of the coffee table and stood up to go have some tea. Only seconds later, he heard the buzzing that meant he had gotten a text. A smile broke across his face as he ran back to the living room snatching his mobile back up.

John crawled back into bed with Mary an hour later, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. His nose went into her hair; it still smelled of her perfume, he tried not to gag. They had talked about her changing her perfume, but it had all just ended in another fight, and John hadn't brought it up again. He huffed quietly flipping over and grabbing a through pillow to hug tightly to his chest. These were the nights he sorely missed Baker Street. He missed the song Sherlock always used to play after John had a nightmare. Somehow he had always known, or maybe it was just a coincidence. John let out a long low sigh before throwing back the covers once more and heading down stairs to grab his mobile and text Sherlock, maybe even call him. He unplugged the phone from its charger and looked through his texts, Sherlock's instantly peaking his interest. He leaned his elbows on the counter as he typed out a reply.

Of course. JW

When? JW

Sherlock collapsed back on to the couch smiling at the messages from John; he would never stop waiting for his texts. Part of him was sad that he and John hadn't had much in person contact, but another part of him was glad, it would make the transition easier for John. The most important and maybe last thing Sherlock would do in his life was to make sure this didn't hurt John.

Anytime before ten. SH

I have a plane to catch at ten-thirty. SH

John raised his eyebrows at that, where on earth could Sherlock be going? It must have been for a case, he wished he could go with, and god it would be good to get away. Get away? What was he so desperate to get away from? He knew the answer to that, but he wasn't the kind of person to admit, even to himself, that he wanted nothing more than to leave his heavily pregnant wife, to get away from the woman that loved him. His whole life was so messed up and he had no idea how to fix any of it.

I can come now. Or come to Baker Street. JW

Is this a case? JW

Sherlock groaned loudly as he read the second text; this was where it got very complicated very quickly. He could lie to John, and tell him it was a case, and then he would want to leave Mary and the baby, perfect unacceptable. He could tell the truth and John would probably still feel the need to come out of requirement or duty or something. He decided in the end to keep his answers vague for now, responding only to John's first question before pushing off the couch and digging in the drawer for a nicotine patch or three.

Airport is fine. I'm headed there now myself. SH

John frowned a bit at that; there was the fact that Sherlock hadn't answered his question and the fact that he seemed very cold and distant, even for Sherlock. He just had this feeling something really terrible was happening and Sherlock wasn't telling him about it. He walked slowly up the stairs and shook Mary awake gently; it was just barely seven in the morning. She blinked up at him sitting up as quickly as she could in bed. "What's wrong love?" she asked softly reaching up to touch the side of his face softly. John bit his lower lip softly before speaking; "Sherlock wants me to meet him at the airport. I don't exactly what's going on or if I'm going with, but I'm going to pack a bag regardless," John said softly kissing her cheek before going over to the closet and pulling out his suitcase quickly throwing things into the black rubber case.

Mary Watson loved her husband very much, and she had accepted a long time ago that Sherlock was first in John's mind. She may have been first during those years when Sherlock was dead, but even then it was questionable. She knew she should be objecting to the idea of her husband leaving her when she was eight months pregnant, but after everything she had done to John, to Sherlock. She just could not make the words come out. She merely nodded her head softly, her arms wrapping gently around her stomach as she felt the baby kick.

Sherlock Holmes sat in the airport coffee shop, his overlarge suitcase in one hand and a stack of old cold cases in one arm for the flight over, best use his brain while he still had the chance. He figured he should text John as to where he was within the massive airport; his fingers flew quickly over the keys as he typed out the location.

Main Coffee Shop by baggage claim one. SH

Right. I'm five minutes away from the airport now. JW

And Sherlock, don't think you're not telling me where you are going and what's going on. JW

"Damn," Sherlock cursed under his breath, John knew him far too well.