Chapter Two
One month later...
It started at a crime scene. It was the typical domestic murder, made to look like suicide, but with no weapon and obvious signs proving it wrong, it had to be murder. Who the killer was or how they got in and out without breaking in was a mystery, so Lestrade called Sherlock and John in.
None of them had mentioned their date night to anyone - not to Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson, and especially not on John's blog. It would raise too many questions in the comments section, causing John to disable commenting altogether. Plus, after it was over, Sherlock made it feel like it never happened. And it had been a month. No one would believe them now.
Beforehand, John had Sherlock eat some breakfast with him. He got breakfast sandwiches for the two of them, with eggs and ham and cheese. Sherlock had been one to eat very little, and John didn't like that she was practically starving herself like that. So for a while he tried to help her get over that habit and eat regularly like a normal person. Sherlock scoffed at the gesture, joking that he was trying to fatten her up.
Once they got there, Sherlock immediately began investigating the body while John went to question the victim's wife. It was just a simple, standard day for Sherlock and John, a case that Sherlock could probably solve quickly and send her back into a state of boredom. The victim's head was a lovely sight, shot more than once and surrounded in a pool of blood and some brain. Sherlock was delighted. As John asked the victim's poor, sobbing wife (who proved not to be a suspect), Sherlock was busy informing Lestrade of the victim's condition.
"Whoever shot him," she was saying, "obviously didn't make suicide look optional. They took two shots to the head, something a suicide could never possibly-" Suddenly a small belch came out of her, which she covered with her hand before it submerged.
Lestrade became concerned. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, fine," Sherlock replied.
"Sour breakfast?"
"Yeah. John's trying to fatten me up," she joked.
"What? What do you mean?"
Sherlock shrugged. "He's trying to get me to eat more often. I'm fine, really. He doesn't have to be so..."
"Considerate?"
"Eh...I would say intimate."
"Intimate?"
"Yeah, kind of almost like a boyfriend. He's not my boyfriend. He should know his place."
"You know, John's a nice guy. He's only trying to help you, Sherlock. It's what good friends do, help each other."
"Like...the way I help you?"
"Sort of, I guess. You've helped me with more than you know."
"Yes, I'm aware you quit smoking."
"Well, I guess you do know. Go figure." He chuckled with Sherlock. "We should head in, get the wife in the know." Sherlock nodded and followed him in.
Almost automatically as she and Lestrade stepped into the house, Sherlock had an awful feeling creep into her stomach. It was an almost familiar feeling, and she knew what it was. She immediately searched for the loo and quickly headed there before she leaned over the toilet bowl and threw up.
Lestrade had noticed her run in there. He became worried again, walking over to John, who was still consoling the victim's wife. "Hey, John," said Lestrade, "I heard you took Sherlock to breakfast."
"Yeah," John replied. "What about it?"
"Next time, don't."
"Why?"
"I don't think it agreed with her too well. She threw it up."
"Really? Oh no..."
Lestrade led John to the bathroom door. He knocked. "Sherlock? You okay in there?" Sherlock opened the door, startling John. She seemed fine, looked fine.
"What is it?" she asked, as if nothing had happened.
Still, John wasn't convinced. "Greg says you threw up. Are you alright?"
"Oh, right, yeah...I'm alright. Food poisoning, I think. Had to be. Nice going, buying me breakfast. Such a shame it went to waste."
"Stop it. Sherlock...I'm sorry. Maybe we should just take you home, if you're sick."
"Hold on," said Lestrade, "we still don't know the weapon."
"Double-barrel shotgun," Sherlock replied. "Obviously. Two parallel bullets, had to be. I'd ask anyone who was interested in hunting or any fathers that own shotguns."
"Ah...well, alright, Sherlock. Get better, will you?"
"I will. I have to, you need me, remember?"
"Of course."
John got Sherlock a cab for the ride home. Sherlock seemed annoyed when John pulled her out of the crime scene. He hated having to do that, but if she wasn't feeling well, she shouldn't be there. By the looks of it, it seemed that she wasn't going to talk to him for the rest of the ride home. John sighed. "Sherlock?" he said. "Are you doing alright? You're not still sick, are you?"
"Im feeling alright for now, John," Sherlock replied. "I just have food poisoning...unless you have other ideas."
"I don't. I'm really sorry that breakfast didn't agree with you. I was only trying to help... Besides, what else could it be?"
"There are a number of possibilities. You're the doctor. What's your diagnosis?"
"Most likely food poisoning. See, I'm using your deduction method to rule out the impossible. Like stomach flu. I would know, and you don't look sick, so it's not that. It could've been a nervous stomach from the blood, but, come on, you're Sherlock Holmes. You've probably seen worse."
"Girls see more blood than men, John."
"Right. Well, it can't be morning sickness."
"I'm sorry?"
"Morning sickness. It can't be morning sickness. That's usually a symptom of pregnancy, and you're not pregnant."
"Oh. Of course not. You know I don't engage in regular sexual encounters."
"I know... Anyway, since all those ideas are ruled out, you probably just had a bad reaction to the food. Don't worry. I won't take you out there again."
"Good. Thank you, John...and nice deductive work. I'm rubbing off on you, aren't I?" She smiled at John with her sweet, almost-crooked smile. John loved her smile, chuckling in response.
Although John's deductions were fair, Sherlock had a thought cross her mind. Never, ever, had she ever considered the possibility that she was pregnant. She felt like she needed to shake the idea out, because the possibility was unlikely. She couldn't have been pregnant, because the last time she had a sexual encounter was a month ago, with John, protected and everything. There was no way she was. It wasn't possible. She shook the idea out.