A/N If the text is centralised, it's a text conversation, just fyi. The font dictates the person.

This is Mycroft, and this is Sherlock.

Sherlock lay in the dark that night, tossing and turning in his four-poster bed, unable to sleep. He wanted to feel happy, and a part of him did. The part that had wanted Greg to notice him since he was ten. Greg's words kept floating in his head though, and not the ones he wanted to listen to again

"It's supposed to be scary isn't it?"

"I won't lie, I'd be happy to have a kid now, yeah."

"Him? Why him?"

And that was the bit that had really gotten to him. Why him? Why had that word slipped from his mouth? This thing was too young to have a gender, but suddenly he was certain it was a him. Why did he have to be certain about that? Personifying it was only going to make it harder to do this. Wait, harder? It wasn't going to be hard to do this was it? It was the logical option. Of course it wasn't going to be hard… was it?

He tossed and turned until well into the early hours of the next morning before he finally dropped off into a restless sleep, punctuated by dreams of hospitals and surgeons and images of Greg's pained face when he'd said he wouldn't be 'in the club' much longer. All in all he was glad to get out of bed the next morning.

Or so he thought, until about half past ten, when his text alert sounded. For the first time in his memory, his heart sank when he saw it was Mycroft. He forced himself to open it anyway. This was what he wanted.

It's all set. 6.30pm. I'll pick you up at 6. Pack a bag, they'll keep you overnight.

This was what he wanted. So why had his heart sunk even lower?

The gown felt odd against his skin, and Greg had only partly been right, it wasn't just scary, it was terrifying. He would have traded the world to have texted Greg to meet him the way he'd said he would now. He longed for a warm leather and apple shampoo scented hug. He longed for a smile. He longed for anything but the cold steel of the table against his back and all these people in scrubs and masks coming and going.

The latest one stepped through the door and addressed him, brightly. Too brightly for that kind of procedure, Sherlock thought. "Mr. Holmes." The doctor said with a smile that didn't reach his grey eyes. "I'm Dr Drayson and I'll be performing your procedure today. Has a nurse explained the procedure to you?" Sherlock nodded, mutely. "Good. Well, we're all set to begin." The doctor said, sitting himself down on a stool next to the table. "Now you have nothing to worry about, just sit back and relax, and when you're ready, we'll begin." Sherlock sat for a minute. Then two. Then three. Then he realised what he longed for the most. He rest a hand on his belly for a moment. It hadn't changed shape yet, but it would he knew. He looked up at the doctor, suddenly

"I'm sorry Dr. I've wasted your time." He said, sitting up and sliding off the table.

8.22pm: Sherlock. Where are you? They said you changed your mind. Why didn't you call me?

8:40pm: Sherlock, answer my calls, where are you?

9.02pm: Just let me know that you're safe, Sherlock, please!

9.25pm: Sherlock for god's sake!