A/N Okay, last chapter for tonight, hope you like it guys ;)
This is my plea: If anyone has any ideas for baby names, either sex, please, please, puh-lease stick them in a review! Because you love me, and if not for me, for Sherlock and Greg, because you can't not love those two! ;)
Enjoy!
There was a clock on the mantle of the drawing room at Holmes Manor. Sherlock had always hated that clock, right since he was a small child. There was something about the sinister tick-tick-tick that had made him shiver. It was worse when it chimed. He had vivid memories of climbing into Mycroft's lap whenever it had happened during his childhood. He wished he could climb into Mycroft's lap now, as it chimed the hour, four drawn out, reedy chimes. He wanted to huddle against Greg, but that would rather be showing his hand, so he forced himself to sit still on the centre cushion of the sofa, contenting himself with catching Greg's eye in the mirror over the fireplace. He looked as awkward as Sherlock felt, but he smiled his reassuring smile, as always. There came a noise of crunching gravel on the driveway outside and from the front hall they heard hurrying feet and then a creak as the front door was thrown wide. Sherlock's suit felt too hot and too tight, and he suddenly felt extremely conscious of that bump he had discovered that morning, even though he knew it couldn't be seen. He tugged at his shirt collar, registering his mother's infinitesimal frown at his fidgeting, at the same time as he watched Greg do the exact same thing to the collar of his school shirt.
"Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, Sir, and Master Mycroft too. I hope you both had a pleasant journey, Sirs?" The small and mousey housemaid's voice that echoed into the room sounded half afraid of her employer. Sherlock couldn't say he blamed her. They heard Mycroft's voice answering her, apparently his father had more important things than replying to domestic staff on his mind.
Mummy rose from her chair as the drawing room door was thrown open, revealing the imposing figure of Siger Holmes, dressed in his expensive, black three piece suit and tie (in an immaculate full Windsor knot, of course). His face was, sadly, like thunder, as he strode into the room and demanded of his wife "Alright, who is he?!"
"Who is who, Siger, dear?"
"Don't you play games with me woman!" Siger roared, obviously oblivious of their company "I want to know who did it!"
"I really have no idea what you're talking about, dear" Violet Holmes gave a small false girlish laugh "perhaps you are tired from your journey. You will soon feel better for a sit down and a cup of tea-"
"I don't want a cup of tea, you stupid woman, I want to know who is the father! Tell me this instant!"
"The father? Siger, what on earth-?"
"You're pregnant, I can smell it!"
Violet Holmes looked affronted "I most certainly am not!" She retorted, most indignantly
"Don't you lie to me! I can smell it, I tell you!"
"Mummy isn't lying, Daddy." Sherlock heard his own voice, felt his lips move, but did not remember consciously ordering the words to form. It seemed, to him, as though a stranger had said them, and he would have believed it to be true, had his parents not paused mid-argument to turn their heads and stare at him.
"And what do you mean by that then, hm?!" Siger rounded on his youngest son, breaking the moment and looming over him.
Sherlock took a very deep breath, "Mummy isn't lying, Daddy, because I'm the one that's pregnant." For one very long moment nobody spoke. Seeing their stunned faces and open mouths, Sherlock was visited by a momentary and very bizarre desire to laugh. Finally, after seventeen years of trying, he'd got their attention.
When his father spoke next - and Sherlock had always known it would be Daddy that led the enquiry; Mummy would keep her opinion to herself, like a good omega wife should, apparently - his voice was like treacle, sticky and sickly sweet. "Now how on Earth did that happen?"
"Well, I'd have thought that was obvious. The angel Gabriel came to me in a dream." Sherlock's tone dripped sarcasm. It was the one gift his father had bestowed upon him that he actually liked. Sarcasm was an excellent protection mechanism.
The sweet tone disappeared immediately "Don't you talk to me like that in front of company, you insolent little-" He paused looking at Greg, his brow furrowed "And just who the hell are you?" He demanded
Greg opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it. Perhaps it was just as well, Greg wasn't entirely sure his reply would have been a polite introduction.
"Greg is a friend from school, Daddy."
"Oh. Oh-ho! 'Friend' is it? We all know what 'friend' means don't we?!" He glared at Greg "You're the no-good alpha that's gotten him into this mess, aren't you?! And are you going to get him out of it? Ohhhhh no! That will be me!"
"No, it won't." Sherlock said, in his firmest voice, which still shook slightly.
"Oh-ho? Going to get yourself out of it are we? And how are you going to manage that?"
"Well first, I'm going to set you straight that I am not having an abortion!"
"Like hell you're not!" His father roared.
"I have explored that particular road fully and decided that it is not for me." Sherlock explained, trying to keep his voice calm, despite the mass of emotions that were coiling and uncoiling in his chest.
"That's not for you to decide!"
"It's not the dark ages anymore, Mr. Holmes." Greg broke in, his tone polite and calm, "Omegas have rights nowadays."
"Ugh! You had to pick a namby-pamby wishy-washy omega bloody rights activist didn't you! You couldn't at least pick from decent alpha stock!"
"Greg is the most decent Alpha I know!" Sherlock yelled suddenly, anger surging through his veins, sudden and all consuming "Far and away more decent than you!"
"How dare you, you filthy little whore! You'll damn well do as I say! You go upstairs this instant, you are never seeing this - this - pervert ever again! And I will arrange for this filthy mongrel child to be dealt with!"
The next surge of emotion Sherlock felt was totally unexpected. Hot burning hatred retreated from the pit of his stomach, leaving only despair and hurt in its wake. To his horror he felt his eyes burning with tears. His voice was completely steady though, when he bellowed: "You will never harm any child of mine!" Then it was more than he could do to control himself and, with a little gasping sob, he leapt to his feet and ran from the room, dodging around Greg and nearly colliding with Mycroft, who had been standing in the doorway, waiting for the moment Sherlock needed him to step in.
"Come, Gregory, I believe we're leaving." Mycroft said, quietly, turning away from his parents to follow more sedately in his brother's path. Greg crossed the room obediently but, when he reached the door, he found he could not bear to go any further without having his say. So he turned on his heel in the doorway and glared straight at Siger.
"I don't care who you work for, or what you say about me, but if you ever, ever make my Sherlock cry again, I swear to God it will be the last thing you do." He growled.
"How sweet."
Greg refused to let the putdown faze him for even a second "Before I go, I'll tell you the things you'll never know otherwise, so that you can fully appreciate what you've lost. Yes, your son is pregnant with my babies - yes Mrs. Holmes, that's right, babies, Sherlock's having twins - and yes, I'll treat him with the respect he - and every other omega Mister Holmes - truly deserves. I'll give them all the best life I can. We plan to live together, and what's more, I plan to ask him to marry me! So you can like it, or you can stand there and stamp your foot and have another tantrum about it, I really don't care. Goodbye and good riddance!" and with that, he turned on his heel for the second time, stalked out of the manor and climbed into the back of the sleek black car parked in the centre of the gravel driveway. The second the door closed behind him, the car pulled away, accelerating smoothly.
Greg turned, not bothering with his seatbelt, and threw his arms around Sherlock, who sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.
"I d-d-don't even n-n-know why I'm c-c-crying!" Sherlock managed, between sobs.
"You're pregnant Sherls, blame the hormones while you can." Greg advised. On the other side of the car, Mycroft tried very hard, (and very unsuccessfully), not to smile. It was always going to end this way. Sherlock might be inclined to mourn a little, but Greg certainly wouldn't let him do anything but get on with it. There was every chance that these two might just be alright, he thought to himself.
End Note: Phew, finally. You have no idea how many times I rewrote this chapter!
