Chapter Ten

With nothing to do and not going anywhere, Sherlock was bored. John was keeping her away from crime scenes and anything that could get her in danger. He knew she liked to stunt her way and risk her life to prove she's clever, but she couldn't do that when she was risking the life of the baby as well. So most days were her sitting alone in the flat, either playing her violin or just roaming around, occasionally grabbing a snack or two if she wasn't feeling nauseous.

Today, she was really nauseous, lying on the couch, rubbing her midsection. She had grown used to the bump growing inside her now; it had been fifteen weeks, continually growing and making her feel sick or hungry, two things Sherlock did not like to be. She stared at the ceiling, her head feeling dizzy and not wanting to move from the nausea.

"I'm definitely eating too much," she mumbled to herself, unaware that she wasn't alone.

"Oh, you're not eating too much, dear," a sweet, familiar voice came with the soft clatter of the tea tray. "It's normal to feel this way. It's only hormones and such." Sherlock looked over to find Mrs. Hudson sitting across from her, having placed the tray of tea on the coffee table for the two of them. "Have some tea. It'll make you feel better."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock replied, sitting up and taking some tea, sitting back on the couch on her knees. It was obvious that her t-shirt was getting small on her, but it was still comfortable to wear and wasn't constricting. "I'm guessing you saw this coming, huh? Me, having John's child."

"To be honest," Mrs. Hudson replied, "I thought you two would wait until marriage until you started thinking about the whole family idea."

"Well, you know what they say. Accidents happen." Sherlock shrugged, taking a sip of tea, automatically detesting it. "Did you put anything in this tea?"

"I never do, dear. You must have lost a taste for it. It's normal."

"You mean my baby doesn't want me to like tea?"

"Why don't I put some sugar and cream in it, maybe it'll be better." Sherlock handed Mrs. Hudson her cup and she put sugar and cream into the tea. Sherlock was able to drink that without gagging.

"Thank you... Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, dear."

"How did you feel when you started having children?"

"Well, I had two children with my husband. The first time we had a baby, it was quite unplanned, like yours, only we were married, so it was a joyous thing."

"Weren't you scared at all?"

"Of course I was. There are plenty of things to fear, because anything can go wrong... The second child I was pregnant with only lasted three months before I miscarried it. See? But you...I just hope you'll have nothing to fear. You, dear, have always had a good, child-bearing figure. I doubt that anything will happen to your baby, if that's what you fear."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. But...what do I do if I have a normal, healthy baby?"

"Do whatever you think you should."

"I don't want to give it up, but I don't know if I want to keep it..."

"Believe me. You'll be sure once you get a glimpse of the precious little one."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."

After work, John was sitting in his chair, reading through some online tabs for popular names. Sherlock was sitting across from him, barely awake from boredom.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "Hey, Sherlock, you awake? I wanna try something."

"Hmm...? M'alright...what is it?"

"What do you think of Andrew?"

"Andrew who?"

"No, no. Andrew, the name. For the baby."

"John, I don't wanna do this now..."

"Come on, it'll be fun. What do you think?"

"Fine. I don't like Andrew. Besides, I thought you'd be more sentimental and want to name it after your dad or my dad or Mike Stamford or George Lestrade or something."

"First of all, his name is Greg."

"Even worse."

"Okay...second of all my dad's name is James. I know you'd hate that."

"Yeah. Smart." James, or Jim, for short, was the name of Sherlock's old adversary, who had killed himself to prove he was insane.

"What's your father's name, then?"

"Scott."

"That's actually nice. I'm writing that one down. Your dad would like it."

Sherlock rolled her eyes. "He probably doesn't even know. Unless my mother told him, because she must've learned from Mycroft..." Sherlock yawned.

John wrote the name down on a notepad. "Okay then, how about some other ones? Not Mycroft. We won't torture our child like that. There are plenty of names you'd like. There's Graham. Or Christopher. You like that? Sherlock?" Sherlock had drifted off on the chair, curled up, her face squished against the English flag pillow she adored. John sighed, putting his laptop down and getting a blanket for Sherlock. He got up and wrapped her in it before picking her up and carrying her to bed. To be honest, she wasn't as heavy as John had expected. Her head rested against his chest, dark curls falling on her face. As he placed her in bed, he brushed them from her face. She slept soundly, and John fought the urge to kiss her forehead and lie down in bed with her. He sighed, patting her shoulder before he got up to leave. He knew she didn't feel the way he did, secretly hoping she would come around. Still, what were the chances that she'd ever feel the same way?