'Hello dear,' Mrs Hudson says when she finds John sitting on the stairs, 'how are you feeling?'

'Like all the sleep in the world wouldn't be enough and that bombing the Amazon distribution centre might be the only way to remain sane.'

'The books?'

'The books,' John nods, 'Well, the ideas he's getting from them, really.'

'Oh John,' She eases herself onto the step next to him and pats his knee, 'He really doesn't mean to upset you. It's just his way.'

'Rationally, yes, I can see that our flat looking like an offshoot of the British Library and the fact that I can't breath without him suggesting a more pregnancy friendly way to do it is just how Sherlock shows he cares,' John presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and sighs, 'but, unfortunately, rationality is in short supply in the swirling mess of hormones that is my body ... Mrs Hudson I swear the next time he says something along the lines of "but you're a doctor, John, how can you not know the optimum temperature for bathing in the ninth gestational week of pregnancy is 35 degrees Celsius" I'm going to hit him. Hard.'

She gives his hand a squeeze, 'You know you don't mean that.'

'True,' John agrees, 'but only because I'm too tired to bother.'