A Gift and A Curse

Chapter 10

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock stood there unmoving, looking as rough as Jane felt. His hair was a tangled greasy mess on top of his head, his pale skin looked oily and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. His eyes looked glassy (surely they weren't tears?) and he was panting heavily. His clothes were so dishevelled it was unbelievable as normally the Consulting Detective wouldn't be caught dead looking so untidy.

Sherlock took a few unsteady steps forward and Jane instinctively moved back. Hurt flashed across his eyes momentarily. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

"I apologise for my lateness. I didn't – it was more crowded than I thought."

"Why didn't you take a short cut?" Jane kept her voice steady but it was a challenge.

"I…I found it difficult to…I was rather distracted."

Jane narrowed her eyes. "You got drunk." She could see it now, the bloodshot eyes, the unsteady movements, the stench.

Sherlock visibly flinched. "I may have gotten a little intoxicated last night…"

"I told you I was pregnant so you went out and got pissed." Her voice rose along with her anger.

She couldn't look at him, she felt physically sick. She turned her head away in disgust, bile rising in her throat.

Sherlock moved towards her and as his fingers brushed gently against her forearm Jane's hand connected with his cheek with a resounding smack.

"Don't touch me." She hissed. "Get away from me you bastard."

Sherlock moved away instantly, looking shocked and wounded. It made Jane want to punch him even more. How dare he look like he's the one who has betrayed, the one who's in distress.

"Jane…please listen to me –"

"No! Get out! Get away from me!"

Sherlock didn't move a muscle. "I'm not going, Jane. I'm not going to walk out on you again."

"You won't? Fine, that's fine. Well then I will." Jane brushed past Sherlock and went straight to the door. She pushed forcefully down on the handle but it didn't budge. She rattled it a few times before slamming her hand against the door in frustration.

"Mycroft! Open this door right now! Mycroft!"

"The door is not going to open, Jane. You and I both know that." Sherlock stated calmly.

"There's got to be a key somewhere." Jane muttered mainly to herself, deciding to now completely ignore the other occupant in the room. She moved over to the desk in the centre of the room.

Sherlock watched every move she made like a hawk. He watched the tension in her shoulders and the tremor in her hand had returned. He watched Jane rattled the handles on the draws before placing her hands on the desk, lowering her head and sighing when it became obvious that the draws were not going to open without a key.

With her head still inches away from her chest, she said;

"He wants us to talk. Alright, fine, I'll humour him and we'll talk." Jane's head rose slowly and she angled it towards the detective and stared.

Sherlock licked his lips nervously, an action Jane had never seen Sherlock do before.

"Will you allow me to explain?"

"Oh believe me, I'm all ears."

"I didn't know…I needed advice –"

"So you went to a pub and got pissed. Oh yes, I can see how you'd get tonnes of advice there."

"I asked Lestrade to accompany me to Angelo's in order for me to ask him what it…feels like…to become a…" Sherlock swallowed hard. "A father. During our discussion he readily informed me that I was an idiot and that it was a miracle that I wasn't dead."

"Oh trust me I contemplated it." Jane said humourlessly.

Sherlock closed his eyes, pain flashed across his face. "I don't understand – I don't know what to do. What can I do to make this right?"

Jane drew herself up slowly, her eyes never leaving Sherlock's face. "You could start by saying sorry."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked straight at Jane with that adorable lost expression that made him look twelve years old. God she loved it and hated it.

Sherlock walked towards Jane, taking much more deliberate steps than last time. He stopped in front of her and slowly, making very clear what he was about to do, wrapped his hand around Jane's.

Jane could feel damp on her cheeks and she bloody hated herself for it. She couldn't look at him so she settled for staring at the third button down on his grey shirt. She could see out of the corner of her eye Sherlock's other hand run gently along Jane's law.

He tilted her head up and lowered his lips inches away from hers, he then whispered;

"I am so sorry. Please…please don't go through with this. Please don't abort our child."

Every time she looked into those blue orbs she felt something inside her melt, but especially when she saw how moist they had become. She'd seen him cry once before…on top of a roof and she swore never again.

They didn't kiss. Their lips were so close but neither moved, they were both absorbed in silence until Jane spoke.

"And what happens if I don't go through with it, hm? The things we need to change…it doesn't bare thinking about. The flat is hardly suitable for us let alone a little one. Jesus, little ones hurt themselves on table corners, I don't even want to think about it if little fingers got hold of one of your experiments. And what about your work? Your work is way too dangerous, you're back at all hours of the day. It's hardly a suitable environment to raise a child. And what about you?"

Sherlock's gaze had dropped to the floor as Jane spoke but his eyes lifted and his eye brows furrowed. "What about me?"

"Could you love it? Whether it's a boy or a girl."

"I – of course I could –"

"I mean love, Sherlock, unconditional, irrational, indescribable love for this child not just accepting that it exists. Show it love, stop it crying, hug it and help it sleep at night. Love it whether it turns out to be a genius or not. Love your child for the fact that it's your child. Could you do that?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted truthfully. "But at least give me the chance to try."