After Sherlock had headed home, John moseyed into the bedroom where he found Mary sitting up in bed flipping through one boring channel after another. She had a bowl of trail mix sitting on top of her stomach that she was picking through for the chocolate pieces and about a dozen candy wrappers on the bedside table next to her. He had to smile. "What are you watching?"

"Absolutely nothing," she replied, disappointedly turning off the telly. "Nothing is even remotely worth watching."

John lay down next to her and brought a loving hand to her bump, rubbing gently back and forth. He did this nearly every night. "How are you feeling?"

"My ankles are swollen, my back is killing me, I'm big as a house, and your daughter has somehow managed to push against my lungs and my bladder at the same time," Mary answered truthfully, picking out the last chocolate chip in her trail mix and moving the bowl to the nightstand with the other remnants of her late night cravings. "So, basically great."

"Sorry, love." John smiled sympathetically and pulled the covers up a bit. When he did, he felt something crinkly by his leg. "What's that?"

"What? Oh, that," she responded, reaching under the sheets to grab what he had just nudged at. "I forgot about those…"

"Maltesers?" John asked with an amused look.

"Well they were," Mary confirmed, crunching up the empty bag and tossing it into the waste basket by the bed. "Don't blame me, she likes chocolate."

"And just about everything else in the kitchen," he playfully quipped.

Mary's jaw fell in mock-offense. "I can't believe you would insult a pregnant lady! Are you forgetting who did this?" she asked, pointing to her belly.

"Hmm, might be," he said, curling his lip as he pretended to ponder. "You may need to remind me how it happened."

"John!" Mary exclaimed in giggles as he began a trail of kisses down her neckline. She made a few attempts to discourage her mischievous husband, but truly did not want him to stop. John's hands wrapped themselves around her waist, and the deeper he kissed, the further back her head fell in satisfaction. Though Mary's stomach presented a minor hindrance, it didn't take long for the two to become immersed in the physical bliss of each other.

One would think that after such a charged and exhausting activity, a person who was already constantly tired would be able to fall asleep without a problem; at least this was Mary's thought as she sat up awake watching the glowing numbers on the nightstand clock turn 12:00 am. She just couldn't get comfortable which was not unusual these days, but tonight it was particularly challenging. Laying flat on her back was out of the question, and lying on one side made it too difficult for her to flip to the other when the first side went numb. She had tried several times to rearrange the pillows to elevate her top half (her normal sleeping position), but no matter what she did or how she placed herself some part of her was not pleased. Not to mention, the baby was kicking nonstop.

She decided to run through her list of baby names, her favorite pastime when sleep wasn't coming easily. However, just as she was starting to relax a bit, the sound of frantic muffled whispers pulled her away from her mental list.

She glanced down and saw that John's face, which was so peaceful a moment ago, had contorted into his nightmarish expression. It happened every now and then, and it came with the territory of being married to a soldier. Usually his hands would twitch for a bit and then the bad dream would pass after a little while, but for him to be audibly muttering and even beginning to writhe under the blankets, Mary knew this was a bad one. She tried to make out the words, but they proved to be far from coherent.

"Ughfm…no, that's…sto—ugh,ugh no—wai—nuh, no!" His yell made her jump and release her own quiet shriek.

"John," she called, shaking his shoulder to pull him out of whatever he was dreaming. "Honey, wake up…John." His eyes finally shot open as wide, white orbs in the darkened room, and it took him just under a second to realize he had woken up. Mary rubbed his arm comfortingly to be sure he was actually awake. "Honey?"

A little embarrassed, John immediately figured he must have woken her up and swallowed hard in an attempt to get his breathing under control. "Oh jeez, Mary I'm sorry, I was—"

"Shh, it's alright," she reassured him, still rubbing at his shoulder. She watched as his heavy exhalations calmed down and his eyes adjusted to the bedroom (since that was clearly not where he was a second ago.) "You okay?"

He brushed it off with a nod and wiped the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. "Yeah, yeah." He attempted as his fingers gave her arm a light rub, and he gently kissed her hand to reassure her. "Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping," she told him with a frustrated sigh. "Can't get comfortable."

"Oh, well here…" he pushed himself up from the mattress, trying to overcome the drowsiness, and leaned back against the headboard. "Come here." Mary smiled and nestled herself into his open-arms, snuggling into a position that actually felt good for the time being. John wrapped her up and let his hands fall carelessly onto her stomach. "How's this?"

"Actually, this works…certainly doesn't make me want to rip out my hair," she said, resting her head heavy against his chest. "Your heart's still going a mile a minute. Must have been a bad one…you're sure you're alright?"

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, thankful she couldn't see his face. "Course I am, just an exciting dream, that's all."

"Exciting?"

"Mmhm."

Debating for a moment or two whether or not she should push the subject, Mary pulled her lip between her teeth and glanced subtly down at the hands on her middle. She supposed it couldn't hurt to ask. "What were you dreaming about?"

"What?" John hadn't expected her to inquire; she never did before.

"You said it was exciting…"

His jaw tightened a bit at the request, and he tried to sneak a peek at Mary's expression, but with her head on his chest he couldn't see it. He knew it was no use saying this, but he gave it a go anyway. "I don't, uh…I don't really want to talk about it."

"Well, maybe you should," Mary predictably followed up. She was not one to accept evasions so easily. "You were yelling, John, I mean, that sounds like—"

"Mary," he cut her off, "I'm fine, really."

She was quiet for a while, a respectful amount of time. She didn't want to push him, nor did she have the energy to lift herself off of her husband if that's what had to be done. "John…" she finally said, and her voice sounded so smooth as it cut through the silence. "Can I confess something?"

He curiously eyed her profile, but stayed leaned up against the headboard. "Yeah."

"I've been having dreams too, nightmares really. I didn't want to tell you about them because I feel silly for even thinking about it so much, but I can't help it." It was true, she'd been experiencing nightmares for a couple weeks now; always the same one. John rushed her to the hospital because her water broke and always, always, always something went wrong. In the least traumatic dreams, they got a flat on the highway. In the worst dreams, complications during the labor ended up—well, she didn't want to think about that at all. She couldn't, she'd start crying. She could hardly control it these days. "I've been dreaming about the day she finally comes," Mary opted, patting her stomach through her t-shirt. "And things don't go as planned." She was hoping that if she opened up about hers, John would feel less embarrassed to say what had been keeping him on edge during the night.

"Oh," John spoke softly, sympathetically rubbing her arms up and down. "You know that's not going to happen… You're going to be fine."

"Well, I hope so…but it's hard to shake." She felt the quiver rising in her throat and she wondered if she should just abandon the topic. What was meant to get John talking was beginning to play with her own nerves. She could feel the anxiety in her stomach twitch against her, and some small tears begin to warm the back of her eyes. But she just kept on talking… she hadn't realized until now just how much she wanted to get it out. "I guess I just can't shake the feeling that I'm going to be… punished..."

"Mary, stop it." He could see where this was going and didn't want her to send herself into a fit.

"Is it such a crazy thought?" she instantly posed, with a tremor in her words.

John didn't know what to say. Of course it was a crazy thought! But that wouldn't be enough. He took a moment, waiting for her breathing to relax a bit and sneakily ran a finger over her wrist for her heart rate (and then immediately cursed Sherlock's annoying 'told you so' voice in his head.) "I can't tell you what's going to happen…" he started in a gentle tone when he felt she was ready to listen. "But I do know this: there is nothing either or us wouldn't do to protect each other and to protect this little one." Lovingly, his hand caressed her tummy which he saw brought a tiny smile to her lips. "You won't be punished, Mary. You know better than to think that way."

Abashedly, she nodded at that. "Here I was trying to comfort you…"

"And you've done brilliantly," he sarcastically replied, earning a scolding smirk from his wife. John smiled and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I told you, I'm fine…and so is everything else. There's nothing to worry about."

Mary knew John had successfully evaded her brief interrogation; even if it was mostly her fault for letting her hormone-injected emotions sidetrack her intentions. But what could she do now? Not much. Especially since the soft sound of his heart thumping low under his t-shirt was beginning to lull her to sleep. "Fine," she murmured groggily. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Alright," he replied, hoping she'd forget. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his own nerves. "Night, love."

"Night," she whispered, and then surrendered to sleep. John was stunned at how quickly she was out, and guessed that he'd better get used to this upright position. With as little movement as possible, so as not to wake the pregnant lady, he wedged a pillow between his back and the wooden headboard—though he knew he would probably be just as achy tomorrow morning. It was a small price to pay, he decided, since "achy" had become Mary's norm. She was carrying his child, the least he could do was share in some of the pain. When he reset his hands onto her big belly, he was almost immediately met with a kick from his daughter, and then a second, and then a third. 'No wonder she can't fall asleep,' he thought to himself. 'You're kicking her all night.' He didn't dare move his hands away though; he loved feeling his baby move, especially now that he was so close to meeting her. And in that moment, however brief a time, he was able to forget the horrors of his nightmare and felt like everything actually would be okay.

The next morning, however, he paid for it. His neck, back, shoulders, and chest were screaming at him for sleeping like that all night. Mary was already up it seemed, and he could hear her fumbling around in the kitchen. He groaned through gritted teeth as he slowly removed himself from the bed, trying to massage some of his revolting muscles in the process. It didn't work.

"Morning honey," Mary greeted cheerfully when her disheveled husband trudged into the kitchen, eyes squinty and neck crooked. "You look great."

He gave a sarcastic smile in return and sat down at the table. "I didn't even hear you get up."

"I was trying to be quiet…" she replied, pulling a tea cup out of the cabinet and placing it in front of him. "Didn't seem like you slept well last night." The words came out gently, but they were an obvious invitation to a discussion. The same one Mary had bungled the night before. "You were still tossing after we went back to sleep."

A bit of embarrassment contorted John's pursed lips, but he swiftly concealed it with a smile. "Just a bad night, I guess." He even made his eyes appear a little brighter to enhance the effect of the smile. "I'm fine." She sat down across from him, passing a cuppa his way, visibly unconvinced that he was 'fine.' "Thanks love," he said appreciatively, taking the first sip.

Mary smiled and wrapped her fingers around her own mug, deciding to address the issue now before he could change the subject. "John," she started sternly. "I know, emotionally, I've been a little…all over the place lately, but if there's something bothering you then tell me. Don't keep it all bottled up."

John sighed heavily and set down his tea, searching for the best words. "Alright," he softly began, looking into his lap before meeting her eyes. "There was something bothering me."

When he didn't speak for a second or two, Mary couldn't help but nudge him a bit, giving away her eagerness to know what her husband was going through. "I'm listening."

He nodded. "It's not a huge deal, the usual stuff…it was Afghanistan again." Mary brows sloped into a simultaneously empathetic and confused position. He had Afghanistan dreams here and there, and she could always tell….last night was much more dramatic. But John kept on talking, so she kept on listening. There wasn't time to second guess. "Yesterday I ran into an old friend. Brian Heller, you remember I told you about him? Young guy, he was in my unit with his brother. Well, his brother didn't make it back home."

"Darling, I'm so sorry," she said sadly, reaching warmly for his hand across the table and giving it a comforting squeeze.

John nodded appreciatively again with a small smile. "It's alright; it was a long time ago. But I guess seeing him made the usual dreams a tad more real. I promise it's nothing that hasn't happened before. I've already forgotten about it to tell you the truth. Don't worry."

John was called into the clinic just a few minutes later, so he couldn't stay much longer to chat about the nightmare, which seemed especially fine with him. He kissed Mary goodbye, as well as the baby the way he did every time he left, and made her promise not to go into labor while he was gone. And then he was off.

Mary almost immediately picked up her phone the second his car drove away. "Hello Sherlock," she said after a couple rings. "Can you come over?...No, I'm not in labor….John lied to me….Thanks."

The detective didn't take long at all, arriving at the door in just under ten minutes. "Here you go," he greeted, pushing a brown paper bag into Mary's arms as he walked into the flat.

"What's this?"

"It's from Mrs. Hudson," he responded dully, clearly uninterested in the contents of the bag. "Muffins, I think."

"Mmm, blueberry," she practically moaned when she opened the bag and the heavenly aroma was released. "Would you like one?"

Sherlock turned back around to see her already putting one for herself on a plate, not wasting any time. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself." She grabbed a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and waddled over to where he sat on the couch with the plate in one hand and the odd condiment in the other. Sherlock had to smirk when he saw her happily squirt the ketchup onto the plate and liberally dip a piece of muffin into it. Her cravings fascinated him. "Stop with the face, I'm very pregnant."

"You're not anymore pregnant today than you were yesterday."

"That's where you're wrong."

"You've gained two pounds this week, but other than that everything else is the same."

She frowned at him, slowly chewing her treat, and a tad less excited than she was a moment ago."It's only one pound this week."

"Two," he insisted. "John confirmed it."

She glared at her friend. "Did he now?"

"Yes, and while we're on the subject, what'd he lie about?"

Mary regained her focus and set the plate down on the coffee table. "Right. He was tossing and turning all night. He says he was having dreams about army stuff, but it wasn't. He mentioned seeing Brian Heller yesterday and said that may have triggered it, but I know he didn't."

"How do you know?"

"I know when John's lying," she answered, not feeling she needed to offer further explanation.

"How do you know?" Sherlock repeated.

"I just do, he's my husband. Besides, can't you tell when he's lying?"

"Yes, but I wasn't here to see him lie."

"Well then you'll just have to take my word for it."

"No I don't, I know he's lying."

Mary rolled her eyes. "If you didn't see him lie, how do you know?"

"It's not about what I didn't see, it's what I did see," he replied, trying to sound clever.

"Okay," Mary said, drawing out the word as she reluctantly played along. "What did you see?"

"Brian Heller," Sherlock answered, pausing for Mary's surprised look. "He was sitting in one of Lestrade's cells."

"He got arrested?!"

"Two nights ago for drunk driving. Lestrade was only keeping him 24 hours. So unless John also got arrested last night, then he didn't see Brian Heller."

Mary sunk deeper into the couch. "Then why is he lying?"

"Easy, you've got two weeks until your due date," Sherlock said with a shrug, grabbing a piece of ketchupped blueberry muffin. "Since your both medical professionals, I'm sure you're well aware that once a woman has two weeks to go then she could pretty much give birth any day. So, he's freaking out about it. He's always been theatrical like that." Proud of his effortless deduction, Sherlock tossed the muffin into his mouth.

Mary watched the look of disgusted realization come over him as he tasted the blueberry and ketchup come together. "Not a fan then?"

After a painstaking swallow, he stoically turned to her. "You're insane."

Mary just moved right along though. "I know he's nervous about the baby, I am too. But why the secrets? Why not just tell me? After everything we've been through the last few months, surely this must be an easier thing to tackle than…well, you know, the other thing."

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder and sat quietly, until he realized Mary was waiting for him to speak. "Oh come on, you don't really expect me to know, do you?"

She gave him a sideways glance and went back to her muffin. "You know more about human emotions then you let on."

"That's your department."

She pondered for a while, not sure if it was even worth pursuing. "I just wish he would talk to me about it. I don't want him to be all uptight. You know how he gets." Sherlock nodded, he was quite familiar with what a stressed out John Watson looked like. "Maybe you could—"

"No."

"—talk to him." Mary's face fell. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not his therapist."

"No, you're his friend, his best friend, and sometimes that means wearing different hats." She felt a hearty kick against her belly and automatically covered the spot with her hand. "Please, Sherlock. He's not going to talk to me about it, probably because he doesn't want me stressing out. He needs to let it all out to someone."

Sherlock grumbled, but Mary knew what that meant. "You know, I used to be a detective."

"You can take one day off," she smiled appreciatively. "It'll just be a chat. Give him a chance to get it all off his chest. Oh, and Sherlock, try to be discreet. John won't want to talk about what's bothering him if he knows I'm going to hear about it."

OOOOO

"Tell me what's bothering you so I can tell your wife," Sherlock blatantly delivered sitting across from John at the breakfast table.

"Excuse me?"

"Or at least give me something I can relay to Mary." In his hand, Sherlock casually held a malodorous, steaming test tube that John had been eyeing suspiciously throughout breakfast.

"What did Mary say to you?"

Sherlock sighed, wishing John would just answer the question so he could get back to his experiment. "She told me how you've been especially stressed lately about the imminent birth of your child, and since you won't talk to her she wants you to vent to me."

"Are you serious?" He sounded annoyed, an opportunity Sherlock decided to seize.

"Yep, irritating, isn't it?" The detective adjusted his safety goggles on his nose. "I propose that since you obviously have no reason or need to vent, and since you know your wife much better than anyone else, you tell me something that she would believe you said. I can tell her, and she'll likely not ask again."

"I can't believe she wants you to spy on me." John reiterated, folding offended arms across his chest. "Or that I would need to air out my emotions. Especially to you! You've got about as much empathy for others as burned toast."

"That's what I said!" Sherlock agreed with enthusiasm, nearly spilling his concoction

"And so what if I am stressing out… I'm about to be a father for Christ sake! I think that's a very understandable reason to stress out."

"Oh no," Sherlock muttered in droned realization.

"And she can't possibly be perfectly calm about becoming a mother," John continued, not noticing Sherlock roll his eyes and begrudgingly set his test tube into its rack. "Although, she'll probably be perfect at it…she can do stuff like that. Be warm, and nurturing. I chase after criminals with a guy who thinks of a triple homicide as Christmas. How the hell am I going to do this?!"

"To start, you can stop whining."

"Oh, what do you know?" John huffed and looked up at Sherlock. "And when exactly did it become okay for you to move your experiments to my house? Isn't that what Baker Street is for?"

"Among other things, yes. But I was out of tea, Mrs. Hudson was out of town, so…"

"So you had no one to cook for you." Sherlock shrugged affirmatively and John groaned loudly. "Oh well that's just great, look, I'm already rubbish."

"What are you talking about now?"

"You might as well be a six year old when it comes to getting what you want. You act like an arse and still I let you drag me all over the place. How am I ever going to be a parent? If I can't say no to you, there's no way I'll be able to say it to my daughter."

"Lucky for you, she won't even understand words for the first few months."

"Ughh," John dropped his head onto his hands. "How the hell am I going to do this? Seriously, how?"

"You'll do it, and you'll do it well."

"How do you know?"

"I don't, I'm making an inference."

John waited, positive his friend would say more. "What, there's no deduction recitation for this?"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side with refined sass. "Do you remember the speech I gave at your wedding?"

"Course I do."

"And have you ever known me to go out of my way to make people feel good about themselves or to boost others' self-esteem with pretty exaggerations of qualities they may, on a good day, possess?"

John knowingly looked into his palms. "No."

"Well then why are you asking me how you'll be as a father? I said you were a great man. Surely a great man wouldn't find it too difficult to be a great father as well."

The doctor was quiet for a while, as all of his nervous, flattered, and supremely uncertain parts battled for space inside his head. "Thank you, Sherlock," he said genuinely, smiling at his friend.

"You're welcome."

"You know what's been hardest to cope with? It's having to worry about Mary and the baby and everything going okay, and not be able to know everything will be fine until our daughter is in our arms; but also knowing that the second she's born is when the real worrying begins."

Surprisingly, Sherlock knew what he meant. He couldn't even count the number of times he had been on a case and the danger of the investigation felt like a prequel, only matched in risk by the aftermath of finding the solution. "Why can't you tell Mary this?" he asked, studying his friend's fidgeting fingers.

"She's nervous about something happening before or during labor, something going wrong, I mean. And the more stressed she is, the higher the chance is that things could become complicated."

"Mary's strong, John, extremely strong. It's probably just as agitating for you to not tell her. Not telling her is only going to make her imagination run wild about all the things you could be stressing about. And she'll end up with all new fears she's not thought of yet."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that one." He never felt good saying those words. "Maybe I can talk to her later tonight."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute, she was here, wasn't she?"

"An hour ago, mate. She left with Molly to go baby shopping." John watched the blankness of his friend's face thicken. "Remember, she said bye to you…you waved."

"Was that why I waved?"

"It was, yeah."

"Huh…"

That night, Sherlock was back at Baker Street, still playing around with chemicals and test tubes which were now set up at his own kitchen table. The lights were dim, and down enough to lessen the effect of a text that came through and lit up the room. Mary's picture appeared on the screen.

Thank you, was all it said. Sherlock smiled to himself and set the phone back down, returning to his unfinished work.

OOOOO

Thanks for reading! Hope everyone's Christmas shopping is off to a good start!