A/N: I'm baaaack! I would've updated yesterday but life decided to get in the way. (pouts) But worry not, the new chapter is here. Hooray?

First, though, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and love! You have no idea of how happy you've made me. So THANK YOU! (hugs) You're precious, ya know?

Awkay, before I get all sappy, let's rock on! I really hope that you'll enjoy this one.

Beware, emotional turmoil incoming! (Pfft, what else is new…?)


Crash and Burn


/ Sherlock could quite positively say that he'd never, ever been as terrified as he was on the day he faced John, wrapped up to such a amount of explosives that would've easily taken down the whole building. John, who was his mate, his Omega. John, who was five and a half months pregnant.

He didn't think that he'd ever feel such intense fear ever again. He was quickly proven wrong. Because exactly ten minutes after it was all over John collapsed.

Pacing around the hospital's waiting room like a caged tiger Sherlock allowed his thoughts to whir. His brain went through about a million different ideas of what Moriarty could've done to John. He thought, thought and thought until he'd nearly lost whatever little sanity he'd had left.

After a eternity a young female doctor with shortcut blond hair and brown eyes walked in, a defeated look on her face. Sherlock's stomach dropped long before the words left her mouth. "John is going to be fine, although we were worried for a moment. But the baby… There was some heavy bruising on John's abdominal area. That, added to the stress…" She swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

It was a sadly well known fact that Sherlock didn't do well in emotional situations. At that very moment his heart was pounding and breaking in his chest, the ache clouding his usually sharp head. Not a very promising combination. It took four hours before he entered John's room.

John looked impossibly small, sitting all alone on his hospital bed, legs brought tightly to his chest. Despite how dark the room was it was easy to notice just how pale the doctor was. His jaw was stone hard with tightly repressed emotions.

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to move or speak out. It took John a full minute to notice him. There was a look of sheer agony in the Omega's eyes. "Sherlock, I… I'm sorry."
At those words Sherlock was moving, before he even knew what the hell he was going to do. Nothing in his mind or body was quite steady when Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held on with the sheer power of despair. "Moriarty's fault. Not yours." A new good reason to hunt down that bastard and tear him to pieces with his own bare hands.

John's body quivered in his hold and for a moment he was sure that he heard sobs. It took ages before the doctor managed to speak. "It's… They say that… that they'll need to, uh… finish it. since… Well, it's already five months…" The doctor swallowed hard. "I'll need to be operated on."

Sherlock's hold on John tightened and he gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt to keep the rest of the agony under control. Soon they'd come and take John away to make sure that their dead child was out of John. Soon there'd be nothing left of their child.

Nothing more was said, for there were no words for such a situation.

John needed to be put under for the staff to finish what nature had failed to complete. Sherlock didn't stop pacing for even a second while his mate was gone. His thoughts stormed on dark, dangerous paths.

He'd failed John and their unborn child. The first miscarriage was simply a tragedy. This time he'd failed. What kind of a Alpha did that make him?

It took John longer than it should've to wake up. As soon as the doctor was even partly conscious a pale hand shifted frantically to a stomach where a careful eye could see the slightest of swells. Only to find no life in there. A wail of sheer, utter agony escaped from the Omega.

Sherlock swallowed, unsure what to say. Surely he couldn't say that it was all over – John knew that already. And he definitely couldn't tell that they would've had a baby girl, that he got to hold her and she fit easily to just one of his hands. That this time they had a daughter to bury. "It's… It'll be okay, John", he murmured instead. Hating the way he couldn't bring himself to touch his mate. "They swore to me that you'll be okay. That when you've healed we can try again."

John shook his head. The man's eyes appeared suspiciously moist while they stared at nothing in particular. "No, Sherlock." It was barely audible. "I… I don't want to be pregnant ever again. I can never go through this again." With those words barely past his lips the Omega slipped back under, succumbing under heavy medication.

It took three days before Sherlock managed to fall asleep. When he did he dreamt of their daughter, of all the things she could've been. Of what she might've looked like, possibly with his hair and John's eyes. Two more days later John was finally discharged. That night neither slept as they lay in their bed side by side, all too aware of what they'd lost. /


John knew that something was wrong the moment he walked into the crime scene. Sherlock was always aloof and distant while focusing intently on the case at hand. But the sudden distance he could just feel between them, and especially those venom filled looks darted Greg's way… All of a sudden he knew. And the realization made him feel even colder than the rapidly cooling corpse of a man who looked chillingly lot like him.

The cab drive home was silent, as was their stiff journey up the stairs. In the flat they found a note from Mrs. Hudson that announced she'd taken Spencer to a park. John was glad. There was clearly a long, tedious conversation ahead of them and he was beginning to feel that he didn't want their son there to witness it.

Sherlock was the one who spoke first, obviously not intending to try and suppress the urge any longer. "So you chose Lestrade, out of all people?"

John shivered at the cool, biting tone. His eyes turned into steel, rage beginning to boil over while much too familiar ache began to resurface. "I hardly chose. And neither did he. I'm not proud that I drank myself to oblivion but that's what happened." He grabbed a nearby table for support, so hard that his knuckles turned white. There was a whirlwind of pain, anger and guilt burning in his veins and he had no idea if the flood came from his human or Omega side. Perhaps both. "Do you honestly think that I had a bloody clue of what I was doing back then? You… You were gone, Sherlock! For years! I… I watched you die with my own two eyes! You left me!"

Sherlock shivered. Lava appeared into the detective's eyes. "You know fucking well why I had to do it!" the man snarled, taking a step closer and invading John's private space. "I fought for years, John, not knowing if I'd ever get to come back again! FOR YOU! And you couldn't even keep your pants up!"

John knew, rationally, that it was a hurt Alpha – not Sherlock – talking. But those words… They stung like acid while washing through, seeping deep into the core of his heart and soul. Joining that annoying voice in the back of his head that'd been whispering those quite same words for a very long time. The impact made him feel sick to his stomach. His eyes narrowed even further and his whole body began to shake. "Get… the fuck out!" he snarled through tightly gritted teeth. "Right now!"

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up. "Why? So you can call Lestrade over?"

John was dangerously close to losing control over himself altogether. This… This was just too much. He began to march on although his legs barely carried his weight. "Fine. Fine. Then I'll get the hell out of here."

Sherlock's hand grabbed his wrist, so tightly that it was a miracle nothing was fractured. Without a doubt bruising would form. It squeezed, and squeezed, with absolutely all the force the detective could find. "You're not going anywhere!"

John hissed against himself, struggling to break himself free from the crushing hold. "Goddamnit, you're hurting me!" he half growled, half yelped in the end. Tears were loud and clear in his voice but he didn't care.

Something about his tone of voice seemed to snap Sherlock out of whatever stupor the man had fallen into. The hand let go, leaving John's skin aching and bruised. There was a wild and dangerous, unreadable look in those eyes. "You were supposed to be my mate." It sounded wounded, perhaps even broken.

John bit his teeth together once more, bringing a gentle hand to throbbing flesh. "Get the hell out of here, Sherlock. Before I'm nothing to you."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled. They both felt that a line was going to be crossed seconds before the words came out. "Who said that I'd accept used goods, anyway?"

John froze at those words altogether, body and soul. He didn't see Sherlock leave. Couldn't even hear the flat's door being slammed closed.

Absolutely all strength draining from him he slid to the floor, a trembling hand placed to his abdomen where he couldn't quite feel the new beginning of life just yet. Where his child was – his and Sherlock's. His mouth opened but he couldn't produce a sound. Only one thought fit into his head that was beginning to hurt.

This was too much.


Spencer had had a very exciting day in a park with Mrs. Hudson. She was a smart lady who knew a lot about many things. She tolerated his countless expeditions after different insects and other fascinating things far better than aunt Harry. And most importantly, on their way home she agreed that they could buy just a little bit chocolate.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He waited until she looked towards him before he went on. "Can we buy some for daddy and pa, too?"

Mrs. Hudson appeared surprised for a second, then nodded. "Of course we can, dear. I'm sure that they'd be delighted." She reached out and took two more bars of milk chocolate.

Spencer shook his head. "No!" he insisted. "Pa likes dark chocolate."

(He was too young to see the warm, small smile on Mrs. Hudson's face.)

They were almost home when they saw Sherlock emerge from the block of flats. Spencer grinned radiantly and began to wave. "Pa! Pa! We're here!" The man didn't seem to hear. Instead Sherlock kept walking away with hasty, brisk steps, his back turned sharply towards them. And disappeared.

Spencer pressed his lips together tightly and hugged the teddy bear he'd insisted on bringing along tighter to his chest. Yes, he was only a little boy who didn't really understand the complicated world of adults. But even he understood that something was very wrong.

He shivered and pressed himself closer to Mrs. Hudson's warmth, desperate to feel even a small hint of comfort.

That night Spencer had nightmares where he was running in a huge, extremely dark forest all alone. He woke up screaming, tears running down his cheeks. And no matter how desperately he called out to both of his parents only one of them came.

(It was fortunate that he didn't see John's tears.)


Days passed by. Perhaps even weeks. Spencer wasn't entirely sure – keeping track on the passing of time had never been his strong point. But he knew that his pa still wasn't home yet. He knew that he missed pa. And so did daddy. That's why he did what he did the last time his pa was away a few weeks ealier on what the man called a 'case'. The same thing he'd been doing almost every day during this second absence.

Sure that his daddy was preoccupied by a adult conversation with uncle Greg he took his daddy's cell phone, knowing exactly where to find it. Making a call wasn't difficult at all. Finding the right number was a bit more tricky. A frown of concentration on his face Spencer looked for letters 'Sh' from the contact list. Once there was an occasion where he, still practising, called Sarah by accident. He didn't want to repeat that mistake.

His pa's familiar baritone answered almost instantly. "Spencer? Is... everything alright?"

Perhaps it was that voice. The one he heard for the first time when he was already three years old. A voice he so very badly wanted to trust. Spencer sobbed once, stubbornly wiping away the single tear that rolled. "Daddy and I… I think we're leaving, pa."

There was a prolonged pause. "Leaving where, Spencer?"

Spencer shrugged, feeling helpless. He didn't understand this, any of this. In fact this all terrified him, beyond all belief. His pa was away, on a case and he had no idea if the man would ever return. His daddy was often sick and so obviously in pain that even the child could see it. To Spencer it made sense. Their family was torn apart – of course they were all hurting, then. He just wanted his family together again. He wanted them all to be happy again. "Daddy… He says that we'll have a va…ic… vacation. That we need to go away, for a little bit." He sniffled, wrapping one arm around himself in a feeble attempt to find even a hint of comfort. "Please, pa…! Come back."

The silence was so deep and long that that it scared Spencer. Some tears welled into his eyes. "Pa!" he screamed, as loudly as he dared to.

"I'm here, Spencer", his pa's voice promised. It sounded deeper, somehow. Sadder. Had Spencer said the wrong thing, after all? "I'm here."

Spencer felt marginally relieved for a brief moment. Just then he began to catch the sounds of his daddy and uncle Greg's talk ending. Time was running out. "I love you, pa. I miss you", he whispered. He hung up before he had the time to hear if the adult replied.

By the time John peered into Spencer's room the child was busy with a massive puzzle, humming softly while putting it together. He also saw the signs of tears, noticed that those eyes looked all too much like his. And made up his mind.


Sherlock wouldn't respond to John's texts or e-mails. In the end the omega decided that enough was enough. He was done waiting. He was done rolling around in ache, 'what ifs' and 'should'ves'. He was done trying to come up with excuses for Spencer. He was done with hurting all the time. Leaving, even if only for two weeks to spend some time in a cabin Greg's friend owned, was taking a coward's way out but that was what he'd have to do before the stress would eat him up alive. If he hadn't lost count of days at some point he was eight weeks pregnant on the day he stood outside his block of flats, sealed into Mrs. Hudson's firm and tear filled embrace.

"Oh, goodness me…! I truly hope that you'll come back one day. London won't be the same without you."

John frowned. His heart skipped a beat. "We'll only be gone for two weeks", he pointed out.

Mrs. Hudson gave him a pointed look. "Don't lie to a old lady, John", she scolded.

John knew that his smile didn't reach his eyes when they broke the hug. He glanced towards where Spencer was sleeping in a car. "This… is something we have to do."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, very solemn all of a sudden. "I understand, dear." She patted his stomach gently, as though trying to feel. Trust her to know although it'd take a while before he'd start to show. "Take a good care of you all, you hear?"

John nodded resolutely. Gosh, he'd do absolutely everything there was in his power to do just that. Especially since it looked like he was the only one these children would have. "You take care of yourself, too." Then, as an afterthought, he added. "And thank you, for everything."

All she managed in return was a nod.

John was glad that Spencer didn't wake up when he slid into the car and closed the door, then started the vehicle. It took some deep, shuddering breaths to push back the searing sensation that'd taken over his eyes. A bitter taste in his mouth and his wounded heart somehow managing to race furiously he began to drive towards the distant unknown.


Sherlock wasn't sure how many nights he'd spent awake, staring at the godawful, mustard colored ceiling of Mycroft's guest room. Too scared of nightmares to even close his eyes. In too much pain to let his muscles relax for even a second. Or perhaps it was the guilt keeping him awake.

His eyes narrowed and he balled his fists, nails digging painfully into skin.

John's fault, all of it. John betrayed him and their bond. Made all his nightmares of being forgotten and cast aside real. Replaced him. So why was he the one in all this pain?

With all his senses on overdrive he caught easily how his brother let someone in. He growled long before there was a knock. "Tell Molly that I have no intention of talking to her. Just like I haven't had thus far."

"You don't need to speak. In fact, I might even prefer it if you didn't. But oh, trust me, you will listen."

That voice wasn't Molly's or Mycroft's. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and such rage he couldn't remember experiencing ever before rolled through the detective. "Give me even one good reason not to beat you up right now", he growled.

Greg sighed. "How, exactly, would that help your case?" Finally turning his head enough to see he found the DI's wrinkled nose. "Christ, Sherlock, you smell! When's the last time you took a shower? Or left this room, for the matter?" The man's eyes weren't pleased as they explored the collection of empty packages of cigarettes. "Does Mycroft know that you smoke inside his guest room?"

Sherlock felt a stab of irritation. He looked away from the DI pointedly. "If he doesn't he's even more of an idiot than I've given him credit for. Now be gone. Whatever John sent you here to say I don't want to hear it."

"John didn't send me. He's too damn busy trying to take care of your son all by himself." There was ice in Greg's voice, such that caught Sherlock's attention against his will. The man didn't give him the time to collect himself for a comeback. "This is the second time you've broken his heart, you know?"

Sherlock snorted. It came out far more moist than he would've liked. "He's only got himself to blame for this one", he pointed out.

Even the mighty Sherlock Holmes couldn't see Greg's response coming. Not until the man had already moved. Not until a stunningly firm right hook had been aimed at his face.

Greg held onto the hand that'd delivered the impact, eyes flaming with rage. "You bloody idiot…! You bloody, goddamn moron!" His lips opened but he was nowhere near fast enough to halt the DI. "He waited for you for two years! For two years he spent every damn day waiting for you to come back! He never said it out loud but I know. When he finally stopped, gave up hoping, something just… disappeared. And that night he was with me… It was your name he whispered, when we were done." Greg gritted his teeth, visibly struggling with himself not to attack again. "He loves you so much that it almost killed him. Did you know that? He needed to escape that pain for one fucking night, for the sake of his sanity. He made one mistake under impossible circumstances and for that you're abandoning your whole family? Abandoning him? After everything you've been through?" The man shook his head. "You can deduce anyone else in a heartbeat yet you fail to see things clearly with the one who matters the most to you. I'm almost sure that you haven't even figured out that he's pregnant again."

Those words hit Sherlock like a pile of bricks. His eyes widened a fraction while his brain attempted to make sense to what he'd just heard. Tried to grasp on the impossible truth. He was already moving long before it really sunk in.

"Sherlock, you can't just…!"

Sherlock couldn't even hear. Not when it was the last thing he said to John before storming out echoing in his ears, taunting him. Not when the guilt and terror were squeezing the heart he wasn't supposed to have so tightly that it could barely keep beating.

John was out there, with their son and pregnant with another child. Their child. Thinking that he'd abandoned them all over again. That he'd never come back. That he'd actually meant those hideous words. That everything was over between them.

Sherlock grabbed the keys of Mycroft's car and sped through the door, barely remembering to take his coat on his way out.

If he'd lose John, his whole family… Everything he once fought so bitterly for… He didn't know what he'd do.


Two hours, eight minutes and twenty seconds later a forgotten cell phone began to ring for the fiftieth time. The call was directed to a voicemail. There was no mistaking the urgency in that voice. Something was badly wrong.

"Where the bloody hell are you? Never mind, never mind. Look, there's… There's been an accident and…" There was a prolonged pause, during which unidentifiable sounds could be heard. "Just… Just get to St. Bart's as fast as you can, alright?"


TBC


A/N: Things… are a bit of no good right now, I'd say. In fact, quite a bit of no good. I wonder what this accident is all about…? (gulps)

PLEASE, do drop a line or two before you go! Hearing from you would seriously make me beyond happy. Pwease…? (gives puppy's eyes)

IN THE NEXT ONE: While one member of the family fights for their life a realization dawns. Is it too late? Emotions run high while two terrified souls wait for fickle fate to make up its mind.

How does a Saturday update sound…?

Until next time! I really hope that you'll all show up for that one.

Take care!