Hello lovlies, sorry for the wait. Hehe. Sooooo, I love the reviews and I'm sure you're all wondering how mpreg is going to work in my stories as everyone seems to do it a wee bit differently. This chapter explains it all, so it is pretty info heavy. Still, I do so think you'll all enjoy it. Also, since Magic Postulate is nearing its end; with just a few more chappies to go, I've got more stories in my head. So I'm posting a poll to see which story I'll write first. Ta

P.S- yes there is a reference to both Game of Thrones and 007 hehe… I just couldn't resist.

Chapter XI-The Holmes

221B Baker Street, London England—two months later

Sherlock was stood in front of the mirror in his and John's room. He was shifting about and looking at his mid section from every possible angle. The area in question was almost entirely flat and smooth, except to Sherlock. He could see the beginnings of the swell every expecting mother had, or father, had. He and John had had a talk near two months ago when Sherlock had told him. Well, they'd had the talk after John had feinted and then proceeded to have a minor episode over the realisation that Sherlock, a muggle, had done something no muggle male had ever done. He'd gotten pregnant.

According to John, that meant Sherlock had either magic, which he proved he couldn't have by proceeding to do reckless and possible lethal attempts at preforming spells, or he had some type of creature heritage. As they'd talked Sherlock had learned that male pregnancy was considered one of the most pure displays of magic that occurred in the wizarding world. Once pregnant, the wizard, or creature, would carry the child for around seven months. The raw magic involved in the pregnancy quickened the development of the child and therefore shortened the pregnancy period. Sherlock frowned in thought as he studied his swelling belly. Apparently, when the child was fully developed, the raw magic involved in the pregnancy would, for lack of a better description, remove the child from the magical, make shift womb and safely bring it out into the world. No one knew how or why that was how it worked, it just did.

"Do I want to know?" asked John from the doorway. Breakfast was ready.

"I wished to see if it was noticeable yet. You can tell, it's so obvious," Sherlock replied before dropping his untucked shirt and sulking into the kitchen. John cocked his head, confused.

"Uh, Sherlock, I barely notice and I'm a doctor. Even if you tucked your shirt in for a few more weeks no one but you would be able to tell," John said as he followed Sherlock. John had the distinct inkling that Sherlock was starting to feel the effects of the magic helping to create the baby, or babies; although twins were rare to begin with, and male pregnancies rarely produced them at all, only two male pregnancies in the last century and a half had produced twins.

Harcourt was with his aunt Hera in the kitchen. John had wrote her with the news believing she'd know more than he would. Clara was a healer, after all. Besides, in a month or two Sherlock would either be confined to the flat or he'd have to spend the last four months in the wizarding world; in which case be living with Hera seeing as John didn't have any wizarding currency. Hera was more than ecstatic, neither she nor Clara could conceive so Hera was filled with joy that John and Sherlock were saving the Lestrange line from dying out. I wonder what creature mated with the Holmes line, or perhaps it was the mother's… We can find out in a few weeks when we go to Gringotts, she thought as John and Sherlock joined her and Harcourt at the table. Mycroft entered the flat, a strained look on his face.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and burst into laughter. Hera and John looked concerned.

"John, would you care to explain the call I got from Harcourt about my brother," Mycroft said trying to gain his usual blank, but genial, mask. "I've been told he's carrying a new addition to the family, which is impossible, and whilst I appreciate a good quip as much as the next Englishman; I do not appreciate my young and impressionable nephew being drawn into your chicanery, Hello, Hera, I do hope you and Clara are doing well."

"Yes, we are doing well, thank you Mycroft... Ah, I think you should that it is possible for males to become pregnant; however, that is only in the case of wizards or men with a large amount of magical creature blood. Muggle men are incapable," Hare said to her brother-in-law. He scared her more than the dark lord had, and that was saying something. Mycroft gave a small smile before nodding and putting his usual expression back in place. Oh, it was bliss to have that cleared up. Sherlock was beginning to recover from his mirth. At least his mood's cleared up, John thought as he took the dishes and Mycroft said good-bye.

"So you three will come stay with me, yeah?" Hera asked as she spelled the dishes to self-clean. "There's plenty of room, John, so don't think you'll be a bother."

"What's this? Why are you three staying with Hera? Hello dear, how nice to see you again," said Mrs Hudson from the door. She had a Tesco bag in her hand and a receipt. Hera smiled but had no idea what to say.

"John and I agreed after getting Harry that we could do a surrogate. We'd been talking it over for a while, actually. The woman in question doesn't live far from Harry here, and since she's living on her own, we thought to help her out in the last few months of her pregnancy, it hasn't been easy," Sherlock said, the lie slipping off his tongue so easily. Mrs Hudson had put the bag on the table and now had a hand on her heart.

"Oh, you dears. That's so wonderful! Do you know the sex, Harry you must be so excited to get a new baby brother or sister," she cooed to the boys sat by her. Harry smiled wide at her, before remembering his uncle's lessons and shrinking it before hiding his teeth. He was a Holmes and so had to act with decorum in all things. John thanked Mrs Hudson for shopping for them. Hera was looking at her brother's husband in awe.

He'd have been a Slytherin for sure, she thought. Their parents would approve, she just knew it.

Headmaster's Office—two weeks later

Albus was frowning at the muggle newspaper he had been reading. It was a few months old as there was a picture coupled with a small article about a couple of a noble muggle family that had gotten married. The article shouldn't have been as big news as it was, but the couple were rather infamous in the muggle world, and Albus was irate because of the family. Holmes, he didn't like the name one bit. The headmaster folded the newspaper up before incinerating it. According to his sources in the muggle media and law enforcement, the younger Holmes brother, Sherlock, had been the one to find Harry Potter whilst he was walking with his partner John Watson.

When the news of Harry Potter's death hit the wizarding papers there had been an uproar. Many dark and grey oriented families took the news as proof of muggles' inferiority whilst the light oriented people took it as a sign of the ministry's incompetence. Albus sighed and sat back in his chair in contemplation. He'd spoken with the goblins at the bank about Harry's vaults, having to return the key now that the child would no longer need it. They'd told him that he was not to get one cent as neither was child once known as Harry Potter dead nor was Albus Dumbledore his magical guardian any longer as the boy had been adopted and his name changed. That had led the Supreme Mugwump to storm into that Muggle's office only to be told by his secretary and that one shrew that the man wasn't in his office. Of course, the man had been in his office and when he came out with a grey haired woman whom he called "M" of all things, he'd given Albus a once over before telling him to set up an appointment if he wished to talk as he was too busy at the moment to deal with anyone else. He hadn't been able to get an appointment. Then, this morning, he'd seen the name Harcourt Sherrinford Holmes written in the school's ledger for recording future students. He was now hating that family, oh they made his lemon drops taste like ash in his mouth.

However, one thing was for certain. He needed to find where that bloody muggle put the Boy-who-lived.

Diagon Alley—six weeks later

"John, I don't want to do this," Sherlock said as he and Hera dragged the heavily pregnant consulting detective down the cobbled street. Hera lived in an airy flat above her little bakery in the alley. She could have lived in the family manor, but she preferred the hustle and bustle of the alley. Harcourt was helping in the bakery with the house elves and that werewolf who Clara was making potions for. He enjoyed it and the elves would ensure that nothing hurt the little master. At near six months Sherlock was almost at his confinement period and he still hadn't gone shopping for the babies. Clara had confirmed that the genius was indeed carrying twins. Although, as with every pregnancy in the magical world, the sexes of the pair would be revealed at their birth.

John still couldn't believe what the goblins had revealed whilst they were at the bank near two months ago. Goblins had a closely guarded secret test, that many suspected was an ability of theirs, that allowed them to expose blood lineage. They family had originally gone to get Harcourt's adoption papers and vaults in order and for Hera to withdraw some coins from the bank. They'd gotten the test done out of sheer curiosity and, as it turned out, the Holmeses were descended from elves. The same elves that house elves had originally come from before the War of Races.

Well, it certainly explaines a lot about the brothers. Even if Mycroft seems to have inherited more of the human than the elf, John thought as he pulled Sherlock into a Shoppe. The expecting father let out a gasp and made a face similar to the one John had seen when they'd been on the Hound of Baskerville case. There were cots and bedding all about. It was overwhelming to Sherlock. How did Mummy ever do this for Mycroft and I? Sherlock thought in terror. He felt a hand slip into his own and squeeze in comfort. He knew this hand, every line, every callous, every tale it told without a word. John's hand grounded him and they walked into the Shoppe. Hera went to speak with the clerk whilst John led Sherlock around.

A pear wood crib captured Sherlock's attention. There were vines carved into the wood. John paused and watched as Sherlock contemplated.

"Do you like that one, love?" he asked. Sherlock blinked before turning to John and shaking his head. A small bubble of worry surfaced in the doctor as his prickly detective remained silent. John had thought he'd whinge or begin deducing intimate details of bystanders at a loud volume. That's the way he normally worked through his unease.

"What about this one? How about that one? Not this one?" John was pointing out different cots and then moved on as Sherlock shook his head at each option. John knew that the shopping would take a while, but they had other things to get and at this rate they'd be here forever. Without warning Sherlock stilled before snapping around and dragging John by the hand as he retraced his steps. They stopped near the first cot Sherlock had paused at before the still nimble man glided through the cots to the back.

"I saw two back here, but only a glimpse," John heard him mumble as he followed his errant husband. He gasped as he came to a halt behind Sherlock, their hands still grasped together. Before him were two nearly identical cots. They were carved from the whitest wood John had ever seen, and there were fossilised blood red leaves embedded through out them. The pattern of the leaves was the only differences between the two.

"These ones, we have to have these ones," Sherlock whispered. John agreed. They were perfect.

"Ah, you like those two do you? They're made of a long lost wood. It was very magical, but the trees are all gone now. These were made near the time of the founders; no one's ever wanted 'em," said a gruff voice from somewhere behind them. John looked back to see the clerk and Hera. The man smiled and showed only half the number of teeth he should have had.

"You can have 'em for a fair price. They've been here too long, they need to be got rid of," said the clerk. John nodded at Hera and she talked prices with man. John led Sherlock back through the sea of cots and over to the bedding and linen. The duo picked out the soft bedding to go in the cots but skirmished over the blankets. Sherlock did not want neutral colours for their twins.

'Sherlock, what if they're boys? Do really want—"

"John, don't be ridiculous, those colours are only unisex because of social norms and out-dated status quo. Most of them are horrid hues to begin with. I won't stand for it… Oh please, John, try and refrain from inflicting your opinions on the rest of the world," Sherlock huffed when john opened his mouth to continue his defence. Hera giggled behind her hand and the clerk smiled.

"He's feisty, ain't 'e?" the man said and puffed his pipe. Hera smiled as John surrendered and the couple picked out the blankets Sherlock wanted.

"Yes I suppose he is," she replied.