WARNING: Mpreg

A/N: A huge thanks goes to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or put this story onto their alerts. Your support means the world to me.

John felt a bubbly laugh fall from his lips as they arrived at the safe house. He was mainly laughing out of relief. They'd somehow managed to get past the guards and the uncountable amount of security that Mycroft had put on the private hospital Sherlock had been placed in. John had against his better judgement stolen masses of medication and medical supplies. He'd even managed to grab a small, futuristic looking device that he was fairly sure acted as a scanner. It would definitely come in handy if he was going to measure the fetuses progress, or rather Sherlock's progress. John still refused to see the fetus as a living being, but an object. They hadn't been able to go back to 221B to get any clothes or other worldly needs. The only things they had were a few spare clothes for Sherlock and some light snacky food.

John glanced over to Sherlock. He looked frail as ever and his eyes were glazed over. Sherlock's mind was clearly in a distant land. He smiled weakly and gently shook the half asleep detective. "Hey." He whispered, his voice tinted with a feathery softness. "We're here."

Sherlock blinked and turned his face towards John. He looked quite confused for a while but his eyes soon focused on John. "John?" Sherlock's voice is worn and comes out sounding like nails scratching across a blackboard.

John winced at the sound and gently squeezed Sherlock's shoulder. "You ok?" It's a stupid question of course. John knows full well that Sherlock is a far cry from ok and that he would be like that for a long time to come. His heart shuddered in his chest as he realized that if he hadn't given into Sherlock's pleas quite so easily Sherlock would be in surgery by now. This nightmare would all be over. It was too late to turn back now though, besides Sherlock was far too weak to make the return journey so soon. For now they would have to sit tight and hold onto their seatbelts whilst they waited for whatever the future might bring them.

"I will be once we get out of this stuffy cab." Sherlock sniffed loudly. "It's too hot in here."

John hummed in agreement. The taxi ride had been stifling hot and without any windows open it had become almost impossible to breath. Getting out of the cab they had taken and heaving his backpack onto his left shoulder, John moved around the cab to let Sherlock out. He pulled him from his seat carefully and draped the detectives arm over his back so that he was resting firmly on his other shoulder.

Glancing around his surroundings he could see a petite looking cottage. It was clear that it had been painted a light blue color a long time ago, but from years of having battering winds and rains attacking its walls it had turned a dull shade of grey. Ivy clambered up its walls and curled up onto the roof. It was quite a beautiful building despite it being so battered in and weather worn, John mused softly as he and Sherlock moved slowly towards it. It was surrounded by a thick forest. John found himself glad that the area was such a reclusive one. It would mean less prying eyes. Though Sherlock would come off as nothing more than a man who had overeaten he still didn't want to take any chances. If anyone found out the truth then surely Sherlock would be taken away. A shiver ran up his back at the thought and he clutched onto Sherlock a little tighter.

"You're thinking. Please stop. My head's already killing me."

"Sorry." John apologized softly, his tone of voice half amused.

"What were you thinking about? You were obviously thinking pretty hard if I could practically hear your inner monologue."

"I'm thinking that this plan of yours isn't going to work. Mycroft is bound to be on our trail already, you're already incredibly ill, and we're in the middle of bloody nowhere."

"Wrong." Sherlock muttered. "We appear to be in the middle of nowhere. There is in fact a small village not far from here."

"Ok. Perhaps I'll go and check it out once I've gotten you to bed."

Sherlock huffed. "Not tired."

"Sherlock," John scolded. "If this is going to work then you're going to follow my advice. You need sleep, and lots of it."

"Fine."

"There's no fine about it, Sherlock. You either follow my orders or I text Mycroft and get him to send a car to pick us up." John instantly regretted his words as Sherlock shot him a look of awful hurt. "Alright, I'm sorry."John said gently as he guided Sherlock through the front door of the safe house. He hated the feeling of guilt pooling in his gut. He didn't know what was wrong or right anymore. Was he really helping Sherlock? Or was he dragging the detective to an early grave. John swallowed and shook his head, not wanting to dwell on it for too long.

The interior design of the safe house was rather quaint if not a little outdated. The walls were papered with something John's tasteless grandmother would have chosen if she was still alive, a shocking flower print that was mottled with dirt and spider webs. The webs were dotted around to such an extent that John couldn't tell where one started and another one ended. He made a note in the back of his mind to do a bit of spring cleaning. If he and Sherlock were going to spend a long while here then the least he could do was tidy the place up. Besides all the dust gathered in the house wouldn't be good for Sherlock's health.

Further inspection of the house showed there to be a relatively big lounge, again with outdated décor. The two sofas that were situated there looked like they'd seen better days. They were hunched over, their middle sagging from where they had been sat on over the years. There was no TV, which was rather unfortunate as it was likely Sherlock would go stark raving mad with boredom if he was cooped up with nothing to do, and junk TV was usually the only thing that kept the detective complaining of his boredom. There were a lot of books though. They were covered in a thin sheen of dust, just begging to be read. Maybe those would keep him occupied. Hopefully.

Further along the hallway there was a kitchen. It was relatively small with only the basics and oven looked worryingly on its last legs. The tiles on the floor looked like they needed a good scrubbing and the ceiling was once again covered in cobwebs.

Last but not least was the bedroom. The bedroom. There was only one bedroom. It was quite a plain room. It wasn't furnished bar a double bed and a dead pot plant. John bit his lip nervously. "I guess we'll be sharing a bed whilst we stay here." He said with a short bout of nervous laughter.

"Obviously, John. Where else were you planning to sleep? The floor?" Sherlock asked, sounding both amused and exhausted.

"I can if you want me too." John said softly as he led Sherlock to the bed and placed him gently down on it. They were both in need of some rest to reboot. John would venture into the village for supplies later. For now sleep and worrying about Sherlock came first. He smiled as Sherlock gave a slight shake of his head. "I didn't think so." He crawled onto the bed beside Sherlock and smoothed a hand through his curly locks. "Go to sleep. That's an order."

The detective made a soft whining sound and pulled John closer. " John,"

"Hmmm?"

"I care about you."

"I know." John's smile widened as warmth grew in his heart.

"A lot."

"I know." John laughed. "I care about you too. Now go to sleep."

"Mmm. Not tired."

"Idiot." John said fondly, shaking his head as he watched the detective who was presumably 'not tired' fall fast asleep. "My idiot."

"All yours, John." Sherlock mumbled in his sleep.

"Yep. All mine."

Please leave a review.