Something Beautiful- Thirteen.
She ran her hand silently over the expanse of her swollen stomach. The expanse that was her child. Their child.
She wondered what it would look like, who it would take after, whether it would be their only child.
Would they have more children? The bump in front of her wasn't planned, but would they plan another?
She let her imagination wander aimlessly, sat in the back of that taxi, one soggy hand entwined in her lover's, the other resting quietly atop their child. Her eyes fluttered softly closed...
They are beautiful. A dark haired teenage boy, of about 15, smirking in a way that would make any girl swoon. A girl of about 10 with long black curls bouncing up and down excitedly, a wicked gleam in her eyes. How amazing they would be.
She could see Sherlock, his face aged and worn, his smirk creasing his still angular face as he swung their little girl onto his shoulders, explaining advanced science to their son. A boy so frighteningly like Sherlock in looks, and intelligence, with her seductive charms, and a personality that couldn't be credited to either parent.
The little girl, giggly and sweet, with an innocence that surprised them both at times. She had her mother's smile though. God help the boys in a couple of years.
And they would still be hopelessly in their weird twist on love. Married? Probably not, though if Mycroft finally got his way, who knows...
She tried to imagine herself in 15 years. Less forward, and with a fondness for long cardigans? As much as she hated to think that way, it would probably happen.
Would Sherlock wear woolly jumpers as well? Would they still know John?
A soft voice pulled her away from her slumber.
'Irene, darling, we're here.'
'Everything seems fine, as I said before. Just get some rest, and try not to stress yourself again, okay?'
Irene smirked and winked at John, leaning precariously out of the door.
'I promise, Doctor Watson. Have a good evening.'
As she closed the door, he wrapped his arms around her, placing his chin on her shoulder.
'Don't you ever do that again. I don't know what I'd do if...'
She reached up and stroked his face, silencing him. She felt wetness against her palm, and realised he'd been crying.
'Don't worry yourself about it. I'm not doing that again. It was hell.'
There was a strange pause, as he pressed a kiss to her neck, and she sighed.
'Can we please keep this moment, forever and ever?'
She felt him laugh lightly into her neck, as he ran his hands down her waist to cradle her bump.
'If I could bottle it, I could. But honestly, we have so much more waiting for us.'