Chapter Twenty-Five

John was counting the days, practically, until the expected due date of his and Sherlock's baby at this point. The eighth month had ended quickly, and the ninth month was rolling in. The ninth month was the ultimate month, but also the unexpected month. It was the month where they never knew if the baby would come early or late. Any day now it could come.

John was anxious. Counting the days, asking Sherlock a load of questions about how she was feeling until he annoyed the hell out of her. He was nervous, too. The nightmare came back to him some days when he thought about rushing Sherlock to the hospital.

He was taking this worse than she was. She didn't feel like preparing for anything or counting the days. "The baby will come whenever," she would say. "And when it comes, we'll be ready. Okay?" Hearing her say that eased John a little more. She said it more than once until he was more comfortable. And then, it was just a normal day for them.

Sherlock had another anxiety on her mind - John. John, so sweet and loving, with little to no regret when it came to having the baby. John, so loyal and comforting, like a dog. (She did like dogs. She could handle a dog better than a baby any day.) John, whose world revolved solely around her since she got pregnant and even before that.

It was the baby that stopped her. She was concerned that it was merely hormones, nothing more, and once the whole pregnancy buzz was over, she'd lose the feeling. It didn't feel like hormones, though. It felt better. For some reason, she felt like she had felt it before. Had she felt it towards John, though? Possibly.

She thought of telling him after the baby was born, just in case she lost the feeling after giving birth. That way, if she ended up feeling differently, there would be nothing to tell him.

But that changed. It changed when she remembered that she had felt that way every time they kissed, whether it was fake or not. She felt that way when they were alone together, alone at dinner. Whenever he complimented her, said something nice about her, did something for her, she felt it. Every simple thing he did for her, because of her, or with her, she felt it. And she had felt it the whole time. She hadn't even realized, never having the feeling before about anyone. Ever. She felt like a complete idiot for not realizing sooner, but no one could blame her for being ignorant to something she never felt before.

She had to tell him. She knew why she hadn't told him sooner. She never wanted to. It wasn't what she wanted. But why did she want it so badly? Why was she so drawn to it? All she ever needed to do was to avoid the feeling, and it could go away temporarily, have no physical appearance. Now she was just so unsure, completely unsure.

She tried to think of those good times she had with John. To her surprise, there were barely any sour moments with the two, especially after they found out she was pregnant. They had one huge argument, but that was really it. The other smaller arguments were easily forgivable. This made Sherlock a bit more sure of her feelings. Still, she wasn't all too sure what to tell John. How would he take it? Hell, he'd be overjoyed. Everything would be happy.

At least Sherlock hoped it would be.

She was sitting in her chair, looking out the window, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea, early in the evening before John came home. She was content with some confidence and anticipation when she saw a cab drop John off on the curb. He looked up and could see her from the window, smiling and waving to her, then heading into the flat.

"Hey," he said as he got upstairs, walking over to her. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," she replied. She sighed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Well, it's not really a question. It's more of a suggestion."

"A suggestion?"

"Yeah. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"What? Why are you saying that? Sherlock...of course I want to stay. I...well, you already know. I'm not going to tell you again. I care about you. And I'm not going to leave you or this baby. That'd be terrible."

"But if you don't want to, it'll be fine."

"No, it won't. You'd be lost without me."

"What?" Then she thought about it and sighed. "I guess you have a point."

This scared John. She'd never admit he was right. "Are you okay? You're acting odd. What's the matter?"

"I don't know," she groaned. She cupped her head in her hands. He wasn't sure how to handle her feelings this point, especially about John. This wasn't hormones anymore. This was an awkward situation, a normal person making a fool out if themselves over someone else.

John sighed. He didn't know what was wrong exactly, and he didn't want to ask her. Asking her might make her angrier. Maybe he wanted her to be angry. No. He didn't, not after she stormed out on him and almost lost the baby. He was worried back then, worried about the both of them. If something happened to Sherlock, he'd never forgive himself for driving her out. If something happened to the baby, he wasn't sure how he'd handle it. He'd probably take a long time to heal in any situation. He'd just blame himself. And now, especially now that they were so far along, so close to being able to raise the baby growing inside her, he didn't want to lose them.

Instead of saying anything, he simply sat on the arm of the chair and moved so that he could reach her, feeling her womb. He admitted to himself that, even now, Sherlock's womb wasn't the biggest he'd seen. It was actually one of the smallest. The doctors had told him personally, mostly via phone call after one of Sherlock's appointments, that it wasn't abnormal. Sherlock was tall, sure, but still she was considered a small woman. He didn't care about hat, nor did he tell Sherlock. She'd assume automatically something was wrong and just get upset. It didn't matter. It still grew up to this point, of course, since she was about done with her pregnancy term. Still, it could come any day.

He fought the urge to kiss her head as she lifted her head. John smiled at her kindly. "It's okay," he said. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," she responded. She wrapped her hands around her midsection.

"It's hard to believe," John began, "that you're almost ready to have our baby."

"Why's that?"

"Because...because time moved really quickly, it seems."

"What, would you rather have me pregnant forever?"

"Of course not, Sherlock. I guess I'm just...excited. Impatient, even."

"Definitely. I've been impatient for...nine months." John laughed at that. "I'm being honest, John."

"I know. That's what makes it funny." Sherlock smiled at that. "See? There's a smile. Like I told you when you first found out...and just like then, I'm here now. And I won't worry if you won't. Okay? We've come so far. I'm not giving up yet. Don't tell me you are."

"I'm not...I'm tired, John, I'm going to go to bed." She got up from the chair slowly and walked to the bedroom.

"Sherlock, wait," John said. Sherlock turned to him. He walked up to her and hugged her gently with a sigh.

"John, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm hugging you. You just...seemed like you needed a hug, I'm sorry-" Before he could part from her, she embraced his back and kept him close.

"Thank you," she muttered. John smiled weakly. He felt content.

Once they parted, Sherlock felt it. She held her distended abdomen as she felt a pang rush through it. "Ow..." Her pants felt warm and wet. "The hell..."

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John asked, although he had a pretty clear idea as to exactly what was happening. "Stupid question," he said. "Okay. Um...we need to get you to the hospital. You're going into labor." He quickly grabbed their coats, cursing under his breath as Sherlock glared at him, shouting, "Obviously, John!"