John knows he should have expected something like this, knows he shouldn't be surprised but, somehow, the sight of Sherlock - wearing navy blue overalls as he paints what used to be John's room and is now the nursery - makes his breath catch in his chest.
Resting against the door frame, cradling his now sizable bump, he just watches while Sherlock meticulously covers the last bare section on the far side of the room. He finishes at the join between wall and ceiling, long fingers handling the brush as dexterously as if it were his violin and, once done, steps back to check there are no splashes. The noise he makes when he sees it's fine reminds John of a happy cat; albeit one that's a heavy smoker.
'It looks good.'
Sherlock whirls, eyes shining as he drops the brush, crosses to the door in three swift strides and kisses John soundly.
'Is it suitably gender neutral?' he queries, his hands gently stroking John's belly.
'Perfect,' John says, brushing a curl off Sherlock's forehead, 'It really is a lovely shade of yellow.'
'Of course,' Sherlock pulls something from his pocket, 'since I used this.'
'I do love you, Sherlock,' John's smile goes soft as he looks at the proffered photo, 'only you would match paint to the stripes of a bumble bee.'