John wakes to dawn light piercing the bedroom curtains and an absence of contractions. Relief surges through him; just a false alarm, thank God.
Sounds from the kitchen, the scent of frying bacon and the steaming mug on his nightstand indicate Greg hasn't left yet and John smiles, shifting in his nest of pillows and sheets until he's upright enough to reach for the drink. The pain in his lower back stops him. It's a deep, pulsing ache, making it impossible for him to contemplate remaining sitting down.
Well I need to thank Greg for staying, he thinks, getting up and shuffling slowly towards the kitchen.
Only when he gets there it isn't Greg at the stove.
'Sherlock! How? When?'
Sherlock spins, eyes lighting up, 'Mycroft. Helicopter. An hour ago.' He darts round the table but stops just short of John, eyes widening before he blurts, 'You've grown! You're …'
'Huge. Yes. Thank you. I'd noticed … It's lovely to see you too.' John tries to sound cross but his actions belie him, reaching for Sherlock and pulling him close. 'You've been gone over three weeks, what did you expect?'
'I'm sorry,' Sherlock breathes, kissing John's temple softly, 'Sorry it took so long … I missed you so much.'
'I missed you too, love,' John says, but then sniffs, looking alarmed, 'Is something burning?'
