Trigger warning for mentions of infant death.
"So." Jim leered at Eurus. "Wanna make a baby?"
She regarded him with a flat, emotionless stare. "Why?"
He shrugged, strolled around Mycroft's desk with his hands in his trouser pockets. Westwood. So predictable. "Why not? Ever had one before? A baby?" Then, tilting his head and giving her a stare just as flat. "Ever tried to make one before?"
"No." But, she had to admit, she was intrigued. As genius as she was at predicting so many potential outcomes, this conversation fell far outside the potentials she had envisioned for this meeting between herself and the master criminal Mycroft had introduced to her two years ago. "Bit messy, sex. All those fluids and...touching." She gave a delicate, albeit exaggerated, shudder of distaste.
Jim shrugged again, plopped himself into Mycroft's chair. "It's actually kind of fun," he replied. "Fluids and all. Don't even have to take all your clothes off, although it's even more fun if you do - well," he tilted his head consideringly. "I say that, but actually it's just as much fun if you don't. Even more fun if you do it in Big Brother's office with the surveillance cameras left on."
Now that took her by surprise - how did this man constantly manage to do that, to keep her from predicting exactly what he'd say or do? She'd summoned him here, to Mycroft's dungeon lair, as he'd sneeringly called it, to outline her expectations for how he would handle The Sherlock Problem, and here he was attempting to call the shots.
To shock her.
Time to shock him right back. "All right," she said, walking calmly over and settling herself on his lap, hands on his wrists. She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, as his eyes widened just a fraction. "Let's do this, then."
Nine months later she calmly allowed herself to go under the knife, to have her child cut from her body and swaddled in sterile hospital linens, sent away to take the place of a baby girl who'd been an unfortunate victim of crib death in the hospital where her mother and father both currently slept.
Or so her parents would believe, if they were ever to find out the truth.
She smiled dreamily as the new Rosamund Mary Watson - there was no way she would end up with any other name - was borne away by the nurse she'd suborned, and imagined the many ways her daughter would wreak havoc on her father and godfather's lives in future.