A/N:

Thanks for reading!

The DW Easter egg in the last chapter was the comment made by Rose about Bob and Justine: "Then why do they sound like they come from the north?" which is based on DW Rose Tyler's question to the Ninth Doctor, "If you are an alien, how come you sound like you're from the North?"

This chapter's Easter egg (well, why not? I'm on a roll!): a line "borrowed" almost word for word from an ACD adventure.


Chapter 84 — Opt-in Ignorance

Rose moved to a quieter part of the Learning Resource Centre. Talking too loudly was frowned upon on level five. And the group of students who had been loudly brainstorming a topic earlier, had just been admonished by a third year student.

"Sorry?" she asked Sherlock, cupping her hand around her phone.

"Solved it," he said again. "But something else has come up. Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said with a laugh. "I'm only teary at night. It's stupid really."

"Nothing's stupid when it concerns you. Are you sure? Did Bob drop you off at uni this morning?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

But even before Sherlock answered, Rose concluded he'd already been kept up-to-date by her security detail.

"Your safety is my primary concern."

"Wait… did you ask Bob to drop me off? Because I thought he had errands to run, which was why I lent him the car."

"I have to go, Rose."

"Sher—"

But Rose knew he'd ended the call. He sounded quite agitated, talking at a mile a minute. She hoped he was just distracted by another case. But why the frantic phone call? Was there a threat directed at her, which had prompted him to ring and check up? Rose wondered how real his concerns for her safety were, especially after all the modifications he'd made to their house, not to mention the presence of her two new lodgers.

Rose decided to give up her private study in the LRC. It was almost 6pm anyway, and she had to meet Suzanne, her tutoring student, in Starbucks. She only had the one session today, since Lisa was spending the week in Liverpool with her son. With a sigh, Rose headed for the stairs. She knew Suzanne would have some drama unfolding in her life, which would necessitate at least the first ten minutes of their one hour session taken up with the minutiae of a nineteen-year-old's dating woes.


Sherlock waited to flag the next available cab. He was slightly annoyed at having to compete with the civil servants who were all leaving the City of Westminster at approximately the same time he needed a taxi.

His brother's reaction, or lack of, to the photo of Rosie Watson had been curious. She was fully functioning, and he wasn't very good with humans? How did that register for a man upon whose very existence the diplomatic ties of whole nations in Western Europe and even a few in South East Asia hinged?

It was a last minute decision, on Sherlock's part anyway, to show Mycroft Rosie's photo. In actual fact, he'd visited his brother looking for any hint or whisper of Jim Moriarty's plans. It wasn't Sherlock's intention to reveal his impending fatherhood status to the man who didn't know he was going to be an uncle in less than six months time. The younger Holmes wasn't ready for that kind of intrusive interest. But Sherlock was curious as to what Mycroft thought about babies in general. Testing the waters, so to speak.

Over the next twenty-four hours, absolutely nothing happened. Sherlock was in two minds about returning to Edinburgh, but he had the feeling something was coming. And he wanted to be right in the middle of the cesspool that was London when it happened.

Naturally, a momentary panic about Rose's well-being had struck him in the taxi on the way from the Welsborough residence to Pall Mall yesterday. He hoped Rose didn't detect anything untoward in his tone.

John was buzzing around Sherlock a little more often than usual this week, but thankfully, the ex-army doctor was in constant contact with his wife via text. Sherlock assumed Mary was quite bored at home and John was attempting to keep her entertained from a distance. And from the sly smiles his former flatmate made in response to the texts he was reading, he thought Mary may have been reciprocating. But poor Mary. Sherlock made a mental note to try to include her a little more in their cases in future. He didn't want motherhood to keep slowing her down.

Sherlock phoned Rose again that evening to check up on her. To keep her from deducing this, he attempted to show an interest in the trivia of her day. But then he had to listen to some woman's drama with dating or keeping pets or something.

"Are you her counsellor or her tutor?" he asked Rose, feeling quite fed up on her behalf.

"I can't help caring, Sherlock. You know that."

"Yes, well, I'm not faring any better," he said resignedly. "My practice seems to have degenerated into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils. And John's no help. Sometimes I think I've been put on this earth to provide entertainment for the Watsons. They drift over to Baker Street whenever either one of them has a spare moment. I feel as if they're looking over my shoulder the entire time."

Sherlock frowned before he continued speaking. He wasn't quite sure why this bothered him these days. He used to like having an audience for his brilliance, but there seemed to be a quiet desperation seeping from both Watson adults whenever they were around him.

"John's constantly disappointed if I don't have cases rated above a five," Sherlock continued, "as if I have some control over the criminal element and their creativity in committing unobvious crimes. Mary's desperate to get out of the house, provided she can find last minute babysitting for Rosie, but I don't have anything for her. Why don't they both find something else that's dangerous to amuse themselves with."

"Oh, don't be too hard on them," Rose replied, puffing lightly. Sherlock could tell she was climbing the stairs now. "They probably like living vicariously through you."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean…" There was slight pause and a change in the ambient sound around Rose. "I've got you on speaker now, sorry."

"Why? What are you doing?"

"Getting changed."

"Why don't we skype? Sounds like a good time for a little video chat."

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Wait," Sherlock said, leaving the living room for his bedroom. "Don't take everything off yet. I'm just moving somewhere comfortable and then we can skype."

"Too late."

"Oh."

Sherlock stopped by the fridge, his shoulders drooping in disappointment.

"Anyway," he said with a sigh, before stalking back through the kitchen. "You were telling me what 'living vicariously through me' means."

"Yes. I mean that John—and Mary, I suppose—they like a bit of excitement in their lives and they can only get that by hanging around you. They admire and respect you and your work, I guess."

"So why aren't you living vicariously through me?" he asked, a tiny bit offended.

Rose chuckled lightly. "Oh, Sherlock," she said warmly. "I love what you do, too. But I don't want to be involved in running around after dangerous criminals with you. I think I'm already at the limits of my capabilities."

Sherlock remembered that one time Rose helped him talk to a client shortly after his return from his two year stint abroad. She had ended up making the woman realise that she was focussing too much attention on a man she wasn't necessarily in a relationship with. Rose had provided counselling, rather than rudely telling the woman to leave because there was no actual case to solve.

"You do just fine," he said with great affection. He could hear Rose stifle a yawn and he was quite sure it wasn't because of the subject matter they were discussing. "Are you off to bed now?" he asked, feeling a tiny bit homesick.

Homesick? Wait. London was his home, wasn't it? Not Edinburgh.

"I'm going to read for a bit," Rose replied. "Then go to sleep early. So, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow's only Wednesday."

There was silence from Rose's end, which was a little bit alarming.

"Okay, then," she said finally.

Sherlock's mind went into overdrive, casting his thoughts back to the last conversation with Rose just before he left Edinburgh for London.

"But of course I'll be back in the afternoon for your mid-pregnancy scan. I said I was going to, didn't I?"

Sherlock was relieved to hear Rose chuckle.

"You don't have to rush back if you're working on a case," she said. "We can always book in a private scan sometime later. This one's supposed to be for anomalies." Rose paused for just a split second, prompting Sherlock to deduce that she was worried about what they may find in the scan. "A private scan can be quite expensive, but…"

"I'll be there tomorrow," he said finally.

Sherlock's heart ached just a little upon saying goodnight to Rose. Something was coming, he was sure of it. And if Moriarty's focus was on Sherlock, wouldn't the detective need to stay away from the one he cared about most until the Consulting Criminal's plan was made clear?

Sherlock hadn't made a definitive decision about when to head back to Edinburgh by the next morning. Of course he would go, but he was procrastinating.

John appeared in Baker Street quite early; he had the day off. Sherlock tried to concentrate on a small handful of email cases, trying to remain oblivious to John's presence, but it felt as though the doctor was always hovering on the periphery of his vision. That is, until halfway through consulting with a dull insurance salesman Sherlock discovered that it wasn't John who was sat in his armchair by the fire, but a red helium-filled balloon.

They were both thankful, however, after a visit from Lestrade that revealed not one, but two more Thatcher busts destroyed by a person, or persons, unknown. Sherlock's skin prickled. He knew this was it. It had to be.

But after a disappointing stop-start pursuit led by Toby the bloodhound for the bulk of the morning, Sherlock took a moment to recalibrate his expectations. The Watsons left for home—it was Rosie's nap time—while Sherlock took Toby back to his owner, Craig the Hacker.

"He didn't lead you on a wild goose chase, did he?" Craig asked, gently stroking Toby's coat.

"No, he did exactly as he was supposed to," Sherlock replied. He handed Toby's leash to Craig. "He led us to…"

Sherlock trailed off. His mind had leapt ahead a couple of steps, pulling in all the information he had to hand.

Wild goose chase… Exactly as he was supposed to.

What if this was Moriarty's plan, to lead Sherlock astray—to tease him, to beguile him—all in an effort to distract him and remove him from…

Edinburgh!

Sherlock's mouth ran dry. Craig didn't notice as he busied himself removing Toby's leash.

Rose!

Sherlock tried to recall where Rose would be at that moment to ascertain whether or not she would be safe. What day was it again?

"Craig. What day is it today?"

"Wednesday."

Wednesday. Wednesday.

Oh. Jesus Christ.

Rose's scan! At 3pm! In Edinburgh!

She'll be so disappointed in me.

It was almost one, and there was no way Sherlock could make it to Edinburgh via his usual dual methods of travel.

"Craig. I'm supposed to be in Edinburgh. You have a car don't you?"

"Ah… yeah."

"Can you drive me to..." Sherlock tried to outline a plan in his mind. His travel times would not compute. He hoped Rose's appointment was delayed. These things always ran late, didn't they?

"To… Waterloo?" Craig finished for him.

"No," Sherlock said definitively. "Heathrow."


"Is baby playing silly buggers?" one of the nurses at the Sighthill Medical Centre remarked to Rose as she walked toward the entrance.

"Yes," Rose said, with a sigh, unable to hide the tension in her body.

"Happens all the time," the nurse reassured her.

Rose left the centre, under instructions to 'grab something sweet' and have a walk around outside for twenty minutes or so before they tried again.

The sonographer had told her that her baby was lying in such a way that made it difficult to see the chambers of the heart. Of course, this occurred quite regularly and it was just the matter of making the baby change positions. At the first indication that things weren't running as smoothly as Rose had hoped, she felt an unbearable pressure on her chest, and she was thankful at getting the opportunity to escape into the fresh air.

There were several times during the course of her visit where she could've burst into tears. It happened all too easily these days. Sherlock wasn't with her, even though he had assured her he would be. Rose alternated between feeling angry and upset with him for his absence, and trying to reason with herself that she had already told him not to push himself to get here if he was in the middle of a case. Since he hadn't made it back in time for her appointment, quite clearly he was still busy working in London.

Rose's appointment had lasted fifteen minutes before she was requested to go for a walk. Measurements had already been taken of her baby's head circumference and lengths of the larger bones, fingers and toes were counted, and the spine was checked over. Rose had seen their baby swallowing and bowing its head and she held her own breath to prevent herself from crying. Their baby.

She wanted Sherlock to be there so she could reach for his hand. This was a moment she wanted to share with him. She'd seen several couples in the waiting area: supportive partners looking quite bored or excited, but at least physically present. Holding hands, fetching paper cups of water, grinning stupidly. Affectionately, Rose thought, correcting herself. And then her eyes would fill with tears before she angrily blinked them away.

She had a partner, she thought furiously. She wasn't a single parent. Sherlock was very very supportive.

And busy.

And not here.

After a hastily purchased cappuccino from the Costa Express bar in the service station a few hundred metres from the medical centre, of which she only drank half, and one bite of a Lion bar, Rose was feeling anxious to return to the medical centre. But it wasn't long before she was lying stretched out again, top pushed up, skirt pulled to her hips, with cold gel covering her abdomen and tissue tucked into her waistband.

"Much better," the sonographer said enthusiastically.

The woman lapsed into silence again, as she processed the images.

"That's all looking good," she said finally, turning to Rose.

Rose took that moment to let go of the breath she was holding, tears pricking her eyes once more. Everything was okay. Her baby was fine. The sonographer would ask her if she wanted to find out the baby's sex, but Rose had already decided she didn't want to know. She would rather have Sherlock with her to find out that news, and besides, they hadn't actually discussed it.

But before this exchange occurred, there was a disturbance outside in the passageway, with a female voice adding, "Let's knock first, shall we?"

There were two brief knocks on the door before it opened. A receptionist poked her head in and said, "Ms Sulford's left something in the waiting area. "A Mr Sco—"

"Yes," Rose said immediately, her breath hitching.

The receptionist smiled warmly and opened the door wider, allowing a sheepish-looking, but dashingly handsome man into the dimly-lit room.

"My apologies," Sherlock said, gifting the sonographer with a charming smile. "Traffic."

"Just finishing up," she said in return, moving slightly to one side. "But I'll give you a preview."

Sherlock moved closer to Rose. He glanced down at her, his eyes glistening. She gave him a tiny smile in reassurance. It was all she could manage since she was holding back her emotions. She didn't want to open the floodgates.

"All right, then," the sonographer said, drawing Sherlock's attention to the monitor.

Rose didn't return her view to the images of their baby. Instead, she carefully studied Sherlock. He had stilled, his face had softened, and his attention remained firmly on the screen.

"You've got a very busy baby, here," the sonographer said.

Sherlock's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and his lips parted a tad. Rose reached for his hand. He immediately threaded his fingers through hers and gave them a squeeze.

And then he said, "Erm," and nothing else. Just that. It was as if his mouth had dried up. Sherlock Holmes was finally lost for words. Rose felt an enormous pressure building up behind her eyes and she bit down on her bottom lip.

"Oh, your baby's waving at ye!" the sonographer said, with a laugh. "That's a much better picture."

She pressed a few buttons—probably to save the image for them, Rose assumed. Sherlock took that moment to meet Rose's eyes.

"How are you?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Rose gave him a tiny nod and a smile. His own smile broadened. She guessed he knew she was feeling emotionally overwrought.

The sonographer, oblivious to their almost silent exchange, asked, "Now that baby's cooperating a little, did you want to—"

"Oh," Rose replied, shaking her head, "We haven't dis—"

"—find out its sex?"

Sherlock straightened up, puffing out his chest a little.

"Find out?" he repeated. "Isn't it fairly obvious it's a girl? You made it clear when you…"

He trailed off, for Rose's tiny gasp interrupted his explanation. He turned to her, two deep creases appearing in his brow.

"What?" he asked, completely oblivious.


Rose's light laughter warmed Sherlock's heart, even though he was still confused with her explanation that some people didn't want to know their baby's gender.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he said in astonishment as they walked towards their parked car. "What are they going to do? Close their eyes every time they change a nappy? That will increase the difficulty of the task tenfold. Not that changing a nappy is a particularly complex task," he hastily added.

Rose started laughing again. At least her spirits had picked up and Sherlock hadn't been scolded for being late.

"No," she said. "I meant that they don't want to find out before the baby's born. They want to keep it a surprise for a little longer."

Sherlock huffed a sigh. They reached the car and Rose pressed the button to unlock the doors.

"Why wouldn't you go to the trouble of acquiring all available data? I'm driving, Rose."

Sherlock held out a hand for the car keys.

"I'm driving," Rose said, ignoring Sherlock's hand and opening the driver's side door.

Sherlock exhaled noisily, then reluctantly walked around to the other side of the car before climbing into the passenger seat.

Pulling on the seat belt, he said, "Isn't it a surprise at the time of the ultrasound scan? I mean, one second you don't know, and the next, you do. Therefore: surprise!"

"It's not quite the same."

Rose started the ignition, put the gear into reverse and looked over her shoulder to check for other vehicles. A single thought flitted through Sherlock's mind: that he may have ruined the surprise for Rose.

"So..." he began cautiously, as Rose navigated the car through the medical centre car park. "Are you one of the cult-like minority who opt to remain ignorant about the gender-specific physical attributes of our baby?"

"Sorry?"

"Did I ruin your surprise?"

"No, Sherlock." Rose reached for his hand, halting the car before they pulled out onto the street. "I only wanted to know the sex if you were there with me." She gave him a warm smile and added, "I wasn't going to find out by myself."

Relief washed over him. Tardiness was one thing. Ruining a surprise was another.

"Where's your motorbike?" Rose asked after a fashion.

"Newcastle."

"How did you...?"

"I caught a flight this time. "

He knew Rose would be ruminating on that little fact.

"I know what you're thinking," he said.

"What?"

"Why don't I always fly."

"Well… yes."

Sherlock propped up his elbow on the door.

"Catching frequent flights to Edinburgh will draw my brother's attention, while travelling by train in and around London and occasionally around the rest of England barely raises an eyebrow. It's what I do. Cases. Legwork. Mycroft doesn't notice, or chooses to remain ignorant about my comings and goings. But a flight is another thing altogether. His busybodies at every port in the country will be poised to send him an internal memo. Obviously, I will catch a flight in an emergency, but I can't do that on a regular basis."

Sherlock told Rose that he had arranged for Bob to meet him at the airport with a hire car and a change of clothes. While Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective from London, may have touched down in Edinburgh, he had disappeared somewhere on route to Sighthill, with Scott Williams taking his place.

Rose stared straight ahead, her fingers gripping the steering wheel a little harder. Sherlock didn't think this was good sign.

"That means," she began, her voice barely containing her displeasure, "Bob knew you were on your way, even before I left the house."

"Ye-es," Sherlock responded cautiously.

"So, he could've—"

"I told him not to say anything. I wanted to surprise you."

Rose's expression hardened even further and Sherlock was alarmed to see her eyes moistening.

"Rose?"

"Why didn't you—" She broke off, choking out a sob. "I needed to know, Sherlock!" Tears fell freely now, which she angrily brushed away. "I sat there, not knowing if you were coming or not… all alone in the waiting room. This… was… important!"

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth. A lump had formed in his throat. He had been expecting this, but then he thought he was in the clear after Rose had spent the last few minutes laughing at him.

"Rose, I—"

"There could've been something wrong with our baby!"

"I'm… sorry!"

"And you weren't there!"

"I'm sorry."

"You said you would be!"

"I tried—"

"What if there was a problem!"

Rose couldn't contain her tears any longer and she gave up trying to wipe them away.

"Rose, pull over."

"I'm fine!"

"Take the next left! You're not fine!"

Although they were travelling at a fairly sedate speed, Sherlock discovered it was quite possible to angrily steer a vehicle around a corner.

"There's nowhere to park!" Rose snapped at him.

The left side of the narrow street was full of parked cars, only leaving room on the right for vehicles to pass.

"Pull into a driveway… there, just there!"

Rose turned the car into the narrow driveway Sherlock had indicated. Once the car had braked, Sherlock reached over and put the gear into park and pulled on the handbrake. Rose was noisily sobbing into her hands. Sherlock's heart stuttered in his chest.

"Rose—"

She raised her head and said, "You're a horrible person!" before she wrenched open the driver's door and had leapt from the car.

Sherlock was out in quick time. He rounded the back of the car to find Rose leaning up against the driver's side, hunched over and silently sobbing.

"Yes, I am horrible," he said, enveloping her in his embrace. "And thoughtless and ignorant," he continued in a low, soothing voice. "Please forgive me."

He knew he had to ride this one out. He put Rose's overreaction down to a surge in hormones. But he couldn't just dismiss what she was feeling. Her concern and worry about his whereabouts had been genuine.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he continued. "It was thoughtless of me not to tell you where I was and what my intentions were. I know this was an important scan. I know you were worried. I should've returned sooner."

Rose hiccuped, but her silent crying didn't appear to abate. Still, she remained in his arms while he gently rubbed her back. He thought he ought to remain quiet for a few minutes, to let her know he could be patient and caring and all of that. He just wished they weren't out in the open like this.

"And I apologise for announcing our baby's gender like that."

Rose gave one final sniff and raised her head. Her face was tear-stained and ruddy.

"It was perfect," she said, her voice thickened by emotion. "I wouldn't have wanted to find out any other way." She attempted to smile through her moist eyes. "Another one of your brilliant observations."

Sherlock gave Rose a half-smile, still feeling unsure of himself. Her emotions were well and truly see-sawing. It was slightly disconcerting.

Rose's eyes were searching his, and she finally said, "You didn't give me a hello kiss."

Sherlock's heart leapt into his throat. Now? Here? In broad daylight? But he dipped his head anyway. Dressed in light blue jeans, a t-shirt and a bomber jacket, he wasn't Sherlock Holmes in this context.

Their lips barely touched until Rose stood on her toes, lifted her arms and twined them around his neck. His lips skimmed hers, finding that they were already parted. Rose's fingers threaded into his curls and a yearning grew inside him at her scent and her touch. The kiss was soft and sweet, tentative at first, before deepening into something tender and patient. When he drew back, Rose's eyes had darkened.

"Hello, Rose," Sherlock said, lightly touching his forehead to hers. "Let's go home."

.


A/N:

Did you want to know their baby's gender ahead of time? Do you think Sherlock's correct anyway? Only time will tell!

I will try to update weekly, so do check back in case the notification problem surfaces again before the next update.

And thanks so much to those who take a few seconds or more to write a review! Reviews tell me people are reading and—hopefully—enjoying my story. Traffic stats and follows/faves don't always tell me a chapter has actually been read. I don't expect reviews in the form of an essay or a critical analysis. Every review, no matter how long or short, makes my day brighter and gives me that extra incentive to continue writing the next chapter and keep my updates prompt. Please take a moment to say hi! Thanks!