The Bulgarian at the end was from Google Translate, and it probably butchered completely. But, I also have no idea because I don't speak anything apart from my Northern English. So, I placed what I wanted it to say at the end.

~0~0~0~

"JOHN!" Faye shouted and the man groaned lightly to himself, placing the screwdriver on the floor next to the instructions he was following. Well, he was attempting to follow. Whoever wrote this obviously had no clue on how to build anything, "JO-OHN!" She shouted again, the whine in her voice drawing out his name. He pushed himself up and took the few steps from the kitchen into the front room, where she was sat on the sofa, her stomach protruding as she sat in sweatpants and t-shirt, her hair tied up behind her head.

"Yes?" He asked pointedly and she shot him a frustrated look.

"The little bastard wants some ice cream." She told him and he shook his head, turning and heading into the kitchen.

"Maybe you shouldn't call her a 'little bastard'?" He suggested, "Have you even thought of an actual name?"

"Of course I have." She retorted.

"And?" He opened the freezer, pulling out one of the many, many mini tubs of vanilla ice cream. He grabbed a spoon and headed back into the living room.

"Nothing I can say in public without being called 'abusive'." She grumbled, annoyed. He handed her the ice cream and sat next to her on the sofa.

"Did you even look through that book Mrs Hudson got you?" She nodded, taking a bite of the desert and smiling, satisfied.

"Yeah, what a load of rubbish. I mean, what kind of name is 'Constance?' More like 'Constant pain in my arse'." John reached down the side of the sofa, picking up the discarded back and opening it on a random page.

"Let's have a look..." He scanned the page quickly before a name caught his eye, "Okay, what about 'Tara'? That's a nice name." Faye shook her head.

"Nah. I couldn't help but feel like a magician every time I said it." At his look she chucked her arms out, "Tara!" He chuckled and flipped back through the book.

"Okay, how about 'Jane'?" She shook her head again.

"Nope. Knew a girl called Jane at school. Gigantic slut." Fair enough, he supposed. Some people associated names with people they knew. He turned the page.

"What about Jessica?" She just shook her head before tilting it backwards, leaning it on the back of the sofa.

"It's no use. All these names are awful. This little bastard is never going to get a name." She moaned and he placed the book down, rubbing her leg comfortingly.

"You'll think of something." He promised her, standing up, "Now finish your ice cream, Mycroft will be here for you soon." She groaned again, taking a forceful bite.

"Do I have to move?" She asked him and he nodded.

"Yes, you have to move." He broke to her, "You're going to meet up with his parents, remember?" She nodded, holding the ice cream out to him. He took it off her, placing it on the table behind him then held out his hand for her. With a little bit of difficulty, though he'd never tell her, he helped her stand up and she headed towards her bedroom to get changed, passing the pile of wood and screws John had left in the middle of the floor.

"You know, I can get one of Mycroft's men to build it?" She called and he glared at her retreating form.

"No, thank you!" He shouted and she laughed, shutting the door.

~0~0~0~

Mycroft followed John into the front room, umbrella missing as, for once, it was quite a pleasant day for January. He stood stoically by the mantelpiece, hands clasped in front of him in his typical 'Mycroft' pose. John, not really wanting to make small talk with the man, nor the man really wanting to either, went back to the kitchen and continued his arduous task.

"I can get someone to help you,if you desire." Mycroft pointed out and John paused, annoyed.

"No, thank you." He repeated, slightly more harshly than he'd said to Faye, "I can build a simple..."

"Leave him alone, Mycroft." Faye stepped out, wearing a very flattering shirt, jean combo. She was so happy with the purchase, because even though she was huge now she was positive you couldn't tell they were maternity clothes at all. Well, that's what she told herself, "He can't help it if he's obsessed with following the instructions to the letter."

"They wouldn't have instructions if you weren't meant to follow them!" He defended as she stepped over the discarded pieces on the floor.

"They're not even in proper English!" She countered as she smiled at Mycroft, "Ready?" He nodded, offering his arm, which she took gratefully, "Don't wait up." They both headed out, leaving John on the floor with his tools.

"So, how is our little bastard Holmes doing?" John heard Mycroft asked and he chuckled to himself, picking up a bracket and looking at it.

"What the hell are you for?" He grumbled.

~0~0~0~

Faye frowned as she re-entered 221B later that day. John was no where to be seen, neither was the pile of wood that had been the changing table he had been building when she'd left. Quite the bit worse for wear than she had been when she had left, little bastard Holmes didn't want to give her any peace today at all. It felt like she was trying to claw her way out of her womb, but then again if she was anything like either of her parents she probably was.

"John?" She called, chucking her bag onto his chair and waddling into the bedroom. She smiled happily at the changing table in the corner and the cot just next to it. One corner of her room had been redecorated ready for the birth of the evil spawn inside her, "Oh, well, it looks lovely." She stated, turning to find John sat on her bed, reading through her pad. Around him was the remains of the newspapers she'd cut the articles out of and, in a neat pile next to him, was Sherlock's jacket.

"I was moving your bed." He explained, "Giving you some space, when this all appeared." She nodded slowly.

"I'm just keeping up with current affairs." She offered, "Nothing wrong with that." He shut the book with a flick of his wrist.

"No, this is searching for Sherlock." He remarked before looking up at her, "Where did you get the coat?"

"Someone draped it over my shoulders when I was asleep on Sherlock's grave." She explained calmly. She knew how bizarre it sounded, that was why she'd not told him about any of it.

"You fell asleep on Sherlock's grave?" John asked and she shrugged.

"A couple of times." She replied, "Not for a long while. You shouldn't be going through my things, John." He shot up, frightening her slightly with the look of outraged anger in his eyes.

"And you shouldn't be looking around for a dead man!" He shouted, chucking the book on the bed, "Jesus, Faye. This is bloody twisted! It's..." He trailed off and her eyes narrowed.

"Insane?" She finished angrily and he shook his head.

"No!" He insisted, "It's not healthy, Faye! We buried him, he's gone. He's not out in Eastern Europe fighting crime!" He picked up the coat, waving it at her, "This is not his jacket!"

"I know!" She shouted back, "I never said it was, did I?" She snatched it out of his hands, "I'm just trying to be closer to him. Let it go!"

"I can't. This isn't right." He told her, shaking his head, "This is like bloody Anderson." She frowned.

"What's that arsehole got to do with anything?" She exclaimed.

"He was here when you were out. Begging me to tell him how Sherlock faked his death." Faye sighed, shaking his head.

"Losing his job did not help that man at all." She mused and he looked at her incrediously.

"Oh, and you're better, are you?" He retorted and she shrugged.

"Everyone knows I'm not right in the head." She replied simply and he sighed.

"Please, please stop this." He begged her and she shook her head, looking at him apologetically.

"I'm just not ready to let him go yet." She explained, "When I am, I'll destroy it all. Please, just let it go John." He stared at her, looking her over with searching eyes and he deliberated. Then, as his eyes drifted to her swollen stomach he sighed.

"We'll come back to this after she's born." He warned her and she nodded, rubbing her stomach.

"Little bastard Holmes comes in handy once again." She joked.

"Seriously, even just a temporary name would be better than that." He protested.

"I can't think of a name I like." She replied, "Maybe I won't. You choose if you're so bothered."

"I'm not naming your child." He told her firmly, heading out of the room.

"Yes you are!" She called after him, before unfolding the jacket and slipping it on. So, Anderson didn't believe it either? Then man was a dick, but he wasn't stupid. What did he have that she didn't?

She stepped forward, towards the bed when she felt it. The firm feeling of something giving way inside her, then immediate feeling of water. She looked down, paling as a fierce rush of pure terror froze her on the spot.

"JOHN!" She screamed.

~0~0~0~

It was nearing dawn, and in the back streets of Varna, Bulgaria, a group of five men were huddled together under a dull street lamp, all in long coats and a couple smoking. Down the street a man approached, a young woman at his side. She was dirty, with torn clothes and matted hair.

"Stefan izprashta pozdravi." He told the group before pushing the girl towards one of the men, who caught her with ease. She whimpered as he tilted her head, checking her.

"Kolko?" He demanded.

"A svoboden. S vkus na kakvo shte stane." The man explained, "Mnogo poveche, kogato tya idva ot. Imame li sdelka?" The man took a little longer, checking the worth of the girl he'd been given. She'd go well in the western countries, they loved their blondes. He nodded.

"Izbyagvane." He agreed, and then there was spotlights. Police swarmed in SWAT gear, all armed as they surrounded the five men. The sixth, and the girl, both rushed out of the way. A policeman took the girl away, checking she was all right and praising her for her part in the act. The man headed off into the night, flicking up his collar and ruffling his hair at the job well done. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. A picture of a baby in a hospital cot, wrapped in a white blanket with a smattering of hair greeted him.

Congratulations, it's a girl. Name to follow. M.

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath as he took another look at his newborn baby daughter. He had hoped to be able to tell Mary before the birth, but it was too late. He saved the photo to his phone, hoped Mary wouldn't be stupid and name her something like 'Chardonnay', then went on his way.

~0~0~0~

Bulargarian text.

Stefan izprashta pozdravi – Stefan sends his regards.

Kolko? - How much?

A svoboden. S vkus na kakvo shte stane. - A freebie. A taste of what's to come.

Mnogo poveche, kogato tya idva ot. Imame li sdelka? - Plenty more where she has come from. Do we have a deal.

Izbyagvane. - Deal