A/N: Hi everyone. Sorry about the delay, I've been a bit preoccupied lately. I hope this chapter is alright, and that there isn't too much OOCness. I always find this part the most difficult to write, and so if something does not seem realistic, or if there are any issues, please let me know.
Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I apologise if the beginning seems a bit 'drawn out', but I wanted to capture their feelings, fears and emotions in a powerful and accurate way, and I felt that this was a possible way of doing it (although now I'm not so sure).
Again, thank you for you patience and support,
HQ21
Sherlock remained seated a few feet from Joan's bed for several hours as she slept, his mind processing the events of the past few hours, as he attempted to figure out how best to discuss the issue of Joan's pregnancy with her. Sherlock ran his analytical mind repeatedly over the possible reasons for her concealing her pregnancy, over how she must have felt since discovering her condition, and how he would address these issues with her. Each time he thought these issues through, he found himself feeling increasingly anxious for Joan's well-being, both physically and emotionally. Keeping such a secret to herself must have been incredibly difficult, and he inwardly cursed himself repeatedly at his words to her in the art gallery. He was now certain that this had been her attempt at telling him of her condition, or at least of trying to ascertain how he may feel about children. Instead of offering her an honest answer which would have reassured her, and perhaps prevented the chain of events which followed, he answered her satirically, using words which had more harmful effects than he could have possibly imagined.
As doctors and nurses came into the room periodically to check on Joan, Sherlock found himself staring at her weak and vulnerable figure as she slept. As he saw her in this state, he watched her with curiosity and concern, and felt an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness which frightened him. He could not do a thing to comfort her, to help her. Instead, he was sitting in an uncomfortable chair by her side, running through a multitude of questions and answers, which confused him more each time he considered them. He remained locked in his thoughts for most of the night, puzzling over the events of the past few hours. As he ran through his now familiar thought pattern, he found himself focusing on what he considered to be the reasons why Joan did not inform him of her condition. He was so focused on this line of thought that he did not immediately notice some slight movement from the sleeping figure of his partner.
Shortly after 6am, Joan Watson began to stir, as vague and hazy recollections of the night before swam in her awakening mind. Joan's found herself experiencing a brief period of time in which she was uncertain of whether she was still dreaming or finally beginning to wake. She felt light and weightless, and her mind and her memories were becoming clearer and clearer, as the haziness and uncertainty which she had been experiencing began to slowly abate. As Joan found herself slowly returning to consciousness, her mind was ablaze with recent memories, sensations and words. She remained perfectly still, with her eyes firmly closed for several minutes as she attempted to figure out what had happened. She remembered Sherlock frantically calling her name, her being lifted and laid upon a cold surface, and someone speaking to her kindly as they examined her. As the memories gave her clarity of thought, Joan also found herself remembering the one occasion when she managed to open her eyes and speak Sherlock's name, in one final, desperate attempt to tell her about the baby before he found out second-hand. But from the panicked look of fear which defined his features, she had fallen back into unconsciousness knowing that it was too late. That she had failed. She remembered small fragments of conversation, individual words and phrases which were spoken as she drifted in and out of consciousness. But the pain she had been in, and the overwhelming fear and concern for her baby, had meant that these words had been a secondary concern to her, and her recollection and understanding of them was very limited. One thing she did remember, something which had been a constant throughout her medical and emotional ordeal, was the reassuring feeling of Sherlock's familiar hand holding onto hers tightly. She remembered how, even through the pain and the uncertainty of the time she was lying beneath the hospital lights, the familiar sensation of his hand holding hers gave her an incredible amount of comfort. She had almost believed that everything was going to be okay. Almost. At the recollection of Sherlock's hand upon her own, Joan's fingers twitched slightly, caressing the soft material of the blanket which covered her, a poor replacement for her lover's hand.
This movement, although small and weak, was enough to draw Sherlock's attention from his thoughts and directly upon Joan. His breath caught in his throat, and he allowed his hand to fall slowly from his face, as he glanced upwards towards her hospital bed, as his heart stilled for a moment, fear and anticipation gripping him. Sherlock stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the sight before him. She remained still for a few moments, until her fingers drifted slowly across the blankets once more, and her eyes snapped open.
Joan blinked a couple of times, allowing herself to adjust to her unfamiliar surroundings. Her eyes glanced tiredly around the parts of the room that she could see, and she found herself recognising the familiarity of the building. From her time as a doctor, she instantly recognised the scent, atmosphere and décor of hospital rooms. However, it was only at this time, as her tired and weary body lay motionless upon the unforgiving mattress, that she experienced first-hand the discomfort and coldness associated with the thin blue and white blankets which were wrapped tightly around her. She closed her eyes tiredly once more, as she considered the coolness and silence of the room, which was fairly dim, apart from a pleasant and warming glow being emitted from some of the small lights upon the walls. Joan breathed in deeply as she felt herself begin feeling more awake, inhaling the familiar clinical scent of the room, which caused her to tremble slightly. After just a moment more, she opened her eyes.
Despite the fact that she had only just regained consciousness, and she was staring tiredly at the blank wall before her, she knew that Sherlock was in the room. She could sense it, just like she could at the brownstone, when she would wake to find him sitting a respectable distance away from her, leaning back in his chair and speaking with animation. But as Joan blinked tiredly in an attempt to make herself feel more awake and more conscious, she realised that he was not speaking. He was silent, and completely motionless. The only sound within the room was the sound of her heart racing, and her breathing increasing as she became fully aware of what had happened to lead to her waking up in a hospital bed. She already had an inkling, from the snippets of hazy memories which greeted her when she first awoke. But now, as she lay quiet and motionless in her mildly uncomfortable bed, she found herself recalling more of the events with a clarity and accuracy. Despite her previous pain and the bleeding, as well as her current level of discomfort, she knew that the baby was alright. She couldn't explain how she knew this, or what led her to believe it with such certainty or conviction. But she knew. She closed her eyes and felt her body overcome with relief at the knowledge that the baby was unharmed. Before she could process her thoughts any further, a sound from her left caught her attention. There was a creaking sound, followed by shuffling or movement, which she knew could only have come from one person. Sherlock. She found herself overcome by feelings of guilt, fear and panic, which travelled throughout her body and caused her heart to beat almost audibly.
Joan's thoughts and fears were temporarily overtaken by the weakness and soreness that she was currently experiencing. Her abdomen felt very tender and she felt incredibly weak and lethargic. She shifted slightly in the bed, which caused her to become aware of how heavy her limbs felt. Despite this, and despite her tiredness and the fact she had only recently returned to consciousness, Joan needed to talk to Sherlock. She felt an overwhelming need to talk to him, a need to sincere and so desperate that it temporarily revitalised her from her weakened state. She tensed slightly, pressing her back upon the mattress as she attempted to rise. As she attempted to move, she felt as though she were being drawn back upon the bed by her own body, which was protesting at the slightest movement she made. At that moment she remembered feeling unwell. She recalled sharp pains in her abdomen, then an overwhelming feeling of dizziness. She also remembered stronger and more intense pains in her abdomen, as well as the sensation of liquid running down her legs, before she lost consciousness once more. Joan breathed in shakily at this memory, before allowing her eyes to drift slowly down to her abdomen, and remain there for a moment. She breathed in a couple of times, before placing her hands flat upon the surface of the bed, and weakly pushing herself into a sitting position, leaning against her pillows, before turning her head slightly to face him. Sherlock watched her intensely, and observed how her eyes fell onto her stomach and lingered there, before she visibly relaxed. Despite this, Sherlock knew how frightened and how uncertain she must be feeling about the well-being of the baby, and he felt an overwhelming need to reassure her. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and edged forward, causing it to creak slightly beneath him.
In the time it had taken for Joan to adjust herself into a sitting position upon the bed, Sherlock had pushed himself from his chair and was standing tall before it. There was just a few feet between them, but the distance proved difficult for Sherlock to pass. He was not angry with Joan, nor did he wish to punish her with coldness. He was, quite simply, uncertain of how to respond. He knew she would be in some level of physical discomfort, which he did not wish to perpetuate. But more than this, he didn't know what to do. All he knew is that he desperately wanted to comfort her, to reassure her. But he did not know how. That was her area, not his. From his own experience, he found that his attempts to console or emotionally assist often backfired, and he did not wish for Joan to misunderstand his meanings or his intentions which, he judged, was fairly unlikely. She never did. She had a deep-rooted, almost innate knowledge of the reasons behind his eccentricities and aloofness that often unnerved him. But she was always right. As he stared at her with wide, uncertain eyes, he found himself lost in her expression. She appeared so unlike herself. So weak, tired, dazed, and completely terrified. Despite his own reservations and concerns, the vulnerable appearance of Joan Watson compelled him to act. He shifted on the spot, before taking a sure step towards her bedside. Sherlock was about to assist Joan with sitting up, but she had done it quickly and efficiently despite her clear tiredness and physical exhaustion. Sherlock froze, and watched his partner from just a few paces away.
Joan stared at Sherlock with bright, wide eyes, which met his frightened and concerned ones. Joan's composure began to fall the moment she beheld his expression, which reminded her very much of how he had looked upon her in what she believed must have been the ER. He looked so terrified and so confused, and she found her feelings and fears subordinating themselves to his, as she was overwhelmed by the need to comfort him. Sherlock remained still on the spot, his right hand drifting nervously towards his thigh, as their eyes connected and held a mutual gaze. The power in the look they shared, and the emotions they beheld, transcended any and all experiences they had experiences, either as individuals or together. It was the most powerfully elusive yet emotionally telling look that they had ever exchanged, and the thoughts and feelings elicited during those few moments are beyond description.
Joan felt weak all of a sudden, and her tired body began to shake. But the look of fear and confusion on Sherlock's face sobered her instantly, and she found herself regaining her composure almost immediately. He had been with her, he had remained by her side, despite her concealment. Sherlock appreciated honestly and candidness, he liked to know where he stood, and he liked things to be clear. In not telling him of her condition, something he had a right to know about, she had broken one of the defining features of their relationship: their mutual honesty. As she stared at him with concern, her whole body and mind alight with fear and anticipation, she felt more angry at herself than she ever thought possible. Joan swallowed once and inhaled deeply, before parting her lips and attempting to speak. She managed to utter the first syllable of his name, before the sounds choked in her throat. The words she attempted were low and inaudible, due to both Joan's weakness and the dryness of her mouth and throat. She coughed slightly, before placing one hand over her mouth as she tilted her head downwards, and attempted to swallow once more. Her throat felt sore and dry, and she found herself shaking once more, as she desperately attempted to prepare herself for speech. Joan ran her fingers slowly down her neck, before a sound in the room drew her attention to her side.
Sherlock watched as she attempted to speak, the words refusing to leave her body. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight and sound of Joan Watson struggling to speak. Her body, her mind and her voice were exhausted by her recent ordeal, and she was under the most unimaginable strain. Seeing her so weak, so fractured and so vulnerable, was unbearable.
Joan slowly lowered her hand from her neck as the familiar figure of Sherlock walked briskly from the chair and to the side of the bed. His feet shuffled across the recently-polished floor, as the sound of his jacket swaying through the air as he moved broke the silence. As she glanced towards him, she found the familiar scent she associated with Sherlock filling the air, which provided her with a temporary yet powerful form of comfort. Quickly and without a word, Sherlock reached for the glass jug on Joan's bedside table and began to pour some water into a cup. The sound of the flowing water filled the silence of the room, which was noticeable yet not uncomfortable. Joan watched Sherlock's strong and steady hands as he poured the water, and she used this brief time of reprieve to rub her face with her hands and blink repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to make herself feel more alert and awake. However, she did not need to do so for long, until she found herself feeling fully restored to consciousness, and completely aware of what was happening. Joan felt her heart beat faster and heavier as she became aware of Sherlock's closeness to her, which caused her feelings of guilt and fear to increase tenfold, especially considering how attentive he was being with the water. She tilted her head up to face him, but was too afraid to allow their eyes to meet once more. She couldn't bear to see that frightened look in his eyes, the uncertainty that defined his features, knowing that she was the cause of it.
Sherlock watched as she cast her face down, unable to look at him. Whether it was due to embarrassment, confusion or illness, he could not tell. But from the melancholy look which flashed in her eyes as she leant down slightly, he felt that her emotional distress was the reason for her evasion. He placed the jug back upon the table, before turning on the spot, and taking a couple of cautious steps towards her bedsides. His movements were slow and considerate, so that she would be able to anticipate his arrival by her bedside. The scent of her perfume danced in the air as he stood over her, glancing with concern upon her, as she slowly lifted her head to face him. She wore the same look of confusion and fear which he felt desperate to remove, from both her face and her heart. Sherlock's eyes softened, as he reached towards her with his free hand, and placed lightly upon her right shoulder. She felt her tense shoulders shake slightly, before relaxing completely beneath his touch. Before Joan could speak, Sherlock placed the cup of water to her lips, and gently encouraged her to drink. She complied, wrapping her shaky hands around the thin cup, which she drew to her lips. As she took a few small and cautious sips, she felt Sherlock's warm hand wrap tightly around her own. Her grip upon the cup steadied with this contact, and she found the warmth from his touch radiate throughout her body, and give her self-remonstrating mind a temporary reprieve. Joan exhaled a shaky breath, before removing her lips from the edge of the cup and leaning back slightly. Sherlock removed his hand from atop of her own, and removed the half-empty cup from her grasp and placing it back upon the table. She instantly mourned the loss of his touch, the warmth of his hands, the kindness of his gesture. But she did not miss it for long as, less than a moment after placing the cup upon the table, he turned back to face her, and covered her small, clasped hands with his own, as he perched on the edge of her bed.
Joan's lips parted in a small smile at the kindness of his touch and the closeness of him to her. She could feel the warmth and strength of his body beside her, which comforted her immensely. And yet, her small smile began to fade, as she conceded that the comfort she was experiencing from her partner was something that she didn't deserve. Joan inhaled sharply, and felt her hands begin to tremble beneath his. Sherlock responded instantly, by clasping his hands tighter across hers, and edging slightly closer to her, watching her carefully to make sure that she was not discomforted by his actions. Joan glanced up at him as he moved closer to her, and she found her face just inches from his own, as he watched her with a kind, sombre expression. After everything he had been through, after all he had seen and experienced in the past few hours, he just wanted to comfort her. Joan considered this for a moment, her heart clenching with guilt and self-condemnation, as the kind expression he wore made her forget the words she so desperately wished him to hear. He explanation, her apologies, her remorse. Joan's composure began to falter, and she felt her wide and alert eyes becoming tearful, as her body began to shake once more.
"I'm sorry" she whispered, her voice low and her words slightly choked. "I am so, so sorry" she repeated, as a single tear drifted down her cheek, before she began to weep. She felt the fear of the past couple of weeks, the terror she experienced at having collapsed and been hospitalised, and her frustration at her perceived injustices to Sherlock, to be completely overwhelming, causing her to break down completely. Joan removed her hands from Sherlock's and placed one over her mouth in a desperate yet futile attempt to stifle the sobs which she could not control. She felt ashamed at having broken down in front of him, at having put him in this position when she should be giving him an explanation. As she bowed her head in sadness and shame, and turned slightly to the side in an attempt to shield herself and her embarrassment from him, she felt his stomach press against her side, and his strong, comforting arms embrace her. His kindness, and the openness of such a gesture, made her cry even more.
Sherlock placed his left arm across her back and his right arm across her chest, allowing his hand to rest upon the top of her arm, as he drew her towards him. She was reluctant at first, hesitant. Her body was shaking as the sound of stifled sobs escaped her. Her distress was more than he could bear, and he edged closer to her, running his hand reassuringly up and down her arm for a few moments, before pulling her gently towards him. She did not tense up, resist or attempt to move away. Instead, she allowed her head to rest upon his chest, as the sound of his fast-beating heart filled her ears. The sound of his heartbeat was overshadowed by his words, which stated repeatedly in a low yet convicted tone. "Don't be sorry" he whispered, holding her closer to him. "Don't be sorry".
Sherlock drew Joan closer to him, shielding her with his arm, as he placed his free hand comfortingly upon the back of her head. He held her safely and securely to his chest, hugging her tighter as she cried, until the sounds of the sobs disappeared completely. Joan sniffed, inhaled a slow and shaky breath, and pushed her hand upon Sherlock's chest, before disentangling herself from his embrace. He did not resist her movements, and removed his hands from her, clasping them together in his lap as he waited patiently for her to speak. He knew that this must be difficult for her, and her evident signs of distress made him aware of the need to give her some space, to allow herself to think and to speak. He remained sitting quietly by her side for a few moments, until she took in a deep and shaky breath, and turned her head towards him as she began to speak.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice low and almost a whisper. Sherlock glanced at her red eyes and frightened expression, before narrowing his eyes in confusion. She was the one who had been crying, who had just broken down in front of him. It was unlike her, completely out of character. When Mycroft had announced his plans to fake his death, Joan had rushed from the living room and shut herself in her bedroom for a couple hours, before leaving for a worrying-long jog. She did all of this, despite her sadness and her pain, to prevent Sherlock or anyone else from witnessing her torment. And yet here, now, she had just broken down so completely. The woman so controlled and composed that it was almost beyond belief. She had been dealing with the news of her surprise pregnancy alone, and had been rushed to hospital after collapsing and losing a dangerous amount of blood. The lives of herself and the baby had been threatened, and she was still recovering from her ordeal. So why was it that she was asking if he was okay?
"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" he asked in a low and gentle tone, shifting his body slightly to the side, so that they were facing each other directly. Sherlock's eyes met Joan's, which were gazing upon him with an expression of mingled fear and apprehension. In the time it took Sherlock to identify the look of confusion and fear in her eyes, another tear fell down her cheek, which he brushed away instantly with his left forefinger. "Watson" he whispered, as she shifted on the spot slightly, averting her gaze from him as she used her own hand to wipe her eyes. "Watson it's alright" he stated, placing his hand upon her clasped and shaking ones, which were holding themselves together tightly in her lap. "I assure you, it's alright."
"What about you?" she asked in a low and hesitant manner, before lifting her eyes to meet his. "Are you alright?" Sherlock gave her another confused look, before running his eyes analytically across her face. As he considered her question for a few seconds, he became aware of precisely what it was that she was asking him. Due to her distress, he had not realised it sooner. But he did now.
"Watson" he began, squeezing her hand gently for reassurance, "I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. Your concern, whilst understandable, is misguided" he continued, is low and kind tone causing the anticipation and guilt within her to increase in equal measure. "You have nothing to apologise for."
"I should have told you sooner" she stated, her voice heavy with emotion and regret. "You had every right to know, I... I should not... it wasn't my intention to keep it from you, I just-"
"Watson" Sherlock whispered, squeezing her hands once more as he used his free hand to encourage her to turn towards him. This level of closeness, of comfort, of emotion, was so unusual for them both, and yet it did not feel unusual, strange or out of place. Joan breathed in a slow, steady breath, and found her composure returning to her, as Sherlock waited patiently before continuing to speak. "I understand" he stated simply, running his hand over her clasped hands as he spoke.
"What?" she asked, her eyes and her voice betraying her confusion. Sherlock gave her a reassuring look, before wrapping his hand tightly across hers, and running his free hand down her arm comfortingly.
"Watson, I am not angry with you" he began, his voice retaining the kind and sincere tone he had been using since she regained consciousness. "I harbour no ill-feelings towards you or towards our current situation. And certainly not towards our child." He paused for a moment, watching her carefully, to make sure he was not causing her any distress. "And, when you are feeling ready to, I... I hope that you will consent to allowing us to discuss the matter. And let me assure you that I... I am here for you, for you both. I want to help you, Watson, truly. And I... I hope that you feel able to allowing me to do so."
Joan stared up at him with wide eyes and a nervous expression. His words provided her with infinite comfort, and a degree of reassurance that she did not think it possible that she would be able to possess. But as his kind words ran through her mind, she found herself reminding herself of just how little she felt that she deserved them. She nodded slowly, her wide eyes softening slightly, as she prepared herself to speak.
"Thank you" she whispered, offering him a small, weak smile. "I didn't want-" she began, breaking off as she struggled to find the words. "I didn't know how to tell you, I... it's not that I didn't want to, or that I didn't think you deserved to know" she continued, her voice low and tired, yet recovering notably. Sherlock squeezed her hand encouragingly, which gave her the strength to continue. "I found out a couple of weeks ago" she continued, speaking in a lower, quieter version of her usual voice. "I... I was scared" she stated simply, glancing from her hands to the floor as she spoke. Sherlock could tell that she felt upset and ashamed, and that she was finding their present conversation difficult, so he waited quietly and patiently for her to continue. "I... I was afraid, confused, and everything was just... everything was happening so quickly that I... I just... I needed some time to think, to... to process it" she stated, as Sherlock nodded slowly in agreement. "But that didn't give me the right to hide it from you" she continued, turning to face him with apologetic eyes. "You deserved to have that time too. But you didn't, I took it from you. Instead, you had to find out like you did, and I... the past few hours must have been-"
"Watson" he stated, squeezing her hands as he broke his silence. "Don't do this to yourself" he stated in a low, gentle manner. "As I have told you, I understand. It must have been... quite a shock for you, and I imagine that, given the timing and... and given the complexity of our relationship, that you must have been terrified." Sherlock watched Joan with a kind expression, squeezing her hands once more as she exhaled a shaky breath and averted her eyes from his. "But I assure you that you do not need to be afraid" he continued, as she closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly. "I assure you, Watson, that I will support whatever decision you make, completely and without reservation. Of that you can be certain."
"I never doubted your commitment" she stated, turning to him with a kind and warm expression. "Of all the things I feared and doubted, that was not one of them."
"Can you tell me what it is that you are frightened of?" he asked gently, his eyes travelling from her eyes to her lips, then back to her eyes, which were staring at him imploringly.
"Everything" she stated simply, suppressing a small laugh as she spoke. She was silent for a few moments, and Sherlock waited patiently for her to continue. "I was scared that I wouldn't be able to keep the baby safe. What we do, it... it's dangerous, there is danger everywhere in our lives, with what we do. I was afraid that I was subjecting an innocent person to that, someone who couldn't protect themselves, who had no say." She paused once more, pressing her lips together as she attempted to secure her composure. "And I... I was scared of telling you" she began, before rushing to continue her explanation. "I wasn't scared of you, or of how you would react. I guess what I was scared of was... was that I was forcing you into something, that I was putting you in a situation that you weren't prepared for, and that you didn't feel able to deal with" she stated simply. "But I was wrong" she continued, looking directly into his eyes.
Sherlock watched her for a moment, before drawing her shaking hands into his, and clasping them tightly. "Watson" he began, speaking in a kind and reassuring manner. "I fear you have been unduly hard upon yourself. As usual" he continued, his voice remaining low and gentle. "As I have said, I understand that you were afraid, and your reasons are completely warranted and understandable, and you do not have to apologise for them."
"Maybe I shouldn't apologise for being afraid, but I should for lying to you" she returned. Sherlock gazed into her eyes for a moment, before exhaling a quick, sharp breath, and continuing to speak.
"Watson" he began once more, drawing her nervous eyes onto his own. "There is no need for you to condemn yourself so harshly, and without justification. You found yourself in a situation that you were unfamiliar with, unprepared for, and that frightened you. Such reactions are not only understandable, they are expected" he continued, feeling her hands cease trembling beneath his own. "Taking some time to consider your condition, to allow yourself some privacy in assessing how you felt about it, and what you were frightened of, is a perfectly rational and completely understandable reaction to finding out such news in such circumstances. We were in the middle of a case involving a serial killer, a case which has had our complete and undivided attention for the past few months. And, as you have stated, it is something which has demonstrated the dangers and the risks of what we do, and the threat that our work poses to our lives on an almost daily basis" he continued, as her hands began to shake slightly once more. "But what it has also demonstrated, Watson, is the strength of our partnership" he continued, watching as her eyes began to soften slightly. "And not just our partnership, but our work as a team, as a joint task force with the NYPD" he paused for a moment, allowing Joan to take in his words. "Watson, you are correct in surmising that you and I face very real dangers to our well-being and even to our lives. But what you must realise is that, despite that, we are protected. You are protected" he stated kindly, as Joan looked up and met his eyes. "We protect each other, Watson. And this mutual level of protection is also extended to the NYPD. Although, granted, we do protect them far more than they protect us."
Joan smiled for a moment, scoffing at his answer, before inhaling a shaky breath and continuing to listen.
"You are protected, Watson. Of that I assure you. And if-" he paused for a moment, and the change in his tone as well as the unforeseen pause caused Joan's attention to be placed upon her partner's face, which bore a confusing and troubling expression. Over the past few hours, one thing that had been on his mind was whether Watson intended on continuing with the pregnancy. Based on the fact that she was still pregnant after having know for a couple of weeks, and that she had spoken in a way which would seem to suggest that she had been considering carrying the child to term, she had not stated what it was that she wished to do.
"What?" Joan asked gently, after Sherlock had not spoken in a few seconds. "Sherlock?"
"Forgive me, I-" he began, cutting off once more, before recovering quickly and continuing to speak. "I haven't asked what you... what it is that you wish to do. About the..." Sherlock paused, struggling to form his question into words.
"About the baby?" she asked gently, her voice faltering slightly as she spoke the word aloud in his presence. She considered his question for a moment, before shifting slightly on the bed, and turning to face him directly. "Sherlock I... I want to keep the baby. If this isn't what you want, if it's too much for you, then I understand, and I can-"
"No, Watson, no, I-" he responded immediately. "Forgive me, that was not what I meant at all" he continued, meeting her worried eyes with a reassuring gaze. "I... I did not wish to presume that... that you had..." Sherlock faltered once more, pausing as he found himself unable to complete his sentence. "I do not wish for you to do something you feel uncomfortable with. As I have said, I will support whatever decision you make. And should... should you wish to continue with the pregnancy, and keep the child, then I... I will do everything within my power to support you, and to keep you both safe. The last thing I should wish for would be for you to leave, or to even feel that you have to."
Joan felt herself welling up once more at the kindness and sincerity of his statement. But she managed to keep her emotions at bay, and addressed him after taking in a few preparatory breaths. "Of everything I was afraid of, amongst all the uncertainty, I... I never doubted that I wanted to keep the baby" she began, watching as Sherlock appeared to visibly relax. "I was scared that we wouldn't be able to protect the baby, and that, even if we figured out a way that we could, that it... it may not have been what you wanted" she continued, pausing for a moment as she turned towards him, preparing herself to ask him the question which frightened her the most. "Is it?" she asked, feeling her resolve shake as his eyes met hers. "Is it what you want?"
Sherlock watched her for a moment, his heart pounding mercilessly in his chest, as he prepared himself to frame the answer to the question which he had anticipated. He removed his hands from hers for a moment, causing her eyes to drift worriedly down. Sherlock stared at her hands, turning one of them over so that her palm was facing upwards. He then drew his fingers gently across her hand, before resting two of his fingers upon her wrist, and tapping a pattern gently upon her. Joan stared perplexedly down at her hand, watching as Sherlock tapped the same pattern upon her for a few moments.
"When you were unconscious" he began in a low voice, his eyes not leaving her hand, "you lost a considerable amount of blood. After the doctors managed to stabilise you, they sent for a doppler machine, and checked the baby's heartbeat" he continued, lifting his eyes to meet hers, as she continued to tap the sheet of notes which had been etched into his memory, upon the wrist of Joan Watson. "I confess, I was afraid. Terrified, actually" he began, watching as Joan's kind, understanding eyes met his own. "But it was not hearing the heartbeat that I feared" he continued, before staring at her with conviction. "It was not hearing it." Joan froze, before blinking a couple of times, and nodding slowly towards him. "When I heard the heartbeat I... I can't describe what I felt, it was..." he paused, his eyes lighting up as he continued to tap. "The heartbeat was strong. Very strong, in fact. The beats reminded me of a piece by Mozart that I enjoyed as a boy" he continued, as Joan's eyes fell once more to her wrist.
"Is that the heartbeat?" she asked, staring warmly at his fingers as the drummed the repetitive pattern upon her wrist. "You remembered it?"
"Every beat" he stated simply, before stopping the tapping, and holding her hand tightly. "There are some very real issues that we need to discuss, and some questions that we must consider" he began, speaking kindly and softly, and giving Joan a reassuring look as he spoke. "But one thing that is certain, and that you do not need to fear, is how I feel about our child" he began, watching Joan's eyes widen softly at his choice of words. Our child. "Watson, you have and always will have my complete, unfaltering and unconditional support and adoration. And I... I would be eternally grateful and deeply touched if you would allow me to extend my dedication, support and commitment of you, to our child."
"Are you sure?" Joan asked, her voice lowering slightly, as she found herself battling her emotions once more, as she fought to maintain her composure.
"Yes" he stated, squeezing her hand tightly, and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Watson I am very, very sure" he continued, removing his lips from her forehead, as he leaned back to look at her. She appeared notably more relaxed, and was certainly relieved, which he was grateful for. And yet, there was something else. In her expression, in her demeanour, there was something else. Something was deeply troubling her. "Watson, what is it?" he asked gently, causing her to look up at him once more. Joan offered him a small smile, and sighed gently as she prepared herself to speak. "What is it that is troubling you?"
"Over the past couple of weeks, I... I found myself running over this in my head. What I would say to you, how I... how I would talk to you about it, and, and even what you might say" she began, glancing up at him as she spoke. Sherlock nodded reassuringly, which gave her encouragement to continue. "Usually the prospect terrified me. The thought of making you feel trapped or afraid or... or coerced into something that you did not sign up for-"
"As a former doctor, Miss Watson" Sherlock began, speaking in a kind and gentle tone. "I'm rather surprised to find that you seem to have forgotten that you are no solely responsible for your current condition. I believe that I myself did play a fairly substantial part." Joan smiled nervously as he spoke.
"Yes, well..." she responded, exhaling as she smiled, before her face adopted a sadder and more reflective expression. "Sometimes I'd have this... this moment. A moment where I would envision the conversation we would have, and that it went well. It was okay. But then I found myself thinking about... about actually being... about..." she paused, faltering slightly, and finding herself unable to continue.
"About being pregnant?" Sherlock offered, speaking in a low and kind tone. Joan nodded in response, before turning towards him. "Does that frighten you?" he asked gently.
"Yes" she replied simply, her voice low and hesitant. "Not medically, I mean. As you said, my former medical experience means that I have a fairly good understanding of what is happening and what to expect" she stated, turning from him as she prepared to continue. "I wasn't afraid of physically carrying a child, I... I was afraid that I... That I couldn't... that I wouldn't be able to..." she began, breaking off as she struggled to find the words. "I was worried that I wouldn't be able to do this."
"To do what?" Sherlock asked gently, despite having already deduced what it was that she was referring to.
"This. Any of this" she responded, as she began to tremble once more. Sherlock wrapped his hands around her own and squeezed them reassuringly, his eyes not leaving her face.
"It's alright, Watson" he soothed, as he ran his thumb along the side of her hand. "Take your time."
"We aren't just having a baby, you know, I... I always thought that sounds so simple, doesn't it? It makes it sound like something you just do, and adjust to, and look after" she began, averting her eyes from Sherlock once more, who squeezed her hands reassuringly in response. "Sherlock, we are going to be responsible for another human being. Someone who... who will be completely dependent upon us, for the rest of our lives, and for all of theirs. Someone who we must love and support without question and without condition" she continued, turning to face Sherlock with a nervous expression. "Do you... do you think we can do that?" she asked, feeling as though her mind, body and breathing had been stopped for a few moments.
"In the past couple of hours, I have been considering many of the same issues which you have brought up, and I have been coming up with ways, methods and ideas to solve some of them" Sherlock began, holding her hands tightly in his. "And, like you, I have thought of some things which we need to consider, concerning safety, well-being and other such practicalities. In the past few hours, I have questioned and considered many things, many consequences and many possibilities. But one thing I have not questioned, is how I feel about you, and how I feel about our child" he stated, meeting her gaze as he paused. "Watson, over the past few months our lives have changed in almost every way possible. Our relationship changed, adapted and survived. And now, as a result, we have the opportunity to welcome and embrace a further development, another change. The baby is a physical representation of just how much we are capable of achieving when we dedicate ourselves to someone we love, Watson" Sherlock continued, nodding nervously towards her as he spoke. "And I have no doubt that we can work together and ensure the safety, well-being and happiness of our child."
"Are you sure?" Joan asked, her eyes widening as he spoke.
"I have never been so sure, Watson" Sherlock responded, pressing his lips together in a small smile, before drawing her towards him. Joan allowed herself to lean into him, wrapping her arm across his chest as he placed a chaste kiss lovingly upon her forehead.
"Thank you" she whispered, her tired eyes closing slowly, as her weary body allowed her the rest she required. Sherlock looked down at the sleeping figure of his partner, before adjusting his arm to ensure she was comfortable.
"Thank you" he whispered, before placing another kiss gently upon her forehead. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, resting his head carefully on top of Joan's, as he drummed the familiar pattern of their baby's heartbeat onto her hand.