Sherlock turned the key slowly in the lock before pushing the door open gently, and catching it with his hand before it struck the wall. He took a couple of tentative steps inside the brownstone, before closing the door slowly behind him, and standing quietly in the darkness. His alert senses were heightened in the silence, and he found himself glancing curiously across the brownstone as he listened out for any sounds, any indicator of whether Watson was home. After a few seconds of perfect silence, Sherlock felt his heart clench at the prospect of her having left due to his poorly timed and selfish departure earlier that afternoon. He sighed in frustration at his own actions, drummed his fingers briefly on his thigh, and then took a few steps towards the staircase, which he slowly and quietly ascended. There was still one place she might be.
The floorboards creaked slightly beneath his feet as he crept slowly up the stairs and made his way nervously to the closed door of Joan Watson's bedroom. As he walked across the landing and towards the door he considered whether it would be acceptable for him to risk disturbing her, especially considering what happened when they last spoke. But he found that, for the second time that day, the logical and rational part of his mind was overruled by the desires of his heart. Sherlock placed his hand gently upon the door itself, which he found to be only partially closed. He pushed it slowly forward until it opened a few inches, allowing him to peek through the gap and stare into the darkness of the room. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness within the room, Sherlock felt relief wash over him as a small pool of light shining through the window danced upon the lightly sleeping figure of his partner, who lay with her back to the door, beneath the comforting blankets of her bed. Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed his forehead lightly against the door frame, finding himself overcome by relief that she had remained (or returned, at least) to the brownstone, despite their quarrel.
Before he could consider what the next course of action would be, Sherlock found his weary feet leading him into Joan's bedroom, as his right hand gently pushed the door closed, so that it shut with a click. Sherlock continued to move forward cautiously, and found his heart rate and breathing increasing with fear and concern as he approached her. Although he often came into her room when she was asleep, as waited patiently for her to awaken before discussing some pressing matter with her, this felt different. Although he had come into her room several times the morning following a disagreement, often bearing a tray laden with fresh fruit and breakfast cereals, this was not like one of those times. It was not an occasion following a brief dispute about something trivial or inconsequential; as Joan had stated earlier, it was something 'bigger' than them, their careers or even their lives. It was about the safety of their child, and the steps they needed to take to ensure it. Steps which, as he came to stand beside her bed, Sherlock Holmes was ready to take.
He stood by the side of her bed for a few moments, watching as her shoulder rose and fell gently with her breathing. Watson appeared to be in a deep sleep, which he was grateful for. It was only half-past six, and she had had the most difficult day he could possibly imagine, which was not assisted much by his own actions. Sherlock closed his eyes shamefully at the memory of his actions, before leaning down slowly, and placing his hand gently upon the bed. In all the times that he had entered her room without her permission, he had always respected her privacy enough to remain on a chair at the opposite side of her room. But this was not like those times, which occurred when their partnership was not romantic in the least. Since the development of their relationship, they had found themselves to be much more open with each other, in the physical sense, than they had been before. She would casually place her hand on his shoulder if he felt afraid, and he would place his hand on her lower back as a protective gesture. They had also spent several nights holding each other as they slept, usually downstairs, not in her room and never in his. But now, after the day that the sun was finally setting upon, that too was changing.
Sherlock gently eased himself onto the bed, and was very careful not to wake Watson, who had not stirred since he entered the room. He watched her for a few moments, her small frame huddled beneath the blankets, and found himself reminded of the sad, desperate expression she wore when they were talking just a few hours earlier. The sadness in her eyes and her voice that she had tried to conceal, her attempts at remaining strong and sounding certain when she was discussing something which devastated her. The decision she had made, the conclusion that she had reached, was destroying her. The only thing holding her together was the knowledge that she was motivated by the purest and most selfless of all motives: a mother's love for her child. As Sherlock watched her for a few moments more, and slowly eased himself towards her on the bed, he considered how little comfort and support she had received, and how much she deserved.
Sherlock drew his legs onto the bed, before turning on his left side, and edging closer to Watson. She seemed so small and so fragile beneath the blankets, and he knew that she had been forcing herself to be so strong and so brave for such an incredible amount of time, as she had struggled with a difficult decision by herself. But she was not alone, and he would never, ever abandon her. With this thought, Sherlock placed his right arm gently across Joan's waist, holding her gently to him as she slept. He shifted in his position slightly, so that their his body was pressed lightly to hers, before raising his head and pressing a soft kiss upon the back of her head. "I'm sorry" he whispered into the darkness. As the echoes of his whispered words lingered in the hair, he felt the familiar sensation of Joan's hand upon his own, her soft hand warming his. Joan exhaled a slow, deep breath, before removing her hand from Sherlock's, and turning over to her other side.
Joan could feel his familiar figure beside her, and the knowledge of his presence drew her instantly from her slumber. She had felt his arm draped comfortingly and securely across her waist, which lifted her from her dreams. She also heard his muttered apology, and felt the sweet and tender kiss he placed on the back of her head. She didn't know what the time was, or for how long she had been asleep, but she was both surprised and grateful that he had returned. He had appeared to be so pained and so distraught, and she was relieved that he had returned quickly. She was also both grateful and touched that he had chosen to come to her, despite their argument. In her half-sleeping state, she reached up for his hand, to make sure that he really was there. As soon as she felt his familiar body, she found herself awake and almost completely alert, turning onto her other side and finding herself just inches from his deep, sanguine eyes, as the echoes of his words swam in her ears.
"Sherlock?" she mumbled tiredly, her bright eyes finding his in the darkness. She drew her hand to his face, running her fingers gently down his cheek, as he stared at her with a wide-eyed and guilty expression which she instantly recognised. She could not see him completely in the darkness, but she felt his body beside hers, and his arm was still draped reassuringly across her waist. He did not respond verbally to her calling his name gently into the darkness, but she felt his body tense slightly beneath her touch, his eyes closing for a moment, as he exhaled a deep and nervous breath. She watched him for a few moments, his guilty and nervous expression burning through the darkness, as he hesitantly splayed his fingers and rested his hand comfortingly upon her back, in a slow and cautious manner which made her wonder whether he thought it inappropriate to touch her. "You're cold" she whispered, drawing her fingers down his face, before shifting slightly in the bed. "It's freezing outside, come under the blankets".
Sherlock watched her with wariness and caution, his mind and his breathing slowing down completely as he considered her words. She did not appear to be upset or distressed, and she certainly did not seem angry with him, so he accepted her request immediately and without thought. Joan shuffled backwards towards the edge of her side of the bed, whilst tugging the blankets slightly from beneath Sherlock and raising them in the air, as he adjusted himself on the bed and pulled the blankets from beneath him. At the exact same time, Sherlock and Joan edged to the centre of the bed, and Joan covered them both in several layers of soft, warm blankets. As the blankets encased them both, Sherlock felt Joan edging closer to him, until her stomach was pressed tenderly against his own, and their hearts beat in perfect unison.
The coldness of the room was completely offset by the incredible heat beneath the blanket, which warmed them both instantly, having made Sherlock realise just how cold he had been previously. Joan felt Sherlock's arm return to its position across her waist, causing her to lean further into him, to assure him that he had nothing to feel guilty or frightened about. She felt him tense slightly, his hand shaking slightly before hovering above her waist. She then leaned forward slightly, pressing herself closer to him, and nuzzling against his left arm, which lay across the pillows. Joan then rose her arm, placed her hand on the side of his cheek, and stared at him with wide, glistening eyes which shone through the darkness, as they both remained completely silent. Sherlock remained perfectly still for a moment, before holding her hand with his own and drawing it to his mouth, and placing a tender kiss upon it.
"I'm sorry" he repeated, his voice low and sombre.
"Me too" Joan replied in a sad, whispered tone, as she placed her hand back on his cheek and drew his face towards hers. Sherlock complied with this action, and found his eyes closing as their lips met, and she gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. The sound of their lips parting broke the silence, and Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, before staring into the depths of hers.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked in a confused and gentle manner, as her fingers trailed slowly down his cheek and rested on his upper arm. Joan's features were aglow from the small rays of light shining through the window, and Sherlock could see that her eyes lowered for a moment, as her lip quivered slightly. She recovered within moments, but her reaction had been plain to see, even in the darkness. "Watson?" he repeated gently, running his hand comfortingly across her back.
"For putting you in this position" she stated, her voice low yet assured.
"What position?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he watched her with a look of concern. Joan took in a shaky breath, before adjusting her head against Sherlock's arm, and trying to raise her eyes to meet his.
"The position where I have given you something and then taken it from you" she returned, her voice low and slightly choked. "I didn't include you when I should have, and as much as I should have. I just... I want the baby to be safe, and I know you do too. And that is something that must come before what we want" Joan's voice quivered slightly as she spoke, and it was clear to Sherlock that she was attempting to retain her composure, despite the difficulty of the conversation.
"I know" Sherlock responded, brushing some hair from her face as he spoke, before drawing his fingertips over her cheek. "I understand your argument, as well as the logic behind it. I also know how hard it must have been for you to even consider such a notion, let alone decide upon it, and then discuss it with me" he continued, speaking to her kindly as he ran his thumb gently across her cheek. "And you have not put me in any position, Watson. I have not moved. I remain, as always" he spoke in a low and gentle manner, his arm draped across her waist and holding her comfortingly to him, "right by your side." Joan's eyes rose for a moment, their glassy and slightly tearful glaze meeting his own. Through the darkness of the room, Joan was sure that Sherlock's eyes were becoming slightly tearful.
"But it's not what you want" she choked, inhaling a shaky breath as she completed her statement. Sherlock coughed slightly, bowing his head for a moment, before holding her tighter beneath the covers in a secure and comforting manner.
"It is not what either of us want" he whispered. "But as you said earlier, it is bigger than us" he stated, feeling her whole body tremble beneath his touch. "You're right, Watson, as always. I knew it before I even left the brownstone" he spoke, as Joan continued to watch him with wide, uncertain eyes. "And I meant it when I told you that I would do absolutely anything it takes to protect this child" he continued, his voice heavy with conviction and certainty, "even if that means doing as you have suggested."
"I'm sorry" she choked, her voice low and whispered as her eyes brimmed with tears. Her breath shuddered slightly, and Sherlock put his hand behind her neck, guiding him towards her, so that her head was pressed against his chest. He held her tightly as she trembled, her body small and fragile besides his own. "I'm sorry" she repeated, as he held her tighter to him, wrapped his free arm across her back, and placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead.
"You have nothing to apologise for" he whispered, resting his cheek against her head. She continued to tremble for a few moments, before her sobbing abated and her body stilled. For a moment he wondered whether she had fallen asleep, but a shaken breath soon escaped her lips. "You are the bravest woman I know" he whispered, causing her to tremble once more as he held her in his strong, reassuring arms. As he held her, he felt her body still for several moments, before she began to cry gently once more, which she attempted to conceal. "It's alright" he soothed, stroking the back of her head as he spoke. "It is going to be alright, Watson" he repeated, swallowing hard as he felt a lump rising in his throat. "I promise" he whispered, closing his eyes as he felt the unfamiliar threat of the tears, which were brimming in the corner of his eyes. He leaned his head down slightly so that it was beside hers, and they lay still and silent for several hours, sometimes sleeping and sometimes not, but always wrapped tightly in each other's arms.
As dawn broke through Joan's bedroom window, she slowly opened her sore and weary eyes, and was relieved to find that Sherlock was still by her side. In fact, as she woke, she found that she was curled beneath the blankets and resting her head upon his chest. He was supporting her with one arm and holding her closely to him with the other, with his cheek resting upon her forehead. Even before she glanced up, or even said a word, she knew that he was awake, and probably had been for some time.
"Morning already?" she mumbled, as she stretched slightly beneath the sheets, causing Sherlock to relinquish his hold upon her.
"It would seem so" he returned in a quiet voice, his words muttered into her hair, as she tilted her head upwards and found herself facing the bright eyes of her partner.
"Did you sleep?" she asked tiredly, glancing at his sombre eyes as she spoke.
"Did you?" he returned, his voice gentle and tinted with concern. Neither Sherlock nor Joan answered the question, as they both already knew the answer. They remained silent for a few moments, their warm bodies comforted and consoled by each other, as the sound of the morning traffic permeated the silence.
"Watson, I..." Sherlock began hesitantly, the slightly agitated tone entering his voice causing Joan to raise her head and face him immediately. "I believe we should discuss what happens next" he spoke gently, his arm remaining draped comfortingly across her waist. Joan's sad, tired eyes met his, and she nodded, before pushing herself up into a sitting position. Sherlock did the same, his back straight against the headboard, as he turned to face Joan, who was sat with her legs beneath her, the blankets covering her body, as she turned to the side to face him.
"Of course" she stated kindly, in a low tone which betrayed her sadness. "But before we do, would you like to talk about what is happening now?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes in confusion for a moment, before tilting his head to the side slightly as he watched her.
"I don't follow" he said in a low and simple tone.
"I mean..." Joan began, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she continued to speak. "I was hoping that we could talk about... about this, I... I think it's important that we know exactly where we each stand. I guess I made my position very clear yesterday, I just... I want to know how you feel too." Sherlock was silent for several moments, and lowered his head briefly as he attempted to gather his words before responding.
"I did not leave so... abruptly yesterday afternoon because I thought what you were saying was wrong, hasty or irrational" he began, raising his eyes to meet hers. "I left because I knew it was not. Your reasoning and your suggestion were both sensible and well thought-out, but..."
"-you didn't want them to be" she continued gently, after Sherlock appeared to be struggling. He nodded in response, clasping his hands together as he watched her eyes grow wide and sad once more. "Neither did I."
"It's strange, I, we" he corrected, his voice normalising slightly. "With what we do, we, we search for the reasonable, the rational, the most likely. We then spend our entire time considering how these factors, whilst technically correct, are not the only options. The piece that completes the puzzle is not necessarily the piece closest to hand, but often a combination of pieces which are hidden beneath something grander" he continued, gesturing slightly with his hands as he spoke.
"And you're wondering where the rest of the pieces are" she continued, in the same kind and gentle manner. "I know."
"Logically I know that you are right. That what you are suggesting is the... it is the best way of ensuring that our child remains safe. But I..." he continued, sighing in frustration at his inability to phrase what he was attempting to articulate.
"It doesn't make it any easier to process" Joan offered, causing Sherlock to nod slowly in response. "And certainly not to accept" she continued in a low, almost whispered tone.
"I'm not used to just... staring at a single option, at the only choice we have. With what we do we often find ourself with too many options, but now..." Sherlock continued, drumming his fingers on his thigh in frustration as he spoke.
"I know" Joan whispered, reaching across and placing her hand over his. "I think that... at least, the way I have been trying to think of it is that... the absence of choice is overshadowed by the presence of love." Sherlock's eyes moved from their joined hands to her face, and he watched her for a moment or so until she began to continue. "We may not have the same amount of choices as other people in our position. But what we do have is the knowledge and the conviction that we are making a decision for the welfare of our child because of how much we love them" she stated, her voice slightly choked at the end of the sentence. "We aren't acting out of cruelty, neglect or... or disinterest" she continued. "We are acting solely out of love. A deep, strong, unbreakable love that transcends everything, including what it is that we want." Sherlock was silent for a few moments, turning his head to the side as he processed her words.
"Is it selfish to want this child?" he asked, his voice low and hollow.
"No" Joan returned instantly, a small smile briefly passing across her features as her eyes became tearful once more. "It is the most natural thing in the world" she continued, her eyes darkening slightly as she spoke. "But being willing to drag our child into the corruption and danger that we have surrounded ourselves with, and that will always surround us, would be. That wouldn't be in the interests of the baby, would it? It would be in the interests of us. And this is not about us."
"I know" he responded, in the same low and hollow tone as before. Sherlock squeezed Joan's hand tightly as he spoke, and turned his face from her to shield his rising emotional state from her, and attempt to control. "And yet-" he began, his voice cracking slightly, as he cast his head down, and his hand weakened inside hers.
"I know" she whispered, moving instantly to his side, and placing her hand upon his cheek, turning his head towards her as she held him to her. "And this is why I am sorry" she stated tearfully, staring at the ceiling for a few moments, as she attempted to blink away her tears. Beneath her she could feel Sherlock's body tremble slightly, although she was certain he was not crying. But he was struggling with this present issue more than he had ever struggled with anything before, and she desperately sought to console him, to reassure him. After a few more moments, she felt him move slightly beneath her, and she freed him from her embrace. Sherlock adjusted himself on the bed and turned to face her, placing his hand over her own once more as he began to speak.
"Watson you, you really have absolutely nothing to apologise for" he stated, his voice demonstrating his conviction and sincerity, despite his clear distress. "And I agree with everything you have said" he continued. "I know it is right, and I know it is placing the child's needs before ours, but I... still I find myself desperately searching for an alternative."
"So do I" she admitted, her wide eyes glistening as she addressed him. For a few moments, the partners found their eyes meeting, and the potential of those words raced through their minds, which were alight with possible ideas. "But do you know what else I think of?" she asked eventually, causing Sherlock to blink a couple of times before being able to focus on her completely. "Wherever our child is, and whoever they are with... they are part of us. This child is here because of us, because of how we feel about each other, because of every aspect of our partnership. This baby is the embodiment of everything we have and will achieve. Our child will grow up, walk the earth, try new things and figure out who they are in a safe and happy environment where they are not faced with the same restrictions, limitations and fears that we confront on a daily basis. They will grow and develop into their own person who, I have no doubt, will be wonderful. They will have the opportunity to be whoever they want to be, without restriction and without constant threats. And that will be because of the decisions we are making right now" she continued, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke. "Regardless of what we say, there is little that is able to console us now, as we talk about giving this baby to another family to raise" she continued, struggling with the last few words. "But what we can be consoled by, and what we will always be able to draw strength from, is the fact that the freedom and safety our child will have, is because we love them."
Sherlock considered her words for several moments, nodding in agreement as she finished her final sentence, before turning towards her, and placing his hand upon her arm. She smiled weakly at this gesture, placing her own hand atop of his own, and raising it to her lips, kissing it tenderly. Sherlock watched the motion with glazed eyes and a hazy expression, before leaning forwards, placing his hand by her cheek, and drawing her face to his. Joan shivered slightly as their lips met, and she nervously returned the gentle kiss he placed upon her lips, before pulling him deeper into it, and kissing him desperately and with great need. Sherlock returned the kiss, breaking it off prematurely as he felt liquid dropping onto his top lip. As he opened his eyes, he found that Joan Watson was crying. He rose his hand and wiped her tears from her face, before brushing some hair from her eyes and holding her to him.
"It's going to be alright" he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers, as they both attempted to control their trembling. "We can do this. We can do this for the baby." Joan breathed in deeply, before placing one of her hands on top of Sherlock's, and holding it reassuringly.
"For the baby" she repeated, her eyes drifting sadly down to her abdomen.