A/N: Hi everyone, thanks for continuing to follow the story. I'm sorry if it seemed a bit stagnant/slow in progression. I wanted the last three or four chapters to highlight the difficulties and realities of Joan's concerns, and felt the best way to do so was to explore them in several chapters, with Joan's concerns and Sherlock's reassurances negotiating the space between her concerns and his conviction that he can help her. The next few chapters will be going 2-4weeks ahead each, so there shouldn't be too much more stagnation (I hope!) but if there is, please let me know, and I will alter my plan. This text will be concluded by Chapter 45, after which it is being left open for the possibility of a sequel, but I am not sure about this at all. I am considering either just writing much shorter pieces, or perhaps stop writing altogether, but again, it's still something I'm thinking about. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if there are any issues/concerns, please let me know, and I'll do my best to rectify them. Thanks again for sticking with the story, I know it probably hasn't been easy.
Best wishes,
HQ21
Sherlock and Joan left the park after everyone else, and walked slowly through the deserted streets and back to the brownstone, the cool evening air refreshing them after their dancing. Neither spoke much on the walk home, and the pleasant silence which befell them both, allowing them to consider the last few hours. Joan in particular found the walk peaceful and reflective, remembering how calm and at ease she had been, surrounded by individuals who had similar ideas, aims and instincts to her. As she was certain Sherlock had intended, she felt much less helpless, and far less alone. Although the gesture had been fairly grandiose and decadent, she saw his point, and recognised the legitimacy of several issues he raised. But with this, she also dealt with a wariness of fact that it was not all quite so simple. Joan and Sherlock both went to bed that night with mixed feelings regarding the night itself, and what it had revealed. However, it provided them both with a level of comfort and reassurance which they would not have been able to acquire otherwise, and which they both gratefully welcomed. Regardless of how temporary that feeling would be.
For the next couple of weeks Sherlock and Joan's attention was devoted to the case which had become the focal point of the media: the trial of Maria Lennard. With the young woman's increasing public notoriety came an increased amount of media attention in both Sherlock and Joan, which concerned them both greatly. Such attention would compromise not only their personal privacy and the nature of their work, but also the concealment of Joan's pregnancy which, for the past six weeks, they had been able to manage without issue. Joan suffered very little morning sickness and her behaviour and mood had not been altered to any great degree. The only possible clues as to her condition were her increased levels of tiredness, which she found herself experiencing more often, and her tendency to become tearful and upset by issues or situations which she would have otherwise been more than capable of dealing with. She had cried on several occasions since returning from the hospital, when she and Sherlock had several heart-wrenching discussions about the future of their child, but since their agreement to accept the possibility of them being able to participate in their child's life, and to actively pursue such a possibility, Joan had attempted to dismiss her emotions almost entirely, and devote all the time and energy she had to searching for such a solution. In the past month, she had become slightly tearful on just a handful of occasions, and never in front of Sherlock. Joan hated crying in front of people, but especially him. She knew that he was doing everything in his power to find a solution, and she suspected that there were also aspects of her pregnancy and his impending fatherhood that he was concerned about, but would not discuss with her. She wanted to make sure he knew that he could, but she did not wish to coerce him into such a conversation. And so she waited, patiently and with kindness, until he felt ready to confide in her.
When Joan reached the fourteenth week of her pregnancy, she found herself standing before Sherlock in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around the hot cup of tea he had just made for her, as per their new morning routine. As he cleared some files from the table, and removed the curious Clyde from further investigating his latest mould-related experiment, Joan watched him with warm yet apprehensive eyes.
"I have cultivated a rare mould type which Everyone believed could not be maintained for longer than three days, but this one is currently standing strong at nine" Sherlock smiled, before removing the experiment to the other side of the room.
"'Palette-cleanser'?" She asked, remembering how he once reviewed a file she was due to investigate to enable him to approach a current case with fresh eyes.
"Quite" he replied, nodding as he spoke. There was a short pause, in which Joan lowered her head slightly, but felt the weight of his stare upon her. She was nervous, and concerned about how he would feel about what she was about to state. If they were unable to find a solution, and her initial idea of adoption were to be carried out, this could be difficult for him. She had considered finding a way to do it alone, but felt certain he would not wish her to. And she would not deny him what he had a right to be involved in, and what she hoped he would want to. Sherlock took in a slow breath, and was about to pose a question, before Joan lifted her head and spoke first.
"I need an ultrasound" she said simply, in a quiet yet resolute manner. She watched Sherlock closely for a reaction, her eyes studying his face as he processed her words. Sherlock's eyes widened and his whole body tensed, and he looked over her with concern.
"Has something happened-"
"No" she stated, taking a few steps closer to him and leaning against the table. "No, nothing has happened, I'm fine" she assured him, meeting his gaze as she spoke. He nodded slowly, and his body relaxed notably, and he watched her patiently until she continued to speak. "I... I should have had one two weeks ago, really. Ideally" she began, pressing the backs of her hands on the table to support herself as she pulled herself up and sat upon it. As she did so, the white material of the top she wore to bed clung to her stomach, revealing its newly curved outline. Sherlock's eyes fell to her abdomen and remained there for several moments, until the disappearance of Joan's voice drew his attention to her face. "Sherlock?" she asked, her eyes meeting his, before glancing down as she followed his previous line of sight.
"Forgive me, I-" he began awkwardly, turning his head to the side as he spoke. It felt as though it were an intrusion somehow, that he had stepped over some kind of line. But he didn't know why, and this troubled him.
"Why are you sorry?" she asked gently, causing him to face her with a nervous and puzzled expression. Sherlock did not answer her question, as he did not know the answer. His eyes narrowed in confusion and his lips thinned slightly as he attempted to think. His mind was racing and his thoughts felt strange, alien to him, muddled. But the sound of Joan Watson's voice brought him straight back to his current reality.
"Sherlock" she called gently, causing him to turn to her immediately. She was sitting on the edge of the table, and he was standing three or four paces in front of her. "Could you stand next to me?" she asked in the same kind tone, as she pushed her hands firmly upon the table and eased herself back slightly, so that she was sat more comfortably. Sherlock responded to her request immediately, and by the time she was sat comfortably upon the table, he was standing before her with a perplexed and somewhat guilty expression. "Can I have your hand?" she asked kindly, reaching out one of her own towards him. Sherlock lifted his right arm and clasped her hand gently, his heart beating slightly faster as they made physical contact. Joan smiled slightly, before lowering their joined hands to her side. "Come closer" she stated gently, feeling the warmth of his body as he took one more step towards her. Sherlock's bright eyes were watching her with confusion, as she lifted their hands and drew them slowly towards her side. "You can stop if you want to" she continued, almost whispering, as she slowly drew his hand towards her stomach.
Sherlock did not stop, instead, he watched her slow and considerate movements, splaying his fingers as his hand reached her abdomen. He shivered slightly as his fingers came into contact with her stomach, which felt warm and strong. She removed her hand from his, and he moved his fingers gently over the white material covering her stomach, before running his hand down her stomach and caressing the small bump which was forming. Her stomach had always been flat and taut, and the exploration of this new part of her fascinated him greatly. Sherlock allowed his hand to rest on her curved abdomen for a few moments, before exploring it fully, running his hand across her stomach. He turned his head to the side slightly, before raising his left hand and placing it on the other side of her stomach. As he stood before Joan, his hands resting gently upon her curved abdomen, he was overcome by a plethora of emotions which caused his heart and mind to race in equal measure. He stood like this, quietly and without any great movement, for several minutes, as he focused his attentions completely upon Joan's stomach.
"You don't have to be sorry" Joan repeated quietly yet confidently, causing Sherlock's eyes to rise and meet hers. "This is your baby too" she stated warmly, before placing one of her hands tenderly on top of his own. She felt his warm hand tremble slightly beneath hers, but he stilled a moment later, before meeting her gaze with his own.
"Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked in a low, polite manner. Joan watched him for a moment, her warm eyes comforting him with her gaze.
"If you want to come with me, I would be happy for you too. As I said, this" she stated, applying gently pressure to the hand beneath hers, "is yours too". Sherlock watched her for a moment, his eyes watching her with a grateful and slightly relieved expression. He knew that she would be nervous about having an ultrasound, due to the tenuous nature of their current situation. Their baby was the focal point of their daily thoughts, fears and goals, and yet it was something that he knew Joan found difficult to talk to him about directly, whether it was because she feared the possibility of adoption, or was concerned over how he would handle discussing the subject he was not sure. But he suspected it was a combination of the two factors.
When they were sat together in the solitude and silence of the brownstone, after a long and trying day, he would tell her a pregnancy-related statistic, or inform her of a fact regarding their child's current state of development. She'd smile warmly at the information he stated, some of which she already knew, some she did not. But soon her smile would fall slightly, and her eyes would lower themselves sadly to her abdomen, and they would sit reflectively in the silence. But only for a moment. After that, Joan would begin discussing Sherlock's point with him, and they discuss the baby openly. It was the most frightening yet the most looked forward to part of their day.
"I would very much like to accompany you" he said gently, pressing his lips into a small smile as he spoke. Joan returned his small smile, nodding gratefully, before parting her lips to speak.
"I can't just call my OBGYN" she said simply. "I know that my pregnancy was recorded at the hospital six weeks ago, but I was very ill, and lost a lot of blood. If I don't make any official appointments, they'll just assume that I-" she paused for a moment, unable to say the word.
"Yes" Sherlock stated. "I understand. We can perform the scan ourselves, without having to inform anyone, medical or otherwise, about your condition."
"Do you have an ultrasound machine stashed beneath the sink or something?" she asked in a light-hearted tone. "I was thinking of walking into a hospital and heading for a room. They aren't guarded and are never all in use. It wouldn't be too difficult. But the problem is that hospitals are so crowded, with patients and staff there constantly, we could be noticed."
"You are right, Watson" Sherlock replied, removing his hands from her stomach and placing them on her sides. She felt light-headed and breathless at the contact, but managed to maintain her composure as he spoke. "However, we do have another option" he stated, as her wary eyes narrowed in confusion.
Twelve hours later, after darkness had befallen the city, Sherlock and Joan were adorned in black clothing and standing before the locked doors to one of the city's private clinics. Sherlock had disarmed the two security alarms and cameras, and was using his lock-picking tools on the lock of the front door. Joan glanced cautiously over her shoulder as she watched her partner work, before the dull buzzing of her phone against her thigh caused her to face forward, remove the item from her zip pocket and check the caller ID. It was her mother. Joan had not placed a call to her mother since the week after she discovered her pregnancy. During their conversation, which had been centred on work, her family and her mother's new-found interest in creating bird boxes for her palatial garden, Joan had almost told her of her condition, blurted the secret words to her over the phone. She and her mother were not close confidantes, but ever since she showed up at the brownstone a few nights after she and her family had dined with Sherlock, Joan felt a deeper connection to her mother. A woman who, until very recently, she felt was unable to accept anything other than perfection, convention and clarity. But after meeting Sherlock, Mary Watson's mind had been opened to Sherlock's world in ways Joan would never have thought possible. After her mother's kind words to her from Sherlock's couch, Joan found that their relationship had altered notably, and they began to enjoy the kind of relationship Joan always wanted with her mother, who she considered to be a trusted confidante who had her best interests at heart, and who she felt able to share her problems and concerns with. And this was precisely why she could not answer the phone.
Joan rejected the call and turned off her phone, before placing it back in her pocket and turning back towards Sherlock, who had just successfully opened the door. As he was putting his lock-picking tools back into his pocket, Joan walked slowly past him into the building. She turned on her torch and shone it upon the walls, reading the directions upon the plastic signs, before leading the way with confidence. She heard the sound of the door closing behind her, and felt Sherlock's presence by her side moments later.
"Is everything alright?" Sherlock asked casually, noting how Joan's demeanour had changed slightly since she rejected the call.
"Yeah" she returned absent-mindedly, shining the torch from one wall to another, and turning to a corridor to their right. "It was my mom, I'll call her back" Joan stated in a low tone. Sherlock was not convinced by her answer, and nor was she.
"You're certain it is not urgent?" he asked gently, sensing Joan's unease, but wanting to let her know that he was more than willing to listen to any concerns she had.
"It's not" Joan began, walking down the corridor towards one of the private examination rooms as she spoke. "She probably wants to talk about her new DIY projects, Oren's legion of girlfriends or my father's latest book" she stated, pausing as she reached the door to the examination room. Joan shone the torch onto it and read the sign, confirming that it was the correct room. This particular examination room was in the corner of the building and had no windows, making it the safest one for them to be in without risking exposure. "What is it with you and breaking into medical establishments?" she asked, lowering the torch slightly as she opened the door and entered the room.
"The first place we broke into" Sherlock began, emphasising the 'we' as he followed her into the room and turned on the light, "was a morgue. And we had a perfectly valid reason for entering that establishment as well."
"Yeah, the illegal dissection of a corpse" Joan returned, turning off her torch and closing the door behind her as she spoke. "I remember."
"Mm, yes, because this is not at all illegal" Sherlock spoke theatrically, earning himself a small smile from Joan. She still made references that night in the morgue, and always in good humour. Sherlock watched as Joan prepared the examination table, located the ultrasound machine and began to set it up. "And, since you reminded me of that previous endeavour, I think it is worth pointing out that our current exploit negates the former one".
"Please explain" she stated, handing him a pair of disposable gloves. Sherlock removed his black gloves and replaced him with the latex ones, before following Joan over to the table.
"Our mission on the morgue was to perform an autopsy on the body of a man whose demise had been incorrectly attributed to natural causes" he began, as Joan eased herself onto the examination table. "We broke into a building of the dead to examine someone who had been unlawfully killed. Whereas today, we find ourselves in a building representing commitment to maintaining life. The morgue is the last medical institute a person goes too, whereas a place such as this is often the first. We are not dissecting a murdered corpse, we are checking on the well-being of yourself and our child" he stated simply, as Joan passed him a tube of the gel required for the ultrasound. "So, technically, they cancel each other out." Joan smiled and shook her head slightly at his logic, before turning towards him and watching him with a wide-eyed expression. She was nervous, and he was attempting to placate her. The fact that making jokes about cadavers was able to have such a comforting affect upon Joan Watson was noted by them both. "Are you ready?" he asked gently, his tone lower and kindlier than the previous one.
Joan breathed in slowly, before reaching down and unzipping her trousers, pulling them down a couple of inches, and then pulling her shirt up so that it revealed her stomach. She lay back on the examination table, her eyes watching the ceiling, as Sherlock looked down upon her stomach in wonder. He had felt her stomach just that morning, memorising the contours and curve of her abdomen. But this, seeing her soft skin exposed beneath the artificial light, observing first-hand the physical presence of their baby, was something else. And the thoughts and emotions which were spreading throughout his body were ones which he was completely unprepared for. They were the strongest, most adoring and protective-natured ones he had felt for anyone besides Watson herself, and they took his breath away.
"I'm ready" she stated, her voice low and nervous. Sherlock squirted the gel on her stomach before removing his eyes from her stomach to her face, which was tilted upwards and facing the ceiling. Sherlock placed the gel on the side, before lifting the wand and holding it in his hand. Before he performed the ultrasound, which Joan had talked him through that afternoon, he glanced once more towards her face. Joan was now watching the wall in front of her line of vision, and was blinking quite a few times, as if to dispel threatening tears. Her hands were gripping the side of the examination so tightly that her knuckles were protruding, and her nails were digging into her skin. Sherlock lowered the hand which he was holding the wand in, and placed has left hand over one of Joan's own. He felt her tense slightly, before relaxing beneath his grip. She blinked twice more, before slowly turning her head to the side to face him with bright, shining eyes. He gave her a reassuring look, which she met with a small smile, before she turned her hand around and clasped his firmly, reassuring them both. Sherlock nodded, before slowly placing the wand onto Joan's abdomen and moving it across her, as both of them turned expectantly towards the screen.
As the outline of their baby appeared on the screen, Joan inhaled shakily, and Sherlock felt her hand tremble slightly in his own. Sherlock held the wand to her abdomen, before turning towards Joan and watching her nervously as she stared, wide-eyed, at the screen before them. In the precious moments Sherlock had spent examining the image, he memorised each line, each contour, each detail of their unborn child. He was now devoting his attention to his partner, who was blinking rapidly as she stared at the screen, willing herself not to cry. Sherlock continued holding her hand as he stood motionless and silent by her side, watching as she stared adoringly at the screen. Joan's eyes softened, and she reached out her left arm, extending her fingertips towards the black and white image upon the screen. She drew her gloved finger across the line of the baby's head, body and legs, before placing her trembling hand back by her side, and regaining her composure.
"Definitely fourteen weeks" she began, her voice low yet almost her own. "The baby is developing well, healthy size, no signs of issue" she stated, exhaling as she finished. "Everything's perfect" she stated, staring intently at the screen. Sherlock too turned back towards the screen, and watched the image of his child. Despite having memorised the baby's shape, size and the few features that could be seen, neither of the consulting detectives were willing to allow their eyes to leave the screen.
"The security cameras will only be out of action for another three minutes" Sherlock stated in a low, sombre tone.
"I know" Joan replied solemnly, her eyes not leaving the screen. Sherlock pressed a button which printed out two copies of the sonograph.
"We will have these until we return again, alright?" he stated kindly, as he removed the wand from her stomach.
"Yeah" Joan replied, grabbing some tissue from the side and wiping the gel away, as Sherlock wiped and replaced the wand. Joan released her grip on his hand and continued to clean her stomach, crumpling up the tissues and placing them in her pocket, before zipping up her trousers and lowering her top. Sherlock placed the sonograph images in his breast pocket, zipping it up, before removing the examination gloves and placing them in another pocket, and replacing them with his black leather ones. As he did so, Joan had eased herself off the bed and was putting the ultrasound machine back where it had been originally, and proceeded to correct the room. As she reached his side, Sherlock passed her a torch and turned out the light.
Sherlock and Joan walked down the corridors and towards the front door, passing through it cautiously and heading from the premises. Their car was parked five blocks away, and they walked the journey towards it in a shared silence, as the adrenaline of their most recent task coursed through theirs veins, and they relived the memory of their child on the screen. As they reached Joan's car, she removed the keys from her pocket and unlocked the doors, placing her hand upon the driver's side door as she reached it. As she was about to open it, she felt Sherlock's presence directly behind her, their bodies almost touching. Before she could turn around, he began to speak.
"He has your hands" he whispered to her through the darkness, his voice so low it was barely perceptible. But his wistful yet melancholy words managed to reach her ears, and she heard them. Joan removed her hand from the door and turned to face him, their bodies just an inch apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, as she watched him with wide, shining eyes.
"He?" she asked, her bright eyes meeting Sherlock's sombre, glistening ones.
"Or she" he replied, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he spoke. "Anything but 'it'". His words surprised her slightly, but she understood what he meant. Even though he was a man of detail, the three words he just uttered took her completely off-guard. Joan took a step forward, tilting her face upwards as he leaned down, and their lips met. Sherlock placed one gloved hand upon her cheek, and used the other to support her lower back and draw her closer to him. They continued to kiss, passionately and without restriction, their darkened figures bathed in the low glow of the street lamp.
"I think she has your nose" Joan returned, whispering the words against Sherlock's slightly parted lips.
"Very well, Watson" Sherlock returned, running his fingertip down her cheek, as he held her gently against him. "I just hope that she has your heart."