The next two weeks following the ultrasound passed faster than the previous weeks. In those fourteen days Sherlock and Joan had continued to monitor and participate in the high-profile trial of Maria Lennard, which was progressing well. The evidence for the prosecution was airtight, and the case against the young murderess was incredibly strong, thanks to the collaborative efforts of the police, DA's office and New York City's now renowned consulting detectives. As well as their work regarding the Lennard case, Sherlock and Joan had assisted the police in two major enquiries, the murder of a city stock broker and a jewellery heist in Manhattan. In the time they set aside from their heavy case load, Sherlock and Joan also managed to come up with another potential option for the future of their child. Sherlock suggested re-aligning himself with MI6, providing them with his and Joan's unique insight and abilities, if they assured the partners that they would provide a constant protective and security detail to their child. Although they had not disclosed Joan's condition to Sherlock's acquaintances within that particular British intelligence agency, Sherlock had made contacts with some individuals he met whilst dealing with Mycroft's issues all those months ago, and he felt confident that this was a plausible option. He also noticed how, when he first posed it to his partner, her eyes shone slightly, and she nodded a slow yet confident response. Perhaps she would feel comfortable with this particular arrangement too.
Despite the hectic nature of their lives, and the personal and professional commitments which were consuming their every waking moment (and most unconscious ones), Sherlock and Joan found that they were re-establishing what they considered to be 'normality' and a level of structure within their lives. They had been working tirelessly on the cases which they were consulting on, and found the professional side of their relationship seemed almost completely uninfluenced by their personal relationship and secret child. During this time, Sherlock and Joan discussed the baby openly and candidly when they reached the sanctity of the brownstone, which shielded them and their child from the cruelty and dangers of the outside world. It was the one place on earth where Joan did not need to wear loose fitting clothes, put on a brave and unfaltering demeanour, or ban herself from discussing the only thing she wished to focus on a that time. Sherlock and Joan would have liked nothing more than to free themselves from their professional commitments and focus on their child completely, but the high level of media attention that the Lennard case had achieved had passed on to them too, and their actions were the focus of constant comment and scrutiny. Any deviation from their set routines would only increase suspicions and attention regarding their professional absence, which could lead to their secret being exposed, and their child placed in danger. So, despite their inner conflict, Sherlock and Joan maintained their professional obligations. And yet, in the weeks that followed the sonograph, Sherlock observed how calm and at ease his partner had been. She was acting as confidently and resolutely as she had done before her pregnancy, and before the guilt and self-doubt had began to consume her. He found that their bond had strengthened over the past few weeks, and although she sometimes seemed reflective or quiet for short periods of time (which he of course respected), this never seemed to last for long, and she never appeared truly pained or distressed. Until late into the sixteenth week of her pregnancy.
After closing the second case, Sherlock and Joan accepted a private consulting job for the owner of a private bank, which had a serious security breach. Shortly before the bank closed one evening, two masked intruders had entered the building, disarmed the alarms and fatally shot one of the bank tellers. When Sherlock and Joan arrived on the scene just an hour later, they had not been fully informed as to the status of the victim, who was young, attractive, held in the highest regard by her employers and, at the time of her death, was twelve weeks pregnant. When they were informed of the fact by the ME, it was clear that neither her employees nor her boyfriend (a city attorney who had rushed to the scene) knew of her condition. Sherlock felt his stomach clench painfully, before turning to face his partner, whose pale face was staring solemnly down upon the slain woman. It was clear from her body language and the wide-eyed look of terror upon her face that Watson was deeply distressed by the violent death of this young woman and her unborn child, but she recovered remarkably quickly. Before Sherlock could speak or attempt to reassure her, Joan's features changed, and her eyes adopted a cool, steely glare which she maintained throughout the investigation. They examined the building, interviewed the staff, and concluded the matter within hours, realising that the attorney had collaborated with one of the security guards to pull off the robbery. The guard got the money on the condition that he killed the attorney's girlfriend. Joan interrogated the attorney for just twenty minutes before he confessed, revealing that he had 'stumbled across' information regarding the security system whilst 'examining' his girlfriend's phone. It was also how he found out about her pregnancy, which was the motive behind his cruel and callous collaboration with the security-guard-turned-robber. The case was solved by eight o'clock in the evening, and the consulting detectives took a taxi back to the brownstone, sitting in a deep and troubling silence throughout the entire journey.
Sherlock could tell that this particular case had, for obvious and understandable reasons, deeply disturbed Joan. Her bright eyes and pale complexion, combined with her stiff and defensive body language revealed her torment, which Sherlock desperately sought to remedy. As the cab pulled up outside the brownstone, Sherlock paid the driver and Joan slowly eased herself from her seat, ascending the stone steps and unlocking the door before Sherlock had even turned from the driver.
"I'll make some dinner, would you check the computers upstairs for messages from Everyone or your contacts in MI6?" she asked in a low and hollow tone over her shoulder, walking towards the kitchen before he even had a chance to answer. Sherlock watched her for a few moments, until the gentle tapping of her heels upon the ground could no longer be heard. She needed some space for a moment, and he respected that. He knew that it was important that she talked, otherwise the pain of the situation would overwhelm her, consuming her completely. But she needed some time to process her thoughts, to understand her concerns and her anguish, before she was able to discuss it with him.
"Of course" he whispered into the empty corridor, before heading for the computer room.
Joan walked straight into the kitchen and removed several vegetables from the fridge, lining them up by the sink so she could wash them before preparing the dinner that she had no intention of eating. As she reached for the tap, she noticed the small pile of dishes which had formed in the sink. Her dark eyes lightened for a moment, and her lip turned up in a small smile, as she considered Sherlock's interpretation of her request to clean up after their dinner the night before. She removed the items from the sink, put in the plug and ran the hot tap, pouring some lemon-scented washing up liquid into the porcelain bowl. She took a small step forward, reaching for the dish cloth, before a small sensation made her stop completely in her tracks. She felt her stomach gently graze the cold porcelain of the sink.
She was unused to her stomach connecting with the sink, as she often leaned back from it in order to avoid the splatter of the water. But ever since reaching the fourteenth week of her pregnancy, her stomach had began to grow, and the small rounded bump which had formed at the base of her abdomen had now evolved into a slightly larger and more notable curve, which proved difficult to conceal. She glanced down towards her stomach, noticing how much more extended it seemed that she had previously remembered. She smiled sadly at the sight before her, before slowly lowering her right hand, and placing it gently beneath her stomach. She could feel the curve of her abdomen beneath her fingertips and, despite having examined pregnant women when she was a doctor, the feeling of her own stomach beneath her touch both amazed and terrified her. Joan's left hand moved instinctively to the other side of her stomach, rubbing her side comfortingly before running down her abdomen and resting beside her other hand at the base of her bump. Joan's eyes widened as she continued to stare down in wonder at this sight. Ever since discovering her pregnancy she had felt an indescribably deep, intrinsic connection to her child which increased each day. Ever since she had felt and seen her body begin to physically change, she felt this connection more powerfully and notably, and she marvelled in it, finding comfort in this incredible relationship in her most frightened and self-doubting moments. But as she held her abdomen in a protective and comforting manner, she found her mind awash with images of the slain young woman she had seen a few hours earlier. The woman's eyes and her expression haunted Joan, and was imprinted upon her memory. Ever since finding out the motive for such a brutal crime, Joan felt her previously discarded feelings of helplessness return to her. That poor young woman couldn't protect herself and her child from those close to her, so what chance did Joan have keeping her and Sherlock's child safe from their enemies? Joan felt her eyes brim with tears as these thoughts ran mercilessly through her mind as Joan stood perfectly still, head slightly bowed, her hands resting delicately upon her stomach. Her thoughts mingled with the sound of running water, both of which were interrupted by Sherlock's entrance into the room a few minutes later.
"Watson?" came a familiar voice which was full of concern. Joan could hear his voice and was aware of his presence, but found herself unable to move. Instead, she continued to stand completely still before the sink, as the sound of his footsteps quickly approaching her drew her mind further from her thoughts. She heard him repeat her name, before feeling the familiar and comfortingly sensation of his strong hand upon her lower back. She inhaled sharply as she felt his chest press against the back of her arm, as he reached past her and turned off the tap, as the water in the sink began to overflow. "Watson?" he called gently once more, placing his free hand gently upon her shoulder.
Sherlock glanced at Joan with concern, her head was bowed and her hands were placed tentatively upon her abdomen. At first he feared that she was in some level of pain or discomfort, but her body language and facial expression revealed that her torment was more emotional than physical. As his eyes scanned her body analytically, his gaze rested upon her face, and he watched as her wide eyes filled with tears which were threatening to spill over. He had not seen her so upset in almost two months, which was the last time that she cried in front of him. Watson hated crying in front of people, and she seemed to particularly avoid doing so in front of him. He did not want to make her feel self-conscious about her emotional openness, but she was clearly tormenting herself with the memories of their most recent case. It was understandable, of course. The fact that she was exposed to that type of crime scene, that type of crime, physically pained him. But the effect it was having upon her was even more troubling.
"I'm fine, just tired" she mumbled quickly, her hands falling from her abdomen. "Excuse me" she mumbled in a quiet, whispered voice, before turning on the spot and walking quickly from the kitchen. Sherlock turned and watched her as she left, and fought the urge to follow her. She was upset and she would not appreciate him following her, he knew that. Regardless of how desperately he wanted to do so. He exhaled deeply, leaned back on his heels, and rubbed his hands across his face in a mixture of fear and confusion. He stood perfectly still in the kitchen for several minutes, thinking over the details of the investigation, and their effect on his pregnant partner. He nodded to himself quickly, before turning on the spot and walking slowly from the kitchen, up the stairs, and towards the room of Joan Watson.
Sherlock rose his hand to knock upon the closed door, but hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. A moment later, his hand rapped the door three times, before opening slowly without awaiting a response. Sherlock opened the door and watched as Joan lifted her face to meet his. She was sitting on the bed, one leg tucked under her, the other draped over the side. Her eyes were wide and glistening, but she was no longer crying. As he took a few cautious steps towards her he observed how much calmer and more composed she appeared than she had been just five minutes before. He stood before her for a few seconds, staring down upon her with a confident yet wary look upon his face. Her face broke into a small, sad smile, before she moved the cushion from the space on the bed to her right, and held it on her lap. Sherlock took another slow step forward, before sitting next to her on the bed, and placing his clasped hands in his lap as he turned to face her.
"If you wished for me to wash the kitchen floor you only had to ask, Watson" he began in a low and gentle voice. "There was really no need to attempt to flood the room." Joan laughed nervously in response, her features brightening for a moment, before she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath, opening her eyes as she began to speak.
"Sorry" she said in a low yet confident manner. "My mind was elsewhere, I... I wasn't really thinking." Sherlock was silent for a few moments, as he continued to run his eyes analytically over her body. She showed no visible signs of distress, except for the fact that she was hugging the cushion protectively against her abdomen, as though she were using it as some kind of barrier between the baby and the world. Sherlock focused his attention on this for a few moments, until the sound of her voice drew his attention to her face. "I couldn't get her face out of my head" she said simply, hugging the cushion slightly tighter to her.
"I know" Sherlock returned, his voice low and gentle. Joan turned to face him, her wide eyes staring curiously into his. "I saw the way you looked at her, and how your expression changed after the medical examiner revealed her... condition." He paused for a moment, watching as Joan turned slightly from him, nodding in agreement. "What happened to that young woman was... deplorable, it was terrible and absolutely sickening. And I am sorry that you had to... go through that."
"I was thinking about what she must have gone through" Joan replied, crossing her arms across the cushion which remained pressed firmly to her abdomen. "She was shot in the stomach and then the heart. She would have seen her attacker coming towards her, feared for her life and her baby's. And he shot her in the stomach" she continued, breathing in deeply in an attempt to maintain her composure. She was determined not to cry, she refused to. She couldn't. "I can't imagine how... how she must have felt, how she must've-"
"Watson" Sherlock whispered, his voice so tender and gentle that she closed her eyes the moment her name escaped his lips. "You mustn't torture yourself" he continued, turning slightly to face her directly. "You're right, what she went through must have been unbearable, both physically and emotionally. The assailant likely knew of her condition, and to do what he did to her was... possibly one of the most reprehensible offences I have ever had the displeasure of consulting upon. The fact that the only thing we can console ourselves with is that she would not have suffered for more than thirty to forty seconds is little when-"
"He shot her in the stomach" Joan repeated sadly. "Even though she bled out quickly, she probably spent each of those agonising seconds realising that her baby was-" Joan broke off, unable to complete the sentence. "I can't even begin to imagine-"
"Nor will you ever need to" Sherlock interposed, his voice strong and confident. He meant it. "I assure you, Watson" he began, placing one hand over her clasped ones, "I will never allow anyone to harm you or our child." Joan smiled slightly at his words, which reminded her of the promise he made her when they were pursuing Moriarty. She nodded slowly, as the comforting feeling of his strong, warm hand upon hers melted away some of the negative feelings and thoughts she had been wrestling with for the past few hours. His ability to console and reassure her never failed to amaze her.
"You've done so much for us" she said simply. "Me and the baby" she added for clarity, as she turned her head to the side and face him directly. "You're working so hard to try and find a solution, a way for us to keep our child with us whilst ensuring their safety" she stated, her lips forming a small, grateful smile. "I can never understand how there are some people in this world who could... who could do something like that. She... she was a nice girl, she was smart, kind, moral... And the baby-" Joan cut off, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she spoke. Sherlock shifted slightly on the spot, edging closer to her as she finished speaking, and watched him with a curious expression.
"Your fate and hers are not bound together, Watson" he stated simply. "You are not her. You never will be." Joan did not respond to this, but he felt her hands tense beneath his own, as she increased her hold on the cushion slightly. Sherlock waited for a moment, before placing his free hand upon hers, and slowly removing the cushion from her. The action seemed to draw her from her thoughts, and she turned to face him with a wary expression. Sherlock placed the cushion to one side, before placing his hands back on top of hers. He felt her hands unclasp themselves slowly, as she held his hands in return, squeezing them gently. They sat in a brief, reflective silence for a short while, their bodies pressed together, their hands entwined. Joan turned towards him, and watched for a few moments as he stared curiously at her stomach, his eyes darting analytically over it. She smiled to herself, squeezing his hands once more, before beginning to speak.
"I was getting dressed this morning and I put on this... a white blouse I have, one I bought years ago" she began, becoming slightly amused by the perplexed look on Sherlock's face as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I couldn't do the last three buttons up at first, and when I did the material only just covered me. I found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror, I... I didn't realise just how-" she paused, casting her eyes down to her stomach, and smiling. "I liked how it looked, I... I felt so proud, so... it just felt so right" she continued, turning to face Sherlock, who was watching her with a kind expression. "But I had to change the blouse. It was quite a give-away" she smiled, her eyes softening at the memory. "I hate having to hide it."
"I know" Sherlock returned, his voice warm and compassionate. "I know" he repeated, holding her hands reassuringly as he spoke. "It will not be forever."
"Won't it?" She asked, watching him with an uncertain expression.
"No" he responded resolutely. "I assure you it will not" he stated, pressing his lips together in a small smile, as he nodded towards her. Joan smiled slightly, finding herself comforting by his words, which she could not help but believe. As she watched him in the dim light of her bedroom, she found herself drawn to his eyes, his hands, his lips. Their relationship had developed so much lately, with most of their energies as a romantic couple being devoted to their baby, which she was incredibly glad of. As she sat beside him now, and watched his kind eyes watching her with concern, as he attempted to reassure her, she found her heart racing once more at their proximity. She had felt similar sensations, similar intrinsic and innate draws towards him in recent weeks. The physical side of the deep level of attraction and adoration they shared had been temporarily moved aside, as they focused on protecting their baby, in both the present and future sense. But as they sat side by side in that moment, their love and commitment binding them to one another following the traumatising events of the day, they needed a different type of comfort. Their words, gestures and actions were always so strong and so reassuring, and their conversation had helped them both. But now, right now, that very moment, they found themselves searching for each other in ways that words alone would not satisfy. They needed each other. Wanted each other. Now.
Sherlock removed one hand from hers and drew it across her cheek, brushing some of her hair behind her ear, and catching a small tear which had escaped her eye earlier, and was trailing down her cheek. She turned her head slowly to the side, placing a light kiss upon his index finger as it swept past her trembling lips. Sherlock felt his heart race at this simple gesture, this chaste form of contact. His eyes widened as they glanced up and met hers, which were watching him with the same expression he was giving her. Sherlock drew his hand across her cheek, leaning in as he gently pulled her towards him, and placed a deep, loving kiss upon her lips. Joan moaned slightly, leaning deeply into the kiss, as she pushed her body against his. Sherlock removed his hand from Joan's now unclasped ones, drawing it slowly down her inner thigh, as Joan moved her leg in response, turning to the side and pressing her body to his as she continued to kiss him with passionate, desperate desire. Sherlock groaned at this, moving his free hand down her neck and across her back, pulling her towards him. Joan responded immediately, turning on the bed so that she was sitting on top of him, one leg planted on the ground as she wrapped the other around him, pushing her body onto his, as he drew her closer to him and held her tightly. She felt reassured by the contact, reminded of the strength and infinite potential of their partnership. As was he.
Sherlock and Joan continued to kiss passionately, as one of his hands moved slowly up her back, and the other ran up the inner thigh. Joan released a shuddered breath at the contact, pressing herself closer to him, causing him to feel the gentle roundness of her abdomen pressed against his own stomach. He sighed contently, breathing against her lips as he basked in the coveted contact, before running both of his hands up her back, holding her close to him, and then turning her onto the bed, so she was lying across it.
Joan reacted immediately, kicking off her boots as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him onto her as their kissing increased in intensity, and they both became aware that such contact was not quite enough. Joan moaned as Sherlock's mouth left hers, and began kissing her cheek, neck and collarbone, as he began to undo the buttons of her blouse. Joan responded by undoing the buttons on Sherlock's own fitted light grey shirt, pushing his dark blue blazer from his shoulders as she exposed his supple, toned body beneath the shirt. She breathed heavily as she allowed her hands to explore his chest, his shoulders and then his arms, before gazing up at him, and finding his wide, desirous eyes staring contently into hers. He had finished undoing the buttons of her blouse, and pulled her close to his chest as she shrugged it off, allowing it to fall onto the bed beneath her position. Sherlock lowered her slowly back onto the bed, planting kisses down her neck, collar and breasts, before pausing at her stomach.
Joan slowly opened her eyes, gazing down curiously at Sherlock, whose hand had left her shoulder and was now tenderly caressing her abdomen. He ran his hand gently across the left side of her abdomen, before closing his eyes and planting a tender, lingering kiss upon her stomach. Joan's wide eyes glistened as he slowly removed his lips from her soft skin, before resting his forehead against the curve of her abdomen, and pausing there for a few moments. Joan's breathing recovered slightly as she observed this curious sight. She felt his hot breath lightly graze her skin as he slowly removed his head from her stomach, before planting one hand on the bed beside her and pressing his body onto hers, kissing her passionately as she drew her legs around him once more, holding him to her, not wishing to let go. Sherlock moaned contently at the action, tugging her skirt down before removing his belt. Joan helped him to remove his trousers by pushing them down with the heel of her right foot, before pulling him closer to her as Sherlock lifted her from the bed and repositioned her so that her head was upon the pillows.
Now dressed only in his underwear, Sherlock leaned over Joan, his right hand stroking her face tenderly as he marvelled at the sensation of her warm, smooth skin beneath his. Although they had shared this level of intimacy once before, he found that exploring the new features of Joan's body created a stronger bond between them, if that were even possible. He had felt her stomach on a couple of occasions, and had, of course, noticed the subtle changes to her stomach and breasts. But this, holding her to him, her skin exposed, as he felt her swollen abdomen pressed against him, was something else. Something quite different. It was intriguing, mesmerising, and tantalisingly real. Sherlock and Joan continued to kiss as they removed their underwear, the warmness of their skin and the closeness of their bodies sending them both almost completely out of control.
Sherlock closed his eyes and kissed her once more, feeling her strong legs wrap around his waist and pull him onto her, holding him tightly to her.
"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly, blurting the words out upon her lips.
"Hmm?" she responded, pressing her hips onto his, the contact of which made them both feel as though their bodies had been ignited, and were now ablaze.
"You..." Sherlock mumbled, groaning at the contact. He muttered some other words, with great difficulty. Joan opened her eyes slightly as she caught the words 'hurting' and 'comfort'.
"I'm fine" she whispered breathlessly in response, adjusting herself under him, before pressing her hips to his once more. Sherlock groaned, kissing her once more as his body reacted to hers, copying her movement repeatedly, as their bodies joined once more. Despite the notable differences in her own body, Sherlock felt familiar memories and sensations returning to him as they made love on Joan's bed. Their minds and their thoughts were, for the first time in several months, removed so completely from everything outside of themselves and their lives, and focused entirely upon each other. They remained together throughout the night, until their tired bodies forced them into submission. Sherlock and Joan shared a final tender, lingering kiss, before he removed himself from her and lay by her side. She turned towards him, tugging at her blankets until they were both covered. Sherlock and Joan lay together throughout the night, their foreheads pressed together as they recovered their breathing, Sherlock's arm draped tenderly across Joan's waist, as her abdomen was pressed to his stomach. As their laboured breathing recovered, they both opened their eyes, staring at each other in the darkness, and smiling.