I don't own Sherlock.

Liz's eyes widened as her brother-in-law left the envelope on the desk and headed for the door.

''Send Sherlock my regards'' Mycroft shut the door behind him, the only noise in the entire flat was his heavy footfalls on the stairs.

He knew. Of course he knew, he's Mycroft Holmes. Liz drank the rest of her drink quickly, chucking it to the back of her throat, savouring the burn of it sliding down her oesophagus.

What did he bring it here for? A warning? Disapproval? Blackmail? It wasn't as though she could change things even if she wanted to.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, feeling tired and her stomach cramped painfully so she decided on taking a long, hot bath. To be honest, Liz was stumped. She was able to get pregnant so they would have to be more careful from now on and she wasn't sure exactly how she was going to do so and keep it a secret from her husband, after all they'd never had to use protection before…

Later that night, Liz burned the medical records without a second thought.

''Are you alright?''

''What'' Liz's head snapped up in the direction of her husband's voice, he was over at the table, once again poking and prodding at something slimy in a petri dish. For some reason she couldn't stop thinking of Mycroft and the brown envelope, even after a week she couldn't get it out of her head which was unusual as she didn't allow anything to bother her – Ever.

''I said, 'are you alright' at least four times now. Is something bothering you?'' Did he really need to ask, she didn't doubt he already knew something was on her mind and would most likely be able to figure it out given the motivation.

''Ooh, you care'' she teased but immediately sobered at the serious look on his face, ''I'm fine, why shouldn't I be?''

And he starts.

''Well, aside from the fact you've not eaten a solid meal properly in weeks, been skiving off work without a proper reason – yes, I do know about that, John told me he sees you in-,''

''Oh for fu-,''

''– And staring into space whilst doing that thing you do with your thumbs''

''What thing?''

''You've hardly spoke to me since last Tuesday or even let me touch you for that matter'' he added the end bit a tad sulkily. ''I'd say there was something on your mind you're either keeping from me or would rather not think about or maybe even both. Its only for the sake of your privacy, I haven't-,''

''Stop it!'' Liz yelled and he immediately shut up. She was annoyed at his knack for noticing little things and making them into something he swears is blatantly obvious. ''Just, stop''

Without a second glace, Elizabeth swept past the kitchen (ignoring a bemused looking Sherlock) and down the stairs, taking extra care to slam the door on the way out.

The next morning day Elizabeth received a blank envelope with a copy of her medical record inside. This wasn't Mycroft, it wasn't his style.

Inside the envelope were the words: I know. x

Two weeks later and Liz was still receiving anonymous messages, whether she was at home or work – and not just by letter. She received text messages, e-mails and even a 'Happy Birthday' card. She got rid of them all though, she didn't need John or Sherlock or even Mrs Hudson finding out she was being threatened.

Was she even being threatened? Each message never actually asked anything from her; it just stated the same thing in different ways. It put her on edge; every time her phone buzzed she would almost jump a mile.

On the plus side though, she didn't drink as much. But she supposed that was because she wasn't eating nearly enough and so the alcohol had a faster effect on her – still, it was a slight improvement according to John, as long as she ate regularly. And in-between trying to hold her nerve, keeping the secret messages a secret from her husband and John, making sure her drinking was under control and just worrying; she had managed to hold down her job longer than she had done in years.

He looked at her intently. After almost five weeks of zero sex, Sherlock decided to take it upon himself to do something about it. Over the past month she'd kept herself to herself and it was really starting to worry him.

She managed a small smile even though she felt like sobbing. What was wrong with her? She'd never felt her emotions get like this before, not ever and she didn't like it. She didn't like not being in control.

After a few moments of staring each other out in the bedroom, Sherlock finally made the first move and stepped over to her, holding her upper arms firmly and taking in her vacant expression.

She was gaunt.

Her skin was pale if a tad blotchy, cheek bones hollowed and more prominent due to how sunken and they had become. Curly dark blonde hair that was normally prim and proper was tied up hastily in a ponytail, and her pyjamas practically hung off her frame.

He pulled her into his body and she was momentarily shocked at the open display of affection, they never got touchy feely, not really – unless you counted intimately. Wrapping his arms around her, he noticed just how tiny she felt in his arms.

It took her a moment before she returned the embrace. Slinking her arms round his middle and squeezing him tightly. They remained that way for a while, simply breathing each other in, in the first real physical contact they'd had in weeks and then she felt Sherlock stiffen in her arms. Liz looked down between them. Oh.

How long had it actually been? Too long.

Before she knew it, Sherlock had lowered his lips to her neck. It was slow and he was gentle, she could tell he was holding back – waiting for any signs of her reluctance and for what? She being scared of getting pregnant?

''Are you going to tell me what's wrong?'' his voice muffled by her skin,

Liz held her breath when his tongue flicked over the underside of her jaw and she became dimly aware of his hardness, hot and heavy against her stomach.

''Stop talking'' and she felt the smug grin pressed into her skin. Did he always have to speak at times like this?

Liz pulled him with her towards their bed, un tucking his shirt tails as she did. They both fell on the mattress with a soft 'oof'. Sherlock nudged her legs apart to accommodate him and his hands slid to her waist, holding her close while he placed feathery kisses on the crook of her shoulder.

Too slow.

Elizabeth suddenly began popping his shirt buttons open quickly, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against her and Sherlock helped before dropping his hands back to her waist, leaving his shirt open.

Then he kissed her.

He fingered the sash of her cotton dressing gown before un tying it and letting his fingers splay over the soft material underneath. A blush crept up Liz's neck (had it really been that long?) and she let out an involuntary chuckle as his fingers trailed up her sides, taking the hem of her pyjama camisole with him.

Sherlock lifted the garment over her head and tossed it somewhere next to them.

He began kissing his way down from her ear, the smooth skin of her neck, shoulder, clavicle, sternum… then stopped. He lifted his head away from her chest and looked down – stunned.

Liz sensed him tense before she opened her eyes, ''Sherlock?''

He wasn't prepared for the sight before him. He knew of course she'd lost weight and he should have noticed just how severely but in all honesty he'd not seen her in less than a bath towel in weeks, she was practically skeletal.

He moved a hand lightly up her stomach and over her sunken ribs, mouth agape. ''Liz…'' He didn't know what to say.

Her stomach dipped horrifyingly inwards making her hips jut out, like the props holding up a collapsed canvas and she shifted beneath him, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. She couldn't remember the last time she had an appetite or even ate more than an apple. ''It's not as bad as it seems'' she tried.

Sherlock strummed his thumb over her ribcage gently.

''Why?'' he bit out, more harshly than he intended.

Inwardly, Liz grimaced. She didn't want to lie to him, but she could hardly face telling the truth. ''I've had a lot on my mind''

''Tell me''

She looked down and fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt, ''I can't…''

''Elizabeth'' he warned.

She sat up, sliding a hand up his chest to the back of his neck and tugged him closer, ''please'' she whispered, attempting to draw his attention back to what they were doing. She kissed him softly, willing him to respond but Sherlock remained still.

''If you really wanted to know, you could have figured it out'' she huffed.

''I want you to tell me'' he glanced down again, taking in her appearance and he felt sick with himself. Annoyed for not noticing sooner. ''look at you… It's not healthy Liz''

Liz couldn't bare it anymore, the way he was eyeing her with a look of guilt and… disgust? Really bothered her. She dropped her hands from his neck and pulled back, suddenly more conscious of her ghoulish state and forcing him to sit up. ''Sorry you find me so repulsive''

She quickly reached for her pyjama camisole and slipped it on hurriedly, not wanting to inconvenience him with looking at her any more than she already had.

''I'm not repulsed. It's a shock''

''Well don't force yourself to sleep with me will you. Wouldn't want to 'shock' you any further'' she stood and pulled on her dressing gown, tying the sash hastily.

Sherlock frowned, troubled and slightly frustrated for the state she had allowed herself to get in and then got even more irritated with himself then he already was for not realising god damn sooner – they shared the same bed for crying out loud.

''I do worry about you, you know''

''Don't put yourself out'' – because I don't deserve it' echoed in her mind, before she brushed out of their room and into the kitchen for something strong to drink – pushing past a confused looking John carrying the shopping along the way.

''I'm getting the slightest impression that Liz is angry with you'' John said, sitting across from a stony faced Sherlock as they sat at the table eating takeaway Chinese.

''It would appear so, yes''

''Are you going to elaborate or not?''

''Not''

''…Right'' John sighed, ''you can talk to me you know''

''I know''

''Then what's wrong because it makes sharing a flat with you two pretty awkward''

''I just told you, for once your deductions were correct but I chose not to elaborate''

John gave up. That was the most he was going to get out of Sherlock, for now anyway.

Tell him – Or I will. x

Sherlock stared at the words, his brain ticking over a thousand different possibilities at once. Written on ordinary enough card bought from the local florist along with the red roses and written in fine, black fountain pen. With a kiss on the end.

No obvious occasion that anyone would really know, it wasn't her birthday, anniversary or any other kind of event that would require flowers.

And tell him, tell him what exactly? It was obviously him, whoever it was, was talking about. Mrs Hudson said that they were brought by the delivery man addressed to 'Mrs E. Holmes'

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