Chapter 6: Doubt

"Makes no sense." John mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

"The kid's traumatized." Lestrade says, "Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper."

We are all gathered in Lestrade's office, letting what has just happened fully sink in; John and Lestrade are standing up while I'm sitting in one of the office chairs. John insisted I sit down after today's events, despite me telling him that I'm absolutely fine; must be the doctor in him, kicking in. As they talk with one another, my full attention is on Sherlock, standing by the windows, gazing out into the night. From what I can tell, he's deeply shaken. Of course he would be; this little girl is terrified of him and for no apparent reason. And what does 'I.O.U.' mean? He kept mumbling it to himself as we walked into the office. Is it a clue, or something?

"So what's she said?" John asks, referring to the poor, terrified girl.

"Hasn't uttered another syllable." Donovan adds in from the doorway, giving Sherlock an accusing glare. I roll my eyes and lean all the back in my chair; honestly, it wasn't Sherlock's fault the girl's shaken. Donovan needs to back off.

"And the boy?" John goes on.

"No, he's unconscious" Lestrade replies, "still in intensive care."

"Poor things," I say, "God only knows what they've been through." I look over at Sherlock to see if he's going to add anything to the conversation. Suddenly, I notice him tense up in shock, but as soon as I blink, he is relaxed again. Did he see something outside or did he just come to a realization in his mind? I can never tell with him.

"Well, don't let it get to you." Lestrade says, addressing Sherlock, "I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people." He looks at John and I with a smirk and nudges his head to the door; "Come on."

John and Lestrade walk out of the office, but I go to Sherlock's side. He is slipping into his mind palace, I can tell by his gaze. Cautious not to break his train of thought, I place a gentle hand on his shoulder. He shutters at my touch but then relaxes when he realizes that it's me.

"You okay?" I ask and he gives me a small nod. He then takes my hand into his and places a soft kiss on my knuckles. He's upset, but I don't think it's just because of this girl. Something else is on his mind, something that's shaking his core. What isn't he telling me?

"Let's go home," I say, gently stroking his cheek. Sherlock nods and we head toward the door.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint." Donovan taunts, still leaning in the doorway, "It's really amazing."

"Thank you." Sherlock grumbles, tightly squeezing my hand.

"Unbelievable." She adds, but we just push past her, not taking in any count for what she's saying.

John must have already made his way down so we enter the lift and head down the first floor. We don't speak or really make eye contact with each other. What is there to say? I don't want to bring up the victim's screams because that will lead to Sherlock being more stressed out. I certainly don't want to bring up the children topic again, at least not right now. To be honest, I don't think Sherlock really even registered the short conversation. I'll wait until we get home.

"How long?" Sherlock says, staring up at the ceiling.

I turn my head toward him in a confused gaze; "What are you talking about?" I ask, gently squeezing his hand.

"How long have you known that you were expecting?" he asks rather bluntly. I take in a sharp breath and look to the ground; Guess he did register it? Oh God, he wants to talk about it right now? Really? Can't we just wait until we get home?

"Sherlock," I mumble, "maybe you should…"

"Elfie, please look at me." Sherlock says with the deepest sincerity. Slowly, I lift my head and look into those sea foam orbs of his that I love so dearly. He doesn't seem upset, but rather…actually, I can't tell what he's feeling right now.

"I…I took a test today," I admit, sheepishly, "quite a few tests actually."

"And?" he presses for me to go on.

"They were positive."

"Which leads to my previous question; how long have you known?"

"Sherlock, I'm trying to tell you that I just found out today." I say, "That's why I wasn't feeling well."

"Yes, I am aware of that." Sherlock quickly snaps. He then closes his eyes and turns his head back up to the ceiling; "John," he breathes out in a heavy sigh, "he…he can make sure that this-this thing is really happening?"

"Thing?" I ask, a bit taken back, "Sherlock, I'm carrying a child, not an object. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't call he or she a 'thing'."

"But your not sure your pregnant yet," he says, "why else would you take more than one test and then come all the way down to the Yard to ask John for his medical advice? That is why you came down, isn't it? Obviously, if you were absolutely certain that you were…with child, then you would have waited until John and I had come home. Then, you would break the news and more or less expect me to react in some foolish way; maybe hope I'd shed a tear or two."

"Sherlock," I warn, trying to hide that this little monologue is on the verge of upsetting me.

"No, Elfie, let me finish," Sherlock states, putting his hand up defensively, "But you didn't wait for us, did you? No, you decided that, despite not feeling 100 percent better then you did this morning, you would make the trek from Baker Street to Scotland Yard in hopes to find Dr. Watson and ask his medical opinion on the matter. However you got sidetracked. I will take partial responsibility for that; I did take you along to the warehouse. You could have said something, though. Could have said; 'Sherlock, darling, I can't come with you because I am quite possibly 8 weeks pregnant.' Because you are in fact, 8 weeks along: I calculated that just now, actually. Your morning sickness and other various symptoms match up to that time slot. So, now you see don't you? You are in fact carrying my child. My…child."

He pauses for a moment and looks down at his feet; I think the reality is finally hitting him. Now, he's fully understands that he is going to be a father. I slowly place a hand on his cheek and turn his head toward me. Sherlock gazes into my eyes and gently puts a hand on my abdomen. "You're pregnant." He whispers as if to officially confirm it.

"Yes," I reply, "and I need to know what you're feeling right now. You know I don't ask about your emotions, but this is serious. I need to know if you're upset about this. I need to know if you're upset with me."

"I'm…I'm not upset with you, Elfie." He says in a quiet voice, "I know that I sound like it, right now, but-It's not because of this child. It's…It's something else."

"What?" I ask, setting a hand on his shoulder, "Tell me."

"I can't." He sighs, looking at me with the distressing gaze, "For the first time, I can't tell you what's going on. It's too…difficult." Sherlock then takes in a deep breath and looks down at my stomach; "Odd, isn't it?" he says, half to himself, "A human life, no bigger than a kidney bean, is right there. Right between us." He moves in close to me so that I can place my hands on his biceps and so that both of his hands are gently touching my stomach. His fingers trace along my middle and I can't help but let one stray tear fall from my eyes. This is really happening; we are going to be parents. But why does he seem so sad?

"Fee, I have to tell you something." Sherlock says, suddenly becoming very serious, "Do you remember, after Moriarty's trial, when I told you that things were going to change? That he was hell bent on…ending me?"
"Yes," I reply, becoming very worried.

Sherlock locks eyes with me and lets out a heavy sigh: "I think it's starting."

"What is, love?"

"The end."

Before I can press the topic even further, the lift dings to a stop and the silver doors glide open. Sherlock takes me by the hand again and we exit out of the building and into the cold London night. John is waiting for us by the curb.

"There you guys are," he says, "Everything alright?"

"Fine." Both Sherlock and I reply at the same time. We exchange a quick glance and I let out a heavy sigh. What the hell did he mean by the end?

"You sure about that?" John teases, "Because you both look like…"
"Elfie's pregnant." Sherlock quickly interrupts, "I want you to absolutely confirm it, though, John. I don't want any other doctor knowing about it. If the papers get word…it will be to much chaos and I don't want that."

"Yeah, um, sure, of course." John says with a nod. He then and looks at me in surprise: "Are you alright with that?" he asks me.

I nod and latch onto Sherlock a bit tighter. He doesn't respond to the affection; he just keeps staring ahead like the most interesting piece of information in the world is there. What is going on in that brain of his?

"You okay?" John asks his best friend.

"Thinking." Sherlock says in his monotone way. John looks to me for an answer but I just shake my head; I'll tell him when we get home. A cab pulls up to the curb, but much to John and mine's surprise, Sherlock steps in front of us and opens the door.

"This is my cab." He says, getting inside, "You get the next one."

"Why?" John asks.

"You might talk." Sherlock replies, shutting the door. The cab speeds off and we just watch it go.

"What's wrong with him?" John asks me.

"I wish I knew." I reply, "Truly, I wish I knew."

A few moments later, another cab passes by and we manage to flag it down. We climb in back and, as soon as we are on our way, I tell John about what just transpired between Sherlock and I. To be honest, I don't know if he's happy about the pregnancy or not. He seemed so distant just now, like his mind wasn't even on the same planet. I am use to him being cold and slipping away into the world of a case, but this; this is different.

"Sherlock had mentioned something about 'the end'." I say, looking down into my lap and twiddling my fingers, "What do you think that means?"

"Honestly, I couldn't say." John regretfully replies, "Since the trial ended, though, he has been acting a bit off lately, well more that usual."

"Do you think he's…scared?" I ask, timidly, "I mean, tonight was the first time he's ever said that he couldn't explain what was going on. He seems really shaken, John."

John sighs heavily and looks out the window; "There is just too much happening right now, what with this case, that article, not mention our new neighbors. God, I wonder if Sherlock's figured it out about them."

"What article?" I ask, looking at him with a furrowed brow, "What new neighbors?"

"I talked with Mycroft this morning," John explains, facing me, "he wanted to warn me, I guess, about these people who have moved to Baker Street in the past two months. None of them have anything in common, except for the fact that they are all trained assassins."

"Oh God," I say, taking in a sharp breath, "you don't think…Are they planning to…no, not Sherlock. They can't!"

"Fee, Fee, calm down." John comforts, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, "Sherlock is going to be fine. Mycroft just wanted to let us be aware of their presence in case something does happen."

"Well, of course something is going to happen." I point out, "I'm pretty sure assassins didn't just move near Sherlock for no reason. It's him, isn't it? It's Moriarty."

"I wouldn't be surprised," John breathes out, gazing back out the cab window. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat; this is too much to take right now. First the baby, then the kidnapping, and now this; God, it makes my stomach churn. Sometimes, I really wonder what the kind of life I've gotten myself into.

"Are we safe, John?" I ask, placing a hand on my stomach, "I mean, I know Sherlock will look out for us, but what if that's Moriarty's plan. He's made it clear before that he could and would use you and I to break Sherlock."

"Elfie, don't think like that." John says in a comforting way, "It's going to be alright, I know it. Besides, you've got more important things to worry about right now." We then look at one another; John gives me a friendly smile and I feel a tad better. He's right; I need to focus on this baby. That's the most important thing.

Just as we come up on Baker Street, John and I notice two dark figures standing near a lamppost and shaking hands. One is must be Sherlock; I'd recognize that coat anywhere. What is he doing? Who is that? Suddenly, there is a loud bang, almost like a gunshot:

Then another.

Then another.

The man standing across from Sherlock falls down causing my husband to immediately spin around and look for the source of the sound. I quickly grab John's arm in shock and he nods.

"Stop the cab!" John quickly demands and the cabbie obliges. He throws open the door and the both of us hurriedly climb out. "Sherlock!" John calls out when we near the consulting detective. He locks a gaze on us and just stands there like a statue: eyes wide, hands shaking, having trouble keeping balance. He's in shock, complete and utter shock. Not wasting another second, I go to him and wrap my arms around in a tight embrace. To my surprise, Sherlock holds me right back and nuzzles his head onto my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's alright. Your okay," I whisper, tangling my fingers in his curls, "Your fine. I'm here. There's nothing to apologize for, okay? Just relax." Sherlock doesn't say anything. He just keeps holding me close, but not too tight.

"I'm going to call an ambulance." John quickly says, taking command, "Fee, you take care of him." I give John a nod then turn my attention to the body lying a few feet away. There are three bullet holes in his chest. My stomach starts to churn and I quickly shut my eyes.

God, what is going on?

An ambulance and some police arrive shortly, but nobody we recognize. The three of us are standing off to the side and out of the way, waiting for the okay to go. Sherlock is watching the people at work intently. His fingers are twitching nervously and his eyes are darting about like they do when he's on a case, taking in every tiny detail.

"Are you okay?" I ask, but he just shakes his head dismissively.

"It was my fault," he says in a low voice,

"Sherlock, don't say that." John says, "You couldn't have known…"

"No, no, I mean that it was my fault the shots were fired." He goes on, "That man had saved from a car collision and then is killed moments later for no apparent reason. Someone was waiting for me to interact with him. The shooter was watching us."

Just then the stretcher with the man's body rolls by us as the paramedics load him into the parked ambulance: "That ... it's him." John quips, suddenly sounding very excited, "It's him: Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us."

"One of our new neighbors?" I ask and John gives me a nod.

"He died because I shook his hand." Sherlock says, looking straight ahead.

"What do you mean?" John asks

"He saved my life but he couldn't touch me." Sherlock explains, "Why?" He then stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and dashes toward our building. Confused and a bit bewildered, John and I quickly follow.

Once inside 221b, Sherlock tosses off his coat and scarf then gets to work on his laptop; "Four assassins living right on our doorstep." He says to no one in particular, "They didn't come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive. I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me-"

"The others kill them before they can get it." John finishes for him as he gazes out the window.

"But what do they want?" I say, adding in my two cents. I stand beside Sherlock and look at the computer screen. He takes his gaze away from the screen for a moment and turns to me in surprise. "Problem?" I ask.

"You should get to bed." He says rather matter of factly, but I know exactly what he means: He doesn't want me apart of this.

"No, you're not cutting me out of this," I say, getting defensive, "I am as much apart of this as you and John. If you are going to start to solve this mystery, then I want to help. It's my responsibility to help you; I'm your wife."

"Which is why I'm saying you should go get some sleep," Sherlock presses, "you have been on your feet for far too long today and you need to keep your energy up."

"Sherlock, I'm fine. Please don't shut me out of this."

"I'm not shutting you out, I'm trying to protect you. It's my responsibility to care for you as husband…and as a father."

I open my mouth to reply, but the look in his eyes stops me. Behind those sea foam orbs, I can see the genuine love and concern of his statement. It's right now that I realize how he truly feels about this pregnancy. He recognizes the responsibility he now has. He truly cares.

Sherlock turns his body toward me fully and gently pulls me in close my waist; "I wasn't completely straight with you earlier and I do apologize for that," he says, gently rubbing his hand on my stomach, "Words can't fully explain how I feel about this baby, but I promise you right now that I will be the best father that I can be. I love you, Elfie Marie and I will love our child as well." He pauses for a moment and takes my hands into his own; "But you must trust me, right now." He goes on, looking determinedly into my eyes, "I'm not shutting you out. I'm only doing what is best for you…for the both of you." Sherlock's gaze turns to my stomach and he places a soft kiss just above my belly button.

I can't help but blush and allow my eyes to fill up with tears; "Damn it, Sherlock," I tease, drying my eyes, "You made me cry."

He chuckles and looks back up to lock his eyes with my own. We lean in and exchange a deep kiss. For this moment, there is no trouble. Deep down, I wish that life could stay like this, but I know that could never happen. There's never a dull moment with Sherlock Holmes, especially when there are mysteries such as these.

"Now, go lay down." He whispers when our lips part.

"I'm sleeping on the couch," I say, "If I have to rest and let you two have all the fun, I'm at least going to stay in the same room as you guys."

Sherlock smiles and kisses my knuckles before turning back to his computer. I quickly head to the bedroom and change into my pajamas. As soon as I dawn my grey sweat pants and tank top, the exhaustion finally hits me. Maybe I am pushing it? Grabbing an extra blanket off the bed, I head back into the living room and take my spot on the couch.

"So what have you got that's so important?" John asks, still standing guard at the window.

"Is it possible that these people don't want something, but rather just you?" I inquire, adjusting the Union Jack pillow under my head, "No offense, love, but a lot of criminals want to see you come to harm."

Sherlock looks up from his computer and stares into space for a moment. Then there's a small spark in his eye; Ah! He's just thought of something.

"We need to ask about the dusting." He says with a small smirk on his face.

Within moments, Sherlock has sprinted down to Mrs. Hudson's flat and brings our befuddled landlady up to our living room; "What on Earth do you need at this hour, young man?" she asks in her motherly way. She then notices me on the couch and gives me a small smile; "Feeling better, dear?" she asks.

"Yes, very much so now that I know what it is." I reply.

"Oh! So you are pregnant? Isn't that exciting!" she coos, "I'm so proud of the both of you. I always knew that you'd be a father one day, Sherlock. I had the feeling you'd…"

"The dusting, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock quickly demands as he rushes about the living room, "Precise details: in the last week, what's been cleaned?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino..." Mrs. Hudson begins, taking a moment to think.

"No, in here, this room." Sherlock presses, "This is where we'll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust. Dust is eloquent."

"What's he on about?" Mrs. Hudson whispers to John, who has moved from the window and is now standing near the doorway. He looks more stressed out then Sherlock does, to be honest. I've never really seen that look from him before.

"What exactly are you looking for?" I ask, propping myself up on my elbow.

"Cameras." Sherlock replies as he checks over the fireplace, "We're being watched."

"What? Cameras?" Mrs. Hudson cringes, "Here? I'm in my nightie!"

I let out a small chuckle; She has a valid point.

Just then the front door doorbell rings and Mrs. Hudson quickly goes downstairs to answer it with John close behind. I turn my attention back to Sherlock, now climbing over our furniture as if it were playground equipment.

"Do you want me to help?" I ask, feeling a bit useless just lying here.

"No, no, darling, I've got it." Sherlock replies, reaching up to the top of the bookshelf, "I've…got…it." He slowly pushes one of the books aside and extends his lengthy arm up to grab something. I sit up fully and watch as Sherlock may have quiet possibly found what he was looking for.

"Did you get it?" I ask,

"No, Inspector." He replies. I furrow my brow in confusion but then I realize that he's not addressing me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lestrade enter the room. He looks so stressed and upset; is there bad news? God, I hope it's not the kids.

"What?" the inspector asks my husband who has finished grabbing his treasure from behind the books.

"The answer's no." Sherlock say, studying the tiny camera he has pressed between his fingers.

"But you haven't heard the question!" Lestrade counter points

"You want to take me to the station." Sherlock states, "Just saving you the trouble of asking."

Station? Wait, why would Lestrade take Sherlock to the Yard?

"Sherlock..." the detective inspector sighs,

"The scream?" Sherlock inquires, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head, that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home…" Sherlock then reaches forward and briefly places his index finger on Lestrade's forehead "...there."

I look at the two men in complete wonderment: "No! You're kidding, right, Greg?" I ask, with a nervous chuckle, "Sherlock kidnapped those two!? That's ridiculous! He was with me all day until you came by. Why would he do such a thing?"

"Will you come?" Lestrade asks, ignoring me completely and trying to not show how disappointed he really is to be doing this.

Sherlock just gives him a look, then turns his attention to his laptop; "One photograph – that's his next move." He says, plugging the tiny camera into his computer, "Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch. It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play." He then looks back and Lestrade, "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan." He finishes with a smart alack attitude.

Lestrade sighs heavily then exchanges a sad look with John, who has been hiding out in the doorway. Seriously, why is he being so quiet? Lestrade then turns to me and gives me a respectful nod before descending the stairs.

"They'll be deciding." Sherlock says once the three of us are alone.

"Deciding?" John asks

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me." He replies, rather bluntly.

"You think?"

"Standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him. People will think..."

"I don't care what people think."

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong." John challenges

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong." Sherlock sasses back.
I watch as John angrily returns to his spot by the window. He gives a look as he walks by as if to subconsciously ask me if I believed this. I just look right back at him: No, John, of course not.

"Sherlock," I say, "do you really…I mean, it just doesn't make sense. Why would Lestrade think you a suspect?"

"As I stated before, it's all apart of Moriarty's plan." Sherlock explains, "Doubt is contagious, my darling. Moriarty placed doubt in Donovan's mind, which was perfect ammunition for her constant disliking of me, and that doubt spread. He wants it to keep spreading until my reputation is completely ruined." Sherlock then lift his head for a moment to lock eyes with me: "You don't believe it do you?" he asks.

"No, God no." I reply, "I would never doubt you, Sherlock. You know that."

He gives me a small smile and a nod. He then turns his attention to John, who has once again become silent. "You're quiet, Dr. Watson." Sherlock presses, returning to his laptop, "You know that I value your opinion, so please share it."

"Sherlock," John pipes in, sounding very upset, "I don't want the world believing you're..." He quickly stops himself and shakes his head as if the words are too hard for him to say.

"That I am what?" Sherlock presses

"A fraud." He replies with some struggle.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair: "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No I'm not." John grumbles, looking out the window again. Sherlock gives off an annoyed sigh and clenches his fists. It is true; he doesn't care about what the world says about him. But John; John's opinion matters the most. I may be Sherlock Holmes' wife, but I am nowhere near to being his John Watson.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too." Sherlock hisses, "Can't you see what's going on?" His sudden shouting and slamming of his hands on his desk causes me to jump slightly. John looks at him for a few seconds, and then looks out of the window again.

"No, I know you're for real." He says

"A hundred percent?" Sherlock asks, returning to his computer

"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time." John says, turning back to him. The two friends look at one another and all is forgiven, just like it always is.

I will never understand it, but they are the perfect friendship.

"Elfie," Sherlock says, rising from his desk and walking over to me.

"Yes?" I ask, straitening up, "What do you need?"

He gives me a small smile and sits down beside me. "I need you to just be near me," he whispers, putting an arm around my shoulder, "Please?"

I smile and cuddle up as close to him as possible as I can. Sherlock wraps his arms around me in a comforting hold and places a kiss on the top of my head: "Whatever happens," he whispers, "I promise you this: You and our child are going to be protected. I won't let anything happen to you; I love you."

"I love you too," I whisper back, finally letting exhaustion take over, "and I believe in you, no matter what they say."

"I know you do," Sherlock sighs, "I know."

And so the craziness begins…

So I really didn't know where to end this chapter so if it seems a bit ramble-y, I'm sorry. I wanted to get this posted before I had to go into work. Thanks as always for the reviews, favorites and follows. They brighten my day.

Oh, and I put one of those poll things on my profile because I had never done one before and I thought "Eh, why not?" It concerns Elfie and Sherlock's wedding (or Elflock as some of you have come to call it*wink wink*). Since I don't really have any more stories to put in "The Pleasure is Mine, Mr. Holmes" I wondered about putting in the wedding. Or maybe it would be a stand alone…I don't know. It would be super short and just harmless fluff, but let me know if you guys want to read it.

I don't own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks