We need to talk. Would you just phone me back? Now.

John

Sherlock looked at the text and rolled his eyes as he saw it. Another body had been discovered and he was at the crime scene as the multiple texts and phone calls came flooding through from his flatmate. Considering he had yet to tell him what was important, Sherlock could not be particularly bothered to find out. He continued to do his examination on the body, finding out that the man was a lecturer and his body had been strategically placed down on the bank of the Thames.

"Sherlock," Lestrade suddenly broke into the consulting detective's thoughts. "John just phoned me...he says if you don't call him back in the next ten minutes then he is personally going to see to it that you die before some criminal can kill you...or something along those lines..."

"You need to be in touch with the school he taught at...it is likely his body was dragged from there. He still has pen marks on his hands and chalk remains on his shirt," Sherlock told Lestrade, standing up straight and removing the plastic gloves from his hands as he did so.

"How did you know that?" Lestrade asked. "He could have gone home from work and then been brought here?"

"I suggest you take my word as law," Sherlock told him. "It appears I should phone John before he decides to murder me."

Sherlock walked down the bank, his hands finding his phone in his grey coat pocket and then scrolling down to find John's number before calling it.

"About time," John snapped down the phone.

"I apologise if I am trying to find a notorious loan shark whilst you have some problem sorting out the oven which you class as important enough to bother me. Ask Scarlett for help, she should be home by now," Sherlock told him in a deep voice down the phone.

"Yes," John agreed. "She should be. However, she is currently stuck in the hospital."

"What?" Sherlock asked him. "What happened to her? Is she okay?"

"She was on her way home and one of the loan sharks henchmen managed to find her..." John spoke slowly, deliberating each word and wondering if he should be the one to tell Sherlock.

"What did he do to her?" Sherlock asked, dashing onto the main road, looking for a cab.

"He pushed her...she's fine Sherlock...well...she's okay..." John said and Sherlock didn't need him to say what had happened to her.

"She's lost the child," Sherlock stated.

"She's asking for you Sherlock," John simply replied.

"Tell her I'm on the way," Sherlock said and he hung up as he finally managed to find a cab. He knew which hospital to go to after being told she had been attacked on the way home so she would obviously have been taken to the local hospital. On the way there his mind was working overtime. He knew she would be distraught...but how did he feel? He never wanted a child. But he didn't want the child to be dead. He wasn't a heartless man.

...

Sherlock walked briskly through the corridors of the hospital, finally seeing John stood at the end of one, a coffee held in his hand as he took a sip of the drink and looked at his friend.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked.

"She's in the room at the end of the corridor. They gave her a room of her own...just...be careful with her Sherlock," John advised his friend who raised a brow at him.

"Well I wasn't intending on being brash," Sherlock replied.

"She's in bits Sherlock," John replied. "She hasn't stopped crying since they brought her in and told her. Even before they confirmed it she knew..."

"Of course she would know," Sherlock replied. "She's the mother."

Sherlock blinked a few times, repeating the previous sentence in his head. He had used the present tense. John nodded once before Sherlock began to walk down the corridor and then he saw her through the glass in her room. The blinds were slightly shut but he could see her faint outline. She was dressed in a blue hospital gown, her blonde curls were matted around her face and her eyes were visibly puffy and red. She was sat up, her hands moving through her hair as she sniffed loudly. Sherlock took one deep breath and then moved slowly into the room. The two of them remained silent, looking into each other's eyes. Sherlock had no idea what to say to her. Scarlett simply remained looking at him until she managed to croak out his name;

"Sherlock."

"It's okay," Sherlock promised her, walking over to the bed and dropping down to sit on the edge of it. "I'm here..."

"I...I just fell...I didn't..." she began to sob and Sherlock placed his hand onto the back of her head and pushed her face under his chin, tucking her head under his chin as she grabbed onto the sides of his coat and sobbed hard, her body shaking as Sherlock allowed his lips to drop onto the top of her head.

"It's okay," he told her again. "This is not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"Yes it is," she sniffed, moving her head from Sherlock and looking into his eyes before her hands laced together and she looked down onto them. "She was in me Sherlock...and I couldn't even look after her...no...it was a she Sherlock...a little baby girl...our baby...and now..."

"I know," Sherlock told her. "But this isn't your fault Scarlett. None of this is your fault. It was an accident...and...and I know you're hurting...but you did not cause this."

"I...I don't...Sherlock...I'm sorry..." she blurted out and Sherlock rested a slim finger under her chin and made her look up at him.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Sherlock said sternly. "You're safe and here...and you did all that you could...so don't you dare apologise to me for any of this. And you don't apologise to anyone about this."

"What do I do Sherlock?" she asked him pushing her hair from her face. "I don't know what to do now...I feel lost...and cold..."

"I don't know Scarlett," Sherlock told her. "I don't know."

...

Time ticked on in the night and neither Sherlock or Scarlett said anything. John made his leave and told them he had to go and see Sarah, not knowing what else to say to them. Sherlock had made himself at home in the room, pushing off his grey coat and scarf and then laying down on the bed with Scarlett, her head resting on his chest beside her hand as his hand played with her long blonde hair and his other hand held onto hers which was resting on his chest. Slowly, he heard her breathing shallow and he knew she was sleeping peacefully for the time being. But Sherlock couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep. What he really wanted was to go back out and crack on with his case, taking his mind off from Scarlett and his unborn daughter. His daughter. Sherlock gulped at the thought of it and noted a figure which was stood in the corridor. Irene Adler. Sherlock looked over at her and down to his sleeping girlfriend who he knew he should be putting first. Slowly he began to move from her weight and he rested her onto the pillow, pushing her hair from her face as she continued to sleep.

"Goodnight Scarlett," Sherlock whispered and placed his lips onto her forehead before silently slipping into his coat and picking his scarf up and then he moved from the room. He looked back at the sleeping Scarlett through the glass and then continued to follow Irene Adler down the corridor and to the outside world.