Author's Note:

Third fight for them. With unexpected results. Thank you for all the reviews!

Sherlock's voice made John relax slightly. Nervous. Sherlock was... being cautious. With good reason. John was snappy, tense, and wasn't really telling his fiancé why. "Sorry," he whispered as he moved back to the couch with the bag, setting it on the coffee table gently before meeting Sherlock's lips in a tender kiss. "I'm just stressed. You're fine." He smiled softly and turned to open the food, giving Sherlock his carry-out tray and a plastic fork. He dug into his Chicken Alfredo without a second thought.

Stressed would be an understatement, but Sherlock kept that to himself. He hadn't been very hungry to begin with and now even less so with it in front of him. He wasn't sure what he had ordered, because he had told Angelo to just fix him a random appetizer of the restaurant owner's choosing. It appeared to be fried calamari. He ate a few pieces and then glanced over to John. Maybe if he changed the subject. "I have a surprise for you. Well, sort of. I talked it over with Mum and she loves the idea. Mycroft said it was 'cute.'" He rolled his eyes at the recollection. "It's about what song to dance to at the wedding, since my mother insists upon it. You said you liked my violin songs and I like mostly classical anyway…" He trailed off for a moment "…I wrote a song and had it recorded. A simple piece really. If my feet weren't so tore up, I would teach you to dance while you were home but I guess it can wait until you are home for good. If that's okay with you, of course?" Being timid wasn't Sherlock's style by any means but he wasn't sure how John would react at all and he wanted to avoid another fight if at possible.

John swallowed his large mouthful of food and turned to Sherlock, blue eyes wide and his lips curled slightly at the end. Who knew that Sherlock Holmes could be so bloody adorable? He pushed down the fear of dancing, especially in front of people, and just stared at his fiancé in awe. "T-That's fine." He dropped his fork for a moment and ran a hand through his hair. "Perfect, actually. Amazing." He chuckled and leaned forward to place a kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "I'm not a very good dancer, though. Two left feet." He grinned and pushed his food aside and meet Sherlock's lips eagerly, pulling away the moment he realized the other man tasted like calamari. His tongue hung out of his open mouth as he shook his head. "Ah, gross," he whispered, opening one eye. "Never again. Gross."

"Well, I can teach you. I only know how to ball room dance but the piece I wrote has the same tempo, so it should still be doable." Sherlock finished with a shrug of his shoulders. He couldn't help but smirk at John's reaction after getting kissed on the lips. "I take it you aren't a fan of octopus? It isn't bad, a bit chewy but I still enjoy it." At least his fiancé seemed to be in a better mood, which had been his goal in the first place.

"Disgusting," John muttered, taking a large and messy bite of his own meal to get rid of the taste. "Why would you ever consider putting something like that in your mouth?" He glanced at Sherlock and licked his lips with a small shrug. "As for the dancing," he muted the telly, "I literally cannot dance. You can teach me multiple times and I will still step on your feet." He stood up and moved to the fridge, opening it and smiling when he discovered beer. Mrs. Hudson was a saint. "I guess I'll just make you look really good during the dance." He opened it and took several long gulps as he fell back on the couch beside Sherlock.

"You know, the taste of food has never really registered. I only eat because it's necessary, but really I'll eat anything." Sherlock gave another small shrug. "Dancing isn't hard. I could go into all the technical details now but it is pretty boring stuff. It will just be easier to show you then try to explain it." He ate a few more pieces of food, before setting the carry-out box aside. He had at least gotten through a little over half of the calamari.

John glanced over at Sherlock with a small chuckle. "You are trying to tell me you can't taste that?" He pointed an accusing finger at Sherlock's food. It was bloody octopus. "Well, with that new information, any input on what I should make for dinner? I was thinking some Turkey. Mrs. Hudson even got Sarah some nice tea. Probably to sooth her stomach." Because his child was restless. A month away from being brought into the world. Without him. He tensed and grabbed his food, taking several large bites before finishing his beer.

Yet another shrug was given. "The texture is weird but the taste is fine." Sherlock thought a moment regarding dinner. "I don't know. Don't women get weird cravings when pregnant? Like pickles and ice cream?" He had read that in one of his books. Really, he didn't want to partake in the dinner. Maybe he could use his sore feet as an excuse to turn in early and after eating once today already he wouldn't be hungry later anyway.

John had to bite his lip at Sherlock's statement. "I know they do but I really don't know what her weird eating habits are. I haven't exactly been here." He relaxed against Sherlock's side. Guilt flooded his system. He should be there for his child and her mother and here he was fighting a war and marrying a bloke. He surely wouldn't win father of the year. "Have you asked her about what she likes to eat?"

"What? No, why would I?" Sherlock was honestly confused on why he should have asked such a question. John had asked him to be civil, and in his own mind he had been. He would politely listen while she talked about things he mostly didn't care about and would say something in turn when the conversation would dictate to do so. He even did ridiculous things like talk to the baby and feel it kick when it was activate. He still didn't understand why people did those things, and even the books he was reading didn't really explain it. He supposed it was one of those ordinary things he had just failed to grasp.

"I don't know, I just figured it might have come up in one of your conversations. Turkey should be good, I think. All we have." John looked up at his fiancé and crinkled his nose slightly. "I'm so excited to feel her move," he whispered with some awe. "I think you might need to talk if she really likes your voice." He gently kissed Sherlock's cheek, a hand moving to run lightly up and down Sherlock's arm.

Well, there went his idea for trying to avoid the dinner. Or maybe he could just stick around for a little bit and then go to his room to be alone. Sherlock shoved the disparaging thoughts aside and tried to focus on something else. He suddenly remembered the experiments at the office and how they would all be ruined from not being checked up upon in the correct time frame. He would just have to do them all over again he supposed.

The silence from his current pillow made John shift uncomfortably. "You're upset," he muttered. It was difficult to read Sherlock but his resounding lack of communication was a clear signal that he was upset. "Do you not want her to come over? Is that why you've stopped talking?"

Being spoken to jolted Sherlock out of his thoughts and he turned to look at his fiancé. "Oh. Sorry. I just remembered all my experiments at the office are ruined and I'll have to redo them." It was mostly the truth. Maybe John wouldn't notice that he hadn't answered the first question at all.

John bit his bottom lip and frowned. The thought of pulling away from Sherlock was strong and moved to do so until he realized he didn't want to start another fight. "Right," he replied as he closed his eyes. Not even worth talking to him anymore. It was pointless if Sherlock wouldn't answer his questions or even pay attention. "I guess you don't have to be here tonight if you don't want to. I can always help you to bed."

At times Sherlock could be a selfish child and now was definitely one of those times. "Yes, that would probably be for the best." He gave a slight nod after speaking. Even now, the thought of John and Sarah sharing company in the same room bothered him. He didn't want to be there first hand to have to witness it. All it would do is feed his jealous rage.

"Fine," John snapped back. He wanted Sherlock there. It was an important moment in his life. Why couldn't his fiancé suck it up and be there to witness it? He gave an agitated sigh and pulled away from Sherlock to grab their meals. "She should be here in about two hours," he whispered as he moved into the kitchen. "So I guess you can run off and hide."

"Would you rather I lie to you, like you did during that Skype call?" It was a low blow, and Sherlock knew it. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. This was just going to start another fight. It was all they seemed to do since John got home. He hated it. Things should be happy and perfect but it just never worked out that way. He supposed he was to blame for that mostly. If anyone deserved someone better it was his fiancé. Great, now he was the one having second thoughts. He closed his eyes tightly as if that would block out his thoughts.

John froze, his back to Sherlock as he crushed the carry-out boxes in his hands. So many words wanted to pour out of his mouth and after a long moment he threw the food on the ground, whipping around to face his fiancé. "That was different and you know it," he stated through clinched teeth, a finger pointed at Sherlock. "I didn't want to worry you!"

The response could have been worse, Sherlock supposed. His eyes remained stubbornly closed. He couldn't look at John right now. It wasn't like he could go anywhere either, to escape. He didn't want to continue this fight. He muttered an apology, stretched out on the couch and flipped over so his back was to his fiancé. It was reminiscent of the day he had told John he had used all his jam for an experiment and the other man had gone to the store only to be shot. His fault. Everything was always his fault. He just couldn't get anything right, no matter how hard he tried. He should have stayed alone, protected.

Of course. Sherlock would completely ignore the situation. "Fuck you," he whispered as he yanked his Army coat from the rack and roughly pulled it over his shoulders. "I'm going out. I need some air." The door squeaked on its hinges as he ripped it open, stomping his feet on every stair as he left. The final door to the flat slammed as he made his way on to the street.

Yep, just kept making things worse. Damn it. Sherlock didn't want a repeat of the last fight. He rolled off the couch and ignored the pain that flooded his senses as he walked to the stairs. He descended them slower than he would like, but the throbbing sensation prevented any real speed. He gripped the railing tightly for support and managed to make it to the bottom without stumbling. He shoved the front door open roughly and looked around to see if John was still in the area. Hamish came out of nowhere and jumped on his shoulder. It drove the consulting detective to his knees, because he wasn't ready for the extra weight and his feet couldn't handle the pressure anymore.

Sarah had been planning on surprising Sherlock and John a few hours early. Mostly because she was exhausted and ready for bed. She wasn't sure if she could make it to dinner. As she approached the flat she noticed Sherlock and picked up her speed the best she could, one hand resting protectively over her stomach while the other rested on her lower back. "Sherlock! Are you alright?" She looked down at him worriedly.

Great. Sherlock had come out here looking for John and instead Sarah was in front of him. "I'm fine, I just dropped something." He lied without even bother to look at her, pretending instead to study the pavement from some lost object or other. "John isn't here. You just missed him." He didn't want to get up and have to show his weakness to the woman in by him.

Sarah bit her bottom lip and pulled some hair behind her ear. "Oh." She glanced into the flat. "Do you mind if I come in?" The hand on her stomach moved slightly and she winced. "I'm a bit tired. I just need to rest." When she realized that Sherlock had yet to actually stand up she took a step closer to him. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yep. Go ahead inside and I'll be up in a minute." Now Sherlock would be forced to spend time with Sarah. The thought definitely didn't help to improve his already sour mood. He continued to stare at the concrete below him. Hamish meowed loudly in his ear. "Not now," he growled at the cat. It bit his ear in response. He rolled his eyes at the cat and was half tempted to pick the animal up and throw it out into oncoming traffic. It would be better than shoving Sarah into it. He sighed at his suddenly dark thoughts.

Sarah gave Sherlock one last look before brushing past him and heading slowly up the stairs. The moment she got into the flat she moved to sit in John's chair, both hands on her stomach and her eyes closed tightly. She had considered asking Sherlock if being this uncomfortable a month from birth was normal. He was a genius, he would probably know. Except his icy disposition was giving her second thoughts and she settled on toughing it out. Amy would be in her arms in a month and it would be worth it. She waited patiently for Sherlock to come upstairs.

Sherlock stood up once Sarah was up the stairs. He had to remove Hamish from his shoulder, so weight wouldn't be distributed awkwardly on his feet. It wouldn't matter usually, but he could feel his feet bleeding again. He had reopened the wounds. He made his way up as carefully as he could and then forced himself the rest of the way to the couch, even though he really just wanted to drop to the floor once inside the door. Be civil, something Sherlock always reminded himself of when with Sarah. "Is everything all right?" She had come early and he wasn't sure why. "Is everything okay with little Sandi?" The hands on her stomach hadn't been missed. His cell phone was still on the couch. Did John have his? He sent a text.

Sarah is here. You should come back. - SH

He hesitated then sent another text.

I'm sorry. -SH

"I told John you were here. Perhaps he will be home soon."

John pulled his phone slowly out of his pocket, downing his third shot since arriving at the pub. He should have opened the text but Sherlock's name stopped him instantly and he shoved the phone in his pocket as he started on his first beer.

Sarah opened her eyes slightly, taking a deep breath and nodding. "She is fine, I think. Been moving a lot. It's..." she let out a small shout of pain and laughed slightly. Sherlock's voice. Even across the room Amy could hear it. "Just hurts a bit right now." She blew a loud breath from her mouth. John. Maybe he would know. Hell, she should know too. They were both doctors, but she couldn't find any medical reason for the pain. "Where did John go?"

Alarmed, Sherlock studied Sarah carefully. John had already lost a baby once, and he could only imagine what it would do to his fiancé a second time especially so close to the due date. "We should get you to the hospital and have you checked out." While relying on instincts wasn't his thing he knew motherly instincts were usually uncannily accurate. If Sarah thought something was wrong there probably was. "John went out. I'll text him we are at the hospital instead. Come on." Despite his aching, bleeding feet he stood up, hobbled to his room and forced shoes on his feet. He sent a text to Mycroft.

Please locate John. Taking Sarah to the hospital. Possible complications with the baby. -SH

Sherlock was worried. Genuinely worried. Sarah knew that the only reason he met with her on a biweekly basis was to appease John. He didn't talk much and listened to her with a far off look in his eyes. She did appreciate it though. Meeting with him was nice. It was like having somebody there, a bit like a normal pregnancy. Another cramp to her stomach and she decided Sherlock was probably right. She stood slowly and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "Calm down, Amy," she whispered as she ran a hand in small circles over her stomach. "Shhh, calm down." The pain seemed to subside a bit and she let out a sigh of relief, glancing back toward Sherlock's room.

Drunk. Pub down the street. Probably don't want him at the hospital in this state. -MH

Despite the text Mycroft had parked his car outside the pub just in case. John had managed to down another three shots and finish two beers by the time he had received Sherlock's text.

Drunk at the pub when he was supposed to be making dinner in couple hours? Well, obviously John wouldn't be now but Sherlock seriously didn't understand some of the choices his fiancé made sometimes. He vented his frustration to his brother through another text message.

Fucking great. Just keep an eye on him then. I'll keep you updated. –SH

Having shoes on made the pain worse, despite the pills he had taken earlier. He hobbled out of his room managing not to grimace at the torture he was putting his feet through. He let Sarah go first and then followed her down the stairs carefully. He wasn't surprised there was a black car waiting for them outside the flat. How many cars did his brother have with drivers willing to go wherever? Whatever. Now was not the time to worry about such things. As Sherlock slid in the car, he eyed Sarah worriedly. "How are you feeling?"

Sarah couldn't help it and the moment Sherlock sat down she leaned against Sherlock. "Nervous," she replied, a hand darting out and tightly gripping Sherlock's thigh. Pain shot through her again and she failed to stifle a gasp. It was getting worse. At least when she had walked to the flat she had been able to stand and hide the pain. Now she wasn't sure she was going to be able to stand up.

Hospital room and doctor waiting for Sarah. Thank you. -MH

"Sherlock, I'm scared," her voice was shaky and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

Usually, Sherlock would brush someone off from physical contact like that but he suffered through another discomfort as Sarah clung to him. He even attempted to comfort her, by placing his hand on top hers. With his other hand he pulled out his cell to read the text from his brother and sent one back using only his thumb to type but still did so in a quick fashion.

Doesn't look good. She is in a lot of pain. –SH

"Everything will be fine," he told her. Even now though, he was going through every book he had read about women, pregnancy and babies. Sherlock had read enough books on the subject he could probably write his own book on the material. As the car came to a stop, he helped Sarah out and into the waiting wheel chair. "I think she may have preeclampsia," he told the doctor. Something that would need to be attended to immediately. If untreated it could kill both the mother and child. If he was right, they would have to induce labor or do a C-section to get the baby out. It would be the only way to save both, assuming either could be saved. Maybe he was wrong. He hoped he was, after all he wasn't a doctor. He could really use a cigarette but instead he slumped into a hospital chair in the waiting room.