A/N: Greetings fellow humans! Well, I'm sure I've given everyone ample time to vote and you have spoken!

*Drumroll*

And you have chosen…

Well, you'll see at the end. Enjoy ;)

P.S. This is un-betaed and finished at 2 o'clock in the morning so I apologise for any mistakes.

A Gift and A Curse

Chapter 20

The Birth

28 Weeks (7 Months)

Weeks had passed since what Jane had come to refer as Sherlock's almost-but-not-quite-emotional-breakdown and he still hadn't told her what was wrong. She had used almost every method in the book to try and persuade him to tell her.

She'd attempted to use emotional blackmail, delving into some of her more disturbing memories buried deep down. He had only held her tightly and allowed her to pour her heart out and at some point tears had even trickled down his face.

She'd tried blackmail by saying that she'd post the picture of him wearing nothing but the deerstalker (to cut a long story short, she had initially laid on their bed stark naked, waiting for him to join her in bed wearing on the deerstalker. When he had finally joined her, he had undressed with a smirk and taken the cap off her head and placed it on his. Funnily enough her phone had been quite close to hand…) on his website. That elicited a disbelieving snort but no action was taken.

She had attempted to bribe him by promising sexual favours…which, out of all her plans had won the award for the quickest failing as they had ended up having sex, anyway. Finally, her patience broke and she confronted him.

He had looked at her with a wide eyed, innocent stare that at any other time would've made her heart melt but at that point, it just filled her with uncontrollable anger. That night had ended in a blazing row with Sherlock walking out. She didn't remember him coming back that night but the next morning she had awoken to gentle kisses on her cheek bone and tears running down the side of her face but Jane hadn't been the one who was crying.

So, she had begrudgingly left it alone. Sherlock, however, decided that he couldn't leave her alone. Everywhere she went; he followed. Every time she went downstairs to Speedy's he hovered behind her. Every time she went for a bath or a lie down, he joined her not to mention that solitary strolls were out of the question.

She wouldn't have minded if it weren't for the feeling that he was only doing out of duty; there was never any warmth in the way he held her or any enthusiasm in the way they conversed or affection in the way they held hands. It was as if she was living with the shadow of the man she once knew and it disturbed her.

The only time she got any time she got to herself was when Sherlock either went out to visit Lestrade or his brother, which was becoming more and more frequent. But even then, Mrs. Hudson would 'pop upstairs for a cup of tea and a chat, just to see how she was getting on'.

That morning she was woken up by two things; the first had been a searing, agonising pain that forced the air from her lungs and the second had been Sherlock shouting obscenities from downstairs. She had glanced at the clock she hadn't been surprised to notice that it was already one o'clock in the afternoon. Her late risings were becoming more and more frequent and the days of early dawn risings seemed to be but a distant memory.

She bit her lip to suppress the scream that threatened to tear from her throat as she struggled to get up. Elbows first, one hand up next, then the other, swing legs off the bed and done. No matter how many times she followed the sequence, it never got any easier, if anything it was becoming more and more difficult by the day.

Through half closed eyes she tried to slip her feet into her slippers and sighed heavily when she realised her feet had become too swollen for her even to slip her slippers on.

With one long sigh, she heaved herself up from the bed and (un)steadily to her feet. A moment of nausea washed over her and she reached out to the wall for support. After some deep breathes the feeling finally passed and she felt strong enough to begin her long waddle down the stairs.

By the time she had reached the bottom of the stairs she was panting frantically and clung onto the doorframe for support. Sherlock hadn't seemed to notice her as he leant over the desk, phone resting on his shoulder whilst he scribbled something down on a notepad.

"Sherlock." She said breathlessly, drawing his attention to her.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide and in one swift movement let the phone drop from his shoulder to his hand, cutting off whoever he was speaking to and stuffed the note into his pocket.

"Are you alright?" Not waiting for an answer, he moved over to her side wrapping one arm around her waist and held her hand.

They walked together into the living room and he gently lowered her into her chair. Without another word, he dropped to his knees, pulled a tub of Nivea cream from somewhere and began to gently massage her feet. There was no emotion in it, just a grudging obligation...

Jane put her head against the chair and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pain and concentrate on the gentle soothing motion of his fingers on her painfully swollen arches.

"You know you're quite good at this." She said, trying to stretch but wincing as pain shot up her spine.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her as his dexterous fingers moved up to her ankle. "Is it your back again? That's been hurting you for over forty-eight hours now, should we go to a Doctor?"

Irritation flared up; how many times had he asked her that? Didn't he trust her judgement? Jane bit her tongue from saying something spiteful and instead said through gritted teeth;

"Sherlock, I am a Doctor. It's all perfectly normal."

"But you're in pain." He emphasised the word by digging in the tips of his fingers into her ankle.

"Just…get me some painkillers, please?" Jane sighed, as she pulled her ankle away from Sherlock's grip. She winced as she tried to move her ankle in a gentle circular motion, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Sherlock got up with a quiet huff; the only thing signalling his displeasure was the slight tightening of the lines around his mouth. Jane closed her eyes, determined not to get upset with him again. They couldn't have another row again, not so soon after the last one.

Jane had assumed, almost naïvely that having a child would bring them closer together. She would admit that she hardly expected tender-loving moments but she hadn't envisioned the nights he would sleep on the sofa, the mornings they would give each other the cold shoulder and the heated discussions in the early hours of the morning.

In the truces between the days, they treated each other as if they strangers. Awkward silences descended between them and it would always take a lot of effort to break them. Perhaps Sherlock hadn't even realised he was doing it, after all, his eyes always seemed to empty and cold and…inhuman. It wasn't even as if his head had been in the arguments; he was distant; mentally detached to everything around him and that terrified Jane beyond measure.

She had lost him once; she didn't want to lose him again or to put it more accurately; she'd be damned if she was going to lose him again. The problem was, how could she bring him back?

Knuckles brushed gently against her cheek and Jane opened her eyes to see a glass of water and two tablets inches away from her face. She took them from him and popped the two in her mouth, gulping down the water. Sherlock moved from her side and back to the desk where he picked up the note.

"Was it Lestrade on the phone?" Jane said, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

Without looking at her, he answered; "Yes." Angling his head towards her, he then added; "I may I have to go out for a few hours…will you be alright?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Is it a case?"

"Of sorts…" He said, turning his head back to the notepad.

"One that you can't tell me about." She didn't bother to hide the distain in her voice.

Sherlock's shoulders visibly tensed and Jane felt a petty satisfaction that she'd somehow managed to get to him.

"It's a problem –"

"Is it the same problem you won't tell me about? The same problem that is ruining…us."

"Jane, please don't –"

"Why can't you tell me? What is that terrible that you can't tell me? Something or someone is taking you away from m-us. Please just tell me something." Jane pleaded.

But, Sherlock remained stoic; he stilled and for a moment Jane thought she just might have won him over but to no avail. Sherlock just stuffed the note into his pocket and turned around.

That was when Jane knew she hadn't won; he had withdrawn himself again. There was no way he was coming back any time soon. Jane bitterly wondered if she would ever win. Somehow she didn't think it was likely.

"I'm going to be gone for a while, if there's anything you need ring me. My phone won't leave my side." He moved forward and bent down to kiss her cheek but Jane turned her head away.

The movement was only slight but it spoke volumes and the message was loud and clear. Sherlock remained still for a few moments and Jane felt his warm breath against her ear but then it was gone. Seconds later, he was gone.

Jane sat in her chair, trying to suppress the overwhelming guilt in her chest. She wanted to call out to him, tell him to come back and apologise and hug him and kiss him but she didn't and she knew she wouldn't. Whether it was her pride or just fear that stopped her she wasn't sure but whatever it was it still hurt, coupled with the fact that her back felt as if it was on fire it did not take long until the inevitable happened.

A sob tore from her chest just as she took a deep breath, very quickly followed by a flood of tears. She knew pregnancy made her hormonal but this was fucking ridiculous. But she just couldn't stop. So, she cried quietly into her chest, supressing sobs to shudders in the hopes that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't decide to 'pop in' again.

Twenty minutes wasn't a bad time her Jane to finally reign in her emotions but it did take an extra ten minutes for her to make sure that any more tears weren't going to fall. Just ten minutes after that she heard the familiar sound of soft footsteps on the stairs.

"Jane? Jane, love? Are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson softly asked.

"Yeah…" Jane replied sadly. "I'm fine. I could use with some company?"

Upon saying those magic words, Mrs. Hudson appeared into view carrying a tray of biscuits and two steaming cup of tea, along with a hot water bottle. Mrs. Hudson set the tray down and picked up the hot water bottle and handed it to Jane with a wink.

"Backache. Trust me, I'll do wonders."

Jane took the hot water bottle and placed it at the base of her spin, groaning in relief at the heat against her pain. She was immensely thankful for Mrs. Hudson's insightful knowledge, not to mention her mother-like compassion.

Smiling quietly to herself, Mrs. Hudson sat down opposite Jane in Sherlock's chair, cradling the cup of tea to her lips.

"Jane?" She said tenderly. "What's going on?"

Jane picked up her own cup of tea and looked down at the liquid fondly. "I wish I knew. I've tried talking to him, I've tried talking to those around him, I've tried shouting, demanding, crying, begging but nothing will make him budge. Do you know what's wrong?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head disparagingly. "I wish I did, sweetheart. I wondered whether it was a reaction to…well…you." She indicated Jane's stomach. "He's just not right lately, I'm just glad he's confiding in someone – he's got that Detective Inspector and his brother -"

"Yes but he's not confiding in me." Jane snapped, she paled immediately but Mrs. Hudson remained unfazed. Jane turned her head away, took a few deep breathes and when she finally regained her composure, look back to Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just…" Jane bit her lip, "I'm worried about him and admittedly about…us. All three of us."

Just as Mrs. Hudson was about to speak her house phone rang from downstairs, she put the cup down and rose swiftly. "I'll be back in a minute, hold on!" For a woman in the middle of her seventies, Mrs. Hudson could certainly be quick on her feet when she wanted to be.

Jane sipped her tea quietly. The hot water bottle took some pressure off her back and the painkillers were starting to kick in but the pain was still pretty bad. Jane wondered if Sherlock had been right to question her judgement; perhaps she should see another Doctor.

However, the idea was quickly dispelled from her mind when Mrs. Hudson came back up the stairs, in floods of tears. Ignoring the pain in her back, Jane stood up.

"What is it? What's the matter? What's wrong?"

Mrs. Hudson wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. It was a call from a hospital, my sister has had an accident… she's been rushed her into hospital and say they have to operate on her."

"Oh God…do you know what's wrong?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "I think she said it was a car accident but I'm not sure. The nurse said that I should go down because they're not sure of her –" By that point, Mrs. Hudson broke down in a flood of tears and Jane wrapped her arms around her.

"Okay, she'll be alright. If you need to be by her side then you go. I'll be fine here, honestly – ah, no! I am a grown woman; I can take care of myself for a few hours. Do you know how long – no, okay. Right well, this is what we're going to do. You're going to go downstairs and pack whilst I'll arrange for a taxi to take you to…?"

"Leicestershire." Mrs. Hudson managed to say. "But Jane, are you sure –"

"I'll be fine." Jane assured her. "You need to be by your sister's side."

Having convinced Mrs. Hudson to go to her sister, Jane spent the next hour helping her back and arranging transport for her to get there. Once they were done and a car was waiting outside for her, Mrs. Hudson kissed Jane on the cheek and hugged her tightly.

"Look after yourself, alright?"

"I will, I promise. And ring me about your sister. If you want any of us down there with you, don't hesitate to ring." Jane reassured her.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and got into the waiting car looking fragile. Fragile but resilient, Jane thought. Fragile but resilient.

With an even heavier heart than she did this morning, Jane made her back upstairs, into the bleak silence. It was the same kind of silence that had lingered in the house when Sherlock had…'died'. It was haunting in the way it consumed all those in it; quietly taunting them. Jane had managed a month in the silence, she hardly believe that Mrs. Hudson had lasted three years.

She had made it halfway up the stairs when the pain kicked in and did it really kick in. Jane doubled over on the stairs, her hands clasping onto the top step as she groaned loudly. It was agony, Jesus, even the lightest twitch sent bolts of pain down her back.

It took twenty minutes of deep breathing and slowly relaxing her muscles before she finally made it to the top of the stairs but it came at a price. The pain seemed to shift, it was moving from the base of her spine to her stomach. She crouched on the floor, balancing herself by holding onto the banister and having her palm flat against the wall.

But, just as suddenly as the sensation came, it ebbed away. Well, enough so that she just about made it to her feet. Slowly but surely, she made her way back into the living room and collapsed in Sherlock's chair. She put her hands to her swollen stomach and between breathes spoke to it.

"Listen to me, Bump…you can cut this out right now. All you're doing is upsetting Mummy. You're not due for another two months so you can stop it…ooooh!"

Her voice dropped considerably as another stab of pain shot through her but, she gritted her teeth and clasped the arms of the chair with such force that her knuckles turned an alarming shade of white, determined to ride out whatever this little blip was.

Jane kept her head down, closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing; it would be alright, it would all be perfectly alright. Whilst Jane was in a haze blinded by pain, she didn't notice that the front door of 221B had been opened and that even, balanced footsteps were making their way up the stairs.

In fact, she only noticed the visitor when he coughed and Jane's head shot up and she saw one of the last people she expected to see.

"Mycroft?"

The impeccably dressed official, nodded, twirling the head of his umbrella absently. "Good afternoon, Jane. I am sorry for intruding but I did knock and you didn't answer."

Jane sighed heavily, disguising the whimper underneath it. "Yes, yes, fine. Look, if you're looking for Sherlock, he's out. Try the Yard."

"I'm afraid that I'm not here to see Sherlock. I'm here to see you." Mycroft walked slowly into the sitting room and sat opposite Jane in (what would usually be) her chair.

He crossed his legs. "Tell me, Jane. Have you noticed anything peculiar in his behaviour over the past couple of months?"

Jane nodded, not trusting herself to speak just in case a scream came out instead.

"Do you know the reason behind this?"

She shook her head.

"As far as it is for me to delve into your personal life, I must –"

"Oh for fuck sake! Just tell me!" Jane erupted, startling Mycroft to a few seconds silence.

"Perhaps this isn't the right time, you seem quite distressed –"

"No! No! I'm, I'm –" Jane whimpered softly before she could stop herself as her stomach felt as if it was cramping into the size of a tennis ball and her vagina felt like it was burning.

"Jane are you sure you're quite alright because you look rather unwell. Do you want me –"

"No! No!" Jane gasped, trying reign in some control; like hell she was going to let Mycroft walk out of the door without telling her. "Just please tell me."

Although not entirely convinced, Mycroft swayed.

"Alright, if you are sure. I must warn you, some of this you may find somewhat…distressing to say the least. As you are aware when my brother took his little hiatus, it was in the pursuit of Moriarty's web. Over the course of three years, he took down almost every link on seven different continents. But there were a few who slipped through his grasp. The majority of those weren't what you'd say loyal to Moriarty…more…loyal to his money. One of those was Colonel Sebastian Moran."

As if from nowhere, 'Anthea' appeared next to Mycroft and handed him a brown envelope which he passed into Jane's shaking hands and continued his narrative.

"Moran was one of Moriarty's more experienced assassinators, he once had a highly commendable and honourable military career but after a certain scandal – one of which I cannot divulge the details, he was urged to take an early retirement. Around two or three months later he entered Moriarty's service. We don't know whether or not the men ever came in contact with one another or if it was done like most of Moriarty's dealings; through numerous middle men…"

Jane's fingers slid easily through the adhesive seal of the envelope and she tipped the contents out onto her lap. One of the first she picked up was a photograph of tall, proud, clearly middle class man wearing khaki clothing, sunglasses and carrying a very impressive rifle.

"That photograph is the latest we've managed to get of him. That was taken in South Africa six months ago. About twenty miles outside Johannesburg. But we know he's come back to England."

"Why?" She asked as she took a shaky breath.

"It is because of my brother's actions. In many ways, Moran was Moriarty's right hand man. If we took him down it would essentially wipe out the rest of Moriarty's empire…so Sherlock pursued him."

It was then that Jane saw the photographs of the baby's room, photos of her at various stages of her pregnancy and even the baby's scan. "What's all this?"

Mycroft shot an uneasy glance at Anthea standing behind him and shifted in his seat uncomfortably before explaining. "Those specific photographs were sent to the Ritz Hotel on the night of our celebration. It's a warning."

"You mean that man…this Moran bloke…was in my baby's room?"

Mycroft winced. "It most probably wasn't Moran, it was quite likely a henchman but yes. Somehow, they have managed to infiltrate our security and that has been what Sherlock's has been working on for the past month but there has been very little progress."

Jane's breathing moved from slightly panicky to erratic in the space of a minute and everything below her lungs felt as if it was on fire. In seconds, Anthea was kneeling at her side and holding her hand.

"Doctor Watson, what is wrong? What do you need?"

Jane shook her head, feeling incredibly lightheaded from the hyperventilating. "I need to get up."

"No, I don't think that's a –" Anthea was about to disagree when Jane somehow got herself up and then something happened;

Jane's waters broke.

The look of horror on Mycroft's face would've made Jane's day if it wasn't for the fact that she was now screaming in agony. But in seconds, Anthea took control.

"Sir!" She snapped at her boss, drawing his attention to her. "I need you to ring for an ambulance then fetch towels and warm water."

Very few times in Mycroft Holmes' life had he ever been truly lost for words or ever felt quite so dumbstruck but this, staring at his brother's partner about to give birth to his nephew or niece and who had just involuntarily urinated in front of him, had to one of the most memorable ones.

Thankfully, his brain had still been working even if his mind hadn't quite caught up because his hand already held his mobile and was dialling for an ambulance.

"Good afternoon, sir. What is the state of your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance!" He shouted over Jane's howls; somehow, Anthea had managed to maneuverer Jane over to where the sofa was and had her sat down, stripped of her vestments from the waist down and was peering between her legs. Mycroft turned his eyes to the insensible skull on top of the mantelpiece. Oh, how he wished his eye sockets were vacant as well.

"A woman is having a baby one that is –"

"No! No! No! This can't be happening! It's too early! Ah! It's two months early!"

" – two months premature. Security clearance ultra. Holmes, M."

"Yes, sir. The ambulance has been sent. But there is a problem with the traffic, sir. It will be there in twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?!" He barked down the phone. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to get Jane's attention.

"Twenty minutes?! What the fuck's he playing at! I haven't got twenty – Aaah!" A truly terrifyingly inhuman scream tore from Jane's throat.

"Only you know when to push Jane." Anthea said, pushing the hair away from her sweat-coated forehead. "But if you want my advice, I suggest you do it now."

"I'm sorry, sir but it's the traffic. It's rush hour and there's road works to account for but they'll be here as soon as they can. Goodbye."

Mycroft growled as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Anthea turned to him and said;

"Towels, sir! And warm water." It wasn't quite a demand but it wasn't a question either. He was sure to have words about it with her later but he decided to concentrate on the task at hand.

With the vigour of a man half his age, Mycroft bounded up the stairs to the bathroom and pulled multiple white towels from the radiator. It was then he remembered; Sherlock! With no time to waste he pulled out his phone, rang his brother and with the towels safely tucked under his arm rushed back downstairs.

"Sherlock!" He said, relief flooding his bones as his brother actually picked up. He handed the towels to Anthea and moved towards the kitchen, pulling his suit jacket off and waist coat. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before just as he switched the kettle on and rummaged for a plastic bowl.

"Sherlock! Listen to me! Jane has gone into labour. She is at 221B. I have called for an ambulance and they should be here in twenty minutes but I fear the child is still going to be born here. What? No. Anthea is with her….she is a trained – oh, it doesn't matter! Just come back here, now!"

He ended the call and poured the hot water into the bowl, also adding cold water to cool it down. He carefully carried the bowl over to Anthea's side, not spilling a drop when Jane screeched again.

"Sir, we need scissors." Anthea nodded to the kitchen again before turning back to Jane. "Doctor Watson, I think you should push. Ready, okay. In three…two…one…push!"

The cry that erupted from Jane nearly made Mycroft drop the kettle in his hands and scald himself as he sanitised the scissors. He quickly moved back to their side and placed the scissors on a towel in front of Anthea.

Just before he was about to move away, Jane grabbed his arm and hauled him down to the sofa. "Come here! You stay here!" He growled at him as she grabbed his hand and held on for dear life.

"Alright, Jane." Anthea smiled. "I think with one more push we'll be able to see the head. Okay, right in three...two…-"

"Aaahh!" Jane's squeezed Mycroft's hand and he nearly screamed with her.

"Yes! Yes! I can see the head!" Anthea said joyfully. "I think it'll be out with two more pushes."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh, God, please make it stop. Aaaah!" Jane cried and Mycroft found himself silently reiterating the words.

"Good! Excellent! Half of its body's out, just one last push and I swear it'll be over!" Anthea promised, holding what looked like to be a bloodied lump in the towel in her hands.

Mycroft knew he would never look at raw meat again in the same way…

"I can't! I can't! I can't do it!" Jane sobbed desperately.

"Yes you can!" Anthea encouraged her. "You've come this far, there's only a little way left to go just –"

"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" One final scream gave way to another as a younger, more joyful scream echoed around the room.

As Jane slid back on the sofa, Anthea motioned for him and Mycroft gently removed his hand and slid to the floor. "Cut the umbilical cord." She whispered, whilst washing the baby with a damp flannel.

His hands shook, they actually shook as he picked up the scissors and cut the thick cord covered in blood and cut it. The relief in the room was palpable. Just as Mycroft was starting to relax, Sherlock burst into the room. In seconds he took in the scene and his eyes filled with dread.

He moved over to Jane's side, kneeling down next to her and placed his forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry." He whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I should've been here. I'm sorry. I-"

Before he could continue Jane pulled his mouth towards hers and the two kissed. It wasn't anything spectacular, in fact it was quite sloppy but it was everything behind it that mattered. When they pulled apart, Jane murmured;

"The baby."

Sherlock looked to Anthea, cradling the baby in her arms, singing softly to the baby. His baby. Their baby. He turned to her and whispered back. "It's alright, everything's alright."

Once the ambulance crew finally arrived, everything seemed to move so quickly. The medics took the baby from Anthea; they also carried Jane down on a stretcher and in an almost delirious haze Sherlock and Mycroft followed them down the stairs.

Sherlock stood on the front steps as he watched Jane and the baby be taken into the ambulance; in a rare show of emotion his brother's hand squeezed his shoulder carefully.

"Come, we'll follow them in my car."

For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock followed him without an argument and the two climbed in together, moments later followed by Anthea who had somehow managed to change her dress and wash, leaving absolutely no evidence that she had just delivered a baby. In fact, she simply looked down at her Blackberry and started to type. As the car moved away from 221B, Sherlock finally realised something.

"Mycroft…?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Do you know what gender the baby was?"

Mycroft frowned. "I…don't know." He admitted bashfully; how could he not know? How could the two most observant men in London not know?

Sat directly in front of them, Anthea began to giggle. The two men stared down at her but she remained undisturbed and with a smirk said;

"Well, sirs…allow me to enlighten you. Congratulations, Mr. Holmes! You are now the proud father of a baby girl."