Shorter than the last few, but still interesting! I hope anyway. I am finally winding down with the story, and I have to figure out if I want to do a full sequel or a one-shot epilogue thing. I may to the full sequel, and add more references to Tabitha's universe. Just a thought

SEX AT THE END - Mature chapter!

CHAPTER 19 - Mother Dearest

Mycroft watched from his spot behind a tree as his brother and Tabitha strolled along the winding sidewalk through the park. It was a chilly evening – both of them were wrapped in coats and scarves. They were holding hands, not talking, just walking and enjoying each other's company. Sherlock's face was a rare mix of relaxation and happiness – it was odd for Mycroft to see.

There wasn't any real need for him to be watching them. The alien statues were getting closer, but slower in their attacks. He still had no idea where Moran was – it was like he was a ghost, just like Moriarty. As a government official, he had a duty to protect his country, and its people. As a brother, though, he had a duty to protect his family. That was why he was here instead of sitting at his desk.

Mycroft watched silently as Sherlock stopped, turning around to face Tabitha. They had walked to a gazebo that was situated in an open space of the park. He took her hands, holding them in between their figures, and smiled down at her. She looked suspiciously up at him, although a teasing smile graced her lips. Mycroft felt a sadness descend in him – Mother would have been excited and amazing to see Sherlock so smitten with a woman. A good woman, at that.

Sherlock murmured, and Mycroft smirked at the obvious struggle Sherlock was having with whatever words he was saying. They must have been emotional – the Holmes's were not known for their sensitive words. The looks on the couple's faces told Mycroft that he was correct. He heard a rustling next to him, and glanced to the side. He saw his assistant, Anthea, signaling him. Instead of a dress, she was wearing dark jeans and a dark coat to blend in with the night, just as he was.

He quickly turned away from the couple and made his way silently to his assistant.

"Sir, there was an attack at the edge of London," she informed him in a low voice. He nodded and headed toward their dark car. She followed.

00000000000000000000000

"We don't have to get married straight away, Sherlock," Tabitha reassured the man, squeezing his hands that were between their bodies. He frowned down at her.

"It's better financially and legally if –"

"Are you ready?"

"What?"

"Sherlock. I know it's hard for you to think emotionally, but the last seven weeks you have been doing really well at being, well, sensitive." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but still held onto her hands. "Well, for you, anyway," she chuckled. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and his frown turned into a small smile. "We have time before the baby gets here. We should focus on getting ready for the next seven months, instead of planning a wedding."

"It's as easy as signing a contract," Sherlock pointed out.

"Maybe it is for you, but I love you and I want it to be special. Deal with it," she added with a grin. Sherlock stared down at her frozen. He took his hands away from hers, stuck them in his pocket and turned around. He stared into the distance, glaring at the trees in the dark. Tabitha realized what she had just told him – she loved him. Love, the one thing that Sherlock Holmes completely does not believe in.

"Mycroft was watching us." That made Tabitha look out into the darkness herself.

"What?"

"Don't worry, he's just making sure you were safe."

"I'm sure he was thinking about you, too."

"Hm," was all Sherlock replied. Tabitha clasped her hands together in front of her and breathed slowly, watching the cold night air make her breathe visible. After a long moment of uneasy silence, she opened her mouth to speak. Sherlock held up his hand to quiet her, his back still turned away. "This sentiment I feel that is specific to you is terrifying," he admitted.

Tabitha was surprised at this confession. Sherlock may have been, as well, as that could be why he had to turn around before saying it ou tloud.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. She sniffed.

"Don't apologize, love," Sherlock replied, his voice soothing her nerves. She let a small smile over her lips. "You fascinate me, you arouse me, you interest me, and you trust me."

"That's good, right?"

"Love is a chemical reaction. I know this. Why do people call this love? It's… it's emotional, painful even, and it makes me want to put your needs before mine. This isn't love. This is… is…"

"Special?"

Sherlock thought silently about Tabitha's reply. Distinguished by some unusual quality – that was one of the definitions for the word special. This relationship with Tabitha was quite unusual. He liked her presence, her mind, her voice, her body… the list went on. He would never tell a soul, but the thought of having a child with her was growing on him quickly. What made it different from any other sexual relationship he had?

Feelings. It was all sentiment with her. Terrifying, but also electrifying. He came back to the world, feeling guilty that he had made his fiancée stand in the cold, waiting for him to get done with his personal thoughts. He turned around, and found her sitting on the wooden bench that went all the way around the gazebo edge. She was leaning back with a smile on her face. Her small nose was red, her gray eyes were sleepy, and her long curly hair was splayed out over her coat. Her feet were crossed as they sat on the ground, and her arms were crossed over her chest, probably to keep her hands warm.

"How long?"

"About ten minutes."

"You could have left."

"I could have. But I didn't."

"That's why this is special," he said softly, smiling softly down at her. She grinned up at him.

"Exactly. Do you understand now?"

"I think so," he answered. He sighed and looked out into the darkness again. Tabitha stood up and joined him at the railing on the other side the gazebo. She stood close, and their arms pressed against one another. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her arms still crossed over her chest. He was leaning slightly forward on the railing.

"That's good enough, for now."

"No it isn't," he replied, gazing into the darkness but not truly looking at it. Tabitha rolled her eyes and stood up straight, looking at him.

"Yes, it is, I know you. I don't want you to change – I like the way you are. I know you care about me, I trust you, that's good enough." She looked at him, determination on her face.

"I do care about you," Sherlock agreed. He swallowed, and quickly made up his mind. "If this is love, then it's not as daunting as I thought it was."

"Oh?" Tabitha answered, leaning back onto his shoulder. She barely breathed as she waited for him to answer.

"I like it."

"I like it, too," she answered with a smile. Sherlock stood up and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his front. She looked up at him, placing her hands on his chest.

Their eyes locked, and it was like both were finally open to the possibilities in front of them. Her lips parted slightly, he let his emotions swirl into his eyes, and Tabitha pushed up on her tip toes to kiss his lips softly. He placed the other arm around her waist, holding her close, as their lips moved softly and slowly over one another. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he watched her through half-lidded eyes himself. His tongue touched her lips, and she pulled away.

He pouted at her.

"This was a great date. Shopping at an old bookstore, seeing a museum of odd things, and taking a stroll through a darkened park. Do you know what happens after a date?"

"I walk you home and kiss you at the door?"

"We get naked and have sex against your bedroom door."

"John's never got that kind of date," Sherlock grinned. They raced through the park to catch a cab home.

000000000000000000000000000000

The Doctor, Lestrade, and Mycroft were the only people in the abandoned apartment building. The three of them looked down at the body they were circled around. The Doctor had changed up his look a bit – his braces were red, his bowtie red, and his jack was black this time. Lestrade was in his usual button up shirt, jacket, and trousers. Mycroft was still wearing his dark clothes from an hour earlier.

"It looks like he just… dried up," Lestrade said, wrinkling his noise.

"The Angels just sucked his time away, didn't even give him a chance," the Doctor murmured, a sad frown on his face. "Who is this man?" He glanced over at the two other men. Lestrade took out a small notepad, and opened his mouth to answer. Mycroft beat him.

"Stanley Wilcox. Special informant to my office."

"He wanted you to find the body?" the Doctor asked.

"I should call this in…" Lestrade mumbled, taking out his phone.

"No!" Mycroft and the Doctor exclaimed. Lestrade narrowed his eyes at them.

"No, Detective Inspector," Mycroft explained. "This is not your division" Mycroft turned to the Doctor. Lestrade watched them a bit confused.

"Whose is it then?"

"Mine," the Doctor answered, his voice low and soft. Mycroft and he shared a glance.

"How so?" Lestrade asked slowly.

"Aliens. Aliens are my thing. Beings who are not of this Earth. Protecting humans is my division." Lestrade stared at the two men with his mouth hanging down.

"Aliens? Bloody hell, are you on drugs?" he exclaimed. He took out his phone again, and Mycroft reached out. He took the phone and threw it on the ground, stomping on it a few times. Lestrade and the Doctor stared at the mess with wide eyes.

"I'll get you a new one," Mycroft stated in an even tone. He cleared his throat and pushed away the pieces of the phone. "And yes, aliens. The Doctor, here, is one himself."

The Doctor grinned and wiggled his fingers at Lestrade. The man just stared.

"I have two hearts. And a TARDIS."

"Greg, if you don't believe him, believe me," Mycroft said with his eyebrows raised. Lestrade moved his gaze back and forth between the two men. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Oh, come on!" he mumbled to himself. He glared at Mycroft. "Phone, tomorrow morning, my desk." Mycroft just sniffed at him and turned his head down to the body. The three men crouched down at the same time, looking for evidence, and the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver. Mycroft glanced at it and then back, while Lestrade stared at it. "What is that?"

"Sonic screwdriver. It'll give us information about Stanley Wilcox." The Doctor pressed the button on the side, making a noise. Lestrade grimaced, and watched warily as the Doctor scanned the body. He hummed and let out a few exclamations as the other two men waited impatiently for him to explain. Finally, the Doctor pulled back and stood up. The two other men followed suit.

"Stanley Wilcox. 25. Informant to Mycroft Holmes –"

"That's old news," Lestrade scuffed.

"I'm just reading off what she says," he said, holding up the device. "This was the last place he was alive. There are statues a block away, yeah?" The two men nodded. "Right. Those are our angels. They seemed to be hungry, ravenous even. Sebastian Moran may be starving them, training them this way."

"How the hell is he training them?" Mycroft exclaimed with frustration.

"How else do you enslave creatures? Blackmail," the Doctor answered.

"Moran has something that they want. As soon as they do what they agreed to do for him, they get it back," Lestrade said, starting to get the picture.

"What would these creatures have that was so important to them?"

"Their mother."

Lestrade and Mycroft blinked at the Doctor, who was grinning with the new information.

000000000000000000000000000

Sherlock was glad that John was at Mary's, again, for the night. It took a lot of willpower to get up the stairs and take of his coat without looking anxious to strip the woman naked. His hands gave him away, though, shaking with the effort. Tabitha grinned and painfully, slowly, took of her coat. She faced him and pulled her sweater over her head. His favorite yellow lacy bra showed against her pale skin. He gulped back a whimper as she unbuttoned her pants slowly.

He stared at her stomach, more firm because of the pregnancy, but not showing anything. He watched her graceful hands take ahold of her jeans and slowly slide them down her legs. He caught a glimpse of her yellow lace bikini pants, and his mouth went dry. How long had it been since they'd had sex? Seven weeks? He'd gone much longer than that, and this never happened.

Must be the 'special' feelings she lighted in him. His eyes roamed up her body as she kicked off her boats and pants quickly. She put her hands on her hips, standing only in her undergarments in the middle of the living room. His body was tight and hot with need, and she knew it. Tabitha grinned at him, flicked her hair off her shoulder, and sashayed down the hall to his bedroom. He growled at her and started to unbutton his blue shirt as he followed her.

When they made it to the bedroom, his pants were unbuttoned, and his shirt hung loosely on his torso. She stepped close, putting a hand on his shoulders. His hands found her waist and squeezed tightly as he hands roamed down his chest slowly. His nipples hardened in response, and Tabitha bit her lip, staring at his chest.

"Fast or slow?" he asked, his voice hoarse. She laughed as she looked up at him.

"I like how we usually do."

"Obviously," he growled, turning her around so her back was against the closed door. She gasped as Sherlock picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His lips were on her neck, nipping and licking. Her hands ran up from his shoulders into his hair, moaning as his tongue found that one spot at her neck that made her slick between her legs. He rubbed his hardness against her yellow pants, and groaned into her neck. She pulled at his hair enough to get up to pull back, and pressed her lips hard against his. Their tongues fought together as one hand of his moved to flick at her clit. She groaned and raised her hips to get closer, and his other hand squeezed her bottom.

"Don't make me wait, you jerk," she bite out with a moan.

"We have all night, darling," he teased into her ear. She felt her orgasm coming close, and whimpered in his ear. Sherlock grinned wickedly as he pulled back to watch her face as she came even closer. "Come on my fingers." He slid two fingers inside her, and used his thumb to flick her clit as he pushed his fingers in and out in a face pace. Tabitha cried out, hugging his shoulders tightly, burying her face in his neck. She clamped over his moving fingers, and she rode them until the tremors had slowed down. She let out a groan, and pulled her face back to look at his.

"I've missed this."

"You have no idea," he growled back, pulling back and setting her feet on the floor. Tabitha's legs were shaky, and she leaned on the door to keep from sliding down as Sherlock stripped. She removed her bra with shaking fingers, and then made to push down her pants. "Leave them on." She nodded and let out a cry of surprise as he picked her up again, back to door, legs around his waist. He shoved himself inside her, knowing it may hurt a bit from his size and the lack of foreplay, but he didn't care. He needed her.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed, tightening her hold again around his shoulders. They kissed each other passionately, biting and licking, as he thrust hard inside her. He moaned into her mouth as his hands held onto her ass, so tight there may be slight bruising. They both gasped together as he pumped, coming close to the end. "I'm almost there."

"I know. Wait... hold on," he panted, thrusting rapidly. Their bodies slid together, and she suddenly bit his shoulder as she came around his manhood. He groaned loudly as the way she clamped him sent him over the edge. They both shuddered, holding tightly to one another, as he spilled inside of her. Their minds came back down after a moment, and they brushed their noses against one another as they gasped for air.

"Wow," she panted.

"That's what you said the first time."

"Wow," she repeated, brushing her lips against his.

Please review! I haven't had a review in ages, and I'm feeling actually a bit put off from finishing this story. Lame, I know, just send in a quick 'love it!' or something? I feel like I've been forcing the last 4,000 words or so I've been writing :(