Chapter 2

Sherlock contemplated the empty doorway for a long moment asking himself what had just happened. After all this time, why would he say something like that to John of all people. Long-suffering, caring, giving, ever faithful John, his own mate for God's sake! For once Sherlock did not even need someone to tell him that his behavior had been a 'bit not good'. It was all too clear in the sound of John's voice, in the quiet reply. Sherlock had heard sadness and resignation in that voice, as if John actually believed what he said.

Sherlock was unaware that he had started to pace the parlor while he worked through his scrambled thoughts and emotions. The internal war raged on as the Alpha snapped and snarled insisting on finding his mate; that he bring him home to comfort and soothe away whatever had brought about this distress. Logically, Sherlock's inner voice informed him, John certainly wouldn't want to see him now. Sherlock should give him some space, a little time to calm down and he would return home when he was ready. John always returned home. The Alpha roared once more, 'What if he doesn't this time?'! Sherlock grimaced in frustration clenching fingers tightly in his hair before scrubbing his scalp vigorously trying to silence the conflicting voices. The debate raged on until a text alert sent Sherlock scrambling for his mobile hoping it was John.

The text was from Lestrade; however, asking when to expect him at the crime scene. At that moment a third option became clear and Sherlock seized upon it in an instance. He could sublimate all of this chaos and turmoil, bury it all and focus on the work. It had always worked for Sherlock in the past. And if he steadfastly ignored the little voice pointing out that was before John came along….before he became a bonded Alpha, who was going to know. Shooting a text off to Lestrade, Sherlock grabbed the file off of his desk and headed out the door. The last thought he allowed himself on the matter, before shutting it away with all the rest, was 'What did I do?' Sherlock knew he had said or done something to upset John but no matter how many times the evening replayed in his mind the cause remained elusive.

John felt ridiculous sitting in a cab not even seeing the scene outside his window for the tears that continued to roll down his cheeks. Angrily he scrubbed his hands over his face trying to stop the tears and get a grip on his emotions. It wasn't as if this was the worst thing Sherlock had ever done. John had survived drugs, verbal insults, abandonment, toxic fumes and any number of other trials associated with living with Sherlock. And simply forgetting an anniversary could in no way compare with forcing your best friend to witness your apparent suicide and letting said friend believe you were dead for nearly three years. No surely nothing could approach that pain. Just knowing that they could not bear to ever be without each other like that again had led John and Sherlock to finally admit their feelings and accept the bond that now tied them together forever. Knowing that, why did this hurt so badly? Had John really expected Sherlock to act any differently in this than in anything else. And John realized that, yes, he had expected. It hurt because today mattered. This was the day that for better or worse changed the course of their lives a year ago and for John, who could never deny his romantic nature, it was important. And Sherlock? Sherlock had forgotten it completely, forgotten his promises. John couldn't stop the thought that maybe it just wasn't as important to Sherlock. Nor could he stop the swell of nausea he felt at the thought.

John absently rubbed his right hand over the dull ache in his stomach realizing he still hadn't had any supper. He really should eat something. Unfortunately, that thought reminded him of the other reason his heart was hurting so much. The gift yet not yet given, the gift that changed everything John had ever thought he wanted or needed. Today John realized a dream he never even admitted he carried, not even to himself. A dream made real in the black and white print confirming a child was on the way, their child. The unexpected gift he had found himself so thrilled over and so anxious to share with his mate. Tonight should have been an evening neither of them would ever forget, a first anniversary and a their first child on the way. John had no fanciful notions of a houseful of children; not with the lives they led and certainly not at his age, this child alone was a miracle to John.

What John had thought would be a perfect night ruined by Sherlock just being himself. John knew he couldn't help his romantic heart nor the Omega nature he was born with just as Sherlock couldn't help his struggles with emotion and sentiment. No John was hurt because he had gotten his hopes up when he should have known better. So instead John rode through London, alone in a cab with his thoughts and his tears.

He would have to go home eventually. And he would still have to break the news to Sherlock as well, but it was all just too much to deal with at the moment. He wondered idly what Sherlock was doing now, probably off on the case. John fingered the phone in his pocket contemplating sending Sherlock a text. John let it go when he realized he simply didn't know what he would say to him. He continued instead to gaze out of the window into the misty evening enjoying for a moment the corona of halos formed by the colorful neon lights of London at night giving everything an otherworldly appearance.

The cabbie glanced back at the obviously upset passenger and spoke up, "Oi mate? Have you decided where you want to go? I mean I can drive you in circles all night but you don't strike me as a bloke who pays for that kind of joy-ride on a regular basis."

John couldn't help but laugh at the cabbie's candor and returned the man's smile as he replied, "No, you're certainly right about that. I really have no idea what I want to do just now. It is getting late though and I haven't had dinner. Why don't you head back toward Baker Street and you can let me out at Regent's Park. It's not too bad a night for a nice stretch of the legs right?" John managed a genuine warm smile for the cabbie having at least made some sort of plan. He could grab something to eat on the walk back to the flat.

The cabbie smiled right back, "Too right mate, Regent's Park it is!"

John, always calmer when he had decided a path to take, was brushing the last tears away with the palm of his hand when he felt the vibrating phone in his pocket. Truly John never liked it when Sherlock and he were at odds with each other as it made him feel deeply unsettled, especially since the bonding. Hoping for a text from Sherlock, John reached to pull the phone from his coat pocket and glanced down to check the messages. He never saw the glare of headlights speeding towards them. He barely even registered the loud blaring of a car horn before the world shattered and went black.

Arriving on the scene, Sherlock didn't even bother with his usual banter with Donovan but went straight to the body. Handing Lestrade the necessary folder, Sherlock pulled out his pocket magnifier and got to work. Lestrade glanced through the file while he watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He could tell from experience that Sherlock was making quick work of his deductions tonight. Good news for him since it meant less time out on a bloody damp and chilly crime scene.

"Really glad you could help me out tonight Sherlock. I was hoping it wasn't the wrong night. Didn't want to interfere you know." Lestrade smiled knowingly over at Sherlock. The man himself only paused in his work and glanced up at him with a puzzled expression.

"What are you going on about Lestrade? I always come!"

Lestrade was getting that funny feeling in the pit of his stomach as he gazed intently at Sherlock. That funny feeling that said something wasn't quite right to a detective with his many years of experience in the field. 'Where was John? Why wasn't he here with Sherlock?' Not liking the thought that was nagging his mind Lestrade nervously shifted his weight and nodded down at Sherlock as he replied, "Yeah. You always come...unless you have something particular going on with John. I mean I know your anniversary is close and you guys were planning something special. I just didn't…...didn't want to interfere….." Lestrade couldn't help the stutter in his voice or finishing almost in a whisper when Sherlock's head had jerked up sharply and those eyes pierced him with their steely gaze. Sherlock shot up from the ground and practically stormed the few steps over to Lestrade who unconsciously recoiled from the icy voice that spat at him.

"What...is...today's date?"

Lestrade shuddered, now fearing the worse as he answered, "It's March, Sherlock…..March twenty-sixth."

"Oh...OH!" The lightbulb finally went off in Sherlock's mind. His eyes fell closed in shame and he staggered back against Lestrade's car shaking his head and letting out the barest whimper of sound as the full realization of what he had done hit him. The dull ache from earlier exploded into a throbbing pain.

Lestrade looked on for a moment his suspicions now confirmed. "It was tonight wasn't it?"

Eye's still closed, Sherlock only nodded.

"And you…...you forgot didn't you?! You didn't make Any plans?!"

Again a silent nod. No wonder John wasn't here. Lestrade's heart broke for his good friend as his anger flared at Sherlock.

"Sherlock! How could you Do that to John?! Do you even know how much he has looked forward to this?! To you actually doing something nice just for him….for the two of you!" Lestrade couldn't stop the way his voice rose as he berated the man in front of him. Obviously he had not even been aware of his mistake. Which meant that John had been too hurt, embarrassed, and most likely too angry to point it out to Sherlock. 'Where exactly was John now? What was he doing on his own and hurting?'

"Sodding Hell Sherlock! You two have been through too much! And John! John has been hurt enough because of you!" "You!" Lestrade stabbed his finger at Sherlock. "You...are supposed...to be... making things better, Not hurting him again for God's sake!"

Sherlock heard it all, took it all in and tossed it on the raging bonfire of his own self recrimination. His mind replayed the evening in an instant and ongoing replay. Everything that he, for once, saw but failed to observe glaring at him in accusation. John so clearly dressed to go out, wearing Sherlock's favorite red shirt. The brilliant smile and open arms John greeted him with when he got home. The hurt and confusion quickly hidden when Sherlock brushed him off with barely a kiss. Even internally Sherlock winced at the memory of that face. And….OH! Oh, stupid, stupid, Stupid! That flicker of disappointment and sadness when Sherlock asked him about going out. That was it! The look he couldn't place earlier, the moment John realized he had forgotten. That there were no plans because Sherlock hadn't made them. Oh everything made sense now. Sherlock cringed even more when he replayed the cruel petty way he had spoken to John adding even more sting to his betrayal. Yes, Sherlock knew exactly what he had done to John tonight and he the shame of it mortified him. How….how was he ever going to make this right?

Lestrade was losing all patience with the silent man in front of him.

"Fuck's sake Sherlock! Say something!"

He found himself taken aback when watery eyes met his and a broken voice that should never belong to Sherlock whispered, "What do I do?"

"Well first off, where is John now?"

"I don't know. He left...I didn't know why. And now I have no idea where he's gone?!" Sherlock looked at Lestrade expectantly after his rushed pronouncement.

Lestrade fought the urge to roll his eyes and thought to himself that John was going to owe him big for this. "Well first, you are going to find John. Then you are going to grovel like the sorry excuse for a mate you are. And then, just maybe John will let you Begin to try to make it up to him. Okay?!"

As he talked Lestrade had been bustling Sherlock toward the road to hail a cab.

"Try the flat first. Maybe he's cooled off and is back at home already. And don't worry about the case. You've observed all you need here and I've got the file. You can text me the rest later. After you square things with John!"

Sherlock looked genuinely relieved, "Thank you Greg."

Lestrade blinked at the use of his name but Sherlock's gratitude was sincere.

"You're welcome Sherlock. That is what friends are for you know. Now no worries and get on with you." Lestrade waved him off as a cab pulled up.

Sherlock nodded his good-byes, quickly giving the cabbie the address and climbing into the cab. All of his attention was now focused on John. Impatient to see John and needing to do something Sherlock fired off a text.

"I am so sorry I forgot. Please come home."-SH

Sherlock sat back in his seat drumming his fingers on his thigh, hoping for a swift reply.

Across London, in a cab with its side crushed in by a drunk driver, a text alert sounded. While lights colored red, blue, and yellow flashed across the scene, a phone lay in the floor of the cab next to the motionless hand it had fallen from. And a text went unread and unanswered.