"You don't have to go, you know," Mary said sadly as she watched the detective pack up his things. Today was the day Sherlock was finally moving back into 221B Baker Street. She knew she couldn't complain. He had stayed long after he had originally planned to. Mrs. Hudson had already been back from holiday a week. He had no obligatory reason to stay.

"Need to start working again," Sherlock responded, tossing his skull between his hands before stuffing it into the open duffel bag. "The game is back on."

"Who you playing this time?"

"Lawyer in Cardiff can't find his yacht."

"A yacht?" Sherlock nodded affirmatively. "Are you taking John with you? He hasn't been on a case in ages?"

"He's been busy."

"He's been bored."

"Besides, wouldn't you rather have him here?" Sherlock turned to ask. "In case you need something."

Mary cocked her head to the side and continued to watch Sherlock gather his belongings from the spare bedroom. "Sherlock," she started, phrasing the question in her head. "This isn't some way of punishing John, is it? Not taking him on cases?"

He stopped packing and stared back the blonde woman. "John's been punished enough, don't you think?"

"I do," Mary agreed, guilt softening her inquisitive look. "That's why it's strange you won't take him on the case. He needs it now more than ever if you ask me."

Inwardly, Sherlock couldn't help but think that what the two of them needed now more than ever was each other. Perhaps he had naively concluded that leaving John at home with Mary while he was out solving puzzles would force his friend to finally confront the issues between them—issues, as Mary had told him during one of their many afternoons together, John had still not so much as mentioned.

"Sherlock," Mary went on, "I want John and I to move past this as much as you do, but you can't force John to do anything. And locking him up in the house with me might just make things worse."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. "Fine, I'll text him."

Mary pressed her lips together and gave a small nod. She bent down (which was getting a tad more challenging these days thanks to her significantly rounder tummy) to pick up one of Sherlock shirts and began folding. "I'm going to miss you being around; it was nice having someone to talk to about things."

"I'm not dying, I'm moving back to Baker Street, where I was before. Things are going back to normal."

"Maybe for you," Mary whispered. She saw that she got his attention and rubbed his arm reassuringly. "I know you have to go, Sherlock, don't mind me. I'm just being silly."

Sherlock lifted his closed lips into a small smile. He would miss spending time with her as well, but if he didn't start working again she wouldn't be safe, nor would John. Magnusson was still a huge part of the equation, and although getting things past John had been child's play lately, Mary was not so easily fooled. If he continued to investigate Magnusson under John and Mary's roof, she would undoubtedly find out. And that would be unfavorable.

That afternoon, Mary found herself lounged on her bed, bowl of ice cream in hand, weeping at the telly and hating every hormone in her body. As Rose let go of Jack and watched the frozen corpse sink into the Atlantic, littered with Titanic wreckage, Mary's whimpers turned to blubbers. Holding a tissue to her face with one hand and the remote in the other, she flicked off the movie. She should have known she wouldn't be able to handle this. Usually when she felt she was in need of some cathartic, sorrowful experience, Sherlock had talked her out of it, reminding her that while sad movies might quell any pent up emotions for a non-pregnant person, she was probably out of luck. But Sherlock wasn't here anymore.

"This is ridiculous," she sniveled to herself, wiping her eyes and setting down her ice cream. She wished she could be working so she wouldn't have to sit home so much with nothing but her emotions to keep her company. However, she and John had decided last month that cutting down her hours would be the easiest way to prevent her getting overworked. She was beginning to regret that decision, knowing she could have held out for another month or two.

Just then her phone buzzed. It was Sherlock. John left jacket at home, check left pocket.

Mary got up off the bed and waltzed into the living room where she found the jacket in question draped over the couch. She reached into the pocket and found nothing. Empty, she sent back.

Check right pocket.

Mary rolled her eyes at Sherlock's shortness, but slid her hand into the other pocket anyway. The only thing in it was his wallet. Just his wallet.

Thank you. Mary wasn't sure how that exchange was relevant to the case they were investigating, but shrugged it off. After all, this was Sherlock Holmes.

Upon returning the wallet to its rightful place, something fell out of it. She leaned over and took the folded up piece of paper in her hands. "Oh my God," she murmured, a twinkle in her eye. It was her last sonogram. She didn't even know John had gotten a print. She smiled brightly down at her baby and brought a hand to her stomach, affectionately rubbing the growing bump.

It was one of the few moments of hope she had had in the last three months. That being the case, it made sense that the peaceful moment was abruptly shattered by the flat door swinging open and two arguing men barging in. "I'm sorry I forgot it!" John yelled at Sherlock who followed swiftly on his heels jabbering on about John's forgetfulness.

"We were sneaking into a naval base; you didn't think it'd be helpful to have some ID on you?"

"Well, I didn't know we would be sneaking into a naval base, did I?" John scoffed. "You said we were looking for some sod's yacht!"

"Glad to see you two working together again," Mary quipped, standing by the couch. John stopped in his tracks, only now realizing his wife standing there.

"Hello, Mary. The wallet?" Sherlock said, getting right to the point.

"In his pocket." She handed the coat to the detective who came over to collect it. The two men turned to leave. "And this," she said, getting them to turn back around, "fell out of it."

John took the sonogram from her. He seemed visibly struck by the image, and the fact that Mary had found it. "Oh…alright."

"Good luck with the case," she weakly added, only trying to fill the awkward silence that had fallen between her and John.

John nodded and walked out of the flat without a word, making Mary's face fall. Sherlock gave her a comforting look before following after the army doctor.

The taxi ride back to the naval base was slow. Sherlock was rattling off everything he had deduced about the case so far starting with suspicions he had about the client to uncertainties he had with yacht to the connection both of these things had with the navy. John didn't hear a word of it. He was too busy staring down at the sonogram in his hand. He had been for the entirety of the trip.

Sherlock finally noticed the absent look on his friend's face and stopped talking to the air. "John, have you heard a word I've said?"

"Nope," John replied unapologetically, keeping his eyes on the picture.

Sherlock watched him a moment longer and then lost his patience in an exaggerated groan. "Well, it's not changing now is it…"

"What?" John pulled his stare away from the scan.

"The picture, it's the same as it was the last time you stared at it meaninglessly. Nothing's different. You aren't actually watching it grow."

John rolled his eyes and carefully folded the sonogram back up, stashing it away. "You wouldn't understand."

"No… how sad for me," Sherlock sarcastically snipped.

"Why are you getting so ticked off? We're on a case; you should be jumping up and down like a little kid on Christmas morning."

"No, I'm on a case. You're somewhere else." Sherlock corrected. "My reason for bringing you was not so you could be utterly useless. If I wanted that I would have dragged along Gareth."

"Greg! His name is Greg!"

"Still being useless!"

John grumbled under his breath. "Alright, you know what, any time there is anything even just nearly bugging you, you throw a fit. The whole world stops because of whatever stupid thing is getting you miffed. Now I have actual, real, adult things weighing on me and I can't have just one moment of peace. One minute to look at one of the few things I have to be happy about these days."

"Well, it's your own fault." Sherlock snapped back.

"Excuse me?" John could have decked him.

"You could confront all these 'actual, real, adult things' anytime you want, but you don't. You haven't even tried to talk to Mary about the ordeal or her past. Not once. You keep her at arm's length and give her absolutely no clue as to what you're thinking with all of it. So, if you don't have many things to be happy about then it's because you're too busy sulking."

John's teeth clenched behind tight lips and he could feel his face redden. "You're an arse. You don't know anything about this stuff. You don't understand feelings and relationships, so don't you dare tell me I'm too busy sulking. I'll talk to my wife about this cluster fuck when I'm bloody ready, and you, you bloody egomaniac, don't get to decide that!"

Sherlock watched his friend slouch back into the cab seat, calming down a little more with every exhalation. "Fine. Are you ready to stop being useless?"

Back at home, Mary sorted through some scattered paint samples she had on the coffee table, for the nursery of course. Her phone buzzed. I think we're making progress.—SH

OOOOO

"Ughhh, shit!"

John was immediately awoken twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off by a long, loud moan he heard come from Mary's bedroom. He froze on the couch, eyes fixed on the closed door, waiting for a follow up or at least some context.

"Ugh, no, no, no, please no…" She sounded upset and out of breath.

"Mary?" he called nervously, his voice still a little hoarse from sleeping. That's when he heard a loud thud shake the floor and flew up off the couch and toward the shut door. "Mary!" He flung the bedroom door open, startling his wife into the air.

"John, what are you doing?!" She grabbed her chest, obviously taken aback at his sudden entrance.

"I heard noises, you sounded like you were…I don't even know," he admitted, realizing he had jumped the gun as Mary didn't seem to be in any apparent peril. "Are you okay? I heard something heavy hit the floor."

"Yeah, I'm fine…" She rubbed at her temple and motioned toward the dresser. "The drawer fell out. I guess I pulled too hard."

John walked over to see the wooden drawer full of clothes on the floor in front of a now naked-looking dresser. "Jeez…how hard did you pull?" he rhetorically posed, scratching the back of his head. He looked back at her and closer now he could see a subtle shine in her eyes. "What's the matter?"

She blinked away the tears that had begun to tease her lashes. "What? Nothing…"

"Mary…"

She shook her head and discharged an exasperatedly defeated sound. "Nothing fits!" John finally took note of the floor which was covered in nearly every article of clothing she owned. "We have to be at the doctor's for 8:30 and absolutely nothing in this room fits me anymore. Every pair of pants hurts to wear. And after the appointment I'm working until six and my scrubs don't even fit anymore. They're too tight around the waist." She slumped onto the bed trying desperately one last time to get her jeans to button, but to no avail. "I was supposed to go shopping for maternity clothes yesterday with Mrs. Hudson, but she had to cancel. Something about muffins and her sister. I don't know."

John scanned the room. "Nothing fits?"

"Nothing!"

He wasn't proud to say it, but he hadn't realized how much her belly had rounded in her fourth month. "Alright well, what if you…I mean, maybe you could…" he groped for a solution, but came up with zilch. "Why don't you wear one of my shirts to the doctor's and then take the day off. Don't go into the clinic."

"No," Mary quickly responded not even thinking it over. "I am not taking another day off. I need to go out and do something. I hate being cooped up here as much as I am!"

"Well, you're having a baby, Mary. You can't be working all the time."

"You're having a baby too!" she countered. "And you work all the time. Whether it's at the clinic or on cases with Sherlock. I know you don't want to be here with me, I get that, but has it occurred to you that I don't want to be here with me all day either? And there are only so many visits with Mrs. Hudson and Molly I can take. I need to do something!" One last time, she pulled the fabric of the jeans together with every bit of forearm strength she could muster. And once last time she failed to make a connection.

John sighed and went to the living room to grab his phone. Are you busy?

Sherlock was sitting in his chair at Baker Street, fingers adjusted in a steeple as they so often were when he was mulling over a case. He looked down at John's text and then back straight ahead. Yes, John received.

"No you're not, you baby," John mumbled to himself, sending a second text. Nothing fits Mary. She needs new scrubs. Go to the shop on Oak and get her a few new sets.

Sherlock started to type 'No' when a client came in, a pensive look on her face and apprehension in her step. He stopped typing and put the phone down. "Hello," she said meekly.

John waited six minutes for a response from Sherlock who he assumed was with a client. He couldn't help but wish he was there too. Finally the vibration of the phone called his attention back. I'll bring them to her appointment, he read.

'Thank God for boring clients,' John mused, and then headed back to the bedroom. "Mary, good news…"

OOOOO

"So Mary," Dr. Marshall said cheerfully, wheeling over the ultrasound machine. "How have you been feeling?"

"Fine," Mary replied, rolling up her—John's—shirt when the doctor motioned for her to do so. "Tired, but other than that, fine."

"John, how's things on your end?"

"Uh, good." John nodded. "Very good."

Dr. Marshall smiled at the two of them, although she could see the couple didn't smile at each other as often as most of her patients did when they were about to see their baby on the screen. "Mary, you've done a great job keeping your blood pressure down. Although with a doctor for a husband I'd expect nothing less."

"Oh yes, John checks it religiously." Mary forced out a smile. These appointments were always particularly hard on her and John, because they knew how happy they should be—seeing the baby was a reminder of that—but knowing that just made them realize how unhappy things had been since Mary's secret was revealed.

"Ready to see your baby?" They both nodded and Dr. Marshall squirted the cold blue gel onto Mary's stomach. "So there's the head," she pointed to the screen, although she guessed neither of them had any trouble recognizing it, "and there's the shoulders."

"Look at that," John murmured to himself in awe, but only Mary heard.

"Can we hear the heartbeat?" Mary asked, as if she needed more proof her baby was doing okay; the doctor complied with a smile. With one flick of a switch the soft lub-dubs filled the room and John and Mary faces finally broke into real, genuine smiles.

"Do you want to find out the sex today?"

"Oh, um…" They hadn't discussed that yet. "Should we…"

"Maybe wait?" Mary decided on her own.

John obligatorily nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we'll wait."

"Okay," Dr. Marshall granted, pretending not to notice the uncertain looks the husband and wife had just shared. "I can get you two a print of this, if you like."

"Yes," John eagerly blurted. "Please." He needed an updated one after all.

In the lobby, John and Mary held up the west wall, the former occasionally checking his watch and the latter picking at some chipping nail polish. Patients came and went, doctors and nurses hustled by, but the person they were waiting for was nowhere to be found. "Where is he?" Mary asked, getting up on her toes to see over the crowd of passer-by's.

"He said he'd meet us here with the new clothes after the appointment," John said, checking his watch once again. "I don't know what's keeping him."

Mary leaned back up against the wall and filled her cheeks with air only to blow it out exaggeratedly. "We both need to be at the clinic soon. If he doesn't turn up…"she trailed off. John looked down to see what had caught her attention. It was a newborn, being carted by them in a pram. He watched her eyes fixated on the child right up until the younger couple turned the corner out of sight.

"Mary, look," he summoned, getting her eyes to pull away from the place the baby was. "He's here."

"Here are the scrubs," Sherlock announced upon arrival, handing the shopping bag over to Mary.

She gratefully took the bag from him. "Thank you so much, Sherlock." She pulled one of them out with an impressed look. "Nice pattern, too."

"Molly picked it out," he nonchalantly reported, folding his hands behind his back. Mary excused herself to go change into the newly purchased garments. "Sorry I was a bit late. Got caught up."

"Doing what?" John then noticed a gash behind his friend's ear when Sherlock turned to look at a doctor hastening by. "Are you bleeding?!"

"Oh that?" Sherlock pointed a finger to the wound. "Just a scratch, no cause for concern. Listen, I've made some real progress on the yacht case. Cracked it, I think. Just need to test my theory. Shouldn't be too difficult, all I—"

"Why are you bleeding?"

"Why does it matter?"

John raised his eyebrows. "You're kidding, right?"

The taller man rolled his eyes. "I cut it myself. I needed to see into one of the boats at the marina and asking its owner for a handkerchief to stop the bleeding seemed like the easiest way to strike up a conversation."

"Naturally." John sarcasm had a bit of an extra punch today.

The detective studied his friend a moment. "Oh I see…"

"What?"

"The appointment didn't go well, did it?"

"Stop that." John hated when he deduced him. "It went fine. The baby's growing and Mary's blood pressure is in check."

"No, something else didn't go well. Something you feel silly even dismaying over."

"Knock it off," John warned, folding his arms over his chest. To his surprise, Sherlock did not continue. He looked back at him, and the corners of his friend's mouth lifted into a smug smile. John's arms fell and he let out an annoyed lament. "Alright, have at it."

Sherlock obliged. "You started this morning in a relatively good mood, even with Mary being upset over her clothing dilemma. Normally, you grab something quick for breakfast like a granola bar or toast. Today you made yourself bacon, eggs, and cheese on a bagel. There are grease splatters from the bacon on your shirt just past your wrists, crumbs from the bagel that had fallen into your lap stuck to your trousers, and obviously you wouldn't just have bacon on a bagel so throw in the egg and cheese and make it a meal." Sherlock's eyes moved quickly to John's jacket which was slung over his arm. "You've brought your jacket with you, but you aren't wearing it. It's not exceptionally hot outside and you've already finished with the doctor so you aren't wearing it for one of two reasons. One: the shirt you have on is heavy enough that you don't need it, but then why bring it at all? So option two, the more likely choice: the shirt you picked out today is new, brand new. You are subconsciously trying to avoid covering it up with the old jacket. Then the obvious question, why put on a brand new shirt today of all days? Most people save new clothes for special occasions. You were going to see Mary's doctor and then going to the clinic. Both of which are common and mundane parts of your schedule. Easy, you had an unusual pep in your step this morning, wanted to put on something new to embellish the feeling. But what made you so cheery? What made this appointment so exciting for you?" Sherlock paused a second, naturally for dramatic effect. "Ah, today was the day you were expecting to find out the sex of the baby."

John stood silently and jutted his bottom jaw forward. "You know you could have just asked."

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, that's not all."

"No?"

"No. You clearly aren't so chipper anymore. So, you didn't find out, did you?"

"No we didn't, obviously," John huffed, putting his arms through his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. He aggressively straightened out the collar before leaning back up against the wall as he had been prior to Sherlock's arrival.

"Mary's decision I assume, based on your current disposition."

"Yep." He looked at his shoes.

Just then, Mary returned to the guys in her new outfit. She looked much more comfortable now that her stomach actually had room inside of the shirt. "Perfect fit," she told Sherlock.

"Guessing your measurements was easy. We also accounted for another month or so of weight gain. Though at the rate you're going I can't guarantee the full month."

"Thanks," Mary replied sarcastically, looking down at her stomach. She turned to her husband who looked lost in thought. "Ready to go to work?"

He nodded once. "Yeah, I'll bring the car around. Sherlock, thanks for the delivery." And he left the lobby, en route to the car park.

"Guess you two had a nice chat, then," Mary said, running a hand over her baby bump, a bit self-conscious now.

"He's just disappointed you didn't find out the sex of the baby." Sherlock said, watching John exit the building. "He'll get over it."

Mary turned to him, surprised. "He told you we didn't?"

"No, I deduced."

"How?"

Sherlock decided against telling the truth on this one. "He referred to the baby as 'it,' if you knew the sex he'd have said 'her' or 'him.' Not 'it.'"

"Oh," Mary mouthed. "I didn't even know she was going to ask us today."

"Hm?"

"If we wanted to find out what were having. Caught me off guard."

"So why didn't you?"

"It's complicated." Mary stuffed both hands into her jacket pockets and shuffled a bit. She truly had wanted to know if she was having a boy or a girl. She could choose colors for the nursery, get a list of names together, and finally stop referring to her baby as 'it.' But that didn't seem right. Knowing the gender would make everything so real, and she wasn't sure she could be happy with her reality until things were right between her and John again. "I just wasn't ready."

Sherlock nodded and began to walk with Mary to the front entrance to wait for John. "You haven't told John about the other thing yet, have you?"

"What other thing?"

"Last time you talked to Mrs. Hudson, you said you hadn't felt the baby move yet. And you said you hadn't told John because it would worry him."

"Snooper," Mary chided.

"The walls are very thin; I can't help what I hear. Believe me…" He shuddered a bit. Mary grimaced at the implication.

"The doctor says the baby is doing fine." Mary shrugged. "I was a little worried about the movement myself, but it seems there's no reason to be."

"Well, if it does somehow come up, I wouldn't mention it to John today."

"Okay," Mary agreed with a questioning look. "Was he alright with it, I mean not finding out the sex?"

Sherlock looked to her, seeing guilt already filling her blue eyes, and nodded. "Just disappointed. That's all."