204Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback, it is very much appreciated.
Especially a huge thanks to , whose reviews are always long and very very lovely. Xx (Oh, and the nursery rhyme ting wasn't intended like that at all, I was basically just trying think of a title ;) )
Enjoy this chapter and please tell me what you think.
xx
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Sherlock wondered what he was getting himself into during the flight. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to Irene when he arrived, and even less sure that she would actually want him there. Their relationship was already complex enough, but now there was extreme tension and uncertainty added to the mix.
He went through possible conversations with Irene in head, but in the end decided that he was wasting time. Their conversations never went as planned.
He briefly wondered how long he would stay with her – if she wanted him to stay that is. He could tell he'd hurt her feelings, and wasn't very sure whether or not his presence would be welcome.
He sighed to himself, and involuntarily started thinking about their child. Somehow, now that he had accepted that he was going to be father, the thought process was a little easier.
He wondered what name Irene would pick (in his mind she would definitely pick it, he really couldn't think of anything.) He wondered whose facial features the child would inherit, and which behavioural patterns. He found himself smiling at the thought of a little two year old with Irene's face and his mind.
Actually, now that he thought about it, it was quite a fascinating experiment. A child with their combined intelligence would surely be the smartest child that had been born at least in the passing decade.
He briefly smirked at the hypothetical reaction Mycroft would have (hypothetical being the keyword, because, if possible, Mycroft should never find out). Mycroft was usually calm and composed, much like Sherlock, but if he found out about Irene and the baby…well, his reaction would be hilarious to say the least. Sherlock was sure he and Irene would get a laugh out of it…before they called the ambulance to escort Mycroft to hospital and into intensive care.
He sighed again and leaned back in his seat. He needed to think.
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She was shocked when she opened the door and saw him standing there, to say the least. She honestly thought he wouldn't care, but there he was, looking exhausted and yet still incredibly handsome.
His eyes widened slightly as he took her in; clearly he had not thought much about the physical aspects of her pregnancy. But she was five months along, what did he expect?
"You came" was all she said as she stood aside to let him in. His expression was serious, but a corner of his lips tugged up in a slight smile.
"Yes" was all he said as he swept past her into the living room. She saw the slight uncertainty in his eyes and bit her lip. Did he regret his decision to come here?
But Sherlock Holmes didn't do regrets. He thought things out rationally and clearly, even when sentiment was concerned. Which meant that the uncertainty and hesitancy in his eyes meant something else, something completely different. But what?
He set down his luggage and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his eyes and sighing. She simply looked at him, her gaze clear and steady, even though she would much rather have looked down. The tension between was so thick you could slice it with a knife.
He looked back at her, his gaze never breaking, like hers. Neither of them looked away, because looking away meant submitting. That old streak between them had remained, and neither felt like losing.
Finally it was Irene who broke the silence, with the first words that came into her head: "Are you hungry?"
It was a stupid question, obviously, because she knew as well as anyone that Sherlock never really bothered eating. Currently however, they were both being rather cold, because they were both unsure. He knew he had hurt her feelings, and she knew that he was angry at her, and about the whole situation. They were on very thin ice, and it could crack any second.
Sherlock blinked slightly, and she realised that though his eyes had been trained on her, his thought had been somewhere completely different.
"Hmm?" he said distractedly, and she tried to stop a small smile escaping at his typical behaviour. "Oh, umm, no" he said hurriedly, as if the issue required any actual thought. He shook his head and looked at the floor for a second, while she regarded him for a small moment and then moved to the kitchen.
She wasn't surprised when he followed her, but she ignored him, letting him make the first move. She didn't want to force him into anything.
He stood behind her, watching her every move as she opened the fridge, took out some juice and went over to the fruit bowl, carefully slicing up a kiwi. He was so quiet, and she almost jumped when she suddenly felt his hand on her shoulder.
Almost, being the keyword. She would do anything in her power to make sure that he wouldn't know that she was scared or anxious.
"I'm sorry" he murmured gently after a while, and Irene thought she must have heard wrong. Was Sherlock Holmes apologising?
Her breath caught in her throat for a second, and neither of them dared to break the moment. His hand gently moved on her shoulder, his fingers tracing down her arm slightly, but stopping at the elbow, and then repeating the whole pattern again.
He was giving her space.
"Forgive me?" he murmured again, in his lovely, rich deep voice and she knew she was powerless to resist him.
Although she didn't say anything, he knew. She didn't have to speak; he knew that she wasn't angry from the way she stood, from the way she relaxed suddenly, from the small sigh of relief that escaped her lips. He put his other hand on her shoulder as well, now trailing both of them down her arm until he reached her waist and pulled her against him.
She went willingly, and took comfort in the contact. It had been some time since someone had held her like that.
She twisted her body after a while, so that instead of simply holding her they were hugging, and buried her face against his shoulder. He barely heard her apology, but told her that he wasn't angry all the same.
She leant up to kiss him, and the rest was blur.
He supposed he could have blamed it on his sleep deprived and jetlagged mind, or the fact that he hadn't eaten for almost a week, or the fact that he had recently found out he was going to be a father to possibly the most intelligent child in the whole world, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that he had to blame it on succumbing to physical desire.
Feelings clouded his head, and for a few moments he was simply unable to think clearly.
Or think at all.
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He didn't actually pause to reflect on their current situation until much later, when both of them were lying side by side on Irene's bed, both somewhat breathless.
"Have you thought of names?" he asked after their breathing eased, his voice once again a drawl, but with a hint of interest. Irene was no longer worried about his detached tone. She knew that he cared, at least a bit, even if he didn't want her to know.
"Nero if it's a boy" she said, rolling over and facing the ceiling. "And probably Jasmine if it's a girl."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
"Such common names" he said, "For the girl at least." Irene smirked.
"Have any better suggestions?"
Sherlock looked surprised. "Me? I'm hardly an expert in that field, Irene."
"And I am?" she volleyed back. She was right, Sherlock thought, annoyed that the though hadn't occurred to him earlier. He had been so busy concentrating on how utterly new this was to him, that he had forgotten that Irene had absolutely no experience with children either.
"You're a woman" he acknowledged, trying to find a way out of the corner she had just managed to trap him in. "It should be…instinctive for you".
Irene snorted delicately. "What's wrong with the names I picked, if it's instinct then?" she asked, teasingly raising an eyebrow.
Sherlock shrugged, also looking up at the ceiling. "I just think that a child as wondrous and intelligent as ours deserves some special name, that is all".
Irene fought hard to contain a smile at that. Wondrous child. Sherlock cared, a lot more than he was letting on.
He, however, took her silence to be doubt. "Surely a child with our combined intellect should be considered above average, Irene" he said, rolling over to face her, and propping himself up on one elbow.
Irene laughed at the thought. "Certainly" she said teasingly. "With our combined intelligence and our combined good looks, it will become the wonder of the century".
Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing full well that she was making fun of him. Strangely, he didn't mind.
"I assume you haven't asked about the gender of the child, yes?" he asked after a while. Irene shook her head.
He nodded, and they both lay there quietly. Neither of them were uncomfortable anymore, they now both knew where they stood. The silence between them was now a comfortable, thoughtful one, instead of an edgy one.
Sherlock yawned slightly, the fact that he had not slept for a good week slowly catching up with him. The fact that he had learned that Irene was pregnant didn't help much.
"Fine" he admitted grudgingly, as he felt sleep starting to claim him. "Nero or Jasmine it is".
Irene smiled to herself, and, feeling a lot happier than she had a few hours ago, also dropped off to sleep, pulling herself to Sherlock's chest.
She was far too sleepy to notice the way his heartbeat accelerated slightly at the touch.
Nothing ever changed.
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Phew.
That was HARD.
But I finished it. Yay :)
Hope you enjoyed, and please review!
Laura x