𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬³ | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

The loud ring-tone echoed from the laptop and I leaned over and flipped the lid open, to see an incoming video call from Sherlock. I answered, smiling,

"So go on then, show me."

"Right, so they're saying it's just unusual, but of course, they always say th- hang on. Y/n, are you dressed?"

I laughed, "yeah, don't sound so surprised. I just needed to get out, I'm sick of staring at the same four walls every day."

"Mm, well, if you just get better, then you can come out on the cases with me. I really need you, you know, everybody else is just so stupid."

It had been three weeks since the morning after our anniversary, and almost every day since, I had been either violently sick or incredibly fatigued, resulting in my imprisonment at 221B Baker Street, while my husband went out and got to do all the fun stuff. But I had gone out today, that was true. And now I knew the cause of my sudden change in health. I glanced nervously over to the kitchen counter, where the white envelope laid.

"Y/n?" Sherlock's voice snapped me out of my daze,

"Mm?" I turned my focus back to him,

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine."

"Okay, anyway, so this woman, she's got fifteen cats, but her cause of death is canine diste-"

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"When are you getting back today?"

He looked slightly startled, "uh, I'm not sure. Soon, I suppose. Is everything alright- and don't say that it is if it's not."

I glanced down, tears welling in my eyes. God, my hormones were all over the place.

"Y/n?" Sherlock's voice suddenly went up an octave, highlighting his concern. I very rarely cried- in fact, in our relationship, Sherlock was considered to be the emotional one.

"I'm fine, I'll see you later. You need to solve the case," I said quickly, then I hung up before he could ask any more questions. Just as the lid went down, the tears started flowing down my cheeks rapidly, like a waterfall. My throat started to feel tight and make awful choking sounds. Desperately trying to muffle the sound, I buried your head in my hands and, for the first time in a long while, allowed myself to sob.

"Y/n?" I heard Mrs Hudson gently knock on the door, "Y/n, dear, is everything alright?"

Gasping for breath, I lifted your head, "I'm- I'm fine, Mrs Hudson," I gasped between unmistakable sobs. Unconvinced, Mrs Hudson opened the door and rushed to my side, wrapping her arm around my shoulders tight, which then caused me to sob harder.

"Oh, gosh, y/n? What's wrong?"

"Noth-nothing, I'm, just- being- silly. All- these--hormones," I squealed, tears flowing faster. Mrs Hudson squeezed my shoulder, making soothing noises, like a mother would to a baby-

"Come on, dear, let's get you all cleaned up."

Ten minutes later, I was swaddled in a blanket, tears flowing softer now, as Mrs Hudson sat next to me, stroking my hair,

"No, don't be silly. It's perfectly okay to be scared. But just remember who you've got- me and John and Sherlock. I'm sure, if you threatened to burn his umbrellas, even Mycroft would help. You're never alone, anymore, y/n. As much as you doubt it, you have a family now," Mrs Hudson said softly, wiping my tears. I smiled, then turned my head sharply with Mrs Hudson, as a sudden crash echoed from the staircase, followed by frantic footsteps.  Sherlock barrelled through the door, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes moved to me,

"Y/n!" He gasped, then doubled over, his hands on his knees. Mrs Hudson started laughing,

"Oh, Sherlock! You looked like you've run a marathon!" She giggled, clasping my hand.

"Not- quite a marathon," he panted, standing up straight, "I thought something was wrong."

My cheeks burned as I looked down, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. You didn't need to leave-"

"Actually," Mrs Hudson spoke up, looking sternly at me, "now that he's back, you can talk to him. You need to tell him." Sherlock's brow creased, watching me.

Mrs Hudson got up and swished out the room, but not before reassuringly squeezing my hand. I watched her as she closed the door, avoiding eye contact with my husband.

"Y/n? Y/n."

My eyes flicked upwards as my tears began to flow again. I looked down at my hands, as Sherlock's closed around them, enclosing them in warmth, "y/n. Talk to me." His voice was low, almost void of emotion. I cleared your throat softly. He leaned forward and reached his hands to wipe my tears. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

"Okay," I whispered, barely audible. I took the blanket off from around my shoulders and gingerly made my way over to the kitchen, stood for a second, gazing at the envelope. Shaking slightly, I picked it up by the corner.

Sniffling softly, I turned back to Sherlock and held it out to him. His brow creased,

"What's this?"

"Just open it."

He looked down and carefully lifted the seal, as my heart paced rapidly. This was the moment. The moment you had been dreading. I watched as his fingers reached in and pulled out the small, white photo. His eyes gazed across, confused. He froze for a moment.

"What...what is this..." he whispered, brow furrowed.

"I think Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, with an IQ of 190 recognises a sonogram when he sees one."