Things to believe in: Two.

Tuesday, September 21st

John spent most of his lunch break picking out vitamins from the chemist. He knew Sherlock wouldn't buy them himself, as they were pointless, however, John knew that in the long term they would help both mother and child.   Perhaps he could crush them into the detectives tea.

Upon his arrival back at the clinic, Sarah greeted him at the reception.

"Cup of tea, John?" She asked.

He joined her in staff room, in the corner by the heater, and they had a pretty mundane conversation about their clients and home lives.

"How are you and Sherlock? It's been, what, nine months?" Sarah rested her head in her hand and smile at the man.

"Ah, well, he's been laying on the sofa for the past two weeks, watching Hollyoaks and drinking our tea."

"Hollyoaks? Sherlock? Is he ill?"

"Well, er, no. Actually; He's pregnant."  John answered, grinning.

Sarah forced a small smile of her own.

"Oh. John, that's great. Congratulations."

John looked into the remnants of his tea. He cleared his throat.

"Sherlock doesn't seem so pleased."

"You know Sherlock. He's an emotionless beast; Inside he's dancing with glee."

"You really think so, Sarah?"

"Oh course John, would I lie to you?"

**
Sherlock was dressed in one of his fine black suits and standing over an assortment of dead rats in the kitchen. He had them all cut open and pinned to an old chopping board. He picked at their entrails, poked at their hearts and prodded at their eyes; he would do anything to take his mind of the child inside of him.

Already, the waist band of his trousers were beginning to feel much too tight and the morning nausea had, in fact, started the evening before. Evening nausea. Great.

John had warned him against an experiments but, in typical Sherlock fashion, he completely disobeyed. His thoughts would eat him alive if he sat still. He had dealt with that enough during the night.

Come six that evening, he was still in the kitchen dropping iodine onto organs and putting them into the fridge. He didn't hear John opening and closing the front door.

"Sherlock, put the tweezers down."

"John," Sherlock mumbled with out even lifting his head, "Lovely to see you home."

"I thought I said no experiments?"

"You did. I chose not to listen. I am not your wife, and if I were, you can't tell me what to do."

The doctor growled in frustration and threw himself onto the couch.

"If you were my wife, you would have dinner ready and this place clean." He unlaced his boots relaxed against the cushions," I supposed me saying 'You could harm the baby' means nothing?"

"No.Baby agrees with me; it likes keeping busy."

"By poking around in dead rats?"

"As long as I wear latex gloves, yes."

The TV was switched on and John fell silent. Soon Sherlock noted the sound of laptop keys. Obviously, the man was upset. Sighing, the detective began to clear the table of dead remnants. He switched on the kettle, lifted a take away menu and made them both a cup of tea.

"Tea." He announced setting it on the coffee table next to his lover, "As an apology, I suppose."

"S'not me you should be saying sorry too." John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock placed a head upon his belly, "Sorry, baby." He cocked his head to the side and smiled, "Baby forgives me."

John chuckled. He sat up right and patted the cushion beside him, Sherlock took the invitation with out. Between his hands he held a laboratory beaker, the water dyed pink by the berry tea bag. John sighed and raised both eyebrows.

"What - is - is that a beaker? You're drinking tea - no, what is that?"

"Tea, you were correct. We ran out of mugs."

"Wash some."

"Why?"

John sighed, "Leave it. No, just sit down." He pulled Sherlock back to the sofa, "You need to rest." The doctor reached into his briefcase and took out small bag with the letter Boots inscribed on it. "I got you these."

Sherlock took the bag from him and unturned it onto his lap.

"Vitamins? John, I don't need these."

"Sherlock, you barely eat for one, let alone two; you can't possibly get the right amounts of vitamins and minerals for your body to function. Please, just trust me; I'm a doctor." Before Sherlock could answer him, John clapped a hand over his mouth, "And, I made you an appointment at the hospital for a scan and check up."

Sherlock jumped back.

"No. No, no, no!"

"Oh yes."

"Damn you! Damn you with every fibre in my body." The detective growled, "You know how I feel about check ups. The - the baby disapproves."

"Tuff."

"When? " Sherlock pouted.

"Tomorrow, ten thirty in the morning."

"Busy."

"Sherlock!"

**

The evening passed and the morning arrived much too soon. Sherlock was wrapped around one of the bigger pillows while John prodded him in the back.

"No."

"You have to go to this appointment, Sherlock!"

The detective pulled the covers over his head. John sighed, pulled back the fabric and hoisted his boyfriend over a shoulder. Sherlock let out a little squeak. He was set down in the shower and the water turned on him.

"God! John, I'm still in my boxers! This water is freezing." He wrapped his arms around his middle, "Are you trying to kill us!?"

"Wash, get dressed and meet me in the living room. You are going to this appointment."

"Can't you leave me here and just take the child?"

John chuckled, "Now you're being an idiot." And left.

Sherlock sighed. He hadn't slept at all the previous night, some how the promise of a check up made this situation far more real than it already was. What would he be like when it came to scans? Or actually having the baby? What about naming it?

As he stepped out he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was, to say the least, horrid looking. It wasn't just how pale his skin was, the black beneath his eyes, his chapped lips, it was also the fact that his belly stuck out that little bit more. He frowned.

He should feel like any other expecting mother; happy. But he didn't. The idea of a child made him shiver. He was a consulting detective, he lived a dangerous and lonely life with only John to call his own. He was always moving or working, a baby would slow him down. And what if John loved it more than him? Sherlock was a selfish man, he wasn't scared to admit it, and he didn't like the idea of someone else hogging the doctors affection.

"Come on, Sherlock, speed it up!"  John yelled from the living room.

Sherlock growled and shuffled from the room.