Just Another Case

Chapter One

edited 9/24/17

TAKES PLACE AFTER SEASON THREE

"Bored..." Sherlock mumbled, slumped in is chair. 

"What was that?"

"Bored!" He said again. There was a small pause of silence before Sherlock sprang up from his chair. 

"Bored!!!!"

"Oh sweet jesus."

Before Sherlock had time, John snatched his gun off the kitchen table.

"Do you know how many holes in the wall you've already made?!" He scolded.

"Mmm, not enough."

John rolled his eyes in response and pocketed his friend's gun, earning a whine in protest. "How can you be so bored, anyways?" He asked as Sherlock shuffled back to his chair. "You have loads of cases, just take one!"

"But they're all the same." Sherlock moaned. "They're all boring. There's nothing new."

John tapped his chin momentarily in thought. "Well, what about Wendy Anderson's case? That seemed a bit out-"

Sherlock interrupted his friend with a scoff. "Are you joking?" John stood still and silent, indicating that his answer was no. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I would never solve any of her cases." He said, clearly annoyed.

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "And why not?"

Sherlock sniffed. "She's an Anderson."

"Oh for crying out loud!" John threw his hands up in exasperation. "They probably aren't related!"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "We can't take any chances."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are being childish." Sherlock mocked him in response.

"What is wrong with you today?" John asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table, sipping his tea. Sherlock slowly rose from his chair and staggered over. "I'm bored." He said again, more aggressively. John knew something was bothering him, but simply brushed it off. It's probably Sherlock just having one of his withdrawal tantrums again.

"How could you be so cranky on a day like this, anyways?" John asked, tapping the rim of his mug happily. There was a faint buzzing sound, and John smiled as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Speak of the devil." Sherlock muttered.

"Hello, darling, happy birthday." John shoved his phone in Sherlock's face. 

"Happy birthday, Mary." He said, blandly.

John smiled at his cooperation. "Did you get that?"

It's not that Sherlock disliked Mary. In fact, he liked Mary very much, and that's saying a lot for someone like him. It's just...

Well, John surely wouldn't be this enthusiastic if it was Sherlock's birthday.

Given that John still doesn't know when his birthday is.... but still.

"M-Mary?" Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts to the faint sound of sobbing coming from the other end of John's call. Sherlock watched as he saw his face contort from concussion, to dismay, to distress.

"Oh my god."

John jumped out of his seat and sprinted towards the door, Sherlock on his heels. 

"John, whats wr-" He stopped himself, he put all the pieces together.

Mary had to call John, she was a hysterical mess, John wouldn't have gotten so worked up if it was about anything else.

The two jumped in a cab, and John struggled to tell the driver the address. His cheeks were stained with tears, his hands were shaking, and on his way out, his limp resurfaced from the panic. 

"John, I-" But Sherlock didn't know what to say. How could he know what to say? He isn't capable of expressing sympathy like this. Or really any other emotion.

John stayed silent the whole car ride. His eyes were fixated on what was ahead, his whole body was tense.

As soon as the cab pulled over, John swung the door open and bolted up the hospital steps, leaving Sherlock to frantically throw money at the driver. But John didn't care. He needed to see his wife. 

As the two sprinted through the hospital halls, they finally came to the NICU lobby. 

"I-I need to see my wife." John demanded to the receptionist. "Now."

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't allow you through these doors without a doctor-"

"Please!"

"Mr. Watson?" John and Sherlock whipped around to face a doctor standing in the doorway. He had a look of sympathy etched into his face.

That can't be good.

"Right this way, please."

The two followed the doctor through the white tiled hall, coming closer and closer to the sound of sobbing until they were right outside it's door.

John slowly opened it to see Mary in a hospital gown, crying.

"Oh my god." John made his way towards her, and took his wife in his arms, both of them crying into each other's shoulders.

"Mr. and Mrs. Watson, I am so sorry,"

Sherlock couldn't bare to see the two like this: broken.

"But you lost the baby."

I haven't republished this in over a year rip watch no one even care about this anymore.