This Is Real

Chapter Nine

"Have you seen my contacts?" she asks, nudging him out the way with her hip to flick the kettle on. "They're not in the bathroom."

He hums, noncommittal.

"I want to put them in the organiser. I had a fresh box in the cupboard under the sink."

"You must have put them elsewhere."

Eve pulled out the milk from the fridge and turned to narrow her eyes on him. "They were where they belong, where they've always been, I didn't move them," Sherlock continues chopping up the fruit he has spread over the countertop, prepping snacks for their son when he wakes from his nap, and their daughter when she comes out of nursery saying she's hungry, as usual. "You wouldn't have 'reorganised' again, would you?"

"No idea what you mean."

"Sherlock," she whined. "You can't keep messing about, I need them."

"You have your glasses on your face at this very moment, so I'd say you don't need them."

She pinched a strawberry from the box, popping it into her mouth. "You're being an arse."

He chortled, shrugging. "And you're blaming me for misplacing something."

"You do have a habit of hiding them so I wear my glasses instead because you fancy the pants off me when I do."

He looked at her, smirking, eyes glittering with mischief. "I can't fault your deductive reasoning."

Her mouth fell open. "Oh, you bugger! I knew it," she poked him hard in the chest. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if you don't retrieve them from your new hiding place this instant, I'll–"

"Alright!" he threw his arms up, dropping the knife with a clatter and storming off out the room to where she hopes is the spot he's moved her box of contact lenses. "Stubborn woman."

He really was incorrigible.

By the time he walked back into the kitchen, shaking the box of missing items, she was about to take another mouthful from her fresh mug of hot coffee. His eyes widened, tossed the contact lenses onto the island and stalked towards her with an angry look on his face.

"Sherlock!"

Her shout of protest fell upon deaf ears as Sherlock snatched the cup of from her hands, narrowly avoiding spilling the contents, and poured it down the sink. He spun back around to glare at her.

"Sherlock! What the hell is wrong with you lately?"

His face blanched. He hadn't thought that through. Okay, he had to tell her. He had the words planned perfectly in his head.

'Well, you see, I'm only looking out for our unborn foetus, as you know excessive caffeine consumption can be detrimental to its health. What I mean to say is, Evelyn, darling, you're pregnant. Surprise!'

Simple enough, right?

Sherlock opened his mouth, but the words he had prepared were not the ones to come out. "I'm having an affair."

Eve snorted in amusement. "No, you're not." If there was one thing she knew for a fact, it was that Sherlock Holmes was not the adulterous type. He loved her too damn much.

Sherlock shrugged, creasing his nose. "It was worth a try."

"Seriously," she planted her hands firmly on her hips, staring up at him with a warning gleam in her eye. "What is going on?"

He sighed, pursing his lips and beginning to psych himself up again. His mouth bobbed. Then he was pacing the width of the kitchen. Why was he finding this so difficult? They'd had two children already, the only difference being both those times she was the one to tell him and he didn't want to take that opportunity away from her. When his wife came to him and informed him of the possibility of a second pregnancy, listing off her symptoms, they'd both crowded over the bathroom sink while watching the two distinct lines appear on the test. The other time... well, they don't really talk about that.