This Is Real

Chapter Thirteen

The gunshot pulled him from his slumber at breakneck speed. A vision of Evelyn, broken and bleeding from the gun in his own hand, flashed through his mind even as he opened his eyes.

He rolled off the sofa and to his feet in a heartbeat, eyes instinctively searching for and finding his wife standing at the sliding glass backdoor.

"Fireworks," Eve offered without turning around. "It's midnight. Happy New Year." That explained the sound that had roused him and the echoing pops. He moved to her side and followed her line of sight to the bursts of light in the dark sky coming from the park. She looked up at him, a slight crease between her brows. "Nightmare again?"

Sherlock hummed an affirmative. "It's nothing," he lowered his forehead to hers. "Happy New Year, my love." Then he tipped his chin and kissed her softly. He felt her smile against his mouth, her hand coming up to touch his face softly.

They'd done a handful of small garden safe comets for the children, and managed to get through two packets of sparklers, but now they basked in the quiet of the house. The only sounds heard are the muffled bangs and whistles from all over the city.

She pulled back, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone, holding his gaze. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Certain. No need to start the new year off with any of that. I have all the comfort I need right here."

"Alright," she rubbed her palm over her stomach. "Well, we're now officially in the year where we have this one."

Sherlock smiled, pressing his hand against the swell under her clothes, feeling a mighty kick. "Not too much longer to wait," he scrunches his face up. "Though don't feel any obligation to hang around in there, you come when you're ready."

Evelyn pressed her lips together to hold down her laughter. "Says the man that panicked when I was three weeks early with our first."

"I do not panic. I am nothing if not aloof and mysterious, with nerves of steel."

"Keep telling yourself that."

He chortled. "I may have... softened at the edges, just a bit."

"You definitely have. Although, skulking around London with your coat collar turned up?" she whistled. "Pheww... so mysterious."

"Thank you for noticing," he threw his arm over her shoulders. "Maybe this is also the year we get a dog?"

"Seems highly likely," she grins, crinkling her nose fondly. "But let's get through the newborn stage first, yeah?"

"You're probably right."

"I usually am."

"Hm," he pecked her sweetly. "Ninety percent of the time at least."

"Oh, at least."

Sherlock run his fingers through her hair, his thumb tracing the shell of her ear. "We're okay, aren't we?"

Evelyn frowned, moving her head into his touch. "Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Doesn't matter. Overthinking is all."

"You're still dwelling on what happened two weeks ago." She wouldn't be saying that woman's name if she could help it.

He shrugged. "A bit. I've found myself watching the children while they sleep, mulling over all the possibilities that could have been–"