|Sherlock Imagines|

Sherlock: #9

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Warnings: none, a happy imagine with a touch of sadness

"You're pregnant."

Your jaw dropped and Sherlock froze.

You were sitting in a doctors office, waiting to hear back on whether or not you had the flu. You'd been feeling nauseous and dizzy for weeks, and worried that you caught the flu running rampant through London Sherlock had convinced you to get checked up. He even went as far as coming along.

But instead of getting diagnosed with the flu and being sent home with antibiotics, your doctor had just informed you that there was an actual human being growing inside of you.

You weren't sure how long the two of you sat in shock, but eventually your doctor spoke again, "I take it this is an unplanned surprise?"

You nodded. The shock was slowly going away, replaced with anxiety and fear. You could barely take care of Sherlock, much less a tiny baby.

"Let me go get some pamphlets and information and then we can talk about options." Your doctor said, leaving you and Sherlock alone.

"A baby....." Sherlock breathed out.

Hearing him say it out loud, saying that you were going to have a baby–

You began to hyperventilate. Your thoughts were all over the place your anxiety was rising, you could feel it at the back of your throat and you felt like you may vomit, you couldn't do this you couldn't–

Sherlock gently placed his hands on either side of your face, guiding your gaze to his. "You're having a panic attack, (y/n). You are not in any danger, you are here, safe and sound, with me. Just breathe with me."

The two of you took several deep breathes together, and your mind began to calm. "There's- there's a baby in my, in my stomach." Your stuttered, as your brain still could not comprehend what was happening.

Sherlock nodded. "Technically in your uterus, but I'll let that one slide. But yes, there is a tiny human growing inside you. It is ok. You are safe, and we are going to figure this out together." He grabbed your hands and held on tightly.

You clung to his hands like a lifeline, keeping you from being swept up in your thoughts again. "Should we....should we keep it?" The big question, the first question.

Sherlock's answer was careful. "It is your body, (y/n). Your body, your choice. If you choose to keep it, I will be here. If you choose to not, I will be here."

You bit your lip. The baby was as much his as yours, so you felt it should in part be his decision as well. Yet he wouldn't be the one carrying another person around for 9 months....

"I don't feel ready, I don't feel ready to be a parent. But....." you trailed off. "I want this baby Sherlock. And this baby is yours too, so if you don't want to it's ok but I–"

Sherlock pulled you into a careful hug, stopping you in your tracks. "I want this baby with you, (y/n). With you, I believe we can do it."

You began to cry, out of both shock and happiness.

You were going to have a baby.

—6 months later—

You pulled the black dress over your head, stretching it to fit over your enlarged stomach.

You used to love wearing black. It was a slimming color, and at this point in your pregnancy you were willing to do anything to make you look less like a whale.

But right now, you'd do anything to be wearing a different color.

You zipped the dress up and jammed your feet into shoes. Your hair was up in a tight bun, face bare. You left the safety of your bedroom and went to the kitchen. You forced yourself to drink some water and eat some breakfast. The baby was always hungry, even if you weren't.

You had finished eating and were putting the dishes away when you heard footsteps coming up to the flat, sounding like a death march.

A low voice called out, saying the words you'd been dreading for days, "It's time to go."

You met him at the top of the stairs, and he linked his arm with yours as you descended. A private car had been arranged, and it drove the two of you away.

It was a short drive, and then you were there. You sat in silence for a few minutes, working up the courage to say something. He grasped your hand tightly in silent support. You took one last deep breath and finally whispered, " Let's go."

Sherlock nodded, helping you of the car and into the cemetery.

The day was beautiful, and you felt betrayed by the bright sun and clear skies. But perhaps it was more appropriate this way. Sherlock led you through the yard, weaving through crumbling stone and dying flowers.

You stopped at the spot, greeted by several other people. You kept your gaze down, clutching tightly to Sherlock.

The small service began, but you blocked most of it out. All of your attention was on the small block of stone, freshly buried in the ground. The carved writing was simply, something she would've appreciated.

Mary
caring mother, wife, and friend

John had been torn on whether to put Watson or Morstan, so opted for simply Mary. You liked it that way. No more secrets, no more resentment, just Mary.

She hadn't wished to be buried, and John respected that wish. But he wanted to have something physical, a place that he and Rosie could visit and remember her.

You nearly broke down at the thought of little Rosie, with her golden locks and pink cheeks, sitting down beside her mothers gravestone.

You felt a kick in your stomach, and another urge to cry. Mary was supposed to be here to see your baby be born, to be a friend and a supporter and a godmother. She was the first person you called after that fateful doctors appointment.

You weren't sure you could do it without her.

—2 months later—

"It's time to push, (y/n)!" Your doctor yelled.

Sherlock squeezed your hand. "Come on, (y/n), you can do it."

You shook your head, sweat pouring down your face. "It's too early she's not ready! I'm not ready, I need Mary I can't do this without her!" You cried, tears falling down your face.

"You're ready, (y/n). We're ready. Do it for her, remember? Do it for her."

You nodded. Squeezing Sherlock's hand as hard as humanly possible, you pushed. A couple minutes and a few painful pushes later, a baby's cry pierced the air.

"Congratulations! A healthy baby girl." Your doctor wrapped your baby up and handed her to you.

You held her against your chest, in awe. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the both of you, his eyes watering as he stared at the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She was absolutely precious, with small tufts of dark hair already on her head.

"Our beautiful baby girl." You murmured, tears still falling.

"Our beautiful Mary. "