[personal profile] bradspyjamas
Title: Little things
Author[livejournal.com profile] bradspyjamas
Beta: ‚ÄčThe incomparable [livejournal.com profile] kizzia 
Rating: PG13 - mpreg with mentions of sex but nothing graphic (although Chapter 24 is pushing the boundaries!)
Status: WIP - all chapters written but later ones being edited.
Tags: Johnlock, Post-Reichenbach, Mpreg, Omegaverse (my own version), angst, fluff, established relationship.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to ACD, the BBC, Moffat and Gatiss - no copyright infringement intended.
Summary: John held himself together after Sherlock jumped but the emotional strain was enormous and Sherlock didn't fare much better. When Sherlock finally returned they were both just so glad to reaffirm their bond they didn't really think about the future, or if they did they simply assumed their lives would carry on as they always had. 
Needless to say they soon discover that their prolonged separation has had a very specific effect on John; the results of which mean nothing will ever be the same again. Told entirely in 221B’s this story charts all the little things Sherlock and John experience as their lives change forever.  
The B’s so far are Blood, Breathe, Bag, Beta, Bucket, Brother, Brilliant, Bet, Best, Bother, Bang, Bleak, Beginning, Baby, Born, Biscuit, Beneath, Bump, Basement, Beetroot, Blimp, Blur, Benedict, Beg, Break, Butterfly, Boy, Brooding, Bemused, Blue, Broken, Bourbon, Before, Breeches, Bedroom, Bewildered, Bassinet, Bee, Bach, Black, Blinked, Blame, Blind, Brain, Better, Blaze, Back, Birth, Been, Blooming, Betty, Bored, Bone, Believable, Burning, Bladder, Bugger, Blank, Beautiful, Bond & Blessed.

Author's Note: This isn't standard Omegaverse because, as I'm not comfortable writing dub/non-con scenes, I decided to create
my own version. If you want to know more about it, I've done an explanatory post here.

Chapter 61 - Blessed

‘Mycroft,’ Sherlock calls ever so softly, beckoning to his brother with his free hand, ‘Come in.’

‘I’m not intruding?’ Mycroft remains in the doorway, his usual confidence absent.

‘It doesn’t normally bother you,’ Sherlock’s retort contains no malice and when he meets Mycroft’s eyes they both remember another age, another time, another life. After a heartbeat Mycroft inclines his head and moves into the room, silently shutting the door before padding, cat-footed, over to the bed.

‘I should have brought a camera,’ he murmurs, eyes travelling over the tableau of Sherlock cradling John and his son, both of whom are sleeping peacefully.

‘Over there somewhere,’ Sherlock waves his free hand towards the side of the room, ‘but that can wait. First I want you to meet your nephew … Hamish Sherrinford Watson-Holmes.’

Mycroft looks down at the tiny child and once again the past rushes in. Except the last time he was introduced to a new born he was seven years old and the child had ivory skin and a shock of black curls, not chubby pink cheeks and a head of golden fuzz.

‘He’s got John’s colouring.’

‘And cobalt blue eyes.’

‘All babies’ eyes are blue, Sherlock,’ Mycroft squeezes his shoulder gently.

‘Hamish’s won’t change.’ You could bend rocks round Sherlock’s certainty.

‘Regardless,’ Mycroft smiles, properly, ‘You have been truly blessed.’

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