bradspyjamas | Fic: Little things - Chapter 59 of 62

Title: Little things
Author:

bradspyjamas
Beta: The incomparable

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.

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 59 - Beautiful

Just my imagination, John thinks as Sherlock sways, face bone white. Has to be, because the man who dissects eyeballs on the kitchen table can't be about to faint. Not now, sixteen hours in, when I need him most.

‘Sherlock?’ he gasps, hands fisting the sheets as another contraction hits, ‘Talk to me … Please … I need you … to … help me …’

‘You’re doing fine,’ the midwife - Rory, yes that’s his name - says kindly when it becomes obvious Sherlock isn’t capable of speaking, let alone helping, ‘Almost ready to push?’

‘Yes!’ He is. The pressure's unbearable, ‘Can I? Now?’

‘Not yet. I’ll tell you when.’

So he pants his way through what feels like a hundred more contractions with just Rory’s smile for encouragement until, finally, he says ‘Push!’

But all John can do is moan, completely exhausted.

‘Come on, John. Push for me.’

'Too tired … I can’t!’

‘Yes, you can!’ It’s Sherlock, speaking as he slides behind John, wrapping his arms round him, bracing him, telling him he's wonderful, brilliant, that it's all fine.

And suddenly it is because he’s not alone and John's cursing as pushes, again and again and then ... the pain fades as a warm, wailing bundle is placed in his arms.

‘Oh, John!’ The awe in Sherlock’s voice is unequivocal, ‘So beautiful ... you ... he ... you’re both so beautiful!’

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