“It’s ingenious, really,” Sherlock mused.
His hands hovered over what he no doubt saw as his latest puzzle and John slapped them away angrily. “It is not ‘ingenious’, it’s absurd!” he shouted back in reply. He pushed himself up from his chair and began to pace. It didn’t really help him think any better, but he had seen Sherlock do it with positive results, so it was bound to kick in sometime.
“John,” Sherlock said placatingly. He turned in his own chair to track his flatmate’s movements. “You were unconscious for mere hours. The fact he was able to do this at all, let alone in so short of a timeframe surely speaks of the level of intellect involved.”
“He obviously planned this far in advance of the little kidnapping, strap me with a bomb spell, and I can’t believe you are speaking as if in awe of his intellect!” John ranted, quickly going from contemplating to rage once more. He turned to Sherlock, hands on his rapidly expanding hips and said, in as loud of a voice as he dared, as if to say it out loud made it that much more real, “Sherlock, he knocked me up.”
Sherlock went back to stirring something in a cup and corrected, “Technically, he created an artificial womb and implanted it within you. It does rather explain why the vest was filled with baby powder and not explosives though, does it not?”
John paused for a moment as he remembered the whole thing smelled a little bit talc-like, then returned to the subject at hand as he finally screamed, “Sherlock, I am pregnant with Moriarty’s baby!”
That was, of course, when both of their phones beeped with an incoming text that read, “Sherlock, do you not think it’s time to fully debrief him on the matter? – MH.”
John turned around slowly, anger seething deep within, or at least he thought it was not just the curry from lunch, and asked, “Fully debrief me on what?”
Sherlock looked up at him, face paler than usual, then back at the cup, then over at the kettle, then back over to John before he finally cleared his throat and began, “As you know, we found a very discreet doctor to confer with regarding your condition.”
“By ‘we’ you mean you and Mycroft and by ‘discreet’ you mean on your brother’s payroll, don’t you?” John guessed.
Sherlock did not deny it, but continued, “Amongst the myriad of tests performed, a rather interesting tidbit was discovered.” He scratched at his chin and looked as though he was about to stall before he finally said in a mumbled rush, “You are not just pregnant with a single child, but with twins. Fraternal as far as we can tell given that each has a distinctive genetic make up.”
John suddenly felt extremely lightheaded and sat down heavily on the couch. When that did not feel like quite enough, he threw himself to the side, using the armrest as a pillow and stretching out like a fainting lady in times of old. “Two?” he asked meekly. “Twins?”
Sherlock nodded and made his way over to the far end of the couch, deftly picking up John’s swollen feet and placing them in his lap all the while managing not to dislodge the cup he still held in his hand. His free hand began to lightly massage John’s arches as he pointed out, “We did quite enthusiastically celebrate our safe return from the pool.”
“You? But...” John began but trailed off, not sure how to finish that thought.
“Somehow my sperm infiltrated the artificial womb and also impregnated you,” he explained, not unkindly. “We have yet to determine if it was the same egg split in two with two separate inseminations, or if Moriarty had implanted a backup for safety’s sake.”
“But...” John said, still trying to wrap his mind around the whole thing. Being impregnated by your arch enemy was one thing. Being impregnated by both your arch enemy and lover all in one go was quite something else. “My god,” he whispered. “They will try to kill each other.”
“Now, now,” Sherlock chided, patting his feet with the words. “They will both be the children of geniuses which, when mixed with your kind heart and my intellect, we should be able to raise them together with a minimal amount of warfare.” He reached forward and offered John the still steaming cup. “Tea? It has added milk and vitamins for substantial fortification.”
John took it and sipped at it gingerly, trying to figure out how he managed to make it taste like the old Flintstones chewables in a cup. “I’m going to be a dad,” he whispered. He looked up at Sherlock and added, “You’re going to be a dad.” He swore he felt a swift kick to his gut from the internal side and amended, “To an evil criminal mastermind bastard redheaded stepchild.”
“Oh, I doubt it will be a ginger,” Sherlock said happily. “Do think about genetics, John.”
Their phones both beeped again, and John fumbled with the cup to pull his out and read, “Do not forget: I will be an uncle and claim full spoiling rights! – MH.”
John tossed his phone to the side and went back to his overly sweet and overly fortified tea. After a moment, he asked, “Sherlock? How do you feel about adoption?”