The Holmes’ life was never truly ‘pleasant’, but you and your husband, Sherlock, absolutely loved it. From murderers to terrorists, to even consulting criminals, it housed it all. Except for one thing you so desperately wanted. A child. Ever since you were about six, despite having previously sworn off sentiment and having absolutely no friends or social skills, you knew you would manage to have a baby somehow. That was the reason for today’s (actually, your second ever) fight with Sherlock. After three years together, taking him as your husband, and many promises of these sort of things, you finally were at the end of your rope.
“Children ruin things, y/n! Why on earth would you want one?!” Sherlock rarely shouted, especially at you, but he believed this was getting nuts.
“Because Sherlock! I want a child, I’ve always wanted one, and you knew that perfectly well, too!” Usually when people began screeching, you slinked away. Yelling was one of those things that flashed you back to your life before turning 18. You didn’t have ‘Sunday dinners’, you had Sunday beatings. You went to church every Sunday, your mother harshly dragging you up the steeple steps, your father threatening with all the things he’d do to you when you got home. And those were only the things he’d do with your mother around. Eventually, screaming became a sign of a whooping coming, a warning you never let go of. But tonight was different. Tonight you were screaming as well.
“WE ARE NOT HAVING A CHILD, AND THAT IS THAT!” We? He said we… A sly, sickening grin spread across your face. We meant not you and Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t own you. He couldn’t control if you had a child with someone else.
“Alright,” you said in a calmly manner, which both shocked and terrified him, “we won’t have a child, Sherlock.” He nodded softly with your words, head bobbing on each given syllable, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Good. Glad that’s finally decided.” He chose each word carefully. Plucking every needed word to convey what he meant.
“Me, too. Well then, I should be off.” You scooped up your purse as Sherlock’s eyes widened to the size of baseballs. You draped your f/c trench coat over your arm.
“And where do you think you’re going at this hour?” He snapped, unable to deduce the situation. He was clever, but you both knew you could beat him at chess any day. In simple terms; You were much smarter.
“To have a baby, of course.” You stated simply without turning to face him.
“I think you’re missing something for that to happen.” He said a little too proudly. Yes, you definitely were, that’s why you needed to get going.
“Currently? Yes, I am. But I should be able to make it to James’ house before nine.” All of Sherlock’s confidence fell. Moriarty had been his enemy for along time. Usually over a battle of wits, but that changed when the world’s best spy (you) came along.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Okay, so he wasn’t just upset, he was pissed.
“Nothing at all. If you won’t give me a baby, then I’ll find someone who will. Jim is a more than reliable donor; handsome, smart, and willing. What else do I need?” You went to turn the knob, only cracking the door before Sherlock slammed his hand on it to keep it shut.
“How about, NOT A PSYCHOPATH?!” You glared at Sherlock, and he did the same back. This is what everyone feared. Some swore you two glaring at each other would be WW III.
“Well, I would’ve had a sociopath, but he’s too involved with himself to have a child. Too involved to sleep with his own bloody wife.” You snapped coldly back, taking Sherlock further aback. So maybe this wasn’t the first thing that you were upset about. When it was clear you were going nowhere soon, you spun on your heal, and headed back to the shared bedroom. Part of your thoughts raced to the consulting criminal, and how he would’ve gladly just said yes. The other part believed maybe you were too hard on Sherl. The door creaked open, and you glanced at the alarm clock on your nightstand. A full hour had passed, and Sherlock seemed almost as beaten up about the whole thing as you.
“Listen love, I know you want a child. I know that it means the world to you. But… Damn this is hard to say aloud… But I don’t want to lose you.” He seemed to be choking on tears as he shut the door behind him. He crawled onto the mattress with you, arms carefully encircling your smaller figure.
“Why would you lose me Sherlock?” This was starting to concern you. It was greatly unlike him to show any emotion, whatsoever. Now, suddenly, he was tearing up, acting torn apart, and engaging in more physical contact than you thought he was capable of.
“Because, I don’t know (and I really don’t like not knowing), the baby would take up all your time. All your attention would belong to it.” A tear came to your eye at the moment, realizing how much you meant to him was a beautiful thing.
“Sherlock, this isn’t like with John. You’d be helping raise this child, and yes, you’d have to share my attention, but trust me, you won’t even notice.” You could feel his weak smile, and knew he was going to say something quite suggestive.
“Want to test that theory?”