Ignorance Is Not Bliss

A/N: A prequel to my next Mycroft/Jessica fic: - The Game. The Holmes boys come clean to John and Jessica gives birth. I also have a vampire!AU three-shot in the works, with vampire!Sherlock/John and vampire!Mycroft/Anthea called Predator and Prey, so keep an eye out. And no sparklies vampires will be seen in the making of that three-shot, I assure you ;).

A black Jaguar pulled up outside a nondescript block of flats, the white paint peeling off the brickwork. Incongruous in the less than reputable neighbourhood, the woman who slid from the darkened depths of the car was even more so.

Auburn haired, pale and refined, she was clad in a loose cream and black coat, her patent leather heels clicking on the pavement as she walked away from the car.

Without glancing around at her surroundings, rubbish strewing the pavements, two burly workmen smoking cigarettes and eying her across the road, she walked into the building and quickly commandeered the lift.

Once inside, she couldn't hide a wince as she leaned against the wall.

A buzzing noise came from her pocket and she pulled out a sleek Blackberry, checking her texts with a slight grimace.

Are you well?

M

With a roll of her eyes, she quickly texted back a reply.

Fine, you overgrown bat. Stop spying on me, they're just BH contractions.

J

Jessica winced as another Braxton-Hicks contraction made her grimace, before it eased, and she straightened as the lift doors opened. Technically she shouldn't have been there, what with her due date only a week away but she was going stir crazy, staying cooped up in the house all day.

So she had volunteered, or rather seduced and coerced her overprotective husband, into letting her do this.

Informing Dr John Watson that his brother was alive and well, and that soon, all allegations of fraud would be publicly disproved.

I'm just concerned.

M

Jessica rolled her eyes again.

You're always concerned. It's your default mode. Now stop texting me and keep an eye on Sherlock.

J

And with that, she slipped her Blackberry back into her coat pocket and walked down the corridor to a flat marked 32C. Raising one gloved hand, she knocked on the cheap wood.

The door opened to reveal a short, fair-haired man in a knitted jumper, his brow furrowed with pain and haunted eyes.

Sherlock's 'suicide' had hit John Watson hard. Oh he appeared to function, he went through the motions, but the life which had once blazed in his eyes had dissipated.

Jessica had only met John twice. Once while she was masquerading as Mycroft's temporary PA, and the second time when John had come to the office and she had just been leaving. He didn't know she was Mycroft's wife, since they had only married after Sherlock's 'death'. By that time, John had made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with Mycroft, after his mistake, but the elder Holmes had kept tabs on him anyway.

It seemed he recognised her regardless, because his eyes hardened and he went to shut the door in her face. Her hand shot out, stopping the door's progress as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I can imagine my presence here is not welcome, Dr Watson," she murmured softly. "But I have some important news."

"Tell Mycroft he can fuck off. I don't want to hear it," he snarled, but this time Jessica wedged a foot in the gap before he could move. In the process her coat opened, and John's eyes fell to her prominent baby bump.

"You wouldn't attempt to harm a pregnant woman, would you, Doctor?" she asked, already knowing she would get her way. She had become a master of manipulation; she'd had an excellent teacher. "I promise this will not take long."

He sighed and scowled, but gave in.

Inside, the flat was tidy and clean, but austere and cold. Not just the residence of a soldier, but of someone with no purpose left in life. Jessica sighed, as she walked through to the kitchenette, her Blackberry buzzing in her pocket.

As my brother loves reminding me, I am NOT his keeper. I trust Dr Watson's little act of defiance did not harm you?

M

Jessica rolled her eyes and smirked, feeling John's eyes on her as she replied. So protective…

If John had hurt her, he would have found himself in a prison cell by the end of the day.

I'm fine.

No you're not his keeper. You're his babysitter.

J

She glanced up to observe John, shoulders back, arms crossed and an impatient scowl on his forehead.

"Not holding you up, I hope?" he mumbled sarcastically.

"Oh, no," she replied, gesturing with the hand that held her Blackberry, the hand on which a gold wedding ring glistened in the light from the window. "Just texting my husband. At this stage of my pregnancy, he's very…overprotective."

"I didn't realise Mycroft allowed his minions to have 'lives'," John retorted. Jessica's eyes glinted dangerously.

"Ahh but you see, I'm not his minion, or his PA," she explained. "Now, I came over here because I have something to tell you-"

But John wasn't listening. "Not his PA? Or his minion? Then what are -?" he began, before shock crossed his face and Jessica smiled.

"He taught you well. Sherlock will be so proud," she muttered, as he covered his mouth with his hand. "Incidentally, the first time we met, I was working for Mycroft but only so I could steal some highly classified information from him, which I then gave back and accepted his offer to be with him."

"And the second time?" John asked, dazed, too shocked to realise her slip of the tongue.

"Oh, I was just visiting my then lover for a little…rendezvous. We only married after I fell pregnant eight months and two weeks ago," she replied as he gaped at her. She could see him doing the maths in his head.

"Just after…?" he trailed off as she nodded, before sitting down on a stool. "I take it my invite got lost in the post?"

"We didn't have a ceremony, as such. Just us and the marriage register actually," she replied. "Besides my husband feared you might not accept."

"No, I bloody well wouldn't have done," John muttered.

"Well then, an invitation would have been redundant then," she replied, snappily. Another Braxton-Hicks contraction swept over her, and she winced again. John saw it immediately, concern overriding his hostility.

"What is it?" he asked, rushing to her side immediately.

"They're just Braxton-Hicks contractions," she explained. "I've been getting them for the past week."

"I'm surprised Mycroft let you out at all in your condition," he replied, still dazed by the thought that Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes, was married and about to become a father.

"I can be very persuasive," Jessica's suggestive grin was slightly ruined by pain as her abdomen continued to tear itself apart, actually making her moan quietly.

"I don't want to know," John quipped with a shudder, but he was worried. Suddenly, Jessica gripped his arm.

"I didn't come here for a cosy chat," she snapped, pain making her irritable. "Sherlock's alive."

John blinked, opened his mouth, and then blinked again. Then he just shook his head.

"He's alive," Jessica insisted again. "Trust me, I've had to put up with him at home for four months, moaning and muttering while he and Mycroft hunted down the last of Moriarty's organisation. Oh yes, by the way, the reason Sherlock jumped was because Moriarty had hired three hit men to assassinate you, Mrs Hudson and DI Lestrade if he did not."

John stared at her, his tremor returning, and his eyes flooding with pain. Tentatively Jessica reached out a hand to his, until he flinched away. When he turned back, his eyes were cold and hard.

"I want to speak to him. Now."

Wordlessly, she handed him her phone, Sherlock's number already keyed in and ringing.

John snatched it away, as she walked into the living room and turned on the TV, putting it onto BBC News, ready for Sherlock's public vindication and pardon.

John waited, breath bated, unable to move from the sheer, desperate hope inside him. He didn't know how Sherlock had faked his own death, but he had felt hope rise up when Mrs Holmes had said those two incredible, impossible words.

Sherlock's alive.

When his voice came over the line, deep, measured and sure, John almost had to sit down.

"Hello?"

John really had only one thing to say to him, at that point, rage and joy fighting for dominance within him.

"Sherlock Holmes, I am going to bloody well kill you the next time I see you, do you understand you crazy, mental bastard!"

"I've missed you too, John,"

At the sound of Sherlock's once-familiar chuckle, slightly acerbic, John chuckled too, his voice feeling hoarse and unused to the act of laughing, feeling something close to happiness for the first time in almost a year. He was still going to kill him but he was alive.

Then he heard the cry from the next room, and rushed through to the living room, where the newsreaders were just breaking the news of Sherlock's vindication and the truth about the whole Richard Brook affair.

He barely spared it a glance as he rushed to Jessica's side, where she was bent double, hand on her stomach and a puddle of fluid around her feet.

"My waters have just broken," she panted. "I'm going into labour."

John took one look and promptly said, "Shit."

"I echo that sentiment," Jessica muttered, as a contraction washed over her. "Get my husband here, now!"

Having forgotten about Sherlock and the phone in his hand, he pressed it back to his ear. "Sherlock, is your brother there? Jessica has gone into labour, we need an ambulance here now," he barked urgently, already guiding Jessica to lie down on the sofa, before rushing to his bathroom for towels.

He dimly registered the phone being passed over, then a horridly familiar voice in his ear. "Pass me over please, John. The ambulance is on its way," Mycroft said coolly. John sighed but did as he was told, while Jessica breathed her way through another contraction.

"Mycroft, I'm here," she panted. "I'd forgotten how painful this is."

"I don't need to tell you keep breathing and to keep your fluid intake up," he replied, making her roll her eyes.

"Thanks for stating the obvioUS!" her voice rose as the pain spiked and then fell, and she groaned. "Bloody well ow!"

"We'll be there shortly. Just hold on, darling," he murmured soothingly. But rather than comforting her, it just made her more irritable.

"Don't tell me to hold on, you patronising git!" she snapped, as John gaped at her, wide-eyed. "Just get down here so I can break your hand while I suffer, and don't you dare say 'I told you so'!"

"Eloquent as ever and I can assure you, those words never crossed my mind," her husband sighed, the exhalation like a rush of static in her ear. "We'll be there in ten minutes."

The line went dead, and Jessica slumped back against the sofa as John propped up pillows behind her back, eying her like she might bite.

Which she might, in her current state.

"What?" she snapped.

"So…you and Mycroft? How did that happen?" he asked, trying to distract her from the pain. She eyed him narrowly.

"I told you. I nicked some information from him, then gave it back. I was working for Moriarty at the time," she told him, noting the way he tensed. "Not anything to do with his little feud with Sherlock. I was getting information for him in exchange for some intelligence I needed. Anyway, I double-crossed Moriarty, then Mycroft and I became lovers. Holmes men seem to be attracted to women who beat them at their own games."

John shuddered, remembering Irene Adler. "And the pregnancy?"

"Conceived two days after Sherlock 'died'," she replied tersely. She caught his eye, one hand holding on to his wrist gently. "Whatever you may think of him, John, Mycroft was falling apart when I came home to him. Don't judge him too harshly; he's just as human as the rest of ussss….Shit, this hurts!"

"Is this your first?" he asked, once the contraction passed, and she was breathing normally. He helped her take her coat off, wondering how he'd missed the connection before. No PA could afford something as obviously designer as this, and not be married to Mycroft Holmes.

"No. Second," she panted. "Don't ask because I won't tell you."

"I wasn't going to," John snapped harshly, annoyed. But the front door abruptly opened and suddenly Mycroft was there, black overcoat gliding around him like the wings of an overgrown bat, paramedics scurrying behind him.

And behind them…

Sherlock.

Mycroft ignored John completely, rushing to his wife as another contraction hit, oblivious to all else as she gripped his hand.

"About time," she muttered, as he stroked back her hair, caressing the line of her cheekbone.

Meanwhile, John just stared at Sherlock, and Sherlock stared at John.

The younger Holmes looked down awkwardly, before glancing at John. He almost seemed…nervous.

"Hello?" he offered. John felt the urge to burst into hysterical giggles. Nine months of hell, of believing he was dead when he wasn't, and Sherlock said hello?

But before he could open his mouth, Jessica broke the tension for them.

"Oh, we can do the big reunion thing later, now please just get me to a hospital and to some pain medication!" she snapped, as the paramedics helped her into a wheelchair, Mycroft following beside as she was taken from the flat. With a shrug, Sherlock followed, John in his wake, snatching a jacket on his way out.

Jessica had been trained to resist torture, both physical and psychological, for as long as possible. She'd broken a fair few bones in her life, both as an adrenaline junkie adolescent, a drug squad officer and now as an Operational Officer in MI6 and MI5.

She had given birth to one child before.

But even that seemed to pale in comparison with how much this labour was hurting. The ambulance ride felt interminable, her only anchor to reality Mycroft's gloved hand in her own, squeezing gently.

Finally they reached a private hospital, Jessica's contractions coming faster and closer together by the time they wheeled her into a private room. She changed into a hospital gown with difficulty, then slumped back against the pillows of her bed and waited for the next contraction to come.

Mycroft was texting one-handed on his phone, as she eyed him resentfully. "Nice to see you've got your priorities in hand," she muttered, as he glanced up, then rolled his eyes.

"I was just texting 'Anthea' to ensure she cleared my schedule for the next three days and sent my apologies to the Prime Minister and Her Majesty," he replied tersely, wincing as another wave of pain hit his wife and she arched, her grip tightening painfully on his hand. "Could you try to be gentler?" he asked, when her grip finally loosened. "I need my right hand, you understand."

"Call it payback for getting me in this state, in the first place, you insufferable sod," she snarled. Mycroft dug deep for reserves of patience, his annoyance forgotten when her face grimaced in pain, and a tiny moan escaped her lips this time.

"It'll be alright, darling," he murmured comfortingly, wiping her sweaty hair back from her forehead. He brought her hand, the hand currently crushing his, and kissed it tenderly, as her eyes softened and she clung to the touch.

"Who needs torture?" she mumbled jokingly, panting. "Just get a girl pregnant and she'll spill anything during labour."

"It won't be long now," Mycroft assured her. From the very little he knew about childbirth, he deduced it would be soon. She whimpered again, and he squeezed her hand, astounded by the vulnerability of his wife as she clung to the minute contact of their hands. She had only shown him such vulnerability once, that night at their home when she stole the USB stick, so long ago it seemed. He leaned in and kissed her gently, silently thanking her for everything she was, and everything she was giving him here and now.

When he drew back, Jessica smiled up at him. "I love you."

"The feeling is entirely mutual," he assured her, making her eyes widen before he bent his head to her lips once more, before gently stroking the rise of her swollen stomach.

The moment was broken as the door opened and a midwife poked her head around the door. Without really bothering with inane chatter, she examined Jessica while husband and wife waited pensively.

The contractions were barely minutes apart now, and Jessica was trembling from exhaustion.

"If you tell me I've still got hours to go, I will strangle you," she warned the midwife, who merely smiled patiently. She'd heard a lot worse.

"Actually, Mrs Holmes, I do think you're ready to push."

In the waiting room, surrounded by awful artwork and glossy magazines, Sherlock and John waited for news in awkward silence.

"So…how have you been?" he asked John, finally. The doctor snorted incredulously.

"How do you think I've been?" he snapped, crossing his arms angrily. "I watched you jump off a building, Sherlock. I had you feeding me that…bullshit of a phone call. I thought you were dead. So tell me, deduce how I've been, Sherlock!"

The younger Holmes sighed, looking down at his feet. "You have every right to feel angry, John. But I did it to protect you. All of you."

"Yeah, I know," John murmured sullenly. "Jessica explained about the snipers. And I probably would have done the same thing."

It wasn't exactly forgiveness, but Sherlock would take it. It was a thawing from the frosty distance John had been exuding since they had got in the ambulance with Mycroft and Jessica.

"So, is it done?" John asked. "Is Moriarty's organisation finished?"

"Yes, well, almost," Sherlock admitted grudgingly. "One minion vanished. Sebastian Moran, ex-Army like yourself and the assassin who was targeting you that day at St Barts. Mycroft has his people looking, but other than that…I'm free, my reputation restored."

"I saw the news before we left my flat. I guess Mycroft is good for something, after all," John muttered, but with a slight smirk of amusement that Sherlock returned with relief.

After that the atmosphere was less tense, as they waited for news. A midwife came to tell them Jessica was in the final stages of labour four hours after they arrived.

"So…" John began once the midwife left. Sherlock glanced at him sharply. "You and Mycroft working together? That has to be a first."

"Somewhat. I needed his contacts and his resources, and he was willing to provide them," he shrugged, slightly uncomfortable as John eyed him intently. "What?"

"You've forgiven him," was all he said, simple but tense, as Sherlock frowned.

"Moriarty lied, about the keycode. He fooled Mycroft, and he fooled me," he admitted. "I cannot blame my brother for being taken in by the same trick Moriarty used to fool me. As for Mycroft's telling my life story to my nemesis…I cannot say I wouldn't do the same, in his position."

John stared, then shook his head and looked away. Sherlock thought he heard him mutter something suspiciously like bloody Holmes men.

He chuckled and stretched out his long legs, listening intently for the sound of footsteps coming their way. He itched for a cigarette.

An hour later, a midwife came, a wide smile on her face.

"Mrs Holmes has given birth. A boy and a girl," she told them, John's jaw dropping open while Sherlock merely grinned. "Mr Holmes said you could join them, if you wished."

"Thank you," Sherlock nodded, as the girl smiled and disappeared. Together, they rose and walked down the corridor to Jessica's private room, walking in to find a hushed argument already taking place.

"No, Mycroft. I don't care if it is family tradition, I am NOT giving them some wildly unusual name!" Jessica snapped at her husband, holding a wrapped bundle in her arms. It moved, a tiny fist suddenly appearing above the pink folds, as she glanced down at it lovingly. "Hush, darling. Mum won't let your dolt of a father name you something weird."

To both John and Sherlock's surprise, Mycroft grudgingly capitulated. "Fine, second name."

"Deal," Jessica sighed.

"What about Lara?" he suggested, nodding his head towards Jessica's bundle. John was surprised to see another bundle in his arms, held expertly as if Mycroft routinely handled newborn babies every day. Jessica looked up, then smiled. "In honour of our first meeting. Lara Arianne Holmes."

"Hmm, it has a ring to it. Alright, Lara she is," she smiled. "What about our son?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, diverting the attention of the two new parents. "So sorry to break up this scene of domestic bliss, but I was under the impression my niece and nephew had arrived," he quipped dryly. Lara rolled her eyes.

"And I have the aches to prove it," she sighed. "Well, one is named at least. Sherlock meet Lara Arianne Holmes."

John hung back as Sherlock approached the bed, peering down at the little bundle while the others watched him, John with trepidation, Jessica with worried amusement and Mycroft was just plain smug.

But then that was his default mode, along with 'concerned'.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the infant Lara, eying the tufts of dark red hair and piercing blue eyes she inherited from both parents. He definitely saw traces of Jessica in her bone structure, but the imperious way she regarded him was all Mycroft.

"Odd, how babies all look like something vaguely alien when they're born," he sighed, then moved back with alarm. "What are you doing!"

"Giving her to you to hold, you idiot!" Jessica snapped. "You're her Uncle, act like it!"

John could barely hold back the giggles as he exchanged a look with Mycroft as Sherlock took hold of the baby bundle, holding her completely wrong, hands holding her under her head and bottom, and eying her like she was a bomb about to explode.

"What do I do now?" he asked plaintively, oblivious to the restrained mirth bubbling up around him from his brother, friend and sister-in-law.

Then Lara reached up and touched his cheek. To Jessica's surprise, she thought she saw him soften before he winced.

Lara had locked onto one of his black curls and was yanking it happily.

"OW!" he hissed. "Someone take this baby off of me before it tears my hair out!"

John, laughing his head off, took baby Lara from Sherlock and returned her to Jessica, cradled in his arms as he handed her over.

"You're going to have to practice now, Uncle Sherlock," he called over teasingly, as he groaned.

"Babies," he muttered. "Boring nuisances."

Somehow Jessica sensed her children had a fierce protector in their uncle now, for life, despite his dislike of children.

As if they didn't already have one in their proud father.

Looking up at the ex-Army Doctor as he smiled down at the yawning Lara softly, she looked to Mycroft, who inclined his head. "John," she murmured quietly, looking back to him seriously. "I know things have been difficult, but we wanted to ask you…will you be the children's godfather?"

John gaped, stunned.

"You're more family than you wanted to believe. You've done so much for Sherlock, and we wanted to thank you for that," she continued, "Plus these two are going to need all the sane influences they can get with those two as father and uncle," she jerked her head towards Mycroft and Sherlock, identical expressions of offence on their pale faces.

"A-alright," John eventually stuttered. "Yeah, sure, I'll be godfather."

"Thank you, John," Mycroft called from his seat, smiling gently, in the most sincere way John had ever witnessed with the elder Holmes. The breaks hadn't quite healed yet, but the signs were there. He smiled at Mycroft, and felt a weight leave his shoulders when the elder Holmes returned his smile.

A truce.

"Now, about your name, young man," Mycroft returned his attention to his son. "What shall we call you, since your mother absolutely forbids unusual first names."

"What about Thomas?" John offered. "I think Thomas Holmes sounds ok."

"Dull," Sherlock scoffed, but Jessica nodded.

"I like it. Thomas Holmes," she breathed, before turning to her husband. "Ok, you get to choose the middle name."

"Lucian," Sherlock suddenly offered, earning him surprised glances from Jessica and John, and an amused one from Mycroft.

"Sherlock, that was the name of the family cat," Mycroft explained patiently, as his wife leaned back on the pillows and frowned.

"He was a good cat," Sherlock pouted.

"I like it. What about you, oh omniscient husband of mine?" Jessica asked, looking to her husband. He nodded, and so the Holmes heir was named Thomas Lucian Holmes.

"Half-normal, half-Holmes," John observed. "At least they won't get picked on."

"Normal. Boring," Sherlock retorted.

"Oh, I doubt these two will need to worry about bullying," Mycroft smiled a shark's grin, and suddenly John almost felt sorry for anyone who tried. It looked like Mycroft would defend his children to the death, with the full force of the British Government behind him.

It was odd, and yet heart-warming, this glimpse of humanity in the elder Holmes.

"Anyone tries, they'll have to get through me first," Jessica snarled, looking every inch a tigress in human form despite the paleness of her skin and the obvious exhaustion in her eyes.

John chuckled, and agreed, watching Mycroft and Jessica with their children.

John and Sherlock left not long after, and Jessica let the nurse take Lara, slumping back on her pillows, exhausted. "I am never doing that again. Three is too many," she huffed, stretching painfully.

"You'll recover soon enough," Mycroft said dryly.

"I just gave you two children in one go. Don't bloody well tell me I'll recover soon enough," she glared at him. He still hadn't let go of his son. "Now let me hold my son. You've been hogging him long enough."

"I have not been 'hogging' him," Mycroft protested, with a disgusted snort as he handed over his son and heir.

"Sure you haven't," Jessica rolled her eyes, tucking back the little mop of hair tenderly. She had wondered if she had changed too much to be a good mother again. Mycroft and life had taught her to be ruthless and calculating, but as she looked down at her son…from then on, she would be ruthless and calculating to protect her second chance at a family.