Another mpreg. I kind of got stuck in the subject while writing 'He's a Hamish' and wanted to make a new one, a longer one.

For the third time this week Sherlock hung over the toilet bowl. Vomited and dry heaved the only thing that his stomach contained which was acids and he clutched the bowl as his stomach turned. It was painful, hateful, and to damn time consuming. Flushing the waste down he fell with his back to the wall and panted, closed his eyes to make the world stop spinning around him, only his mind spun more. There was a knock on the door, careful and worried and Sherlock glanced at the turning handle. John stepped inside, eyebrows knitted and lips tightly pressed into a thin line. As he laid eyes upon the panting detective he hurried over the floor and fell to his knees beside him.

"Again?" he asked and reached for the towel on the hook to wipe the corners on his mouth. Sherlock just nodded but regretted it quickly, it didn't really help the awful spinning. A warm hand cleared the cold sweat from his brow and he closed his eyes as his head fell back to the wall. "May I?" Fingers pressed to his empty stomach, massaging every gland and organ to search for something that didn't belong there. The doctor didn't find anything but he looked only more worried. "Have you changed anything in your diet?"

"What diet?" Sherlock scoffed but only felt his insides turn as he laughed. He tossed himself over to the bowl and hurled again. John stroke his back and saw the greyish tone in his husband's skin. This needed to end for him soon, or they needed an IV. Sherlock hand't eaten for days. Every time something passed his lips it came up again. He was skinnier than ever and every bone was about to shove out of his skin.

"Let's get you to bed." he murmured and soaked the towel in cold water before washing the detective face. "I'll make you some tea."

"What if I throw up?" he asked with a weak voice and placed his head upon the hand that clutched the porcelain, closed his eyes hand whimpered tiredly.

"I'll get a basin." John said and grabbed him under the arms to help him up. He staggered out of the bathroom, dragging his feet and finally fell down in the bed. With a loud groan he curled up with his head over the side and John barely made it with the basin before he vomited again.

"What's wrong with me, John?" he asked with a whining tone, pinning himself to the sheets and drooling into the bowl. The doctor wiped his mouth again and sighed before he sat down on the edge.

"I don't know, love. But if this continues we need to get you to a hospital." For the first time Sherlock didn't argue to that. All he wanted was for this to go away, and if the hospital was the only way he would gladly go for it. "Do you suffer any pains?"

"Throat." he groaned. "But probably just corrosion from all the acids. And a headache." John took his temperature and pulse.

"Well, you're pretty dehydrated. I'll get you some water." But Sherlock didn't like that idea.
"It will only make me throw up again." he protested and spat. "I can't eat or swallow anything."

The detective looked very miserable on the bed, sweat soaking his hair, clammy, grey skin, eyes watery, limbs shaking. John actually feared that this might be the beginning of the end for him, and he didn't know what to do. The only thing he was capable of at the moment was just being there for him, helping him lean over the basin, wipe the cold sweat, he had never felt so useless.

"John! John!?" It was a weeping voice and John couldn't really place where it came from. He opened his eyes in the dark and heard the sobbing from his left. "John?" The detective laid beside him, crying openly under his cover and John was suddenly wide awake.

"What's wrong?" asked and turned on the light on the side table, saw his husband curled up with his back towards him. "Sherlock? Are you crying?" The sobbing got louder and John crawled close behind him.
"Help me." he cried and his whole body trembled. John took his temperature again, ice cold and skin clammier. "I can't do this anymore." The doctor leaned over him and looked down in the basin, there were patches of blood in the yellowish fluids and that forced John make a decision.

"I will." he whispered and stroke his arm, saw the tears falling down his face. "I'll take you to the hospital, okay?" Sherlock just nodded, sniffled like a little child and John stepped out of bed. "I'll get your coat."

Sherlock was left alone in the room and he closed his eyes, let the world spin faster and faster around him and the pain grew for each second. Then someone was grabbing him, pulling him out of bed and he felt his head drop to his chest. He couldn't stand anymore, not a single limb listened to his commands but John was pulling him out of the bedroom before he could warn him about what was about to happen.

Legs softened under him and he fell into something soft and warm, and that something slowly lowered him to the floor. His name kept on being called and he felt those hands on his face again. In the fogginess of tears and nausea he saw John hovering above him, desperately trying to make contact. Cold towels pressed to his skin and then he saw a flash of pale pink flying past, a woman's voice, mrs Hudson then. He felt her wrinkly fingers clutch his wrist, soothingly stroking his damp curls and the tears burnt the back of his eyes again.

He was so weak, so useless and miserable. His body ashamed him more than ever. He closed his eyes, let himself leave this scene so he didn't have to see their worried face but someone kept poking him every time he did that, forcing him to stay awake.

"Please Sherlock?" John called, voice muffled by ringing and distortion. "Stay awake, just a couple of minutes more."

"John?" he cried with a throat that burned like he'd swallowed hell itself. He didn't speak more.

"There's an ambulance coming, alright. You need help." He didn't argue, he didn't want to live nor die like this. He kept his eyes on John, the only thing around him that seemed familiar, everything else was just a big blur of colours.

Then there was black.

Like the jolt of an electrocution he shot his eyes open and whimpered for air. Memory completely wiped out of where he was or why. He felt weak, arms stabbed, head throbbing in pain and throat burning as well as his belly.

"Sherlock?" There were noises of rattling china and newspapers and soon John was hovering over him with an awful bed-head. He placed a warm had on his forehead and he blinked the blur out of his eyes to get a clear view of his husband. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." he slurred and felt the awful dryness in his mouth and before he knew it, a straw tickled the side of his mouth. The water cooled his throat and he drank all the liquid in the paper cup before John took it away. His head fell back, landed on the soft pillow and the warm hand kept caressing his skin. "What happened?"

"The doctors are running some tests." John answered and pressed tender lips to his cheek. "You scared the hell out of me." Sherlock managed to smirk, tried to remember what he'd done to frighten poor John.

"How did I do that?" he asked and squeezed the hand he realised he was holding.

"You fainted in the kitchen, trembled violently until the ambulance came. I didn't know what to do." The detective blinked and looked at him half lidded.

"But you're a doctor." he murmured with a teasing smile and John licked his lips. He didn't have a chance to say anything more before the doctor entered the room with a clipboard in her hands.

"Mr Holmes." she greeted when she saw his blue-green eyes. "Welcome back to the land of the living." Sherlock had seen her for two second and already despited her.

Recently divorced, she cheated.

Religious, heavily so.

Mother of two kids, one a teenager.

Unpaid loans.

Vegetarian.

He kept his mouth shut, John had taught him not to make enemies with people that wanted to help. She flipped through the papers and sighed loudly. John quickly prepared himself for bad news.
"Well mr Holmes. Your condition is very unusual amongst men." she started and Sherlock felt himself frown. "First one in Britain in ten years. One in a million." She looked up with her dark eyes and smiled. Good new then. What could be good about his condition? "It seems like you're pregnant."

Like a glasshouse in a heavy hailstorm, his world shattered into a million little pieces. The information he was just given seemed impossible and didn't want to reach his understanding. Pregnant? Him? Wasn't he freaky enough to other people?

"What?" John quaked from his side and fell backward into the chair, staring at the nurse with eyes wide as saucers.

"I understand it must come as quite a shock but.." she took a deep breath and looked at her papers again. "You are in fact expecting."

The detective had had enough, he couldn't bite himself back anymore.

"Get out." he growled and the woman looked up at him. "Get! Out!" She jumped by his high yell and retreated to the corridor. Before John could stop him he pulled out the IV, the electrodes stuck to his chest and slung his legs off the bed when John seized his shoulder.

"Oh no! You're not going anywhere in your state." he said strictly and Sherlock tried to pull free but was way to weak to fight. "Lie down!"

"John!" he growled but he kept pushing him back into the sheets. "Let go of me!"

"You can't run away from this Sherlock!" John fumed and reattached the IV and stickers. "Right now you have to rest, and then we can discuss what we're gonna do about it." He was tucked in again, his chest heaved by anger and shock and he gripped the mattress with his nails. He felt invaded, stolen, disgusted by the thing that had inhabited his insides. He needed to terminate it, get it out this second.
"It needs out." he fumed and gnashed his teeth.

"You need sleep." John said and took his hand again. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"We're talking about this now!" he thundered and tore himself from John's grip. "This is not happening! It's getting out. It needs to be killed!" John froze when he heard that, stared at his husband with a pair of dark eyes.

"Do you even hear yourself?" he snapped and saliva flew from his lips. "It might not be bigger than a pea right now and I understand if you want an abortion, but using the word 'kill' wile taking that decision is wicked, even for you."

"I wicked!?" the detective shrieked. "If something's wicked it's that thing. It shouldn't even exist!"

"Why?" John asked stared at him. "Why shouldn't it?"

"Because it's not normal!" Sherlock shouted and smashed his hand to the bed, breathed heavily of the lack of energy to be this angry.

"One in a million, Sherlock." his husband reminded him. "It's unusual, but not un-normal." Sherlock tossed his head back to the pillow and groaned loudly.

"What's wrong with you John? It sound like you want to keep it!" Then he saw John's look, eyes teared, lips tightly pressed together, slightly trembling. Oh.

The doctor lowered his gaze and staggered backwards to the chair. Not making eye contact again.

"Sleep, Sherlock." he mumbled and faced the wall.

"John?"

"I said sleep!"

Then the room was silent. They didn't speak a word more or looked to each other. Sherlock stared at the roof. Thought about the little creature that had settled in his abdomen.

He and John had a future dream. When they both felt ready they would apply for adoption, save an abandoned child and raise it into the world of crime. It would bring on their legacy, his knowledge in detective work. But not to forget Sherlock really wanted to be a father, he had since he'd met John. He had many times found himself thinking about the moment they would bring him their adopted child, the day he would be able to cradle something so small and care for it. It was a wish buried so deep into his chest and here he was, hating something that could actually bring truth to those wishes except that this little being really belonged to him. Inside him there was a little Holmes's, a perfect combination between him and his John, and he had started out by hating it. Never in his life had he wanted to punch himself so bad.

Tears started to fall down his face and he thought about it. How could he hate it? He had made it, he and John. He was supposed to love it. And then he realised. He did love it.

A sob slipped over his lips and John tore his gaze from the wall, saw the tears and flew up from his chair.

"I am wicked." Sherlock cried and wiped his tears with shaking fingers. "I am truly evil."

"What?" John took his hand and stroke his hair which only made his husband sob more.

"It's our baby, John. How can I even think such thoughts!?" John slowly realised what he was thinking and even his eyes welled up with tears. The next second he pulled him into a hug, let him cry out to his shoulder and he rubbed big circles on his back.

"Do you want to keep it?" he asked with a voice so scared it made the pain in Sherlock's chest worse. How could he say no? A nod was all he managed to give, and it was all John needed. He broke down in tears, cried while he cradled his weak husband and thanked him over and over. They were lucky, he thought. Blessed with the ability to create a child, and he was so happy Sherlock had realised that. They were going to be parents.

Hope you enjoyed this fist chapter. There are more to come.