Title: Insult’s blessing.
Author: Cobalt Blue Kitty aka Cbc
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes with a slight crossover to Harry Potter
Pairing: Watson/Holmes
Summary: Holmes’ accidentally insulting a great wizard leads to a surprising condition, one that his lover had trouble dealing with.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, wish I did. No use suing since I’m poor.
Archive: Please do!

(~(~(

It was so nice just to lay there amidst the soft cushions and watch the ever-changing flames dance about. No sounds of the bustling city which was their normal home to mar the serenity. Outside the snow had finally stopped, leaving everything covered in a magnificent mantle of white which sparkled beneath the full moon.
There. A tiny shifting.
Perhaps that was a foot which heaved up the skin on his heavily rounded belly ever so slightly. He patted the area tenderly, his smile warm and utterly foreign to his normally stern visage. Impending motherhood had certainly changed his perspective of things.
When he first discovered he was with child his quick mind was shocked to a standstill. It was completely and utterly impossible for him to be pregnant. He was a man and males were absolutely unequipped to conceive, carry, and deliver babies.
Yet as the days passed into weeks and the weeks into months he watched his normally lean body swell, felt the first stirrings of life within his stomach he hadn’t a choice but to concede. All the clues were there; the physical symptoms, the emotional swings. He had dedicated his life to deducting the facts from obscure clues which eluded the normal mind. Here were the clues and he could deduct no other solution save the one which was the impossible truth.
He, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest private detective in all Her Majesty’s realm, was pregnant.
Upon finally admitting that fact to himself Holmes made immediate plans to escape London and secure secluded quarters, far from curious eyes, where he might spend the remainder of his pregnancy in peaceful secrecy. Being so use to moving about unseen it was relatively easy to slip away one night. The cottage he’d chosen was hidden deep in the woods, well stocked with food and wood for those chilly nights. It actually was suggested to him by his landlady Mrs. Hudson who’d inherited it from a cousin four summers back.
Strange how it was the gray-haired woman could so readily accept his bizarre condition now that he thought back on it. But at the time he desperately needed someone to understand, someone to support him, to look too closely at their reasons. His only, and greatest, regret was that his dear beloved Watson was not here to share this tranquility with him.
At first John scoffed at the suggestion his younger lover was with child. He was after all a physician and therefore knew, without a shadow of a doubt, men could not become pregnant. But as time passed and Holmes’ symptoms increased and his stomach began arching outwards he began to have his doubts. Watson stubbornly refused to believe it till one day when he placed the stethoscope to Holmes’ belly and heard more than one heartbeat booming back.
Watson packed his bags that very evening and left without so much as a goodbye.
A tear ran down Holmes’ face as he remembered asking John why as the man went about stuffing those two battered old suitcases of his with clothes. Watson refused to answer until he was almost out the door, saying over his shoulder that he refused to be a part of this whole freakish event.
He sat stunned on the sofa as out in the hallway he heard Mrs. Hudson snapping at Watson, berating him on his choices, swearing he would come to regret the decisions he’d made this day. Only a minute passed after she’d slammed the door below that she was in the room comforting him.
The dear sweet lady stayed with him the entire night, holding him and crooning soft lullabies into his hair. If it wasn’t for Mrs. Hudson’s aid Holmes doubted he would have made it to this point.
It deeply hurt him how easily Watson was able to toss aside all they were to each other and depart when matters became too difficult. After all they’d been through, the dangerous adventures shared, the nights of simple companionship and of unbridled passion, he thought nothing could tear John away from his side. And all the things John had missed. The first time the baby moved in direct reaction to his ‘mother’s’ voice, listening to the fast-paced heartbeat, watching his belly grow a little each day. All the things he would miss; the baby’s birth, his or her first steps, first words, first smile and giggle. All the precious and priceless things Mrs. Hudson had told him about experiencing with her own children.
A small cramp passed through his back muscles and he shifted to ease it. Pregnancy had played havoc with his body, throwing off all his finely honed reflexes and senses. He no longer slept in the second floor bedroom for fear he might stumble upon the stairs now that he couldn’t see his feet and the weight of his stomach throwing off his sense of balance. Lord only knew what injuries he and the child might sustain if he were to fall.
Next week Mrs. Hudson would be arriving to stay with him. She’d assisted in a few deliveries in her time and was willing to aid him in whatever way she could in birthing his child. By her best guess he had another three weeks to go before he delivered. Childbirth.
That was the other thing that still sat heavily on his mind.
Despite his condition he still was a man. How in heaven’s name was the baby to exit his body? Was it to arrive by the same channel it was implanted through?
Would his body create an opening just for the occasion?
Or would Mrs. Hudson be forced to cut the child from his body, a prospect which sent shudders of apprehension and fear through his body each time he pondered it.
No matter how it was to come Holmes eagerly awaited its arrival. Boy or girl it mattered not. Only that he or she was alive and healthy. There were some doubts in his mind as to what kind of parent he would be. His own mother and father were hardly good role models. But his dear landlady just smiled, patted his stomach, swearing he’d be a wonderful father. Holmes prayed she was right.
Holmes snuggled down into the cushions, pulling the throw a little higher onto his chest, settling down for a nice little nap. Perhaps once he’d rested the back ache would go away, those cramps were becoming annoying. Just as he was about to drift off a sharp knocking came from the cottage’s front door.
Muttering under his breath he struggled to his feet and shuffled towards the door, throw wrapped around his body, conveniently hiding his huge belly. Opening the peephole he peered outside. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as he took in a face which he never thought to see again save in dreams. Never had he opened a door so fast in all his life.
There, standing on the doorstep, was a weary and bedraggled looking Watson.

The two men stood staring at each other for a moment. To Watson’s eyes his lover was the very picture of maternal health. Skin flushed with the warm glow of new life, hair thick and glossy, belly swollen with child; his child.
Holmes was concerned; Watson did not look at all good. He’d obviously lost weight, there were black smudges beneath each eye, and the shadow of a beard appeared on his normally clean shaven face.
“May…I..may I come in?” The doctor asked timidly. “Of course Watson. Please, inside. While the snow is pleasant to gaze on it is far less pleasant to stand in.” Holmes stepped aside as Watson entered and sat down his doctor’s bag and a small travel case.
“Come, set down by the fire and warm yourself. Walking here must not have been easy.” Holmes grunted as he settled back down onto the sofa, grimacing as his back muscles cramped again. He watched the older man hang his coat up and remove his boots.
“No, it wasn’t.” Watson agreed as he took the chair nearest to the fire.
Both men stopped talking, the silence growing heavier by the second till one of the them had to say something or go mad.
“You look well.” John said shyly.
“Oddly enough this has been remarkably easy,” Holmes caressed his stomach as he smiled. “I haven’t been plagued by many of the later symptoms as women are wont to experience. Mrs. Hudson says I’m extremely lucky.”
“Indeed.”
Again they lapsed into silence. Watson kept casting little glances towards Holmes, eyes wandering down to rest on where their child lay nestled within his flesh.
“I was wrong to leave that day, wrong to leave you,” John blurted out. “I could not understand and feared what had brought this about. So I left.”
Sharp eyes narrowed slightly. “And now you understand?”
The older man shook his head sadly. “No, no, I still have no idea how you have to come to bear my child. But each day away from your side has been agony. My shame at abandoning you when your need for me was greatest haunted me day and night. It grew unbearable.”
Holmes remained silent, watching the tears form in his lover’s eyes.
“Time and again I begged Mrs. Hudson to tell me how you were faring, where you had disappeared to. She told me you were well but little else.”
“What feat did you perform to change her mind?” His voice was a little strained as the cramp expanded its range to include his lower stomach.
“To be honest I cannot say what exactly what I did.”
One hand rose to sweep his hair back. “Just three days ago she finally relented and gave me this address.”
“How many times had you asked her?”
“I began a week after you left. I made two or three stops each day to inquire about you.”
“Perhaps it was your persistence that convinced her as well as the little matter of letting your appearance slack.” A small smile flitted across his face. “You were always so fastidious.”
“Sherlock I know I have little hope of receiving this but I must ask. I beg for your forgiveness. I was so foolish, so stupid to leave you.” Here the man knelt down on both knees before Holmes’ sofa. “Please, please let me stay, let me be a part of your life, a part of our baby’s life. I swear that I will never again make such an utterly idiotic mistake. I swear this.”
Holmes considered the man kneeling before him, hands lifted up beseeching his forgiveness, begging to be taken back. This was what his heart had yearned for these last few months, what his soul cried out for each hour of the day. He had trusted Watson several times with his life and never found that trust ill-placed. But when he trusted the man with his love Holmes had felt the bitter taste of pain and betrayal. Heartache was an emotion that was formally unknown to him before Watson.
Did he dare to trust a man who’d wounded him so? Did he dare to open his arms and his heart to him once more, knowing he was capable of inflicting such pain? Before he could offer an answer another cramp, this one much stronger than the others seized his stomach, and he groaned at the feel of it.
“Holmes?!
“Just a cramp, my back..” he panted a bit till the pain subsided. “It doesn’t care for the child’s weight.”
“Where does it hurt? Show me.” Watson gently pulled away the throw and got his first good look at Holmes’ gravid belly. In all his years he’d never seen anything so strangely beautiful.
“It began here,” one long-fingered hand indicated his lower back. “Then expanded to include this area.” Here Sherlock’s hands cupped his lower stomach. Carefully keeping his features schooled Watson examined his lover, prodding and pressing to assess the situation. If he forgot his patient was male and concentrated on just the symptoms..Good Lord….
“Holmes, how long have you been having these cramps?” His voice was surprisingly calm considering what the situation was.
Holmes took a moment before answering. “Since ten o’clock this morning.”
That was over eleven hours ago. “And have they gotten worse? Closer together?’
Now that he considered it they had done both. “Yes.”
“Sherlock perhaps we should get you to bed,” Watson rose and offered his assistance to the awkward detective.
“John?”
“I believe you’re in labor.”
“No,” Holmes shook his head even as Watson helped him up and steadied his swaying body. “Mrs. Hudson said it would be at least another three weeks.” There was the barest hint of panic in the man’s normally confident voice.
“Babies rarely, if ever, make their arrival into this world on their expected date.” Watson began guiding his lover towards the twin doors he saw, hoping at least one was a bedroom.
They’d taken no more than three steps when Holmes suddenly doubled over, a startled cry burst from his lips as a warm fluid drenched his nightshirt.
“What..?” He breathed out, staring wide-eyed at the pool forming around his soaked slippers.
“Bloody Hell!” Watson swore, as stunned as his lover. “Your water just broke.”
“Bloody hell.” Sherlock echoed the older man, clutching his arms as another cramp seized his belly. There was nothing Watson could do but stand there and support Holmes till the latest contraction passed before resuming their progress towards the bedroom.

Once he had his lover settled Watson set about gathering the tools he’d need to bring their child safely into this world. Another log was added to the banked fire in the hearth, a kettle of tea started in the kitchen. A trip to the washroom rewarded him with a thick stack of clean towels and a basin with which to wash the baby in. On his way back from fetching the tea Watson grabbed his medical case.
Mrs. Hudson had mentioned that she’d offered to be Holmes’ midwife thus making the good doctor believe that a cesarean would not be required. But however was this child going to be born then? There was no time for speculation now; very soon John was going to find out. He could only pray his lover lived through it. Holmes was struggling not to scream as the latest contraction tore through his body. After his water broke the cramps had evolved from merely annoying to near agony. He had no control, his body had a will of its own and wasn’t about to be swayed from it by anything he thought. A cup was placed to his lips and he automatically sipped; tea, laced with a liberal dosing of honey. Too sweet for his taste but Watson made him drink it anyway.
Watson sat the cup aside after he got Sherlock to take several swallows. How he longed to give his lover something to ease this dreadful pain but feared anything he offered might harm Holmes or their child. The tea, heavy with honey, would give Sherlock a much-needed boost to his strength. It was all he could offer.
Holmes groaned as another contraction, much stronger than the last, gripped him.
Checking his watch Watson forehead creased with worry. Sherlock’s labor was progressing much faster than he’d guessed, the contractions were just a minute apart. He hastened to wash his hands.
By now Holmes had grabbed the rails in the headboard, knuckles nearly white, and panted, finding some small measure of relief in the rhythmic breaths. Sweat coated every inch of his skin causing it to glow in the shifting firelight. He made no protest as Watson lifted the nightshirt up to his chest. Hands gripped his legs, spreading them wide, planting his feet firmly on the mattress.
Watson gasped, almost falling off the bed as he saw the way his lover’s opening was stretched and bulged out. Well that was the way the baby went in it might as well come out the same way.
“Holmes, Holmes…Sherlock!!” He snapped sharply, finally gaining his lover’s attention. God, how it hurt to see the pain, fear, and confusion in those dear eyes. “When you feel the next contraction push. Do you understand? Push!”
Blinking sweat from his eyes Holmes could only offer a shaky nod.
Watson felt his heart hammer in his chest as he positioned himself. Never before had he felt the responsibility for another’s life weigh so heavily on his shoulders. This was his lover, his child. If he made so much as a single mistake; if his knowledge and years of training weren’t up to the task he could lose them both.
Holmes pushed, face twisted into a horrible grimace with the effort. His body was tearing itself apart! He felt as if he were splitting in half down there as the relentless crush of muscles forced the baby through the only exit from his body available.
Watson split his attention between the emerging head and his lover’s face. He watched Sherlock struggling with a mixture of awe and growing fear. What if he couldn’t do it?
Again and again Sherlock strained, head falling back onto the pillow after each push, lungs heaving like bellows. Growing exhaustion had bled all the color from his skin, leaving him almost as white as the sheets he lay on.
“Almost there…almost….just a little more love…push!!” Bolstered by John’s words Holmes marshaled his flagging strength and pushed, straining. Watson gave a surprised shout as the baby’s head slipped into his eager hands. “The head’s free Sherlock, one more..just one more push…one more.”
Just one more, Holmes didn’t know if he had one more in him but pushed anyway. His growl ended in a scream of relief, pain, and triumph as the baby passed from his body into its father’s waiting hands.
“A girl! We have a daughter Holmes, a daughter!!”
Watson held the squalling child up. She was a mix of colors, covered in blood and mucus, and her face was scrunched up like a weathered old sailor’s, and her thick hair stuck out at all angles.
In short, she was the most beautiful thing Holmes had ever laid eyes upon.
After Watson finished tying and cutting the cord he washed off the remaining birth fluids. Wrapping her in a warmed towel the older man lay his daughter in her birth parent’s eager arms.
“Welcome to the world Christina.” Holmes said wearily, tears streaming down his face, brushing his lips across her tiny forehead.
“Christina?” Watson queried, wiping away his own tears of relief and joy. Not that he had anything against the name he was curious why Holmes had chosen it.
“My aunt was named Christina. I loved her dearly but my parents rarely allowed her and her husband Albus to visit. They were both rather eccentric and father would sometimes call them freaks when he believed they weren’t listening. She passed away some ten years ago.” He gazed up at his lover who had settled down by his shoulder. “You approve of the name?”
“It’s perfect.” He tenderly touched their daughter’s soft cheek. “Christina Holmes.”
“Shouldn’t it be Christina Watson?”
“It should be Christina Holmes-Watson but we can hardly place such on her birth certificate.” That thought saddened both men till Holmes’ great mind forged an answer.
“Watson, you have a great number of cousins do you not?”
The doctor was perplexed. “Yes. Why?”
“We shall say that I met and fell in love with one of your visiting cousins. We were wed and she became pregnant. I left London to be with her. But there were complications and she died delivering our child. The birth certificate could list myself as the father and a J. Watson, short for Jessica perhaps, as the mother. Her name could then be Christina Watson-Holmes.” He smiled proudly.
Tears filled Watson’s eyes. “Egad Holmes, that’s brilliant. Sneaky, but brilliant.”
“Precisely Watson.”

(~(~(~

It was three weeks before the weather and Holmes' health permitted the pair to return to London. Both men played their parts perfectly and the papers of London soon ran a story of one of the most celebrated men in London’s secret marriage and tragic loss. Inspector Lestrade was besides himself with concern for his friend Mr. Holmes and his newborn daughter. He worried that some of Holmes’ old foes might seek to revenge themselves on the detective by striking at his daughter. Holmes however wasn’t worried; all his old enemies were either dead or locked away forever in prison. And besides, the day he failed to protect his child was the day he’d eat his violin.
Mrs. Hudson made a great deal of fuss over the dear child. The old woman apologized to Watson for all the things she’d said to him that day he first left and offered to explain why she accepted Holmes’ pregnancy so readily.
Neither man could scarcely believe her tale of wizards and magic but couldn’t doubt her much when she pulled out her own wand and transfigured the footstool into a cat. Little had Holmes known that on one of his last cases before falling ill with what he know realized had been morning sickness he’d inadvertently insulted a wizard of great power and equally short temper. The man had thrown a pregnancy curse as a means of humiliating payback, never realizing that Holmes and Watson were long-time lovers.
Odd how some things could be a blessing in disguise.

(~(~(~

Christina Watson-Holmes grew into an extremely beautiful and intelligent girl. Holmes refused to limit her education to what London’s society believed was proper for a lady, insisting she be taught everything within the scope of his knowledge and beyond. Christina, having inherited her father’s thirst for knowledge, readily soaked up anything shown her.
When their daughter reached eleven years of age an owl appeared at their window carrying a letter. Mrs. Hudson was ecstatic and explained what this odd event meant. Watson protested a bit.
His daughter?
A witch?
But he soon came around and Christina started her classes at Hogwarts. She was sorted into Ravenclaw and graduated seven years later ranking top in her year in Muggle Studies, Potions, and Herbology.
During her time at school she met and fell in love with a young wizard. For years they worked side by side developing medical potions that saved thousands of lives all over the world. Eventually though they settled down, married, and started a family of their own.
Holmes and Watson, whose lives their daughter had magically extended, lived long enough to see their third grandson Severus born and walking before passing on together in their sleep.

Cbc