Title: The Small, Shared Things
Warnings: Sex, Swearing, the usual. See additional notes below for more outstanding precautions.
Additional Notes: And Houston, we have fic! This was my NaNoWriMo project for 2011, and I'm very happy to say I won! Also happy to announce that I'm only three chapters away from the end, so don't fear my horrible tendency to, er, abandon things. In the same vein, updates will be pretty even on Sunday and Thursday nights up until the end of my personal holiday break, and from then on they'll probably be once a week (blame the midterms for which I'll be studying).
Most Important Note is that THIS FIC IS AN MPREG. There are pregnant males involved. It takes place in a universe where men bearing offspring is completely normal. Dudes are having the kids. Okay, I think I've said it enough for sufficient warning. I hope you'll all give it a chance, but feel free to leave now if that's not your cup of tea; I swear I won't mind too terribly.
Thanks To: TheUniverseWillSingYouToSleep, otherwise known as KT, my fabulous beta. She was incredibly supportive of this endeavor before I even set out, really, and has done the most amazing work in wrangling this into something resembling good writing. Her own work is phenomenal, so go check her out! Right now I say! What are you still doing even reading my fic, bejeezus.
If you've lasted through these insanely long author's notes, you deserve cookies. But since I have no cookies, let's just get to the fic.
John and Sherlock were never normal, per se, but they liked to think they lived happy, comfortable lives.
They were predictable in their unpredictability. John would stumble downstairs for breakfast only to see Sherlock sorting through vast piles of oddly-colored human hair, and to his credit barely blinked before setting to the kettle. He was well on his way to believing six impossible things before breakfast, only because he'd often see Sherlock attempt - and conquer - each and every one. To be fair, Sherlock was frequently surprised by John as well - so common, so casual, with so much more under the filaments of his battle-scarred skin. The mere fact that he woke up each day to find John was still there, still pursing his lips and sighing and muttering under his breath and casting glares and still too bloody fond or stupid to leave - well, they both had their fair share of surprises.
The first Major Surprise was John's and, though it wasn't entirely unexpected, still came as a bit of a shock. John was to go off chasing leads in Manchester while Sherlock stayed behind on their current case, and with the taxi idling outside John was throwing the last of his things together and worriedly checking over the list he'd left for Sherlock - unnecessary demands about bills and the shopping and /deleted. At last, he'd tossed his coat over his arm and rounded on his flat mate.
"Be careful, alright?" he sighed, tipping Sherlock's head down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before sweeping out the door.
It was the unpredictability of it again; the way things just sort of seemed to slip and slide until they were crashing into one another and happening, happening, all at once. If Sherlock wasn't careful, he'd let his brain get like that, and all too often, it almost does. But John's Major Surprise stopped it in its tracks - an event that, despite the theory of infinity, was never previously recorded and would never be recorded again.
Things started moving again when John returned a few seconds later, confusion scrawled across his forehead.
"Did I just - ?"
John went to Manchester, as planned. When he returned, his plan Date and Marry Beautiful Girl/Have Kids/Possible Dog was effectively scrapped in favor of Plan Shag Flatmate Until His Eyes Cross. Most effectively scrapped.
[If Sherlock loves anything, it is suspense - absolutely adores it; the build up, the curling, coiling weight of it as it stretches toward realization. Surprises, on the other hand, come with no warning. They are just suddenly called into being, in a manner that is both unimaginative and boring - what was the fun of being unable to predict anything? That one surprise, though, was worth letting slide.]
But even despite that consternation, the second notable surprise is Sherlock's, and though he knows it is a Major Surprise - Major, very extremely Major - he is, in fact, not surprised, as this is one he has been planning. The real surprises are a) that this experiment has come to a successful conclusion, and b) John's, when Sherlock tells him.
[Sherlock very much loves secrets, too. Being able to tell things that others could not see cemented this fact from a very early age. The suspense factors into it as well - he decides when everyone will know what he knows; he holds the key to their understanding in his hands; he has them all dazzled by the superb power of his terrifyingly brilliant mind. When he is the one controlling the suspense, it is a sensation almost akin to realizing something in the first place - power, control, knowledge.]
But, as he watches the mirror image of his hands spider over the pale skin of his abdomen; up, down - all over - he is stubbornly refusing to believe it is anything but the joy of secret-keeping and suspense, and yes, even surprise, that keeps him from shouting the news to the world - even if there is an equally stubborn niggling that settles uncomfortably at the base of his spine and refuses to budge; an uncertain weight in the pit of his stomach.
Before Sherlock tells John of the second Major Surprise, they both (though mostly John) liked to think they led pleasant, peaceful lives.
But Sherlock and John were never really normal, and were about to find out just how not-normal they could be, the realization of which would come in the form of a small bundle of cells.