A Game Of Shadows spoilers + Touch Starved Mpreg and Pregnancy/Impregnation Kink.
anonymous
January 31 2012, 20:20:27 UTC
Watson and Holmes end up having sex that night at the gypsy camp. A month or so after Holmes's death, Watson realizes that he's pregnant.
Holmes who is still concealing himself as furniture in Watson's home from time to time (maybe he needs to hide out from the bad guys from a bit..idk) begins to realize that Watson is pregnant and decides to visit more frequently just to make sure Watson and the baby are okay.
As the months pass, it gets harder and harder for Holmes to control himself when he's disguised. He just wants to reach out and comfort Watson when his back hurts or he has a cramp. Touch his stomach and kiss him and do wicked things with him because Watson pregnant is so very wonderful. He knows he can't risk Watson and he makes the decision to not visit anymore.
When Holmes returns from the "dead", he is determed to get Watson pregnant again no matter how long it takes so that he can do all things he wanted to do when he was watching Watson during his first pregnancy.
TL;DR - After AGOS, Holmes finds it harder and harder to not blow his cover when he's hiding out from Watson who is pregnant. After Holmes returns from the "dead" he's determined to get Watson pregnant again.
Re: A Game Of Shadows spoilers + Touch Starved Mpreg and Pregnancy/Impregnation Kink.
anonymous
February 2 2012, 19:04:18 UTC
Awesome! As I was typing this I was getting overexcited because I finally thought of a story that could include more than one of my kinks. I'm glad it's getting a positive response. :)
*wiggles happily* I love pregnant Watson. I'm so glad you're writing some. (If you don't mind me asking, is it for a prompt on the meme?)
Re: A Game Of Shadows spoilers + Touch Starved Mpreg and Pregnancy/Impregnation Kink.ancalime8301February 4 2012, 22:43:15 UTC
Okay, so...
I posted the fic for those other pregnant Watson prompts (points up to the links in her previous comment).
I started on a fill for this. At present it is on paper only (I got so much done during the boring all-staff meeting yesterday!), but I am definitely working on it. :)
FILL: Second Chances 1a/?ancalime8301March 25 2012, 23:44:55 UTC
(I must apologize in advance... this got far plottier than I ever anticipated. I hope I cover the prompt elements sufficiently in the midst of all that. :-) I think (hope!) I'm nearly done writing, so I'm planning to post parts fairly regularly.)
_Second Chances_
The small house on Cavendish Place drew him like a moth to a flame.
His first visit under the cover of darkness consisted only of peering through the window of Watson's study; despite the late hour Watson was typing away, and Holmes couldn't help but notice the armchair that faced Watson's desk.
That very armchair had first given him the idea of urban camouflage, and it had been his first experimental subject. The pattern down the middle had been difficult to replicate--of course he would choose something challenging for the inaugural attempt--but he had ultimately been successful and spied on the goings-on of the house for a full day without anyone being the wiser (that Watson had been away much of that day had nothing to do with his success). The chair had faced the study's fireplace then; this new position was ideal for watching Watson.
It was a matter of only a few minutes' work to sneak into his old rooms, retrieve the chair-suit, and slip back out again. It was more than a week before he could execute his intention to observe Watson; his efforts were required elsewhere to begin drawing a net around Moriarty's organization, which was more active than had been expected following the death of its erstwhile leader. Mycroft worked with him, calling in favors and capitalizing on his international ties to guarantee the cooperation of numerous continental governments when the trap was ready to be sprung.
When Holmes had been shut in his little corner of Mycroft's rooms for five days straight, he decided an outing was needed. He went, of course, to Watson's house, slipping into the study in the dim pre-dawn and taking his position in the chair (the outer clothing he'd worn outside was concealed in the shrubbery below the window).
He listened carefully to the sounds of the waking household, tracking the footsteps of Watson and Mary and the part-time maid. After breakfast, Watson came to the study, setting his cup of tea on his desk before building and lighting a sizable fire; he intended to remain in the room for some time.
Watching Watson work on the typewriter was most instructive. His writing process remained unchanged; he wrote, muttered to himself and read aloud under his breath before dedicating himself to churning out more words, but now his curses and imprecations were directed at mistyped letters or jammed typewriter keys rather than a blotchy pen or a spilled inkwell.
Mary appeared with a pot of tea partway through the morning. She kissed his forehead and he patted her hand briefly then returned to his furious typing. She seemed amused when she turned away and she added a few more logs to the fire as she left.
Watson worked steadily on, absent-mindedly drinking his tea and appearing increasingly frustrated with his story. It was no wonder--he was attempting to set down the pursuit of Moriarty but dared not tell the whole truth, so he was mired in a morass of half-truths concocted for the public and unable to slog his way to the solid ground of the ending.
Holmes listened, cringed at some of the transparent attempts at falsification, hoped Watson's editor was equal to the task of producing something less nonsensical for publication, and felt something akin to guilt that Watson had to tell this tale at all. Having Watson write it so soon was Mycroft's idea, in hopes Moriarty's underlings would behave with less care in the absence of their leader's great opponent and thus be easier to expose, but, in watching Watson, Holmes thought it was perhaps premature.
Re: FILL: Second Chances 1b/?ancalime8301March 25 2012, 23:45:33 UTC
Mary interrupted Watson for lunch, insisting that he leave his desk for a few minutes at least. In Watson's absence, Holmes quickly stood and carefully shook out his arms and legs, stretching stiff muscles and taking deep breaths to prepare himself for an afternoon of watchfulness. As soon as he heard footsteps in the hall he resumed his pose.
Watson returned with a sandwich on a plate and yet another cup of tea in his hand. He added more wood to the fire and settled into his chair with a groan, slumping against the back and glaring at the paper in the typewriter. He ate his sandwich in this position, lost in thought while crumbs bedecked his waistcoat.
Holmes could tell when inspiration struck: Watson abruptly sat up, pulled the half-finished page from the machine, balled it up, tossed it into the fire, and inserted a new sheet, looking quite satisfied with himself as the clack of keys resumed.
There was less frustrated muttering now, and he was so absorbed he did not acknowledge Mary taking away his half-eaten sandwich or Gladstone flopping onto the floor in front of the fire.
The words flowed at a steady pace for some hours. Periodically Watson would review a newly completed page with his earlier draft, then crumple and toss the draft page at the fire. He began to slow after a while, taking more care with his word choices, and Holmes inferred he was near the end.
Mary brought in the post, including a familiar brown-paper package and Holmes was pleased he would witness Watson's reaction first-hand. Mary gently reminded Watson he needed to pack for Brighton and Holmes found it rather strange to be party to a conversation about himself; while he didn't entirely believe that Mary missed him, she had him pegged quite accurately.
Then she left, and Watson was opening the parcel. He was confused at first, then he recognized the item stowed within the box and drew it out carefully. His expression was difficult to read, especially with the visual limitations of the hood, but Watson looked almost hopeful as he stared at the oxygen supply. His eyes strayed to the door as if expecting someone to have appeared there when he wasn't looking. Finding nothing, he stood, still holding the device, and left the room to pepper Mary with questions about the deliverer of the parcel.
Holmes took the opportunity to rise and stride to the typewriter, motioning for Gladstone to remain still when the dog seemed ready to either bark or approach him, and skimmed the stark words on the paper. He carefully inserted a question mark after Watson's (misguided) "THE END".
While it would have been amusing to remain to see if Watson noticed the alteration, he really did have other work to attend to, work which must be done before he could officially show Watson it wasn't the end at all.
Holmes slipped out the window and contemplated making a side trip to Brighton. It could be worthwhile, particularly if Moran or any of his associates decided to keep Watson within their sights.
FILL: Second Chances 2a/?ancalime8301March 27 2012, 23:18:11 UTC
Mycroft forbade him from going to Brighton, but he did have the Watsons followed to ensure their safety.
Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened to them. It was almost a disappointment.
Holmes' presence in London during that week was fortunate in the end, for there were several important developments that greatly assisted his efforts to tease out the connections between the levels of Moriarty's organization and Colonel Moran.
The preliminary work had been done when he was focusing on Moriarty, of course, but some shifts had occurred in the few months since the professor's demise and the structure of the organization was more stable than it had seemed earlier. By rights, the organization he had traced out in pursuing Moriarty should not have remained cohesive without the mastermind, but it was and that made it all the more dangerous now that he could not perform his work as himself. Always he wore disguises when out, sometimes more than one with rapid switches between them in alleys and dark doorways, and always he was on guard against being followed.
As soon as Moran figured out he wasn't dead, Watson would be in danger once more.
The developments during Watson's belated honeymoon necessitated his presence on the continent to gather additional information, so he was unable to drop in again for a full fortnight after Watson's return from Brighton.
As before, he arrived before dawn, dressed as the chair, and was settled in place before the house's inhabitants woke. This morning it was only Watson and Mary--the maid must have the day off--and from the way their steps never remained in the same room for long it seemed they were at odds about something. Most interesting.
When Watson entered the study, it was with a tray--the discord extended to his dear wife not bringing him his tea--which he set on the desk, then went back to close the door before tending the fire.
Holmes was barraged with several observations at once: he'd never seen Watson close the study door before; Watson's appetite was lagging, for he had not yet eaten breakfast and the only food on the tray was toast; and Watson had put on more weight, enough to strain the buttons of his waistcoat near his waist. The last two seemed contradictory, but the first two combined pointed to distress on Watson's part that involved Mary and possibly had something to do with the third. Nothing more could be inferred without additional information.
Watson sat at his desk with a sigh and pulled a stack of files over. These he read and jotted in and separated into three piles of approximately equal height. This he did while sipping tea and ignoring the toast completely.
Watson had been sorting for several hours when there was a tentative knock at the door. He sighed and called wearily, "Come in."
Mary entered and went to his side but did not touch him. "How are you doing?" she asked gently.
"Nearly done, I think."
"Are you certain this is what you should do?"
"Yes," Watson answered flatly.
Ah, here was the disagreement.
"I don't understand why. This is not something to be ashamed of."
"Anyone with half a brain and a calendar will know that I was unfaithful," Watson said with the impatient air of one who has said the same thing numerous times before.
"It was an indiscretion, as you said. I might be of a different opinion if he were still here to tempt you, but he's not, and for your sake I am glad you will have something of him to hold on to."
"Not everyone is so generous," he said softly, taking her hand and kissing it. "I need to be able to face my patients afterward, and I don't want you to suffer for my lapse. So yes, I must withdraw from practice until the child is born."
Holmes who is still concealing himself as furniture in Watson's home from time to time (maybe he needs to hide out from the bad guys from a bit..idk) begins to realize that Watson is pregnant and decides to visit more frequently just to make sure Watson and the baby are okay.
As the months pass, it gets harder and harder for Holmes to control himself when he's disguised. He just wants to reach out and comfort Watson when his back hurts or he has a cramp. Touch his stomach and kiss him and do wicked things with him because Watson pregnant is so very wonderful. He knows he can't risk Watson and he makes the decision to not visit anymore.
When Holmes returns from the "dead", he is determed to get Watson pregnant again no matter how long it takes so that he can do all things he wanted to do when he was watching Watson during his first pregnancy.
TL;DR - After AGOS, Holmes finds it harder and harder to not blow his cover when he's hiding out from Watson who is pregnant. After Holmes returns from the "dead" he's determined to get Watson pregnant again.
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I'm going to invent a SECONDED button and just going to hold it down until this gets filled.
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...I will be adding this to my list of prompts with which to tempt the muses when I'm done with my current project (a different Watson mpreg, haha).
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*wiggles happily* I love pregnant Watson. I'm so glad you're writing some. (If you don't mind me asking, is it for a prompt on the meme?)
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It is indeed for a prompt on the meme. Well... there have been a couple fairly generic pregnant Watson prompts lately, so I'll probably post the link to the fic on the two recent ones (I'm including elements of both):
http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9194.html?thread=21640426#t21640426
http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9194.html?thread=21205482#t21205482
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I posted the fic for those other pregnant Watson prompts (points up to the links in her previous comment).
I started on a fill for this. At present it is on paper only (I got so much done during the boring all-staff meeting yesterday!), but I am definitely working on it. :)
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And also (because I just open a new window with your journal to read that story), Happy Birthday!
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Aw, thank you!
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_Second Chances_
The small house on Cavendish Place drew him like a moth to a flame.
His first visit under the cover of darkness consisted only of peering through the window of Watson's study; despite the late hour Watson was typing away, and Holmes couldn't help but notice the armchair that faced Watson's desk.
That very armchair had first given him the idea of urban camouflage, and it had been his first experimental subject. The pattern down the middle had been difficult to replicate--of course he would choose something challenging for the inaugural attempt--but he had ultimately been successful and spied on the goings-on of the house for a full day without anyone being the wiser (that Watson had been away much of that day had nothing to do with his success). The chair had faced the study's fireplace then; this new position was ideal for watching Watson.
It was a matter of only a few minutes' work to sneak into his old rooms, retrieve the chair-suit, and slip back out again. It was more than a week before he could execute his intention to observe Watson; his efforts were required elsewhere to begin drawing a net around Moriarty's organization, which was more active than had been expected following the death of its erstwhile leader. Mycroft worked with him, calling in favors and capitalizing on his international ties to guarantee the cooperation of numerous continental governments when the trap was ready to be sprung.
When Holmes had been shut in his little corner of Mycroft's rooms for five days straight, he decided an outing was needed. He went, of course, to Watson's house, slipping into the study in the dim pre-dawn and taking his position in the chair (the outer clothing he'd worn outside was concealed in the shrubbery below the window).
He listened carefully to the sounds of the waking household, tracking the footsteps of Watson and Mary and the part-time maid. After breakfast, Watson came to the study, setting his cup of tea on his desk before building and lighting a sizable fire; he intended to remain in the room for some time.
Watching Watson work on the typewriter was most instructive. His writing process remained unchanged; he wrote, muttered to himself and read aloud under his breath before dedicating himself to churning out more words, but now his curses and imprecations were directed at mistyped letters or jammed typewriter keys rather than a blotchy pen or a spilled inkwell.
Mary appeared with a pot of tea partway through the morning. She kissed his forehead and he patted her hand briefly then returned to his furious typing. She seemed amused when she turned away and she added a few more logs to the fire as she left.
Watson worked steadily on, absent-mindedly drinking his tea and appearing increasingly frustrated with his story. It was no wonder--he was attempting to set down the pursuit of Moriarty but dared not tell the whole truth, so he was mired in a morass of half-truths concocted for the public and unable to slog his way to the solid ground of the ending.
Holmes listened, cringed at some of the transparent attempts at falsification, hoped Watson's editor was equal to the task of producing something less nonsensical for publication, and felt something akin to guilt that Watson had to tell this tale at all. Having Watson write it so soon was Mycroft's idea, in hopes Moriarty's underlings would behave with less care in the absence of their leader's great opponent and thus be easier to expose, but, in watching Watson, Holmes thought it was perhaps premature.
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Watson returned with a sandwich on a plate and yet another cup of tea in his hand. He added more wood to the fire and settled into his chair with a groan, slumping against the back and glaring at the paper in the typewriter. He ate his sandwich in this position, lost in thought while crumbs bedecked his waistcoat.
Holmes could tell when inspiration struck: Watson abruptly sat up, pulled the half-finished page from the machine, balled it up, tossed it into the fire, and inserted a new sheet, looking quite satisfied with himself as the clack of keys resumed.
There was less frustrated muttering now, and he was so absorbed he did not acknowledge Mary taking away his half-eaten sandwich or Gladstone flopping onto the floor in front of the fire.
The words flowed at a steady pace for some hours. Periodically Watson would review a newly completed page with his earlier draft, then crumple and toss the draft page at the fire. He began to slow after a while, taking more care with his word choices, and Holmes inferred he was near the end.
Mary brought in the post, including a familiar brown-paper package and Holmes was pleased he would witness Watson's reaction first-hand. Mary gently reminded Watson he needed to pack for Brighton and Holmes found it rather strange to be party to a conversation about himself; while he didn't entirely believe that Mary missed him, she had him pegged quite accurately.
Then she left, and Watson was opening the parcel. He was confused at first, then he recognized the item stowed within the box and drew it out carefully. His expression was difficult to read, especially with the visual limitations of the hood, but Watson looked almost hopeful as he stared at the oxygen supply. His eyes strayed to the door as if expecting someone to have appeared there when he wasn't looking. Finding nothing, he stood, still holding the device, and left the room to pepper Mary with questions about the deliverer of the parcel.
Holmes took the opportunity to rise and stride to the typewriter, motioning for Gladstone to remain still when the dog seemed ready to either bark or approach him, and skimmed the stark words on the paper. He carefully inserted a question mark after Watson's (misguided) "THE END".
While it would have been amusing to remain to see if Watson noticed the alteration, he really did have other work to attend to, work which must be done before he could officially show Watson it wasn't the end at all.
Holmes slipped out the window and contemplated making a side trip to Brighton. It could be worthwhile, particularly if Moran or any of his associates decided to keep Watson within their sights.
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Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened to them. It was almost a disappointment.
Holmes' presence in London during that week was fortunate in the end, for there were several important developments that greatly assisted his efforts to tease out the connections between the levels of Moriarty's organization and Colonel Moran.
The preliminary work had been done when he was focusing on Moriarty, of course, but some shifts had occurred in the few months since the professor's demise and the structure of the organization was more stable than it had seemed earlier. By rights, the organization he had traced out in pursuing Moriarty should not have remained cohesive without the mastermind, but it was and that made it all the more dangerous now that he could not perform his work as himself. Always he wore disguises when out, sometimes more than one with rapid switches between them in alleys and dark doorways, and always he was on guard against being followed.
As soon as Moran figured out he wasn't dead, Watson would be in danger once more.
The developments during Watson's belated honeymoon necessitated his presence on the continent to gather additional information, so he was unable to drop in again for a full fortnight after Watson's return from Brighton.
As before, he arrived before dawn, dressed as the chair, and was settled in place before the house's inhabitants woke. This morning it was only Watson and Mary--the maid must have the day off--and from the way their steps never remained in the same room for long it seemed they were at odds about something. Most interesting.
When Watson entered the study, it was with a tray--the discord extended to his dear wife not bringing him his tea--which he set on the desk, then went back to close the door before tending the fire.
Holmes was barraged with several observations at once: he'd never seen Watson close the study door before; Watson's appetite was lagging, for he had not yet eaten breakfast and the only food on the tray was toast; and Watson had put on more weight, enough to strain the buttons of his waistcoat near his waist. The last two seemed contradictory, but the first two combined pointed to distress on Watson's part that involved Mary and possibly had something to do with the third. Nothing more could be inferred without additional information.
Watson sat at his desk with a sigh and pulled a stack of files over. These he read and jotted in and separated into three piles of approximately equal height. This he did while sipping tea and ignoring the toast completely.
Watson had been sorting for several hours when there was a tentative knock at the door. He sighed and called wearily, "Come in."
Mary entered and went to his side but did not touch him. "How are you doing?" she asked gently.
"Nearly done, I think."
"Are you certain this is what you should do?"
"Yes," Watson answered flatly.
Ah, here was the disagreement.
"I don't understand why. This is not something to be ashamed of."
"Anyone with half a brain and a calendar will know that I was unfaithful," Watson said with the impatient air of one who has said the same thing numerous times before.
"It was an indiscretion, as you said. I might be of a different opinion if he were still here to tempt you, but he's not, and for your sake I am glad you will have something of him to hold on to."
"Not everyone is so generous," he said softly, taking her hand and kissing it. "I need to be able to face my patients afterward, and I don't want you to suffer for my lapse. So yes, I must withdraw from practice until the child is born."
"What will you tell your colleagues?"
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