love reading your works :) Bondlock is my fav fandom! I like the rare pairing Sherlock/Q (as in incest where Q is a Holmes!). Would you please write a story about them? I have two ideas in mind, I would be delighted if you can combine them, the first is they being very happily in love because they dont care about social conventions, anyway; the second idea is crazier, mpreg, Q is pregnant but it is highly possible that their child will be a mentally retarded, do the two geniuses keep it or not? – anon
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Hope this is what you were looking for! Jen.
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The only problem was that neither of them really adhered to normal conventions about nutrition, which was a problem John and Eve were perpetually trying to remedy whenever they were around their respective friends.
Sherlock and Q were actually perfectly happy as they were. Social conventions were redundant, antique things. The pair of them had fallen into an easy, reciprocal, loving relationship that worked perfectly and neither had any intentions of letting it fall apart.
There were hiccups. Every relationship has hiccups.
Sherlock anticipated one from the outset, when Q set down a mug of coffee and a collection of biscuits on a plate and settled opposite Sherlock with a complicated expression. “We have a problem, I think. Possibly.”
“A large one, judging by the number of biscuits and pedantry in your coffee making,” Sherlock returned, with something of a drawl. Sherlock always drawled a bit when nervous, as though speaking slowly could delay the inevitable. “And?”
“I’m pregnant.”
There was a moment of spectacular silence. “… ah.”
“Indeed.”
A little more silence. Sherlock drank half the mug in a single swallow, ignoring the scalding heat of it. “What would you…”
“No, you first,” Q insisted. “I don’t know, I have a lot of thoughts.”
Neither needed to voice the obvious: it was very risky to carry a child of an incestuous relationship. There was a great potential for illness and learning disabilities, lowered life expectancy, even. It was a case of balancing probability and want, seeing where they landed.
“I don’t want a child in the first place,” Q pointed out, hands over his stomach as though it would instantly swell without warning. “Sherlock, I don’t… I don’t think I can do this.”
“The procedure…”
“… is risky for men, but high enough success rate… I mean, I may be laid out for a couple of weeks but it’s better than… I mean fuck, Sherlock, we’re not equipped for a child and I don’t… it never really occurred to me that we’d want…”
Sherlock was very quiet. “I had harboured the notion,” he admitted quietly.
Q let out a strange puff of breath. “Fuck.”
“It is your body, Q, I would never impose that upon you, and the genetic…”
“It’s a risk, and it’s the wrong time, and I don’t think I can do this,” Q was still saying, words tumbling out of his mouth with nothing short of panic, apology, as Sherlock remained a marble monument as he processed and thought, visibly digesting and calculating a response. “Sherlock?”
“I don’t want to risk your health,” Sherlock said slowly, “and male abortions are a substantial risk. However, I also do not want to risk the ill health of the foetus – child – and certainly do not want to have a child at this point if it is not something you want.”
Q’s breath remained very erratic. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost exhausted. “I’m… Sherlock, I’m sorry.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, moved to kneel in front of Q’s chair, and all but pulled the younger man out and into his arms. “It will be alright,” Sherlock told him, voice steady and calm, anchoring Q, anchoring both of them, safe.
