Fiction: Fell From Heaven
Title: Fell From Heaven
Rating: PG
Pairings: John/Sherlock
Warnings: None
Word Count: 221 + 221 + 221 + 221
Summary: 221B format: 221 words last one beginning with the letter "b". An army mate of John's shows up and everything changes at Baker Street.
Fell From Heaven: Part 1 of 4
An insane tale told in four 221bs. For the record I, the author, denounce this story and others featuring babies at Baker Street.
It was if she had fallen from heaven. Celeste, all of five feet high, blue eyes framed by bouncing black curls, lit up the Baker Street flat like a ray of sunshine. Curious, because she'd soldiered for two years, a medic in Afghanistan, and, like John, had seen enough trouble for a lifetime. Nowadays she found her trouble as an EMT riding ambulances through the Borough of Westminster.
John had known her husband. He'd operated on him, managing to save his thumb from amputation. Leon, crazy bastard, had returned to duty as soon as he'd recovered. John wasn't surprised: special forces guys are all like that.
Both John and Celeste were civilians living in London when Leon's Humvee was obliterated by an IED. When Celeste heard the news, she cried for two weeks. Then, forever the soldier, she went to back work. Her motto: "Being useful is better than being dead." She smiled when she said it. "Take that Death, ya bony bastard!" That was the other part.
To John's surprise, Sherlock liked Celeste. A lot. He said she was a dark-haired female John. "But," he clarified, "I do not wish to have sex with her". "Me neither," John replied. Sherlock could not hide his relief. Things became more interesting when, over dinner, Celeste asked if they would father her baby.
Fell From Heaven: Part 2 of 4
A seemingly sane woman had just asked them for what? Sperm donations? John was stunned. Sherlock had questions.
Celeste, now misty-eyed, took the hand of each and explained. She was thirty-eight. Leon was gone. There'd been no one else like him and may never be. But she was OK with that. They'd had a good ten years together and she had but one regret-they never had a child. So when she'd received the news, that the tumor was inoperable, slow-growing but fatal, she began visiting her old army mates. Because who else should bring up the child of a medic? Who else could handle her death, help a child do the same? Who could possibly understand and be willing to say "yes"? An hour with John and Sherlock and Celeste knew she'd found her guys.
They had all night to talk. Next morning she'd be back for their decision.
How do you tell your lover you want something this important? Slowly. Carefully. Maybe not with words. Maybe instead you take him gently, sweetly, then with a sudden urgency that catches you off-guard, has you crying out, "God, I want this, Sherlock. Say yes!" before you realize you've exposed yourself to heartache.
The next morning John and Sherlock, giggling, greeted their guest with two full specimen cups and a turkey baster.
Fell From Heaven: Part 3 of 4
Mycroft was incensed. This was madness. John and Sherlock were among the last people who should be responsible for a child, not for a day let alone a lifetime. They were often in danger, usually by their own choosing. They kept odd hours. Each had experienced depressive episodes in the past. Their flat was littered with weapons, chemicals, and biohazards. And Sherlock, while not really a sociopath, was still a handful, even for the resourceful John. Anyone could see that adding a child to this mix was insane.
Realizing his intervention was a day late, Mycroft, ever adaptive, quickly changed his tune. Within a week he'd organized an intricate support network. Mrs. Hudson, her niece, and Harry would babysit. He and Lestrade would act as joint heads of the household security team. He'd also worked out the child's finances and education, but tactfully dropped the matter when Sherlock started to bristle.
Celeste would share custody, of course. Everyone agreed that it was best she spent as much time as she could with the child while she was able. But they could not ignore the inevitable. The baby's home would be Baker Street from the start.
After the child was born, Mycroft, who once saw Celeste as trouble, now always greeted her with a kiss to the forehead, his thanks and benediction.
Fell From Heaven: Part 4 of 4
The baby was perfect. That is to say, it was born bald, wrinkly, blotchy, and squished. Other than that, it looked exactly like its mother.
They named him Leon, in memory of Celeste's husband. The middle name they left blank. It had been Sherlock's idea that they would choose the middle name after they had determined whether John or Sherlock's sperm had "done the deed". If he grew to be sturdy calm fellow with a yen for jam and deadly aim, the middle name would be Sherlock. If he grew to be sensitive, brilliant, volatile, and musical, the middle name would be John. But the child was coy, and after two years no one was the wiser.
Harry doted on him. Every week she stopped by with a new outfit, brightly colored knits that had strangers cooing over the "pretty girl". Leon didn't mind. Neither did his fathers, usually.
The shirt was hot orangey pink. John had to say something.
"It suits his dark curls," Harry explained.
Leon toddled over and whispered in John's ear. Like a madman, John jumped to his feet, grinning, and began doing a victory dance.
"Ha! It's John!"
"What?" asked Harry, confused.
"The color!" shouted John, ecstatic.
"Pink?"
"First bloody word: Begoniaceae." John pointed to the orange-pink flower on the windowsill.
"The genus name for begonia."
Written for Ms. Verity Burns who said she would be interested in reading a 221b ending in the word "begonia". This composite story also included the last words "baby", "baster", and "benediction".