#fortescorde

At least she didn’t have to worry about telling Sherlock. She glanced over at him, sitting in the kitchen above one of his experiments. The bastard was the one who told her to take the pregnancy test in the first place. She had stopped being impressed by his deduction skills a long time ago, but that one certainly threw her. Just. How? How?!

Hamish walked into the flat and Hyperion didn’t even give him a chance to speak before pointing to Sherlock’s chair. “Sit,” She said sharply. Her brother gave her a look before opening his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance to say anything. “No! Shut!” She pointed even harder at the chair. Once he was seated, she began pacing at the side of the two chairs, wringing her hands nervously as she tried to figure out how to begin.

“Alright, so,” She began abruptly, stopping her pacing and looking back and forth between the two. “I have some news for you. And, to tell you the truth, you’re probably going to feel vaguely homicidal after I break it.” This incited a snort from Sherlock. “Shut up, Father,” She snapped before turning her attention back to the others. “Okay, maybe very homicidal. Thing is, though, you can’t. You can’t kill the person you’re gonna wanna kill, because that’ll make me very, very upset. So promise you won’t kill anyone.”

The stone faced silence she got from the pair certainly answered that question.

“Alright, good.” She muttered, surprised that she was even able to achieve sarcasm at this moment. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt vaguely nauseous, but was unsure whether that was due to her nerves or the morning sickness. (Funnily enough, it didn’t only occur in the mornings, so whoever came up with that name was a dirty fucking liar.)

“Hyperion, out with it,” Hamish said, which was enough to shake her out of her daze. Deciding that it was ridiculous to drag this out any longer than necessary, she sighed heavily.