Rabbit Done Died Meme

[hullo_sweetie]

"The rabbit died" is an old saying meaning one is pregnant, coming from the now no longer practiced rabbit test.


Congratulations!

You're pregnant. Knocked up. Eating for two. Have a bun in the oven.
Insert your own cliched phrase here. No matter how you say it, you're
downright fertilized. Even if you're not typically in possession of a
womb, somehow it happened. Are you scared? Happy? Gassy? A combination
of everything? And who's the father, anyway?

1. Post with your character with their name and series in the subject line. If
you want to avoid any of the options, this would also be a good place to
list them.
2. This is one of those RNG memes, so you'll want to go to our good friend Random Number Generator and roll 1-6 for how far along you are. Or just pick what one you'd prefer.
3. If you're replying to someone, roll 1-4 for how you factor into this madness!



So, how far along are you anyway?

1. Two months - Sooooo all this sickness is kind of annoying, isn't it? At least you can still fit in your old clothes, right?

2. Four months - Okay, so things are getting a little tight. Time to break out the flowy stuff!

3. Six months - OH MY GOD IT'S AN ALI-- oh, no. It's just the baby moving. Although it's still kind of creepy, isn't it?

4. Eight months - Please. Please let it be over. Have mercy.

5. Overdue - C'mon kid! I'll buy you a pony! NO! TWO PONIES! My baaaaaack.

6. Wildcard - Your choice!

What's your role in this whole mess, person replying?

1. YOU ARE THE FATHER - Well, now you've gone and done it. Are you going to take responsibility, or head for the hills?

2. Friend - You may not have done the deed, but you're going to be there to help your buddy. No matter HOW weird the circumstances!

3. Enemy - Do you feel a 'HAW HAW' coming on? This is just too funny.

4. Wildcard - Second verse, same as the first.


Not my meme. Shamelessly copied!

Comments

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She meets his gaze steadily] Why does it have to be either/or?

[the_new_sexy]

Because it can't logically be both.

And a child of mine would be even more difficult if it's more nature.

[womanwhobeatyou]

[A touch of humour touches her eyes, banishing some of the tiredness, at least momentarily.]

And mine isn't likely to play by your rules. Interesting, isn't it?

[the_new_sexy]

My intellect, your cunning. I doubt the world would be ready.

[But it would have to be. His gaze drifted down to her midsection, where said child was growing. Cells dividing. Chromosomes replicating.

The water began to boil and he turned away, back to the tea.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[And for a moment, Irene considers staying in London. Letting the plane and the carefully laid plans and new identity go without her. Because the world won't be ready, and it would all be far more interesting to see up close.

But the water boils and he turns back to the kitchen and Irene Adler sets the riding crop back on its shelf with a momentary twinge of regret.]

And maybe that's the way she'll want it.

[the_new_sexy]

[he brings the tray of tea over to the side table by John's chair]

Maybe he'll embrace it, maybe not.

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She laughs softly at that and follows, perching on the arm of John's chair. She shifts a little as she does, still not used to the changes in balance, in body weight and where it all is.

The conversation sounded light to her ears, almost normal. Which was utterly abnormal for them. But given the reason for her visit, it seemed appropriate. And still, the tension simmered behind the words, unspoken but present.

She pours, two cups.]

May want to start keeping an eye on the papers in a few years.

[the_new_sexy]

I keep an eye on them as it is.

[But he understands her implication, of course, and he can't help but smile at it. His child, part detective and part criminal. His child. A thought more frightening than he'd expected.

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Irene picks up one of the cups, adds a little lemon, but just holds it. More for the sake of having something to do than actually wanting tea. An excuse to be here, like the truce.

There are words on the tip of her tongue. Things she wants to say before she left, things that should probably be said. Things that are sentimental, that are practical, that are things that either close this chapter between them or leave it open to something more than these tenuous moments.

But the words on the tip of her tongue don't come, because she likes this. This game, this unpredictability, this tension that never quite leaves no matter how many times they meet like this.

The sentiment is probably a sign that she would make a terrible mother, but Irene had never been very good at playing by the rules.

She smiles.]

Then maybe I should continue to misbehave. The papers are terribly dull.

[the_new_sexy]

Try something a bit more interesting than political intrigue. That requires a level of knowing who's-shagging-who that I just don't care about.

[he adds a bit of milk and sugar to his own tea and stirs it slowly. Once the tea is over, he imagines she'll leave and move on, and he might not see her until the child is born, or starting to grow up. Part of him is honestly relieved by that, because the stress of a new thing in his life that isn't a case---a new permanent thing without a solution or foreseeable end---could throw his entire world upside down.

But another part of him, the part that is, perhaps, a bit more mature than the former part of him, is disappointed. There are things he never did with his own family that would---that should be rectified in the future. John would be excellent at that sort of sentimentality. Sherlock is lacking.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[That gets another smile from her.] It's never really about who's shagging who. That's just the clue.

[It'd always been about the balance of power, of information and who gets what when. Sex is just the most reliable way of gaining that.

She sets the cup back on its saucer, untouched. There's no logical reason to be here. She should have left the moment she'd said what she'd wanted to say. "Hello. I'm pregnant. Goodbye Mr. Holmes."

But she had and she really should salvage the whole thing and leave]

Well, Heathrow is waiting.

[She rises and, as she does, wonders idly what he'll make of it. Whether he'll think it's a bluff, that she's deliberately obfuscating the trail, or if it's a bit of sentiment, or an actual clue.

But it doesn't really matter. He won't tell her even if she asked, and she won't ask. They'll find each other again. She rests a warm hand on his arm as she passes him.]

Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.

[the_new_sexy]

Irene.

[his hand goes to her wrist. He could easily stop her by simply physically overpowering her, but he won't. He won't hurt her. He wouldn't, even before all of this. But he would take her wrist, hold her there if he could.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[His reaction genuinely surprises her, and she stops, said surprise written clear on her face. Because it is a deviation from the script, the familiar way in which these moments of truce end. That one of them will slip away and the other will not stop them.

She tries to read his expression, but either he is at the moment just unreadable or deep down she doesn't really want to be able to read his expression at the moment. So instead she just looks at him.]

It's been a long time since you've called me that, Sherlock.

[the_new_sexy]

[He can't give in. There's part of him that never will, but---but right now---]

Where will you go?

[womanwhobeatyou]

[The fact that he asks is far more proof of sentimentality than she would ever ask for. She considers refusing him, telling him it's a puzzle to solve for later, but she of all people knows how significant the question is, and for once playing the game doesn't hold as much appeal as telling him.

She leans forward and kisses him lightly on the cheek, warm lips against cool skin. There doesn't need to be more, not when his question and her answer are far more intimate.]

New York City. Nobody can find me in that mess.

[Except him.]

[the_new_sexy]

[He's memorized those lips. He knows the way they feel against his mouth, against his skin. Yet, the way they feel now against his cheek is different than any other time. He can't quite understand why.]

Do you want me to rise to that challenge?

[He says the words with no fight, no teasing. Nothing but an honest question: Does she want Sherlock to appear in her life? He doesn't doubt that she will raise the child and be brilliant at it in ways that he would be utterly incapable. But would she want him to just arrive? To appear and exist in either her life or the child's?

He could never be a proper father. He could never promise that. But he could find her. He could exist, for her.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She doesn't pull away immediately, instead Irene lets her eyes close briefly, as if savouring the momentary closeness. Her hand rests on his shoulder for that same duration, before she does inevitably draw away. She doesn't break his loose grip on her wrist, but she does step away enough that it is the only point of contact between them.

She tries not to think of how that would even work, with whatever life she was going to shape, with the child. She knows neither of them are meant to be parents, that they are both far too extraordinary, far too disconnected from the rest of the masses to really be trusted with something as innocent and shapeable as a child.

But if not them, in whatever fractured unconventional capacity, who else could? Especially this child.]

I always want you to rise to the challenge, Mr. Holmes. [A fleeting, wicked smile plays at her lips and her eyes sweep over him from head to toe, tempering the bare, vulnerable honesty.]

In all senses of the word.

[the_new_sexy]

[There were things he might have to tell another woman. He might have to tell another woman that he didn't want her to leave (though the likelihood that there would be another woman he might want not to leave is extremely slim). He might have to tell another woman that he would always follow where she would go. He might have to tell another woman to expect him there.

He didn't have to tell any of these things to the Woman. It was what made her special. It was what made her more than any other woman he had met or, in all likelihood, would ever meet.]

Can we extend the truce one more night?

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She should say no, because there are a myriad of reasons to say no. The plane at Heathrow. The new identity waiting. The housekeeper. The flatmate. The fact that she has overstayed already. The fact that Irene Adler is known to everyone to be dead and gone and the fact that the charade is in danger of collapsing with every moment she stays.

Well, that last one was a bit dramatic.

But he is asking. Simply asking, without the game between them. Twice, even. She knows that is as close to begging as he will ever get.

And she wants to say yes.]

Until sunrise.

[the_new_sexy]

[He's letting sentimentality obscure himself. He doesn't beg for people to stay, he doesn't extend truces. Of course, prior to the Woman's entry into his life, he never offered truces, either. It feels like hes begged for mercy. It feels strange.

A lot of what happens with the Woman feels strange, however. He's getting used to that.

John will be home at some point, so Sherlock mentally takes note of the time they have in this room, and at what point he should adjourn them to the bedroom for privacy's sake.]

Shame you're dead. The look on Mycroft's face if he knew would be worth more than I could probably mention.

[womanwhobeatyou]

[The smile that spreads over her face at his words is pure conspiratorial sin. It's more than the dominatrix smile, the one that keeps the submissive in line, that promises sex and pain and pleasure. Those had always been trappings. This was a smile that was more than the dominatrix, that was pure Irene Adler, The Woman, full of intellectual wit and cunning pleasure.

The smile of someone who has found not only an equal but a partner.

It doesn't happen often, even between them.

She takes a step back into his personal space and runs a finger along the line of buttons down the front of his shirt.]

It's almost enough to tempt a woman to come back from the dead, just to see that.

[the_new_sexy]

[Sherlock's own grin is a slow, careful spread across his face as he thinks about the ways Mycroft would "handle" the situation. It would be beautiful. The way the Woman smiles as she steps into his personal space---a place that she belongs right now---tells Sherlock that she thinks the same.

It's so infrequently that he can feel someone absolutely understand where his mind is going.]

You could, you know. And he'd have no choice but to protect you.

Of course, that would mean family Christmases.

[womanwhobeatyou]

[For a moment, she is almost tempted. Because protection is better than being in hiding. Because it would be easier to have and to raise this child around people who have some idea what he or she could be like. Because watching Mycroft Holmes trying to swallow his tongue three times over would be quite possibly the most fun she's had in ages.

Because he would then be close by.

She is too independent, too strong-willed, and far too fond of misbehaving for that.

But she is almost tempted, all the same.

So instead of answering either honestly or flippantly, she takes him by the back of the head and pulls him to her, in a kiss that is as much sentimentality as it is unspoken, unadmitted fear for what will come.]

[the_new_sexy]

[He doesn't expect her to say 'yes', but he's surprised to find that he honestly wants her to. He wants her to say 'yes', and he wants her to stay. He doesn't want the child to be here, all the time, because that's just disaster waiting to happen. But he doesn't want---

She kisses him, and he easily kisses her back, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her close. They are so different, and yet so very alike. If nature really is the key to life, what sort of child could be produced by this? Some sort of a mixture of his madness and her unpredictability? Something woefully socially inept but longing to control everything?

Difficult to tell. Impossible, actually, from where she is at this point. Easier to tell once the child is older.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[She doesn't melt against him. That's too simple, too easy, and they are anything but. But when he kisses her back some of the tension does leave her. Because this part of the script is still the same. They still fit each other in ways that matter, even with the new wrinkle in the way.

And maybe it is sentimental to think so, that it is enough to hang the life of a child on. A child who will no doubt be far too intelligent for his peers, and far too cunning to follow the rules. Who will know parents for whom sentiment is a thing rarely admitted or shown, who will learn from first breath that deduction and discernment are the instruments to navigate a world that cannot hope to catch up.

No, the world was definitely not ready for this.

But then maybe it hadn't been ready for either of them either.

Still, the idea he's planted refuses to leave and Irene hears herself murmuring]

Ask me again in four months.

[Because it really would be priceless.]