I would like to thank everyone for their support and encouragement in reviewing, favoritng, and following this and other stories in this series. ^_^ It means a lot to me.
This is the sixth, and final (for now at least) in a series of one-shots, which takes place in my "Falling" verse. This takes place after "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling," has completed. These one-shots can be read individually, or as part of the larger series. I hope you enjoy.
Warning: There are some mildly graphic references to medical procedures in this story.
Love Never Fails
Laurali opened the door of 221 B Baker Street and smiled warmly at her parents. "Dad! Papa! Welcome! Come in, come in, it's freezing outside."
Sherlock and John shook the snow from their coats and hung them on the rack by the door. The roads had been clear so they'd made good time from their small home in Sussex. It was the same home that Mummy and Father Holmes (Evelyn and Elijah) had occupied while they still lived. Sherlock still tended his father's garden of poisonous plants, and he'd added his own collection of bee hives. The bees were currently housed in their massive greenhouse for the winter.
"Grandma Hudson's old apartment should be ready for you," Laurali explained.
John leaned in to kiss her cheek and replied, "Thank you, love. We noticed when we set our bags down."
They had come to attend the imminent birth of their first grandchild, and to help Laurali and Alex in their first few weeks of parenthood. It was strange coming back to the place where it all began, so many years ago. John, much to his chagrin, was balding now, and needed glasses. Sherlock, who would never go bald, now had grey hair streaked with black.
"Welcome Home, Papa," Laurali breathed, pulling Sherlock in for fierce hug. Although she was in her ninth month of pregnancy, she was adamant about not being treated as though she were fragile. She was still as strong as ever.
"Where's Alex?" John asked, looking around his old place. Other than the fact that it was cleaner, it didn't look much different. The shelves were still covered in books, Laurali still kept her desk by the windows, and there was always comfortable seating around the fireplace. Laurali had even preserved the bullet holes Sherlock had shot into the wall during one of his adult temper tantrums.
"He's just run to the market for some milk," Laurali explained, gingerly seating herself in a cozy armchair that occupied the same space John's once had. She leaned back and rubbed her swollen belly distractedly, smiling into the fireplace.
John and Sherlock sat on the sofa opposite her, each smiling in a self-satisfied way. They were so proud of the woman their daughter had grown up to become. Everyone was overjoyed, but no one had been surprised, when Alex had asked her to marry him. They'd fancied each other almost since the first time they met. Neither had been willing to part with their last names, but they had managed to agree that their children would be Holmes children.
"Are the other kids staying at the estate?" Sherlock asked, taking a cup of tea from the set laid out on the coffee table.
"They're all staying at Uncle Mycroft's townhouse actually," Laurali explained with a grimace. "That must be tight quarters."
Sherlock and John nodded in agreement. Greg and Mycroft would be in the master suite. Kaite and her husband Paul would take up one of the two guest bedrooms. Nikki and her wife Samantha probably took up the other spare room. Cori, who was always the most flexible, had most likely claimed a sofa to camp out on.
"I'm glad Nikki was able to get some time away from the orchestra," John mused. "She's normally so busy."
Laurali arched a delicate eyebrow at her dad. "You know what she's like when she sets her foot down. If she wasn't so set on playing violin she'd have taken Mycroft's position and conquered the world. Speaking of, who's taken over now that Mycroft stepped down?"
John shook his head and held up his hands. "Not my department. I'm sure he's found someone capable, though. He's always had an eye for details."
Laurali snorted with laughter. "I'll say. You remember he kidnapped Peter two weeks before he'd even asked Katie out? I thought he would never work up the nerve to marry her." He had waited almost ten years, marrying her cousin just one year before Laurali said her own vows.
It was Sherlock's turn to laugh. "Even I'd never seen Greg so mortified." He wiped his eyes and sigh. "I should've taken a picture."
"Oh, Papa, Cori said the children at her daycare wanted you and dad to come around for story time again."
"They'd be better served if I could teach a chemistry lesson," Sherlock mused.
"Papa," Laurali began, exasperated, "Preschoolers don't have chemistry lessons. They aren't old enough to handle Bunsen burners, much less explosive chemicals."
"They don't have to be explosive," Sherlock insisted, leaning forward in his enthusiasm. "They could be corrosive instead."
"Sherlock!" John chided. "It's a wonder you're let into any school at all."
The world's only retired consulting detective sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose I have gotten expelled from a number of them in my day."
Laurali chuckled softly as she reached to secure her own cup of tea.
There was a pounding of feet on the stairs, then Alex joined them, carrying paper grocery bags in his arms. "Hey! Uncle John! Uncle Sherlock! Great to see you!" He was and had remained a cheerful, energetic person. This had served him well in his career as a professional footballer. "Just let me get these groceries away, and I'll come sit with you."
"I just sent you for milk," Laurali called over her shoulder, "What else did you get?"
Alex's voice carried over to them from the kitchen. "Some canned goods, crisps, nuts, and a few other snacks. I want to have a fully stocked kitchen before you give birth."
Laurali rolled her eyes at her husband. "That's what papa and dad are here to help with!"
Food safely tucked away, Alex returned from the kitchen and sat gingerly on the arm of his wife's chair. "I just want things to go as smoothly as possible," he said softly, running his fingers through her hair.
Laurali leaned into Alex's hand and closed her eyes. "Darling," he began, warm affection evident in her voice, "nothing goes according to plan. You just have to learn to roll with the punches." Laurali had always had a greater tolerance for the unexpected than her husband. John and Sherlock suspected that this was because of the loss of his own parents, so early in his life; Laurali had never remembered any other parents but Sherlock and John.
"Help me up, love," Laurali said, reaching out to her husband, "I've got to use the loo again."
Alex smiled warmly, and pulled his wife to her feet. She kissed him once, and then shuffled off down the hall. Alex looked after her a moment before sliding into the chair she had vacated. Leaning towards his Uncles in a conspiratorial manner, Alex asked, "So, are there any more cases on the horizon for you two?"
John paled. "No. None. Absolutely not."
"People are still posting on my website," Sherlock mused with a wry smile.
"No, Sherlock," John insisted. "We are retired. We've been retired for three years. I am not going to lose you to some idiotic case now. No more fieldwork for you."
Sherlock's expressed sobered, and he took his husband's hand in his. "John, relax. I promised after the last case that I wouldn't go in the field again, I was talking about armchair consultation, and only for the cases above an eight." There were one or two cases that Sherlock had come out of retirement for. One was a very typical case, but the other… He'd been two inches from being shot to death by a German spy. After that John had made it very clear that he would be damned if Sherlock would take any more unnecessary risks. Being a doctor, he knew they would both die someday, but John was not about to let their penchant for danger hasten that date; especially not when they'd survived Moriarty, Millerton, Walker, and all the others.
Laurali's voice called out to them from the toilet. "Papa….Dad…Alex…," Her voice quavered slightly, and all three men were on their feet in an instant.
They found Laurali with her hands braced against the sink, a sizable puddle of clearish liquid pooled at her feet.
Alex rushed forward, lifter her arm over his shoulders and wrapping his other arm around her wait. "Let's get you to the hospital," he said calmly, although his hands were already shaking.
Laurali struggled to control her breathing and frantically shook her head. "There's no time for that. Get me to the bedroom."
"Honey," Alex began, intending to try to reason with her.
"Bed! Now!" Laurali insisted hunching forward as a contraction shook her lithe frame.
"Let's just get her on the bed, Alex," John soothed, walking beside them. "We can call an ambulance after."
"There's no time for that!" Laurali insisted shrilly.
John was no stranger to women in labor. He kept his voice calm and soft. "Laurali, sweetheart, how about I take a look at you, once we've got you on the bed? It often feels worse for first time mothers than it actually is."
Laurali heaved herself onto the bed, in what had once been Sherlock's room, grunting with the effort to get comfortable. "I hope that's the case," she grimaced, "because I really think you're about to deliver this baby."
Sitting next to his daughter on the bed, John place one hand on her shoulder, and the other hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I can do that if I have to," he promised, "First things first, alright?"
She managed to draw a deep breath and nodded. John nodded back, then turned his attention to his husband. "Sherlock, fetch me some towels, and call an ambulance." Sherlock nodded and left the room.
John stood and steered a fidgeting Alex to sit beside his wife. "Coach her through her breathing," he instructed, "I'm going to see how much she's dilated."
Alex nodded and reached for Laurali's hand while John lifted the hem of her long dress. "Why aren't you wearing any pants?" John asked, looking up at his daughter as he settled the fabric of her dress above her knees.
"With how often I go to the bathroom?" Laurali asked, her breath coming in gasps now, "Didn't seem worth it."
John supposed she did have a point about that. "Okay, pull your feet back, and part your knees for me," John instructed. Laurali did as she was told, bracing herself against the headboard and her husband's side. John reached forward and gently parted her labia, frowning as he did so. She was fully dilated. "Laurali, have you had contractions before now?" he asked.
Her eyebrows knotted together in thought. "Well, you know I've had trouble with Braxton Hicks contractions for a few months now…"
"And have you had any contractions today?" John specified, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
"Maybe? I've gotten them intermittently for the last few days, but I've had such bad indigestion it's hard to tell. Plus, my back's been killing me since early this morning, so it's all sort of blended together."
"Laurali, I know you know about back labor," John muttered in exasperation. "Why didn't you have yourself checked out? You're three days away from your delivery date."
His daughter grimaced for a few moments, trying to breathe through a contraction. Alex's eyes widened in pain as she clamped down on his hand and he muttered a quiet, "Ow…"
Gasping for breath, she snarled her reply, "Dad, I am Bloody nine months pregnant! Everything hurts! You try carrying an extra thirty pounds between your hips!"
"Okay, okay," John soothed, "Holding up his hands in surrender. "There's nothing that can be done about it now. The ambulance should be on its way, let's just focus on what needs to happen before they get here."
"That might be a while," Sherlock interjected, striding into the room with towels and medical gloves. Having a doctor for a Dad, and Sherlock for her Papa, Laurali had learned to always keep a well-stocked medicine cabinet. "The snow's really picked up out there, and the roads are dangerous."
John fought the urge to curse under his breath as he and Sherlock pulled on the thin blue gloves. Laurali had made a habit of things like this as a child. Whenever she was poorly she had tried to hide it, almost to the point of collapsing. He and Sherlock had tried to assure her that being ill or injured was not something she would get punished for, and that they wanted to help her. Laurali did believe she was loved and safe, but she never quite shook her reticent nature. Although nothing could be changed about her past, John often wished he could have adopted her earlier.
Laurali had started to cry now. Sherlock went to her free side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bracketing her between himself and her husband. John leaned forward, reaching for her free hand. "Sweetheart, it will be okay. I've delivered many babies before, and you've had a relatively normal pregnancy."
His daughter turned a tearful gaze first towards Sherlock, then looked up at her husband. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her lips trembling.
Alex, who had recovered he equilibrium, responded to his wife's distress by leaning forward to press a loving kiss to her forehead. "Hey," he murmured, "We'll all be okay. The ambulance is on its way. Besides, I trust Uncle John more than any other doctor."
Laurali leaning her head against Alex's shoulder while she caught her breath. "Yeah, me too."
Sherlock nudged his daughter so that she would turn to look at him, then cupped her face with both hands. "Listen to Alex, and remember your breathing," he said calmly. "And make sure you keep your eyes and mouth open during contractions. We don't want to risk you going blind from burst blood vessels in or near your eyes."
Laurali took a steadying breath, and nodded. "I'll do my best."
Sherlock smiled and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "I have no worries. You have a high tolerance for pain, just like me."
"Right," John said, taking control. "You're going to feel my fingers in a moment; I want to check if I can feel the baby's head. Sherlock, come down here in case I need you." John began to probe, and nodded when his fingers made contact. "I can feel the head. Given your back pain, you've probably been in labor since this afternoon, maybe earlier. The baby's head must have broken your water. He's in a good position. When you feel a contraction coming, you can push."
Laurali nodded, her breathing picking up. "That would be about now," she muttered, groaning softly and she folded in on herself with the force of her contraction. "Oh God…"
"You're doing great," John insisted, "I can see the top of the head now." Sherlock was at his side, towel in hand.
Laurali flopped back against her husband when the contraction ended, sucking in great lungfuls of air. "Fuuuuck!" she groaned.
"That's what got us into this situation in the first place," Alex observed wryly.
His wife jerked in his arms, attempting to elbow him in the ribs. "See if that happens again anytime soon," she muttered sourly.
"Okay," John interrupted, "the umbilical cord isn't around the neck. Next time a contraction starts, give it your all."
Laurali glared languidly at him. "Right, because I've been half-assing this so far."
"Language, young lady," John scolded, never lifting his eyes from his task.
The muscles across her belly and hips quivered, tightening once more. Laurali surged forward, mouth and eyes open as her Papa had instructed. She grunted with effort, then began a long, low cry that rose sharply in volume until she ran out of breath. She gasped and let out one final, "ugh!" as her son slid wetly from her body.
John held his grandson while Sherlock scooped thick mucus out of the child's mouth, and pinched its arm. The child wailed, and the adults breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Let me see him," Laurali insisted, holding out her arms to receive her son. John immediately relinquished him, blinking back tears. "Hello Bryan Hamish Holmes," the new mother whispered. "Happy Birthday."
Alex, whipped tears from his eyes, then leaned forward to hold his wife and newborn son in his arms.
Sherlock, heedless of the blood-stained gloves on their hands, pulled his husband into a tight hug. John chuckled wetly and sniffled into his shoulder. "We're grandparents," Sherlock whispered, sounding awed. John could only nod in response.
When he felt like he could speak again, John pulled away and murmured. "We still need to cut the cord, and deliver the placenta."
"I've still got some of my old experiment equipment in storage here," Sherlock replied. "I'll get the supplies we need.
"Make sure it's clean," John insisted.
Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Of course, John. I am familiar with basic medical practices."
"You kept thumbs in the fridge and eyeballs in the microwave for seven years!" John called after the retreating form of his husband.
Once Sherlock had returned with the necessary supplies, John tied off the umbilical cord and handed the scissors to Alex, who severed the cord with trembling fingers.
There were pounding feet on the stairs once more as paramedics finally arrived on scene. "We're in here!" Sherlock called to them, and they stormed into the bedroom.
"Baby and mom seem healthy," John reported. "There were no complications, and the APGAR score was nine. Give us a minute to clean the baby and deliver the placenta, then you can take them to the hospital."
John spoke with such authority than no one questioned him. Sherlock washed the baby while his husband assisted with the afterbirth. The paramedics took Laurali and Bryan's vitals, and declared them safe to transport. Everyone was cleaned up and ready to go inside of ten minutes.
"Do I have to go?" Laurali pouted as she shifted onto the ambulance gurney. "You said that Bryan's healthy, and all that."
"Sweetheart," John replied as he handed Bryan to her, "You both need a look over, and you need stitches. You don't want to know the kind of tear Bryan just put in your perineum." Laurali's expression soured, but she stopped protesting.
Alex followed his wife and the paramedics out the door while John and Sherlock tugged on their coats. John shook his head in mild astonishment at the evening. It was hard to believe that he was a grandfather. "Life certainly goes on, doesn't it?" he mused.
Sherlock pulled him into a short, sharp kiss before replying, "Naturally. Now hurry up, John. We're about to miss our ride."
"Sherlock, we should take our own car," John insisted, "We can't all fit in the ambulance."
The world's only retired consulting detective flashed his husband a grin, then tore off down the stairs. John smiled ruefully, pulled to door shut, and rushed after the loves of his life.
Thank you so much for reading my story, and for all of your encouragement and support. I think this is the last I will write in this universe, but I can't say for certain. Inspiration comes from unexpected sources sometimes.
For now I intend to start work on my next big project, "Something More." I hope to start posting "Something More," in July, but we'll see how the summer goes. I previewed the summary for "Something More," at the end of the last chapter of, "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling." For those of you who missed it, here it is again:
Something More
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Summary:
John Watson knows the world to be a good place to live in, with decent people in it. Sherlock Holmes is a brooding, temperamental beast of a man, who sees the world for the cold, cruel place that it is. Desperate to help his alcoholic sister, John is willing to do anything, even begin a tumultuous partnership with Sherlock. Both find what neither expected while investigating the final problem of the human heart.