After some requests I sat down and wrote a mpreg. I never thought I would, but I did. Yes...
So if this is not your area and you find this repulsive, turn back now!
Otherwise, I enjoyed writing it. It was fun and interesting. And here you go.
It was a happy accident, as John so nicely put it at start. 1 out of 3000 of the males had the ability to get knocked up and of course, like the detective wasn't freaky enough in other peoples eyes, he was one of them.
It had started with the usual signs, morning sickness, which of course was more of a hour long of dry heaving over the toilet with an empty stomach. Cold sweating and shuddering with his John behind him, with the role as a doctor brought forward but kind as his boyfriend. They thought it was the flue and John forbid him from leaving the flat for a couple of weeks. The flesh melted off his bones at start. Cheekbones getting sharper as the hollows got deeper, skin got to another level of transparent and he was bluish grey. Lying on bathroom floor, panting, John started to worry that death was soon to be knocking upon their door when he finally brought him to the hospital. This was out of his hands.
Sherlock didn't take the news with as much excitement as John, who saw it like a wonderful miracle. That they had been blessed with the ability to create a child of their own. But Sherlock despited the little creature that had settled down in his abdomen and just waiting to rip him apart. He demanded an abortion.
When John heard those words, he turned almost as grey as Sherlock. Like life swept away from him and death, that had been standing outside their door waiting for Sherlock, had come for him instead. The light disappeared out of his eyes and he slumped down on the chair beside the hospital bed where Sherlock was checked in. Trapped with an IV in his arm due to his malnutrition.
"Are... are you sure." John asked him with a voice that was so far away from his normal tone that made Sherlock feel like his heart was getting strangled by an iron claw. As long as they'd been together, John had always been talking about adopting or finding a surrogate and Sherlock had always been up for it. He wanted a child, and very much so. But this was different. The thought of going through many months of a little invader inside him that would put him off work, getting him into habits he didn't want to anticipate in, making him swell up and then force it's way out... It was just to much. The child was not the problem, he really wanted to be a father, but he just didn't want to go through with a pregnancy.
"I can't do it John." he breathed, staring into the tiles of the roof. Tears was welling up from his eyes but he couldn't cry. His mind wouldn't let him.
"Can't do what?" John asked and moved a closer to the bed. Took his hand into his and caressed his thumb back and forth over his knuckles that was about to be shoved out of his thin skin. There couldn't be a single percent of body fat left in the man. He explained it carefully, avoiding any spots that could break down his boyfriend further. He explained about all the thoughts and feelings, all the fears and to his surprise, the words he spoke brought the light back into John's eyes.
"Now you're just being silly." he said and wiped his falling tears and Sherlock closed his mouth. "You're telling me you want a child... but not our child?" The words struck him like a dagger in the chest and he mentally demanded his chin to stop it's trembling. "Isn't it worth it to go thought it? Just a couple of months? Think about everything else you'll be going through and not just the bad things." Tears was welling out of them both now. "The feeling of it kicking, moving around. You have a little life inside you Sherlock. A little you and me." Sherlock face bundled up as he spoke and John pulled him into a hug to comfort him. Just held him close, stroking his back and kiss his temple. "And you won't be doing it alone. I'll be there, always." They stayed like that, for hours it seemed and suddenly the little 'cell' inside him became so incredibly loved.
This wasn't like him at all. An emotional wrack who cried over anything. When the finally broke apart he fell into a fit of laughter of his amusing state of feelings. He felt ridiculous and cursed himself for being so open about his feelings. But John praised it, finally seeing the truth of the great Sherlock Holmes, unable to contain his emotions.
Yes, telling the closest. This was the hardest thing for the consulting detective. Well, truthfully they both found it a little odd to break the news. After all, it was an unusual condition Sherlock was in. The first in UK in twenty years according to Sherlock's research since many of the other males quickly got an abortion. He emailed the site to his brother before calling him, asked him to read it thoroughly. Two hours later he picked up the phone, he didn't want to look him in the eyes while he revealed the news.
"Oh little brother." he muttered in the phone and Sherlock could almost hear the roots of his hair being pulled from his scalp. "You're always getting yourself into the weirdest situations aren't you." All this he said before Sherlock had even opened his mouth, and he never did during this call. He hung up and returned to his microscope without a care in the world as it seemed, he never expected that much from his brother. But that night, the phone wouldn't stop calling, and Sherlock slapped John's hands every time they tried to grab the device.
"He probably just needed time to think it over." he said calmly and served him a mug of hot, steaming tea. "I'm sure he's calling to apologise."
"Why? He's thought were very clear according to the tone in his voice. Why would he change his mind." The specimen in the microscope was suddenly shadowed and he lifted his head to see John holding his finger over the little light. He smiled. Not just a normal smile.
"You did." he said and Sherlock opened his mouth for a comeback, but found his head blank of words. "Call him before he shows up." And Sherlock grabbed the phone. He didn't even have time to make the call before it rang for the sixteenth time and he answered with a sharp 'Yes'.
"Please forgive me brother." said a soft voice on the other side. Mycroft had soothed his nerves with a couple of glasses of fine whiskey, Sherlock could tell. "I was being rude." Sherlock just repeated his first word of this conversation. "It came as quite a shock. Is this what you want? Really?" The word was repeated again, only this time, so deep down in his chest he doubted that the microphone would pick it up. "Good for you you've got John." He nodded even if Mycroft couldn't see it.
"Yes, I've got John." he repeated and turned his gaze to the kitchen were his boyfriend tried to get the lighter to work so he could start the oven and he felt his lips curl into a smile.
"Congratulations brother. I am truly happy for you." He didn't bother to say goodbye. The phone landed on the cushion of the armchair and with bare feet he walked into the kitchen with so much determination in his step that not even an earthquake would be able to put him of balance.
"John." he breathed.
Telling his brother, it had been hard for the consulting detective. But telling the first person outside the walls of 221B had also been the push into reality. He and John was having a child of their own. Chest was heaving heavily, he was trembling and tears burnt the back of his eyes. He was having a baby.
John got his head out of the stove and looked up at him in squatting position. The tears in Sherlock's eyes pulled him up like someone had grabbed him by the neck and his arms wound around Sherlock's thin body and his forehead fell to the muscular shoulder. There he cried, pinning himself to John as emotions cascaded over him like a hot shower.
"What did he say?" John asked him worriedly and stroke big circles on his back. Fearing that Mycroft was more of an idiot than he'd come to notice. But it wasn't the words of Mycroft who had set Sherlock into this fit of crying. It was still the same fact, still the little 'cell' inside him.
"We're having a baby." he mouthed heavily and it was the first time he'd spoken that sentence. Realisation became clearer and he broke apart in John's arms. He hated, and loved himself for being this wreck.
Telling Mrs Hudson was a different story. John was the one who went down to her flat to tell her while Sherlock hid in his bedroom. Mrs Hudson could be such a hugger in happy situations so he sent down John to take the blow. And, as he'd warned John, he came to realise that there was more muscles inside that little woman than he'd ever imagined.
"Oh I always knew Sherlock was different." she giggled. Like everyone didn't knew that already, thought John as he tried to squirm out of her hard grip. "I saw a show on the telly about is some months ago." she said and pulled back to put the kettle on. "If I only known, I could have taped it for you." And the evening went on with questions of how the upcoming year would change.
While Sherlock enjoyed the lonesome time in the flat, John was cooped up downstairs with a woman who didn't understand that he was just too polite to stand up and leave. Enough about 'the mystery of the divorcing couples of Baker street' and `Guess the name of the famous actor'. But, he sat quietly until the clock struck eight and a thought came to mind.
"Isn't it time for your herbal soothers?" Twenty minutes later, Mrs Hudson was finally about to doze off in front of him and as a doctor, he advised her the bed. He had never been so thankful for silence as he walked up the fourteen steps to his and Sherlock's flat. And the discovery he was about to make there made him forget every unimportant information mrs Hudson had been feeding him. There was a sleeping Sherlock on the sofa. Shirt pulled up the his ribs and a hand resting on his stomach that didn't show a single sign yet. He stayed in the doorway for a how long, he did not know. Just watching, because after all, this might be the only time in life he would be able to see Sherlock like this. So lovingly clutching his stomach, glowing like they's just made love and those little smiles that was like a proof that Sherlock actually thought about the little human inside him, which was very often. He tiptoed to the sofa, swiftly avoiding every crack in the floor that would squeak and then fell to his knees beside the man. Entwined their hands upon his stomach and pressed soft lips to his sleeping lips. With a small moan and still dreaming he turned his head to John and grasped his hand a little tighter.
"John?" he mouthed, still sleeping and the doctor traced the tip of his finger over his bushy eyebrow. The detective was calm again.
The midwife advised him to buy a set of new trousers when she saw how tight his current pair was when he unbuttoned them for ultrasound. John just giggled and Sherlock shot him the death stare that made him swallow the noises at once. Only Mycroft had been subjected with that look before and John didn't even dare to excuse himself for being so rude over something so small. But all the anger faded away quickly as the image of their child showed up on the screen. All grey and blurry at first, and quick soft sound of heartbeats. Then the grey spots scrambled together and formed the silhouette of a small baby.
"I would say you're 19 weeks. It should..." she silenced when she turned to see their faces. Sherlock clenching his teeth and adam's apple bobbing of all the swallowing. John, who's seen this so many times before didn't expect much of himself from this. But sitting here, in a chair beside Sherlock, laying his eyes upon his unborn child for the first time made him speechless. "I would say due-date would be january the 6th." A mix between a sob and giggle slipped over Sherlock's lips as he heard those words, but he managed to keep the tears from falling.
"That's my birthday." he murmured and turned his face to John who didn't have as much luck as him in fighting tears. "We might share birthday." And John swallowed the rest of his happy murmuring by kissing him deeply and squeezing his hand.
The examination went on and no problems was to be found, but she did remind him about the trousers one more time and than added something that made Sherlock feel extremely lucky. He had a uterus leaning inwards and wouldn't be getting to big. He could wear his coat buttoned to the end of this adventure and probably just use some of John's clothes when his were getting to tight. A black and white picture was placed in Sherlock's hands before they left the hospital and wile waiting for their cab on the parking lot, they didn't care that it was late. The coat was warm around them both as John stood hugging. Smelling him, kissing him, listening to every little expression of life such as heart and breath and Sherlock welcomed it dearly. Mirroring his acts of love with the thoughts on the picture in his left pocket and the cild inside him.
Lies, all lies, Sherlock thought. A big bump. Big. Huge for being six months!
Small, John thought. Incredibly small for being six months.
And it was going to be bigger. Much, much bigger. He sprawled out on the bed, cursing his aching feet and the lack of murders. Life was boring. Baby was boring. John was boring. Everything was boring. John was off working. Leaving him alone with his bump and a bad feeling in his stomach that something wasn't right about this day. He turned back and forth in bed, trying to shake off the feeling but it just would let go of his gut. The feeling overcame him and he reached for the phone in his pocked to call for rescue. John.
"Hello?" the familiar voice answered and Sherlock was quickly drowned by a sudden sadness. Biting his bottom lip hard, staring into oblivion he felt the tears burn his eyes.
"John." he stuttered and he heard the noise of a chair being pulled out and a door getting shut.
"Sherlock? You okay?" He didn't know. Everything just seemed so sad all of a sudden. His books had been out of order, he'd dropped a sip of tea on the carpet, there was a stain of milk on his robe. Everything felt so out of place.
"Everything is wrong." he groaned into the phone with a violent breath that vibrated in his chest. The tears tickled his face as they travelled down to his ear. "It all feels so... off."
"What do you mean?" he heard John say as his ears was overcome with the sound of the muscles tensing around his head.
"Can't you come home?" There was a moment of silence, John was probably looking at the clock that was placed on the wall behind his chair.
"Can't you wait three more hours?"
"Please John." he chocked out between clenched teeth before John even finished the sentence. His body ached for John's touch, he needed him here. Just for a couple of seconds he could press his nose into his hair, feel his strong arms around his body. John was the only thing that could calm him right now. Damn these hormones!
"Sherlock?" John said in a calm tone that Sherlock didn't want to hear over the phone. He wanted to feel the breath of those words caress his ear. "Calm down, it will ease down in a minute." No they wouldn't. World was out of order around him, why couldn't John understand that? How could he be this cruel.
"Please." he begged him and tried to sound a miserable as he possibly could. And, John finally left his office to get to him as quick as possible.
It felt like many hours before he heard steppes in the stairs. It came like a salvation and all the emotions swelled over him, forcing him to curl up around his bump and sob violently. That's how John found him, and he didn't know if to laugh of sympathise.
"Sherlock?" he said with a voice imbedded with compassion as he laid down beside him. As he folded his arms around the trembling body the sobbing became louder and he accidentally uttered a little laugh but at the same time he felt sorry for his boyfriend. "What's wrong?" It was like taking care of little child. And listening to one as well as Sherlock started to explain about his horrible morning with accidental stains and books out of order. But suddenly, by telling this to another person, even Sherlock realised how ridiculous he was being, and suddenly he felt bad for pulling John out of work. The crying stopped and he started to pout instead.
"I'm sorry John." he said calmly and sniffled. Enjoying the touch of his boyfriends hands on his stomach he started to drift into some kind of sudden tiredness.
"It's all fine." John whispered into his ear and he could feel his breath caress his skin. "It's all going to be fine." Sherlock slept for the rest of the day. Deeply than in many days.
Another day in bed, cursing the kicking to his ribs, cursing the constant peeing, cursing the huge bump that slowed him down and making him ponderous. But yet loving the movements if his child, loving the way John had his ear to his bump and listened. The sounds travelled from ear to heart inside John. It was a strong baby that was kicking him in the cheek and jaw. A big and strong nine-months-baby that had taken over their ordinary lifestyle and home before it was even born. The flat was now baby-safe, new furnitures had taken up the spaces almost everywhere. Now all they needed was a baby, and Sherlock was determined to get it out by the end of the week.
"We should pack a hospital bag." said John while caressing the bump that wasn't as big as a normal pregnancy-bump would be in this stage.
"What for?" Sherlock asked, busy looking up every remedy to get into labour on his phone and John frowned.
"What do you mean 'what for'? We need be prepared." And Sherlock snickered darkly.
"I'm not having him at a hospital." he said with a crocket smile and John was suddenly sitting straight in the bed with eyes wide as saucers. He knew, that if Sherlock had decided something, it was happening, and that fact had never scared him as much as it did now.
"When were you planning to tell me this!?" he asked and Sherlock lowered his phone as he heard his tone. Giving him a wondering look.
"Why, what does it matter? Last check up said everything looked brilliant. There's no need for a hospital if everything's brilliant." John pressed his hands to his cheeks and groaned loudly as he clawed his skin. Sherlock had decided.
"You do know this is going to hurt, right?" he asked and let his hand pull his hair by the roots.
"Obviously." said the detective with a calm voice and returned to his phone. "But I think I'm used to a little pain."
"A littl... Sherlock! I don't think you understand the forces of a delivery." said John and felt the panic start to grow.
"Well luckily I have a doctor at hand." John sighed and nodded if he didn't want to. "You and I can do this John. And if things goes wrong, we just need to call Mycroft. We will be at the hospital at no time." John found himself pulling at his own jaw and he quickly closed his mouth.
"You crazy man." he mouthed and stepped out of bed. The weight shifting in bed made Sherlock look up from his phone again and he saw John leaving.
"Where are you going?" he shouted after him and got up on his elbows. The stepped that had been fading came back and John was back in the room.
"It can't only be you and me. We need a third one. Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly or your midwife." He was pointing with his whole hand at the detective to show that this was his demand that Sherlock had to respect and Sherlock fell back in bed with a loud groan.
"Don't make me choose!" he shouted and wound his arms around his stomach, muttering and making the whole thing seem overdramatic.
"Do you want me to choose?" John asked and the detective stopped breathing for a second. The room fell silent as Sherlock thought over his alternatives and he finally breathed out a name.
"Lestrade." With a quick nod, John left the apartment to get all they needed for a delivery. And visit Lestrade, because the man would not take this easy over phone.
January the 4th, John had been working late and came home to a flat were everything was quiet. Just the a buzzing was in the air, caused by water falling in the shower. Sherlock was showering and John took some well earned time off in the armchair. Yesterdays paper ended up in his hands and he reread the reports about the horrible train crash. Minuter passed, too many minutes for Sherlock to be showering and John started to turn in his armchair. Thirty minuter, it was time to investigate. The way from the sitting room felt longer and unrecognisable. Like he hadn't walked it a thousand times before. He stopped by the wooded door and saw the steam well out underneath it, Sherlock was showering very hot. He thanked Sherlock deeply for not locking the door, he never bothered to knock.
"Sherlock?" he asked as the mist lightened and he saw the outline of his body behind the shower curtains. It was the moment of truth as he grasped the wet curtain and pulled it aside, and he wasn't surprised to find Sherlock with his face scrunched up in pain and clutched his not-to-big-baby-bump. "Oh, love." The hot water was cascading over his back, leaving red marks like he'd been brutally whipped. He protested when John turned it off.
"No, leave it on." he groaned and tried to swing his hips to ease the pain.
"No, let's get you out of there." said John with the calmest voice he could find inside himself in this moment and he pealed his hand of the wall and his bump. The contraction had passed and Sherlock could easily move from the slippery shower the the bathroom matt where John wound him in towels. "How far are they apart?" Breathing evened out for Sherlock and he let go of the concentration to look up at John.
"Four minutes." he breathed and swallowed. "It's been going on since you left." All blood seemed to be leaving John's head at that moment.
"That was six hours ago!" he shouted and Sherlock managed to chuckle.
"Told you I could do it." If Sherlock wasn't pregnant right now he would smack those cheekbones until his hand needed stitches. But John knew that this was only the beginning of the pain and that he would be punished by his own body soon enough.
"Still don't want to go to the hospital?"
"Oh what's the use?" Sherlock groaned. "I'm doing fine." All John could do was sigh and hope that this evening would end well. With careful steps he helped Sherlock out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. There were signs everywhere of how Sherlock had coped with the pain. Clear signs of clenching fists on the bedspread, pillows on the floor, cup after cup with cold tea. He sat him down on the bedside and took out the hospital gown that had been in their wardrobe for the last three days, all Sherlock's clothes was to valuable for him to get sticky and bloody. He looked ridiculous in it, but John didn't say a word. At lest not of the bad kinds.
He squatted before him and they were in perfect level to hold each other just as another contraction hit. A humming sound started deep down in Sherlock's lungs and John started to realise how far he'd gotten on his own. Already vocalising.
"I'm gonna check how open you are, alright?" he said as the pain ebbed away. His hand travelled over Sherlock's tensed body, down between his legs and inside as he was still holding him. "Six centimetres. You've been doing really good on your own." Sherlock looked smug by those words, still not effected negatively by the pain. "I wish you would have called me. It would have been awful if something had happened while I wasn't here." The detective rolled his eyes and leaned back in his arms. "I know nothing did. But still." John felt a little left out. His child was coming to the world, and had been on it way for the last six hours, and Sherlock hadn't even bothered to pick up the phone to tell him. "I'm going to call Greg. D'you wanna lie down for a bit?" Water dripped from his hair as he nodded and John helped him move back in bed. Sitting beside him, rubbing circles on his back with one hand and the phone in the other he called Greg. Sherlock kept humming through every contraction that hit, grimacing when it hit its peek but then relaxed as it ebbed away. He didn't even hear John talk to Lestrade, he didn't even notice him leave the room to get him water or heat up the broth.
"You need to get some protein in you." said John, trying to avoid sounding like a doctor and he helped Sherlock sit up. Leaning against John, Sherlock drank the broth between contraction. Time was shrinking between them and he was soon to be down on three minutes. They weren't strong enough to have any sort of negative effect on him but John could see the signs that they were coming. He swallowed the last of the broth and John discarded the mug and returned to massaging his back while he leaned against the headboard with Sherlock in his arms.
"Does this help?" John asked him and Sherlock woke up from like a dream in his arms. It toke some time for him to understand that is was the rubbing of his back that they were talking about.
"A little harder." he said and John increased the pressure of his fingers, sending a calming hiss over Sherlock's lips. Suddenly, the contraction worsened and the humming wasn't enough anymore. At the peeks, small whimpering shouts was heard from him. A little like a broken owl, but far more painful. His head dropped to John's shoulder each time they took place. Like he tried to hide from them and Sherlock seemed to realise that this was a little more than he'd expected.
"Tell me if you want me to call an ambulance." John pleaded, but deep down he knew that even if this came out of control, Sherlock would never admit than he was wrong about home birth. And sure enough, Sherlock's answered proved him right.
"Never."
Soon they heard the voice of Greg it the flat and John felt some kind of relief that he didn't need to take care of Sherlock alone anymore. There was so much more he needed to do than just bring comfort to his boyfriend, he needed to be a doctor too.
"In here!" John called just as another contraction hit and Greg entered just as Sherlock howled as loudest. John could tell that Greg quickly regretted his agreement to help out with this. "Don't worry. He will come through in a minute." The pain went away and left a short breathed Sherlock in his arms. He kissed his temple and asked him softly if Lestrade could take him for the next couple of contraction, he needed to check him. Lucky enough, Sherlock agreed to the switch and Greg climbed uncomfortably into the bed and sat down behind Sherlock who quickly grasped his hand.
"You're doing great, Sherlock." said John with a smile and moved down between his legs to feel. A new wave of pain and he shoved himself into Greg who tensed up even more than Sherlock. During the hour that John had been home Sherlock had dilated quickly. Eight centimetres already, and he feared that Sherlock might doubt his decisions in the hour to come as the transition phase begins. Sweat was soaking the gown Sherlock was wearing and John fetched a towel soaked in cold water to chill down his face and neck. The detective welcomed it with a big sigh and he slumped against Greg.
"The bed is to soft." he suddenly murmured and opened his eyes to look at John. They shared a small moment just then, John just wiping his face with the most lovingly smile and Sherlock forgot about the pain for a couple of second. But then they hit with full force again and this time the pain was as real as it could be. He clenched his teeth and pushed himself against Greg, shouting and cursing.
"Sherlock! Sherlock, look at me!" John called out and Lestrade was about to panic behind Sherlock. "Breathe Sherlock! Come on love! Look at me!" He opened his teared eyes, full of fear and distress and John cupped his face so he couldn't turn away. "Come on. Just like I do!" And John breathed calmly. In though in nose and out through his mouth. "Do that, love. Come on." But Sherlock wasn't interested in breathing exercises.
"Get him out!" he shouted and tried to move his head away from John but he kept him put. Pain was tearing him to pieces. World was getting black around him and John wanted him to breath. This was madness. "Make it stop!"
"Maybe we should end it here." stammered Lestrade and nodded for the phone on the bedside. "Let's call an ambulance."
"Bring an end to this already!" he screamed loudly and John massaged his waist.
"Sherlock!" he said loudly and forced him to look at him. "I know it's bad. But.." Another painful shout as the contraction hit. "You need to breathe. Come on. I know you can to this!" He jumped up in bed and fell to his knees, pressed his forehead against his. "Breathe with me. Or I'll have to call your brother." The painful shout faded and Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose. "And out through the mouth." It fell trembling over his lips. "Good, you're doing great. Keep going. This is the most painful but shortest phase. You're almost into pushing." John was partly wrong, it wasn't just the most painful phase, it was the scariest phase. For a couple of second Sherlock had gone though pain he didn't think was possible. Still breathing like John told him, he could hear himself sob every time he breathed out and John pulled him into his warm embrace. Letting him cry out to his shoulder, letting him breath the smell that calmed him the most.
"Greg." he whispered. "Leave us for a second, will you?" The man didn't need to be asked twice. He practically ran out of the room and John held his crying Sherlock tightly. "You're doing great, love. You're doing this exceptionally good." Another contraction and John rubbed his back as he breathed through it. Then there was a sigh that sounded like relief and Sherlock slumped in his arms.
"My water broke." he said and John looked down on the puddle on the cover.
"Good, you're getting close. Almost time to push. Is the bed still to soft?" Sherlock nodded and pinned himself to John's shoulders.
Pain, pain, more pain, more pain, pain that is humanly impossible, pain beyond the humanly impossible, pain, pain.
"How could you fool me into this John." he sniffled and shook his head as it rested against John's shoulder. "This is just cruel."
"Think about what you will be holding when this is over." John whispered into his hair and rocked him gently. "Your own little baby." But Sherlock didn't have time to find any sort of comfort in his words before a new wave of pain showed up. John helped him through it with soft encouraging words and Sherlock made it without panicking. "Do you want to move somewhere else?"
"I want to stand up for a moment." he moaned and John stepped down from the bed.
"Greg!" he called and the DI was back in the blink of an eye. "Can you hold him wile I get rid of the cover." It was a fight to get Sherlock out of bed now when the contraction were on top of each other. Every time they tried to get him on his feet he fell back onto the bed with a loud moan followed by shouting into the crock of John's neck. But the shouting was soon to be replaced b grunting and John finally started to see the end of things. He traced his hands down between his legs again and sighed happily as he made the discovery that would bring the mood up for everyone in the room. "You're there Sherlock. It's time to push." And Sherlock looked like he was about to cry when he heard those words, he had been waiting for the end of this way to long. "Greg, behind the wardrobe, there's a spare mattress, could you get it?" He held Sherlock as he groaned again, bearing down with the forceful contraction and John kept rubbing his back. "Listen to me now, love. Here's how we gonna do this. We're gonna put you down on the mattress and Greg is going to hold you. You can lean against him to rest between contraction and you can hold his hands when you bear down. I'll be at your feet, checking progress and catching our little baby when he decides to appear. Okay?" Sherlock nodded against his shoulder and the mattress landed before their feet. "Get him some water." The doctor in him was about to take over completely and Sherlock would probably not notice. All his concentration was put on the contractions and nothing else. The movement from the bed to the mattress was almost on the edge to make Sherlock cry again. The pains tearing through him didn't really let him use his body for anything else than bearing down with the contractions. Greg came back and placed a bottle of water on the floor before placing himself behind the trembling Sherlock.
"He's shaking." he said worriedly and shot John a look with eyes big as saucers.
"It's normal." John assured him and gave Sherlock some of the water from the bottle. "Hold him, and he he wants to move, move with him. His body takes all the commands right now." John was glad Sherlock had chosen Lestrade of all people. That man had helped Sherlock through a couple of bad fits with drug use and both he and Sherlock trusted him to the fullest. They couldn't have invited a better person to assist them in the birth of their child. Lestrade sneaked his arms around Sherlock's waist and took both his hands, Sherlock squeezed them tightly.
"Bring your chin to your chest like this." said John and showed him what to do. "And then, hold your breath and bear down until you feel it's enough. Don't tire yourself though. And if I say stop, you'll need to stop. How painful and urging it even might be." Sherlock listened and nodded just as another contraction hit with full force and he already forgot what John had told him. A cold hand was placed on his cheek and he heard the orders to push so he did.
"Well done." Greg praised him as the pain ebbed away and Sherlock's head fell to his shoulder. There he paused the world around him for a moment, travelling away to his mind palace for just a couple of seconds. Then the urge to push came back and Greg help him to hold his chin to the chest.
"There's a pressure." he moaned loudly and John just smiled at him, offered him some more water which he gladly accepted.
"It's moving down. This shouldn't take to long." Another painful urge and he was about to squeeze the life out of Greg's hands, but he didn't care if the man would have them ruined for life.
After way to many contractions for Sherlock's liking, John uttered the words he'd been waiting for for seven months. "I can see him now. It's right there." Tears were welling out of the doctors eyes and he had a hard time keeping himself from falling apart before his labouring boyfriend. "It got lots of hair Sherlock. Dark as yours."
"Almost at the end." said Greg encouraging. "Almost finished." He pushed again and felt something lit on fire inside him.
"Stop pushing! Just blow now okay. Like this." John showed him and placed a firm hand upon the baby's head to ease it out. "It's gonna feel weird, but don't push." The next contraction hit and the urge to push was so strong that blowing felt like the greatest punishment of all time. His body screamed from the middle of his bones for him to push and he wasn't allowed? And then he felt it, a sensation that made him lose it and he stopped blowing and started panting in pain.
"Oh god!" he groaned and felt how Greg started to rock him. "Oh god, oh god.."
"Breathe Sherlock." Greg ordered him. "Deep breaths, it's almost over." The pressure suddenly stopped and a shout slipped over his lips as some kind of relief washed over him.
"There's a head!" John exclaimed and laughed happily. "There's a head Sherlock." The detective was shaking in Lestrade's arms, begging for this to be over.
"I would be utterly shocked it there weren't." he groaned in agony and even Greg laughed at him. Sherlock didn't even realise he was being funny. "Can I push now?" John nodded but panicked when he realised he hadn't grabbed any towels or blankets. He had nothing to wrap the little infant in. But it was to late, Sherlock was pushing, and hard. The baby turned to make room for the shoulders and Sherlock hissed by the uncomfortable sensation. Imagination had its limits, John's jumper was pulled over his head and he reached down to place it under the child's head.
"One more push, love. Just one more and you'll be able to hold our baby." And he pushed, hard, and all the way down from his toes. Screaming as the shoulders slipped free and suddenly everything just ended. Pain, agony, everything just faded in the matter of seconds and he slumped down in Greg's arms. Panting violently when he felt something heavy on his chest that eased his heaving. Sounds of small gurgles and soon a cry of anger of being forced out of its first home, there was a child on his chest.
"Look at that." Greg almost sang and moved the curls out of Sherlock's eyes. He could hear the both men in the room giggling in happiness and Sherlock forced his eyes open. Looking down in his chest he saw the most beautiful creature of his lifetime. Dark velvety hair, face bundled up as it expressed the hatred he had upon the world and just wanted to be back inside were he came from, small arms flailing like it had no control over them and small little feet with the smallest toes he'd ever seen. John was rubbing the child with what appeared to be his jumper and all the blood and amniotic got wiped away.
"It's a little boy." John sobbed. After a moment of realisation, Sherlock finally found the energy to lift his arms and touch the child. It was so soft, so knew, so untouched and wonderful and he was shot by a feeling of pride. He and John had made him, this was their son. And with that, tears started to fall. His son, his beautiful son who he'd only felt but never seen, laid in his arms. Perfect in every way. The child's screaming calmed and his hand found his mouth. Two fingers slipped between his lips and he started sucking. He looked up at John for the first time in what seemed like hours and was meet by a John he'd never seen before. There was no harsh solider left in him, he could tell by his eyes, that character had been replaced with something new. His John was a father.
"We did it." said John and sniffled as cut the cord with a pair of scissors that turned up from nowhere. The boy was suddenly free from his father. "You did it." He leaned in and captured a kiss from him, a kiss unlike all others they's ever shared. So full of love of the completeness of their little family. "You did great." John's blue eyes was glittering as he stroke his hair. "Look at him." Sherlock was already looking. Amazed that he was the one carrying this little being. The hair was soft under his touch, like velvet and he found himself gaping at him.
"John." he breathed without taking his eyes off the boy. It was the first time he spoke in the child's presence. "Can I kiss him?"
"Yes." John giggled and placed a hand on the child's back. "As much as you like." He bowed his head and pressed tender lips to the baby's head when he felt his eyes tearing up again.
"Oh, John." he sobbed and closed his eyes hard, lips still brushing the child's soft skin. A shock was taking over him and he needed to be held before it ripped him apart. Strong arms embraced him and he leaned his head to his chest, sobbed in silence as nerves calmed. He didn't even notice when Greg left their side and neither did John. They were to occupied with observing the boy to even care about anything else. No words was shared, they just caressed the boys head and cheeks as he slept.
"He's so small, John." Sherlock finally said to break the silence. "He almost fits in my hand."
"Well." John smirked and played with his long fingers that was wrapped around the boys back. "You have very big hands." Another groan slipped out of him as his belly started cramping again and John saw the panic spread over his boyfriends face again. "It's the afterbirth." he explained calmly. "It will be over quickly. It will barely hurt at all." He placed a heavy hand on Sherlock's shrinking stomach and massaged it lightly to help it slide out. It didn't take more than a couple of minutes before it did without a noise from Sherlock, and John discarded in quickly while Sherlock leaned back to the side of the bed. Every movement from the child hypnotised him. This was the same little life that had been kicking and fluttering inside him for so long. And now he was here, in his arms.
"Hamish." he whispered and twinned the soft hair between his fingers.
"What?" John asked and wiped the blood of his thighs with the already ruined cover from the bed. "
"His name." said Sherlock and the boy opened his eyes for the first time. Dark blue as the night sky and just as mysterious as a good murder. A broad smile crept up to his lips. "He's a Hamish."
Hope you enjoyed this oneshot. It was originally posted on archivesofourown.
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