It started with a text. John. 1 AM. John sent him a text. Baby's coming. Will you come? JW Sherlock hesitated only a moment, with his violin in hand, before replying. Where? SH

The address had him in a flurry of movement to put his instrument away and pull on his belstaff before rushing down the stairs to call for a cab.

Panic. Stop panicking. I'm not panicking. Sherlock recalled that night and the anxiety that had shown on John's face. He could remember Mary's face too, showing panic, but her feelings may have had more to do with Magnussen's threat. He knew the reason for John's anxiety, for it mirrored his own. Too much… too fast… Feels wrong… Stop panicking.

Sherlock hated hospitals. Too clean, too white. He also hated the memories. He could remember waking up in surgery, and the pain. He recalled Mary's threat, and how helpless he felt. He felt his feet stutter, and caught a glimpse of his white face in a window he passed. Shut up. Not now. He chastised himself. John. He turned down the hallway to the maternity ward and tried to get his breathing under control. It would not do to show up in the middle of a panic attack. Stop panicking.

Something was wrong. He could hear shouting, and he saw John being led out of a room, to a wall of chairs. John was very white, but stood still. Until he saw Sherlock. Then, the doctor let out a low moan (relief?), and ran to meet him. "Thank God you're here." He said, quickly hugging the detective. He answered Sherlock's unvoiced question. "Mary's stats dropped quickly, they had to take her to emergency surgery. I'm not allowed." John murmured, and Sherlock nodded once.

"Should I get us some coffee?" He asked, and John nodded, looking behind him at the door Mary must be behind. Sherlock turned, and went to the machine to get two cups. When he returned, John was still standing, uncertainly looking between the empty nurse's station and the same door. Sherlock pressed the coffee into John's hand and moved him gently to the chairs upon the wall. It was eerily quiet.

Sherlock used his fingers to mime out a violin concerto from Mendelssohn upon his knee, while he watched John. John hadn't drank any of his coffee, and Sherlock knew his eyes must be dry for how long he'd gone without blinking. Sherlock had finished the concerto three times, before becoming concerned for John's eyes. He laid his hand upon John's arm, causing the blonde to look up at him. Sherlock started to pull away, but John put down his coffee and placed his free hand upon Sherlock's. Breathe.

They looked forward, to the door again, staying in this position until a doctor came to them hours later. They stood as the doctor greeted them.

"Your wife is doing just fine. No complications. We'll of course keep her overnight." He paused and took a breath. "The babies will need a bit of monitoring-" John made a choked sound, and Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Babies? I thought you were only expecting one?" He asked, looking to John incredulously. John looked as shocked as Sherlock felt.

"She never brought me to the scans. She just said that she and the baby were healthy!" John said to Sherlock, looking back to the doctor. "Twins?" The doctor nodded, his face crinkling in a smile.

"One boy, one girl. Both healthy, but as I said, we want to keep them for monitoring. Both had a bit of trouble breathing when we delivered." He congratulated John, and shook both his and Sherlock's hands before turning away. John shakily sat in his vacated chair.

"Why wouldn't she tell me? Did she think I'd leave?" John asked no one. Sherlock didn't reply, but sat next to him, thinking.

Fear of Magnussen? Another secret, Mary, why? Two babies… Too much… Too fast… Stop panicking.

Sherlock's thoughts were shattered by a scream. He stood, and was running to the source, John on his heels. They made it into the room, to find a nurse paging the doctor, and an empty bed. Sherlock looked at the scene. Bed clothes thrown hastily… IV needle and monitors taken off quickly and forcefully. Bit of blood on the sheets… Mary's overnight bag, opened, but not empty.

Mary Watson had disappeared.

...

It was almost six o'clock in the morning by the time the movement and noise had settled in the maternity ward. The police, then Mycroft had been called to investigate Mrs. Watson's disappearance. The police offered no explanation and were soon banished by an irate John. Sherlock and Mycroft had investigated the room quite thoroughly, with John lingering in the background. Sherlock spoke to Mycroft in hushed tones, trying to keep his usual harsh deductions in check.

"The nurse saw nothing, what of the doctors?" He asked. Mycroft shook his head, sniffing annoyingly.

"Nothing. It appears that she left of her own volition. As it stands, I believe we should allow this to play out…" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother, anger on his face.

"Play out? Why would she leave her newborn children, Mycroft? Even I, with my lack of understanding of the human emotion spectrum, can question why someone would abandon their loved ones so completely." Mycroft gave a knowing smirk.

"Yes, but you know that feeling so well, don't you brother mine?" He said, pretending to examine his fingers upon his umbrella. Sherlock glared.

"Stop being so cryptic. It doesn't suit you to be mysterious and intelligent." Sherlock said, and was delighted by his brother's returned glare. John interrupted.

"Both of you, shut up. Sherlock, what do you make of this?" He asked, coming from his place by the door to stand next to the detective. His eyes were boring into Sherlock's, and Sherlock found himself thinking breathe. He looked away, looking around the room again, taking in the facts. Thrown bed clothes, open overnight bag, three items missing… Passport, day clothes, cash… dust in the bathroom. Here he went back to the bathroom, looking to the ceiling. Cliche, but plausible. Blood? Sherlock bent next to the toilet and was rewarded in finding three small drops of blood. So she climbed up into the ceiling, possibly escaping by getting into another room and making a run for it. To what end? Sherlock stood, and looked to John, preparing for the anger.

"John…" He started, and watched as John's eyes narrowed.

"Don't. Just tell me." John growled, and Sherlock understood. I'm not one of your clients.

"As soon as Mary was lucid from surgery, she waited until the room was clear to change into day clothes, then grabbed a couple of items from her bag. From there, she used the toilet as leverage and removed a panel from the ceiling. She probably went a few rooms over, so that she could escape undetected by us. I don't know what she is running from, but I believe she has her passport." Sherlock finished, standing tall, hands clasped behind his back. Mycroft snorted, tapping his umbrella on the ground.

"You know what she is running from, brother mine." He stated, before looking to John. "I believe congratulations are in order. Pity I don't have any cigars on my person." John had opened his mouth, but Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "Remember my warning, Sherlock. Give my best to Mrs. Hudson." With that, he turned and left the room. John looked to Sherlock, confused.

"Warning?" He asked, and Sherlock shook his head. Don't get involved. Far too late, Mycroft.

"Just the usual dribble from my brother." Sherlock replied, looking to John. They held gazes for too long again, and Sherlock couldn't help where his thoughts went. John... There's something I should say... Something I always meant to say, that I should have said before... He's devastated over Mary, it wouldn't do to add to it. Shut up, shut up now. John…

They were interrupted by a nurse coming into the room. "Dr. Watson… Oh, pardon me." They broke eye contact, looking to the young woman. She smiled, "Hello, Dr. Watson, I wanted to give you an update on your babies, and see if you wanted to meet your daughter and son." John said nothing, but pursed his lips and looked down to his feet. Sherlock knew this stance. Anxiety, fear… Panic.

Sherlock spoke. "Could you please give us a moment?" He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the red headed nurse, and she smiled.

"Of course, be back to check on you." She replied, checking her chart and wandering out of the room. As soon as the door snapped closed, John's face crumpled, and he shakily sat upon Mary's bed.

"I can't… Sherlock, I can't do this! I didn't even want a baby. Now I have two!" John's hands scrubbed his face, and tangled into his hair. "After all that's happened, how can I even look at them? How can I tell them about their mother, when I don't even know her?" His last question was strained, for his voice had broke as he gave into the tears. Sherlock didn't think, he just moved. He settled between John's legs and gently pulled John's hands away from his head, wrapping the doctor's hands around him. He in turn wrapped his own arms around John.

"John Hamish Watson, you can do this. They need you. John… everything will be alright." He paused, as John snorted into his chest, disbelief clear. "John… I will help you." At this John looked up at him, eyes shiny. His eyes were red rimmed, and his cheeks were pale, but that didn't stop his face from showing utter shock. Sherlock almost laughed. "John, of course I will help you." I love you. Breathe.

"Sherlock… You have no idea what you're saying. Babies… They change everything." John stared at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, hundreds of changing diapers, all nighters, messy houses, loud obnoxious crying and various noises. Have you not lived with me before? You should be used to this already, although perhaps without the diapers." Sherlock ticked off the numerous changes, and John gave a watery smile, a small laugh escaping. He sobered immediately.

"You won't be able to just take off for cases…" John started, but Sherlock had already thought of this.

"If Lestrade and Sally Donovan have anything to say about me bringing infants to a crime scene examination, then they can find another consulting detective." Sherlock said, grinning at the thought of their faces if he showed up with the babies. John shook his head, continuing.

"You won't be able to chase all the criminals down, and go on dangerous adventures anymore." John stated. Sherlock was quiet for a moment, but then nodded.

"I'm getting a bit old for it, anyway." He stated seriously. John snorted, but accepted his answer. He spoke again.

"Mycroft is going to hate this." John murmured looking away, and Sherlock truly smiled at that thought.

"All the more reason to do this." Sherlock said, reaching his hand to John's cheek. The doctor looked up at him, and his face broke into a true smile.

"Don't do this just because it will infuriate Mycroft." John said, laughing. Sherlock frowned.

"I'm not. I'm doing it for you." He stated, and John sobered, but still smiled.

"I know." He said. He sighed, and stood, starting to walk to the door. "Let's find that nurse." Sherlock followed him out. Breathe.

While John found the doctor and nurse, Sherlock wandered a little ways down the hall, looking for a bathroom. He found one at the very end, but was distracted by a giant window. He looked in and saw a room full of blues and pinks. There were lines of baby carriers, with only five occupied. When Sherlock looked in, he found the name Watson and was effectively stopped. There in two plastic bassinets, one in pink and one in blue, were John's children. Sherlock found himself in disbelief.

Both babes had John's face, although the baby girl was almost a clone. Blonde hair was upon her head, and when she opened her eyes, there was John's gray-blue color. Her tiny fist clutched at the blanket around her, and her slight body was the only reminder of Mary. When Sherlock turned to the baby boy, he was unsurprised to find John's eyes again, but instead of the blonde hair, found the boy to have raven locks, with a slight twist, as if to indicate curls. The boy was stockier than his sister, seeming to have John's build. Sherlock didn't know how long he stood staring, but was broken out of his reverie with John's voice.

"My father had black, curly hair. That must be where he gets it." He spoke quietly, coming to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him, saying nothing. John looked at him too, smiling a small smile. "Both are healthy as can be. Ten fingers and ten toes, the both of them. They only need names, then they can be released after paperwork." Sherlock heard the silent question being asked. Are you sure about this? Sherlock looked back to the beautiful babes. How can I love them so much already? Because they're John's.

"I like the name Hamish." Sherlock murmured. John let out a breath of mock annoyance, although when Sherlock looked at him, John was smiling again.

"I know you do." John paused, then asked quietly, "Can I add to it?" Sherlock nodded, curious. "Hamish William Watson." He stated, and Sherlock could feel his breath leave his chest. John… Breathe! Sherlock smiled.

"That should be acceptable." He murmured, breathing softly. John smiled, and spoke again.

"And for the girl…" He paused again, and Sherlock thought he knew what it would be (had to be). "Rachel." He said, and Sherlock found himself looking to the babe in question. It could be nothing else.

"Fitting. What about for a middle name?" Sherlock asked, not trusting himself to look at John. John's sentence surprised him.

"I was hoping you could help me with that." Sherlock hesitated a beat, then said,

"Rachel Astrid Watson." He looked to John, who was wearing a bemused look. "Astrid means 'Divine Strength'." John shook his head, and smiled.

"No… It's just that…" He huffed out a laugh. "I didn't think that my children would have such strange names. We're really not giving them a chance on their future playground." He giggled a bit and Sherlock found himself giggling too.

"Well... I have experience in that area. I'll help them." He said, looking to the babes again. John spoke again.

"Would you like to hold one of them?" He asked quietly. Sherlock tore his eyes away from them. Fear… Panic… Breathe.

"Oh god, yes." He murmured. John grinned.

A few hours later found them at Baker St., exhausted. After naming Rachel and Hamish, John had left to his and Mary's old flat to get all of the supplies that he and Mary had acquired in preparation for the baby. Thankfully, they had enough to get started that the only additional thing to get was a car seat and carrier for Hamish. They had many changes of neutral baby clothes, so it wasn't a priority to get new clothes. Once he had delivered all of the supplies, he was surprised to find three men in impeccable suits standing outside of 221b. "We were sent to assemble the babies' room. It will be finished when you return." John was then shown into a black car, carrying his children's car seats, and the diaper bag he had been handed. By the time he had reached the hospital, he had found the diaper bag had been stocked with several premade bottles, nappies, and quite a few burping clothes. John had told Sherlock all of this, confused, and Sherlock had given him a stern look, that said clearly, come on, John, we both know what's going on here. It seems Mycroft knew about their situation hours after their decision had been made. Honestly, not all that unusual.

When they had made it back to Baker St., they found not only the babies' room finished, but Sherlock's room changed as well, with the furniture rearranged to allow two beds to fit. Sherlock had raised his eyebrow, but didn't comment on it, so John stayed silent too. Honestly, Sherlock would in all probability be up most nights anyway. They had then journeyed up to the twin's room, Sherlock holding Rachel, and John holding Hamish. John's old room had been painted a gray color, and the furniture was all white. The only pops of color were from the blankets, purple for Rachel, and blue for Hamish. Two rocking chairs sat across from each other, one black and one gray. Both men smiled at each other, knowing which one belonged to the other.

Thankfully, being born is an exhausting process, and Rachel and Hamish were both sleeping. The two men took their charges back downstairs, settling upon the couch in the sitting room. The sitting room had been left in its messy state, with their shared desk piled high with papers and files. Sherlock's violin sat upon its usual perch, having been forgotten about fifteen hours in lieu of the twin's birth. Sherlock smiled at the thought and looked down at Rachel, her small fist holding onto his plum button down shirt. He was about to offer tea, but when he looked to John he stilled.

John was already asleep, one arm supporting Hamish, the other hand holding Hamish to his chest. His head was gently laid on Hamish's head, and there was a small smile on the doctor's face. Sherlock felt his breath leave his chest again. I love you. Careful to not jostle either John or Hamish, Sherlock scooted closer to them, and leaned against John, keeping Rachel still. Once he was comfortable, he found himself closing his eyes and joining his best friend and the twins in slumber.