Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

"There's a lot of bleeding!" the obstetrician called to her nurse.

Marry looked abnormally pale and near fainting as she attempted to continue pushing through the childbirth. John had noticed her grip on his hand had been slacking, but had dismissed it in the thought that perhaps after all the emotional pain his wife had caused him that she couldn't bear to cause him further pain, and that she had finally changed with the ushering in of their new baby daughter; however, with the obstetrician's announcement he grew very concerned and releasing his wife's hand attempted to assist his fellow doctor.

"Get him out of here." Was all that the doctor responded with, and before John knew what was happening he had already been guided outside into the hallway. John tried to return to the room, but he was barred from it by a rather large nurse.

"Please," John tried to control the frustration in his voice, "please let me in. That's my wife and child in there. Please, let me in." The nurse just shook his head and John scowled as he turned to see his best friend sitting in the chair across the hall from the door with an expression of deep concern.

"She's hemorrhaging, isn't she?" Sherlock inquired, but already knew the answer as he continued and his face set to one devoid of emotion and he leaned back, "She will be fine, as you are well aware, doctors are well trained for this sort of thing."

"It would still be nice if they'd let me stay in the room." John protested as he kicked at an imaginary stone on the ground then stood still near the seats, still gazing intently at the closed door.

"I believe from their perspective, you are the husband, and not a fellow doctor." Sherlock spoke in the most matter of fact way as he peaked his fingers in a pyramid and pressed them to his lips. John gazed at Sherlock for a moment in utter befuddlement. Then giving a curt nod he sat down one seat away from his best friend.

John wanted to move into the seat closer to his friend, but thought better of it. While having Sherlock there was good support, he wasn't exactly known to be the warmest of people and frankly, John was concerned they might be misconstrued as a couple by the passers-by. He looked down at his hands in his lap, attempting not to laugh but barely restraining the smile growing on his lips.

Sherlock glanced over at his friend, confusion lurking behind his mask of indifference. He looked away for a moment as though thinking, returning his gaze to his best friend and soon to be father he squinted a little and spoke in hushed tones, "John do you really think this is the most appropriate time to be smiling? What are you amused at anyway?"

John shook his head, "Nothing Sherlock, I promise you it's nothing."

Sherlock leaned closer over the arm rests of the hospital chairs and spoke quieter, "No… it's not nothing, tell me."

"Sherlock, I would have thought by now you would be able to read my mind." John teased.

Sherlock considered this for a moment, then nodded, "You looked at the seat next to me, then chose to go for the one after that allowing there to be a seat separating us. Normally you're not too concerned about close proximity to me, it's only when there are people observing us that you seem to mind. You dislike the insinuations that we are a romantic pairing. You glanced at the seat again once you were seated, so you weren't quite satisfied with your decision, makes sense, your wife is in there giving birth to your daughter and you've just been kicked out of the room. You're concerned, you're worried. Many people feel the need for close physical proximity to their friends as a form of comfort in stressful situations. But you didn't move, suggesting that despite wanting the comfort of a close friend that you feel more inclined to stay in your current seat, thus reducing the likelihood of being mistaken for a gay couple with me. Your wife is currently in there having a baby, you are wearing a ring, I am not so I don't see why you'd be concerned about being interpreted as a gay couple; all though some gay couples have been known to adopt and witness the birth of their child, again the wedding ring on your hand and the absence of one on mine would suggest otherwise. I still don't know why you're so obsessed with what people say anyway. You're having a baby girl with the woman you chose. But I still don't understand what's so entertaining. I can follow your thought process, but I get lost as to how you found your destination of amusement." Sherlock seemed genuinely bothered by the fact that he could not understand the smile playing at John's lips.

John smiled and shook his head, "it's just after all we've been through we still get mistaken for a couple, Sherlock, that's why I'm so amused- as you put it."

"Why shouldn't we be mistaken as a couple? We've been through more than most people have been through with their romantic partner, our bond is very strong and it's not surprising that people should misinterpret it." Sherlock commented in an off handed manner, as he slowly stilled and his face grew even more unreadable as his gaze fixed upon the door of the hospital room that Mary was currently occupying. John furrowed his brow, unable to respond as he returned his attention to the room where his wife and soon to be new born baby were currently inhabiting.

The two men sat in silence for a considerable while.

There was far too little sound coming from the room.

John began to panic, he stood and began to pace the floor in front of that ominous door. "It hasn't been that long." John began to justify to himself, trying to verbalize his hopes to help calm him. Sherlock looked at him as though he were a lost puppy, but nodded (seemingly knowing what he was doing) then agreed with him. "I mean, these things take time, I'm sure they're fine in there."

"Yes, John, the doctors here are very well qualified, they have the best record of any of the doctors I interviewed for this position." After a moment Sherlock added, "I was very thorough."

John nodded, "exactly, exactly. They know what they're doing. Everything will be fine."

Suddenly the room was alive with the sound of rushed speaking, almost shouting. Everything seemed urgent and John had to fight the urge to rush into the room and demand to know what was happening. As if reading his mind, Sherlock stood and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"What's going on in there? What are they saying?"

A long pause from Sherlock.

"Sherlock, can you hear what they're saying? Do you know what's happening?"

Sherlock remained silent.

"Please, talk to me, answer me." John's voice was cracking as he stood military straight and clenched his fists.

"John…" Sherlock seemed very hesitant.

"Sherlock?"

More silence filled the air, from within the room and from without.

"Please tell me what you know, you always know. Just treat me like another client. Please, because I can't take this right now."

"I believe…" Sherlock couldn't make eye contact with John, not at this moment. John stood, military straight, clenching his fists, nearly drowning in his own apprehension. "I'm sorry John, I can't say. Just…" Sherlock closed his eyes and turned slightly from him, "just a few more moments and I'm sure the doctor will be right out to tell us what's happened."

John gave a curt nod.

It seemed as though eons had passed, but in reality it was only fifteen minutes. Slowly the door opened and the doctor, a red headed woman with the most pained expression stepped out of the room holding her arms awkwardly at her sides, like they had turned to rubber. "Mr. Watson?"

"Doctor Watson" John nodded as he stood from the seat he had retaken a few moments before, he was ghostly white and Sherlock's eyes followed him as he stood, fixed on his face. Was that sympathy floating upon his usual mask of indifference? "How are they?" John managed to voice, all though the look on the doctor's face made it an easy guess.

"I'm so sorry. We did everything we could for your wife. She, she just lost too much blood and we couldn't stop it in time." The doctor spoke in a slightly hoarse voice, raw from directing orders at the other occupants of the room, yet somehow still soothing and full of genuine empathy. John's breathing was coming in ragged breaths from his nostrils as he continued to clench and unclench his fists, standing in his emotional reset posture, military straight.

"And the baby?" He managed to gasp out.

"The baby is… We believe she will be fine, she was cut off of oxygen for a while before we could get her out, but she should be fine. We want to keep her overnight for observation, and depending on how things go, you should be able to take her home in the morning." She offered him a consoling smile which he graciously accepted with a nod. "Do you want to come in and look at her? She's healthy enough that you can hold her, but remember you can't take her home just yet." John nodded enthusiastically; still dripping with concern, shock and a little bit of nausea; he followed the doctor into the next room where they handed him a little baby girl.

Tears started to blur his vision, he had just lost his wife, but had gained this beautiful baby girl. "I'm so sorry," he choked out to the infant as the doctors left him to have a moment alone with his new daughter, "I'm so sorry that you lost your mother so soon. I did love her, I promise you. We had our difficulties- much like any married couple," a dry laugh, "well, maybe not just like any married couple, but we had difficulties. But I genuinely cared for her. And I know she would have adored you. I promise you that I'll do my best to make her proud in raising you." He leaned close the baby and whispered, "All though, with any luck you won't grow up to be a trained assassin like your mother." The baby smiled up at him and the sound of his voice and gently slapped his face. A proud grin with misery still edging its way around his tear soaked eyes John choked out "Sherlock!" the door opened slightly and Sherlock peered through the small opening, "Sherlock come in here, come look at her!" Sherlock crossed the room to John in a few long, quick elegant strides. "Sherlock look at how beautiful she is."

Sherlock gazed down at the little baby and his facial expression softened considerably. He even managed to refrain from muttering something about beauty being a social construct and instead offered, "She has your eyes." His voice was that of one in utter awe. He was in awe of this little baby girl who was looking up at him now. John gazed into Sherlock's eyes as Sherlock stared at the baby. John smiled, a new, proud father trying to shove all self-doubt out of his mind in the hopes that he could handle a baby without his wife. He looked at Sherlock intently. Sherlock still gazing at the baby, his face mere inches away from the infant's face. She reached up and gently slapped his face with the same hand that had just hit her father's.

John laughed again, a warm but sad sound, "she did that to me just before you walked in."

A dark laugh escaped Sherlock's lips, "let's hope she doesn't make a habit of hitting people or we may end up investigating her."

John shrugged, "like mother like daughter, I suppose." Sherlock looked up at him from the baby and straightened up. "Besides, I was hoping that you would help me out… with… with her… you know, at least just until I get… the hang of it."

They stared at each other for a while, the baby contently resting in John's arms.

"You want me to… help with the baby?"

"Yes. Yes, if it's not too much trouble?"

"I… yes, John. Of course I will help you. Whatever you need. Just let me know." Sherlock turned on his heel and began walking out of the room.

"Can I move back into Baker Street?" John called after him.

"Of course, you're always welcome at Baker Street." He responded in the doorway with a sad hunch to his posture and then was out of the room.

The doctor and nurses then returned to the room and took the baby from John and told him that he could stay the night if he so desired. Of course he wanted to; his baby was here which meant that he had to be there. It doesn't matter what he has to do, he would be there for his daughter. No matter what.

An hour later John had settled into the chair the nurse had provided for him and he sat watching his daughter.

"What's her name?" the deep voice spoke in low hushed tones while managing to carry across the room and interrupt the thoughts of a very pensive new father.

"Wha- oh, I, I haven't decided yet. Mary and I never… never really talked about it. You know… these past few months were quite… strained. I… I was thinking of maybe naming her after… well, after Mary… but… I don't know… it just doesn't seem right…" John spoke with a furrowed brow as he thought, allowing his line of sight to focus on his new born girl. Sherlock listened quietly from the door way, facing the direction of father and daughter, growing momentarily uncomfortable at the mention of naming the baby after Mary, but being relived as John brushed that thought away. Sherlock's mask of determined indifference set firmly in place as his friend continued to speak, "… I just don't think I'd be comfortable naming her after Mary." John momentarily glanced back at his friend who stood in the dull light of the hallway, "I don't want to pretend that Mary never happened. I got my daughter out of it… but… Mary lied to me… She shot you… I can't be reminded of that every time I say my daughter's name… it would be unfair to her, it would be unfair to you… hell, it'd even be unfair to Mary…" John allowed himself to trail off momentarily, "She'll grow up only knowing the best of her mom. I'll tell her all the little things that made me fall in love with her." John's voice cracked as he spoke the last words and before he realized it Sherlock was crouching next to him, hand placed on his shoulder and a painful sympathy on his face.

John nodded his thanks. As much as it still hurt, he really did love his wife.

Sherlock looked at the sleeping baby and seemed to be considering something for a few moments. John watched him while he thought. When Sherlock finally spoke he seemed uncertain, "… What… what about Isabella?" he seemed to regret his decision and was a moment away from backtracking his suggestion, as naming a child was up to the parents, not the sociopathic friend who solves crimes to prevent relapsing into his drug addiction.

But before he could, John said as he looked down upon the new born child, "Isabella. Hm. I quite like that. Now I just have to think of a middle name." John laughed, well, more of an exhale really, but it was enough to make Sherlock smile at his suggestion going over well. "So… so tomorrow I should be able to take Isabella home with me, and I was wondering if I could just take her straight over to Baker Street. I still have some things left in my room from… well from those few months… and then in between shifts I could start packing my things and then hire some movers and be moved back in by the end of the month? Does that work for you?"

Sherlock and John stared at each other for quite a few moments, an entire dialogue went unspoken, and then with one last glance Sherlock bowed his head in assent then departed the room and called back, "I'll expect a text preceding your arrival."

John simply nodded as he returned his gaze to his sleeping daughter, Isabella.