A/N: It has been a while since I've last posted up a Sherlock/Joan fic and somehow was inspired to write one after discovering the song Sail by Awolnation. I hope you enjoy! :)
A glass window, some space and a wall separates them but nevertheless it is at this exact moment that Sherlock feels closer to Joan than he ever felt before. There is no measure to the warmth that surrounds him and love that overwhelms him. There is no question or doubt or thought that haunts his mind now for all he is aware off is the thump of his steady heartbeat. It is strange to know this but it is at this moment, here where he realises that there is absolutely no puzzle or case or murderer in the world that could make him want to be anywhere else. He is where he wants to be. He is where he needs to be.
He hasn't a care of his surroundings or the fact that there is a woman, presumably a nurse talking to someone somewhere behind the left of him. He doesn't care to listen as he normally would. His only concern now is to capture and retain every single moment of this so that he would always be able to refer to this day whenever he wished. Moments like these were rare and for the longest time he did not understand. But now, here, watching her, he finally understood it and finally accepted that profound attachment and link to Joan. He now welcomes it with open arms because he wants this and wants everything that she has to offer despite the fact that love itself was the greatest weakness a man like him could ever invite into his soul. He will always cherish this and will always remember everything she has ever done for him.
This is her greatest gift to him and he will never forget. This is her promise to him and he knows this and knows her and is aware that this is her ultimate way of relaying her love for him. He wishes there were more he could do and words he could say to let her know that he mutually promises her his love too. But there is nothing that he could really say that would let her know everything he wanted her to know. He will love her though and cherish her and place her on that unseen pedestal. He will honour her and be her protector and everything that she deserves. He will never deny her anything except maybe the bathtub at times when he needed a larger basin to house his experiments.
His palms are sweaty now and his eyes never leave her. He will never understand how a woman as great and as patient as her could ever love him enough to want to share this with him But it is now more than ever that his love for her outshines everything and anything he has ever felt for anyone. His soul is so intertwined with hers that there is simply nothing more that could ever replace this. There is nothing that could ever take this moment away from him and nothing that could ever erase the look of pure surrender in her eyes when she looks up to find him looking at her. He doesn't smile, doesn't move and doesn't really know what to do. He has never imagined himself in this kind of scenario before. He never planned for this or planned for her. He only looks at her and she only looks at him.
She moves before he is able to complete his train of thought and she comes to stand directly in front of him on the other side of the glass window. His train of thought ceases and there is nothing else left in his mind to ponder and think. There has been nothing in his life that he has come to love so quickly and so entirely than that little bundle she held in her arms.
He barely registers the nurse calling out his name until she taps the glass window with a finger and he looks up to her. She points to his right and he follows the direction of her finger to find the nurse standing by the door. The nurse smiles as if knowing exactly what he is going through, of which he highly doubts because nobody could ever know how completely wondrous he felt in this moment.
"Mr Holmes," the nurse had called him, "You may join your wife if you wish."
"Oh…" he barely manages. His throat is suddenly dry and he clears his throat and wonders exactly when he started feeling nervous. "The other nurse said only mothers are allowed in there at this time of the evening."
"Don't be silly," the nurse tells him as he takes a few steps toward the door. "Midnight or not, there is always time to meet your child."
The reminder fuels his disappointment in himself. If he wasn't chasing a case in London he wouldn't have missed the birth. He should have been here with Joan rather than following a lead in London. But he doesn't let that affect his mood now. He won't let it deprive him of this wave of affection, of love and surrender to the only woman who has ever given him this.
"Come on now," the nurse says again and hands him a blue gown. He slides it on and locks his eyes on Joan. She is making her way toward him and all at once he is suddenly uncertain of himself and of everything and all that makes him the man that he is.
He suddenly frightfully wonders if he is even capable of being a father. He doesn't want to be like his father. He doesn't want to be a shadow. He wants to be there. He wants to do everything a father should do and he wants to be everything a father should be. He wants to be there for that very first step and that very first word. He wants to be there for that first day at school and that first argument at school. He wants to be there for that first quiz and that first A+. He wants to be there for the first school holiday and that first piano lesson. He wants to be there throughout those teenage years and he wants to be there for the first heart break. He wants to be the proud father at the wedding and he wants to spoil his grandchildren. He wants to be the father that will always be there.
"Don't you worry now," the nurse tells him somewhere in between his worrisome thoughts, "You're going to be a great father."
He doesn't have time to respond because by now Joan has come to stand in front of him. Her eyes are near tears and he has to fight the urge to throw his arms around her and bring her close. She smiles in a way that he has never seen before and it stirs something in his chest.
"I'm sorry I missed this," he quietly says even though that was the first thing he said to her when he arrived at the hospital earlier. "I should have been here, I should-"
"It doesn't matter anymore, Sherlock," she says and slides her free hand onto the side of his face. "What matters is that you're here."
Her words send the warmth in his chest to the rest of his body. His love for her now extends beyond comprehension and reasonable deduction. He lifts a hand and slides it onto her cheek and leans close and kisses her. He rests his forehead against hers and hers against his when they draw apart. He looks down at the little face between them and his heart finds no limit to the love he feels.
"Sherlock," she says his name in the softest voice he has ever heard, "Meet Jared Edward Holmes, born at 9:26am this morning, 6.2 pounds and all fingers and toes accounted for."
Those little eyes flicker between him and her and that little hand has somehow tightly encircled his finger. His heart swells and his breathing is uneven.
"Hello, Jared," his whisper comes out croaky and he is strangely fighting back tears.
Those little eyes now still on his and he murmurs, "I'm your daddy."
The evening blurs and before he knows it they have retired to her designated hospital room. She lies on her side and her fingers are intertwined with his. He sits on the chair uncomfortably, but his discomfort is masked by the love and affection he feels for the woman in front of him. He is silent when he watches her breathe evenly and sleeping after a much eventful day.
He uses this moment to reflect and to remember the words he never thought he would ever murmur. They are the words of a promise, of a certainty and without hesitation that he will always strive to be the best father for their son. There will be no doubt and no question to the extent of which he would go for their son. Unlike his father there is one thing that he knows now.
Joan taught him that love knows no bounds and it does not hate.
Their son taught him that it does not make men like him weak.
It only makes him better.
end.