Note: This is a follow-up on Christmas Eve.
He now knew what true fear was.
Sherlock Holmes was not a patient man. When he wanted or needed something, he wouldn't wait. Now he had no choice. He sat in the chair in the waiting room of the hospital. The wait was excruciating. Elbows on knees, hands clasped under his chin and occasional frenzied pacing. He kept telling himself that his wife was in good hands, that they would be OK. One image kept coming to him; all that blood.
This was her 39th week of pregnancy. She had confirmed it two days before Christmas and told him via lab results on Christmas Day upon returning home from a case. Everything was going well until the bleeding started. In her 32nd week of pregnancy, she started bleeding at work. She called maternity immediately, they sent a chair for her and that was that. Molly Holmes was on almost complete bed rest. Her placenta was causing problems.
Sherlock stayed with her as much as he could, bringing her lunch every day. Sometimes it was Mrs. Hudson's home cooking and other times it was some type of take out. When Holmes the younger arrived with today's lunch (a sandwich from Speedy's Café and tea from a corner shop near Bart's) she asked her husband to help her to the bathroom. Molly had been sleeping and didn't notice the red wetness that stained the bed and was quickly spreading. Sherlock sat her back down in haste, pushed the call button and simultaneously called for the nurse. Then everything happened in a fury. Nurses, doctors, assistants and a gurney appeared in the small room almost magically. His wife, his heart was whisked away to an operating theatre for an emergency caesarian section. He was waiting in the waiting room for an update on his wife and child and he had never been so scared.
He spent a good portion of the time pacing in the small waiting room. He needed some nicotine but left his patches at home and he stopped smoking ages ago, it seemed. He wasn't going to start again now but it didn't stop him from wanting some.
Just as Sherlock was ready to pull his own hair out of his head (he would later think that he was going to test the threshold of pain in an agitated state over a calm state), his friend and crime-solving partner rushed in.
"Any word?" John Watson asked breathlessly.
"No, not yet. They have been with her for over an hour, John. What if there is something they just won't tell me? Could things be worse than they appear?"
"I doubt it, Sherlock." John countered. He tried to hide his concern that there was something worse. "Tell me what happened."
Calmly and in a detached voice Sherlock told John about stopping at Speedy's on the way in. He stopped at the tea shop on the corner near Bart's for some of the tea Molly really liked and then he came in. His wife was sleeping so he gently removed the hair from her beautiful face. Molly stirred. Sherlock thought she was a little paler than usual, but he did just wake her. Everything changed when she asked for some help to the loo. It wasn't far but Molly had been in this bed for seven weeks and her muscles were not as strong as they once were. She was only allowed to get up for the loo and then only with assistance. The pool of blood that stained the sheets and her gown, the blood that streamed down her legs and dripped onto the floor was more horrific to him than any crime scene. Sherlock told John about how Molly's face got paler by the split second. Sherlock's voice wavered when he spoke of Molly's voice sounding weak as they wheeled her away and how he held her hand until he couldn't anymore. If John didn't know the stoicism of his friend, he might have thought Sherlock was not emotionally invested.
"It's OK, Sherlock. You are allowed to be upset, you know."
"I know. I need to hold it together, though, for Molly."
John simply nodded, completely understanding.
The friends sat in silence until a short time later when John stood up and asked Sherlock if he wanted a cup of tea or coffee. The taller man said absently, "Coffee. Black, two sugars." On the way back, coffee in hand, John took the opportunity to check in at the nurses' desk.
"I was hoping you could give me an update on Molly Holmes. I'm Doctor Watson, her primary physician." That was a white lie but if it got results…
The nurse looked like she was ready to crack. Tired, hungry, and taking an extra shift, she answered as pleasantly as possible, "She is being moved into recovery right now. Her surgeon will be out in a few minutes to speak with her partner."
"Husband." Sherlock would have insisted. The nurse gave him a tired smile and turned away.
John made his way to the waiting room and handed Sherlock the coffee. "Sherlock, I asked at the desk. The nurse couldn't tell me much but Molly is being brought into recovery and the surgeon will be out in a few minutes."
"Thank you, John." Was Sherlock's reply and the relief in his voice was palpable.
Dr. Richard Marcus, MRCS entered the room in due time. "Mr. Holmes?" He extended his hand to the tall, dark-haired man. Sherlock took it and Dr. Marcus began to speak. "Molly had already lost a lot of blood when we began. The procedure went well, though. She is resting comfortably and a nurse will bring you through shortly."
"The baby?" Sherlock asked weakly, as if he didn't want to know.
"She was a little distressed but once she got cleaned up and got some oxygen, she started doing better. We'll monitor her in NICU for a little while, just to make sure she's OK. Would you like to see her?"
Sherlock gave the man a look that said Are you an idiot? Of course I want to see my daughter.
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She seemed to be so tiny. Violet Martha Holmes, 19 inches long and weighing 7 pounds even. Sherlock Holmes knew that he would do all that he could possibly do to protect her. Moriarty was dead, Magnussen was neutralized; the old, but major threats were gone for now. Fingers that had done unspeakable things to protect those he cared for caressed their daughter's small cheek with incredible tenderness. He knew that he would do anything to protect this little one.
When Sherlock stopped at the nurse's desk to inquire about Molly and when he could see her, the nurse escorted him back to a small recovery room. It wasn't long before he was brought to her bedside. Molly Holmes was pale. She had received at least one unit of blood in surgery, probably more, and was now just beginning to stir.
He caressed her cheek. They had been married for such a short time before discovering her pregnancy and not together long before that. It still surprised him that both of them didn't take into consideration that the antibiotics taken for a mild respiratory infection could render her birth control useless. Still, he knew they were good for each other so he welcomed the news. She kept him grounded. He made her happy. It still confused him how he did that. He wasn't much less of an arse than he was just a short time ago but, somehow, he made her happy.
Molly stirred and opened her eyes. A single tear escaped from her still anesthesia-dulled eyes. She was beginning to feel pain from the surgery and she was scared for their child.
"I'm sorry," was all she said.
Sherlock looked genuinely confused, "Why?"
"You were so worried. I saw it in your face as they took me away from you."
"None of this was your fault, Molly. You may as well blame me for making you pregnant."
"OK. Thank you."
"For what?" He was confused again.
"Being here with me, with us." He just smiled as he slowly bent to kiss his wife's lips.
"OK, enough of that. That's how we winded up here to begin with!" It was Dr. Marcus, his voice carried a hint of laughter as he was trying to keep the mood light. "Dr. Holmes…"
"Molly, please."
"Molly. You had a nearly complete placental abruption. If Mr. Holmes hadn't been here there is a good chance that we could have lost you and your daughter. Internally, everything looked good. There should be no lasting effects for you. We did transfuse you with multiple units of whole blood and packed cells, the remains are hanging and just about complete. Once the transfusion is done, we'll bring you up to your room and I'll have the nurses bring you your daughter. We'll run frequent blood level checks to make sure your haemoglobin readings are within acceptable levels."
Both Sherlock and Molly chimed, "Thank you, Doctor."
In what seemed like ages but was really a short period of time, Molly was settled into her room. It was the same room she spent the last seven weeks in but it had been cleaned. Sherlock didn't think he could deal well with seeing his wife's blood like that again. Molly was just glad to be settled again.
The consulting detective sat on the chair at Molly's bedside and watched her nurse their newborn daughter for the first time. There was something awe-inspiring about watching this, he felt privileged to witness this incredibly intimate scene. It also alarmed him how fiercely protective he had become in such a short time. Sherlock Holmes was now a family man, fiercely proud of his little family and willing to do anything to protect them.