Overwhelmed

Prompt: Drowning

Disclaimer: I do now own Sherlock.

As a child, Sherlock Holmes had his first near death experience when he was five years old and under the supervision of Mycroft Holmes. He was crouched down by a scum filled pound, observing the behavior of a toad he followed across the garden and was now seated on the edge of the small hill that lead to the pond.

He only leaned over for a second to see where the toad would land before he lost his balance and fell head first into the water, hitting his head on some rocks and disorienting himself.

The panic that flooded his body was akin to nothing he experienced before as he swallowed and breathed in water for what felt like years but could have only been thirty seconds at most. Mycroft yanked him out of the water, pounded on his back until air was in his lungs, and if both boys clung to each other and wept, no one could have expected any less.

But Sherlock was feeling that overwhelming drowning feeling all over again as he stared at his pregnant wife as she and their daughter completed their nightly ritual before bedtime.

Twins.

His wife was having twins.

When they struggled to conceive Penelope Ava Holmes for nearly two years, the couple never thought that they would be able to conceive again, but three short years later, Molly was pregnant again.

With twins.

"Sherlock?"

Was he breathing? What was this ache in his chest? He felt as if his lungs were full of water, and his vision was beginning to tunnel. He had the sudden thought of once again being in that filthy pond, struggling to breathe, to stay alive.

"Daddy?"

"Sherlock? What's wrong? Sherlock!"

"John, he's in a state—I don't know, please?"

"Penelope sweetheart, Daddy is fine. Uncle John will be here very soon."

"Goodnight Daddy."

"He isn't responding to me at all, John. Is it a panic attack?"

There was silence for a few moments, and Sherlock could feel his chest aching with every breath he took. There was ringing in his ears, but then suddenly John Watson's concerned visage was filling his darkening vision. "Hey there," John said softly. "Try and slow down your breathing, Sherlock."

It took a few minutes, but Sherlock managed to breathe with John and the water he had been drowning in was disappearing slowly. "You're safe, you know."

"I know I'm safe!" he snapped, his nose scrunching up in irritation. His whole body ached but that didn't stop him from pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them tightly.

John didn't look perturbed, just shifted his weight on the table and kept looking Sherlock in the eyes. It was like he was seeing thousands of different thoughts flitting across his friend's mind, as if the man couldn't focus on one singular idea or thought. "Are you upset about the pregnancy?" he asked, recalling that Molly said Sherlock had been oddly quiet and indifferent since they found out about her pregnancy and consequent news of the multiples.

"I am hardly an adequate father for Penelope," Sherlock spat, his eyes narrowing on John. "I can't be expected to be an ideal father for two more children."

"You are a wonderful father for Penelope," John said gently, his voice soothing to Sherlock's frayed nerves. "You have been there for all of her major and minor milestones, sacrificed your work to care for her, and have been a good husband to Molly."

Sherlock leapt from the couch suddenly and began pacing around the room, stepping over toys and books on the floor. His hands were moving rapidly near his head, and John watched for a few moments in silence before saying, "Talk out loud, like a case."

And then Sherlock was spewing all of his fears plaguing him, from his inability to always know why babies were crying to health concerns over a pregnancy with multiples. He was spilling every overwhelming thought from his brain until he had nothing left, until all of the energy that was once in his body was gone. He managed to collapse back on the sofa without another word. "It's okay to feel this way." John appeared in front of him again, this time with a cup of water. "Can you take a few sips of this?" Sherlock was irritated with John's concern, but he took the glass anyway, downing half of it before handing it back to his friend. "Becoming a father again, especially to twins when you're not expecting it can be frightening."

Sherlock wilted after he said that, even more annoyed that he allowed his fears to manifest into something uncontrollable like that. "But you love your family—"

"Of course I love my family! I would be nothing without them!" Sherlock tried to snap, tried to sound aggressive and annoyed, but he just sounded defeated, tired.

"And you aren't planning on leaving?" John asked.

"Never."

"You've got Mary and I, you know?" John was once again soothing Sherlock, and he listened to his friend. "And Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and even Mycroft. You won't be going through this alone." After a moment of silence, he added, "And the most important person in your life, Molly Holmes."

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, looking around the living room. He was half expecting her to be sitting, watching silently.

"She excused herself to the bedroom. You were visibly upset by her presence—" Sherlock's face blanched, and John quickly went on, saying, "She understood you were having a panic attack. She knows you, Sherlock. She knows that sometimes you just need space."

There was silence for several long minutes as Sherlock counted his breaths until his chest was aching a little less. Then he declared, "I'm going to bed."

He stood up, a little unsteadily, and John automatically followed, his hands clasping his forearms. "Are you feeling better now?" He nodded his head just slightly, and John gave him an encouraging smile. "You should get some rest, and in the morning, you should talk to Molly about your concerns."

"I will." Sherlock didn't move until John had disappeared from Baker Street, back to the flat he shared with his wife and two children.

Instead of going straight to his bedroom, Sherlock made his way upstairs to his daughter's bedroom. He peeked in and saw her curled up in her bed, clutching her stuffed bumblebee and methodically counting softly. He knew she enjoyed counting when she was having trouble falling asleep.

"Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…"

Sherlock knocked on the doorframe and stepped inside. She popped up and from the nightlight Sherlock could see her look of concern. Before she could ask any questions, he held his hand out to her. "Do you want to sleep with Mummy and Daddy tonight?" He needed to have his girls, as he affectionately called them in his head, close that night. Penelope nodded her head enthusiastically and climbed out of bed, taking her father's hand and following him out of the bedroom.

When they were in his bedroom, Penelope dropped Sherlock's hand to climb onto the bed. Sherlock took the time to change into his pajamas and then follow his daughter to the bed. For a moment, he just stared as Penelope snuggled against Molly's front, nuzzling her face into her chest. Molly was blinking her eyes tiredly but wrapped her arms around her daughter regardless.

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees and his back ramrod straight. He wasn't entirely sure if his presence was welcome in their bedroom; would Molly be irritated by his behavior? One look at her though had his concerns melting away and he got into bed, quickly sandwiching Penelope between them.

"We'll talk in the morning," Molly murmured, reaching for Sherlock's hand. She caressed his fingers before pressing her lips against them softly. "Love you," she added sleepily, squeezing his fingers before replacing them around Penelope.

Sherlock cleared his throat before whispering, "I love you too, both of you…all four of you." Molly smiled at him, and Sherlock leaned over Penelope to kiss his wife softly before dropping a chaste kiss on his daughter's curls. He heard Penelope giggle softly and say,

"I love you too, Daddy!"

If his daughter, who was only three years old, loved him unconditionally, even with his faults and shortcomings, Sherlock was suddenly assured that he was at least a decent parent and he could probably do the same again for two more babies. And if Molly didn't kick him out of Baker Street for his erratic behavior, then he had done well enough as a husband too.

I can do this. He stared warmly at his sleeping wife and sleepy daughter in the dark. I shouldn't panic about this; my family loves me and I love my family. At that thought, he finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax and fall asleep, his feet tangled with Molly's and his arms wrapped around Penelope.

Fin.

BB/N: Hello! Sorry for not posting yesterday. I had to babysit unexpectedly and was too tired to post this last night! This is day 15 of the One-a-Day Challenge! Thank you very much for reading!