Nine months. Everyone knows it takes nine months. Mary didn't sign up for this.
A few weeks ago she had been nine months pregnant. Yet here she was, still the size of Jupiter and dealing with the worst moods swings since puberty.
They'd gotten her checked out, it seemed that nine months was, obviously, the approximate time. Apparently, some women had longer gestation periods than others. And obviously some babies are born prematurely, but it had never occurred to her that some children could be born – postmaturely.
She had grown increasingly irritable ever since she passed the nine-month mark. John had started to massage her shoulders without even having to be asked, and absolutely no one had the nerve to challenge her on anything. Even Sherlock remained docile and polite in her presence. Especially after a snide comment on the size of her stomach one day had earned him a vase in the head. No one had dared say anything about it.
It was a disappointingly average day when it finally happened. It was evening on a Saturday, and it was drizzling but not quite raining. The sky was a typical London grey and it was miserably humid, but not warm.
They were all sitting around in the Watson's house, quietly enjoying each other's company. Well, more accurately, Mary was grumpy and everyone was trying to keep from making her upset. Mary was sitting on the couch next to John, who was nervously rubbing his hand over the webbing of skin between her forefinger and thumb, tying to hit that pressure point hidden there that relieves stress. Sherlock was twiddling his fingers on the floor by the window, wisely choosing only to speak when necessary.
Mary suddenly stiffened, frowning. John's eyes flitted from where they were studiously examining the laces of his shoes to Mary's face.
"Something wrong?" he asked, tone careful and very, very sensitive. A skill he had perfected over the past few months.
The noise got Sherlock's attention, and he turned from the window, his bright blue eyes darting back and forth between the couple, but not saying anything.
"I'm sure it's nothing – just a bit more of those false contractions," she said, voice a bit strained and tense but not panicking. Sherlock's brow furrowed, and was unable to stop himself from asking a question.
"There can be false contractions?" he asked, a bit incredulously.
John merely nodded in reply, because if he opened his mouth he might squeak in pain, due to the fact that Mary was gripping his hand so tightly the joints popped.
About a minute later, the pain subsided, and Mary's face relaxed. John sighed with relief, then quickly became repentant when Mary shot him an accusing glare. Sherlock seemed to visibly relax as well.
They settled back into their old pattern, all them feeling as if they were waiting for something. Or, more accurately, someone.
A several minutes later, Mary gripped John's hand again, and groaned.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," she ground out. John looked worried but just rubbed her shoulder and watched her closely. Sherlock anxiously watched, his movements becoming nervous ticks instead of bored shifting.
After a while, she breathed out in relief and fell back into the couch, looking nervous.
Minutes later, she tensed again.
"Five minutes," John muttered under his breath, and fully shifted on the couch to face his wife.
"Where do you feel the pain?" he asked in his doctor-voice. Sherlock noticed the transition to seriousness, and hopped to his feet, coming over to hover.
"Has it started?" he asked, desperately. He was ignored by the adults.
"In my back," Mary gasped.
"Alright, lay down," John instructed, and gently helped Mary's bulk onto the couch.
Sherlock's nervousness exploded, and he started pacing back and forth.
"Is she in labour? Is she in labour John? Oh my g-"
"Shut up, Sherlock," John snapped, focusing on his wife.
"Has the pain subsided?" he asked her calmly, and she shook her head.
"She's dying, John! Do something!" Sherlock yelled.
"I will throw you out if you don't behave!" John yelled back, only looking at him for a moment.
"I am!" Sherlock retorted.
"Then do something useful!" John threw back.
"Like wh-"
"SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!" Mary snapped, making both men flinch.
"Sorry Mary," they said simultaneously.
There was a tense moment, and then Mary relaxed, and blew air out slowly through her nostrils.
"Have you been having these all day?" John asked.
"Yeah," Mary said, nodding. "I thought they weren't anything. They didn't hurt that much," she said, a bit sheepishly. John didn't berate her, just took her hand gently and held it lightly.
"If the next one comes in five minutes, we're going to the –" he broke off, feeling Sherlock hovering nervously behind him. "The H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L," he mouthed. Mary laughed.
"I can spell!" Sherlock shouted, indignant.
"Quiet!" John reprimanded, but not loudly.
Sherlock went silent but paced and fidgeted and ran his hands through his hair and looked like he was about to burst.
"It's not your baby. Calm down," Mary joked, though her voice was tense as she waited for the allotted time to pass.
"I'm not nervous!" Sherlock whined, tapping his fingers on the couch.
John turned around gave Sherlock a long look.
Sherlock threw his hands in the air and left the room.
He came back a minute later, carrying a bowl of warm water, and about three towels slung over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" John asked incredulously.
"I'm being useful!" Sherlock replied proudly.
"We're not delivering here, Sherlock. We're going to the hospital," John said drily.
"Well, you never know," Sherlock retorted defensively.
"And seriously, are you kidding? This isn't the Dark Ages," John said caustically, eyeing the big bowl of water.
"Ah!" Mary gasped, her face tightening in pain. Sherlock dropped the bowl, splashing water everywhere. Mostly onto John.
"I'm going to kill you!" John growled.
"DON'T PANIC!" Sherlock yelled, eyes wide.
"No one's panicking but you!" John yelled.
"I'm panicking! I'm in labour with no one but a Hellish version of Batman and Robin to help me!" she gasped.
"Rude," Sherlock sulked.
"I am not his sidekick," John pouted.
"Ah!" Mary said again, and then moaned. John stiffened, but Sherlock went absolutely ballistic.
"Don't panic! Stay calm! Everybody just stay bloody calm!" Sherlock yelled, gesticulating wildly.
"We are!" John and Mary yelled in unison.
"I'll call an ambulance!" Sherlock gasped, and pulled out his phone.
"We don't need an ambulance!" John yelled. He turned back to Mary, and picked up her other hand. "I need you to breathe, okay?" he asked gently, and she nodded.
"With me. In... out. In… out. In – Sherlock!" John had stopped, realizing that Sherlock was doing the breathing exercise as well.
"What?" Sherlock asked, confused. John shook his head.
John started to gently feel Mary's abdomen, then froze.
"What is it?" Mary asked fearfully, knowing the look on her husband's face all too well.
"The baby's turned," he said quietly.
"Oh no," she said fearfully.
"What?!" Sherlock yelped, going into overdrive again. "Breech births have a greater risk of complications, and-"
"Stop now." John said, a bit dangerously. He turned to Mary. "We need to go to the hospital, now. I think you're in true labour, and we need to get this girl turned the right way, if nothing else," John said, and put a hand on Mary's shoulder. She nodded bravely, and started to get up, heavily helped by John.
"I'll get the car running," Sherlock squeaked, and dashed off.
John got Mary up to a sitting position, by which time the contraction had eased.
"He's going to bust a seam," Mary commented, laughing a bit breathlessly.
"The poor buttons will be the first to go," John agreed, and started to carefully pull Mary to her feet. It was only when this process had just been completed that Sherlock returned, running in with an inherent sense of urgency.
"What took so long?" John asked, but not harshly.
Sherlock fidgeted, and looked away for a second. "Nothing,"
John's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock."
Sherlock swallowed and looked away again. It was so quiet they barely heard it. "Thecarisn'tstarting," he mumbled.
"Sherlock, try it again. A little louder, this time," John said in an extremely dangerous voice, his eyes glinting angrily.
"The car isn't starting," he said in a normal but strained tone.
"And why isn't the car starting?" Mary asked suspiciously, leaning on her husband.
"I – I may have accidentally borrowed the starter for –"
"I swear, if the word 'experiment' comes out of your mouth I will end your miserably skinny existence," John threatened.
"…For science," Sherlock finished.
"That's it! I'm going to –"
"John," Mary interrupted.
"What," John said, not taking his murderous glare off of Sherlock, who shifted uncomfortably.
"After the baby is born," she said, putting a hand on his arm.
John didn't reply for a moment, then complied. Sherlock sighed in relief.
"Sherlock!" John said, in his Captain Watson voice. Sherlock, without noticing, snapped to attention. Mary half-expected him to salute.
"Call a cab and wait outside," John ordered. Sherlock scurried off obediently.
"Aren't you going to make him say 'Sir yes sir'?" Mary joked, movingly slowly toward the door.
"Shush, you're having a baby," John scolded gently, hand on her back and arm.
They were into the tiled area leading to the front door when the door flew open, and rammed to the wall. Thank goodness they placed a rubber stopper there, from last time Sherlock had stopped by in the middle of the night with a 'fascinating conundrum' and put a hole in the wall.
"John I-" The door bounced off the stopper with so much force it slammed in the consulting detective's face. The door opened again, slower this time.
"I thought I told you to wait outside," John said drily, and revived his efforts to get Mary out the door.
"Don't forget your bag," Sherlock reminded. John's face softened, realizing he had been about to do just that.
"Fetch it for me, will you?" he said, and allowed Sherlock to run past.
They had packed a bag a while back, for John to have whenever Mary finally went into labour. It contained basic toiletry items, a change of clothes, food, and a book. Basically preparing John for a long stay at the hospital, if need be.
They were practically on the doorstep, almost home free, when Sherlock came running back. In the same moment, Mary's water broke, making the floor around her slick with amniotic fluid.
"Here you go Jo-"
"Sherlock, watch out!"
Squeak-crash-snap-thud.
And it was all downhill from there.