We're in So Much Trouble

"PULL. OVER."

"John, don't–!"

"JOHN."

"Shit!"

"What are you– ow!"

"I swear to God, if you're about to complain, Sherlock Holmes–"

"Mmph– mmm!"

"Mary, love, okay, okay. Just breathe– oh hang on, you've got your hand over Sherlock's nose–"

"I'm suffocating!"

"This isn't about you!"

"Let me out of this car."

"YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE–!"

"Ow."

"That's good, love, squeeze his hand. Good, I need you to breathe for me, just like you know–"

.
.

"Sherlock, the ambulance is going to be here in a minute." John watched from the backseat of the car, as Sherlock pivoted and continued pacing at the edge of the parking lot. "Sherlock. Sherlock. Are you going to come back over or what?"

"I don't know." There was the face, lips twisted into a look of distaste, finally popping up from his phone. "Should I?"

"It's all over," John said. It was a little unfair, but he rolled his eyes. It had happened so quickly, Sherlock'd been trapped beneath Mary's weight as John had delivered their daughter in the backseat of their car. By the way Sherlock had fled the car the moment he had stopped marvelling at the baby (so, a few seconds later), that was far closer than Sherlock had intended to be during birth.

"Is it?" Sherlock retorted. He'd been a little pale, but seemed to have regained most of his colour. "There's still the afterbirth thing."

John arched an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you know that."

There was the scoff that John could hear even despite their distance. "I've been in a delivery room before, John."

"Really?"

"Unwillingly," Sherlock dismissed.

That was a story he'd need to hear. Complaining aside, Sherlock had actually done quite well. John had seen his fair share of men fainting– or worse still, vomiting– at the sight of the thing. John thought it was beautiful. He wasn't inclined to share that with Sherlock just then. Sure, he had flung himself from the car the moment after it was done, but he'd done well.

"Well then, you know it just doesn't pop out right away, generally."

"Well, knowing our luck, it would." Sherlock looked one way down the street, and then the other, and then through the nearly abandoned parking lot that John had swung the car into park in. Then he heaved an almighty sigh that was almost the kind reserved for dealing with what he called particularly dull clients, pocketed his phone (for however long that would last), and strode back to the car. "Well done, Mary," he said, ducking down to look into the back. "Less screaming would have been nice, but…"

"Sherlock."

"Pass a kidney stone and get back to me," Mary said wearily. Her eyes were bright despite her voice, and she was marvelling at their daughter. It was the most beautiful tableau John had ever thought he'd seen.

Sherlock made a face. "No. I think I'll pass."

John laughed once, slipping an arm around Mary's shoulders. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"I'm not the one who pushed out a baby, you should hardly be saying it to me."

"For being here, you prat."

"Mmm, not sure I had much of a choice. Trapped in the car and all." Sherlock gestured vaguely towards the backseat, deadly serious, until his lips twitched into the smallest, kindest smirk John thought he had ever seen.

"He has a point," Mary said, as Sherlock's attention was diverted to the sounds of the ambulance coming in. "You could be saying it to me, John." And she was smiling, too, the weak sarcasm in her voice drawing both a laugh from John and a muffled one from Sherlock.

"Thank you, love," John said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "A thousand times thank you. And you," he added, brushing a knuckle against his daughter's– his daughter's– cheek. "I love you. So much. Both of you. Sherlock, do you want–" He looked up. Sherlock was gone, ten feet away with his fingers tapping busily on his phone. "Sherlock! Put away the phone!"

"What, I thought we were done! Look, the ambulance is here."

"Get over–" His daughter fussed, and John had to remind himself to lower his voice. "Get over here. I need to help Mary."

Sherlock tapped again at his phone– almost defiantly, and dear God he and Mary were going to have two children now, he'd go mad before he was sixty– before starting over again.

"Here, let me," John murmured, carefully taking their daughter from Mary's arms. "Let me give her to Sherlock."

"That wise, you think?" Mary joked.

"Ahh, we'll see." John hadn't stopped grinning since he'd gotten their daughter in his hands. "He could use something to ground him."

"Oh. Good luck with that."

John winked just as Sherlock stopped by the side of the car again. "What do you want this time?" he asked as John scooted out of the car. His joints were protesting the awkward angle he'd been in. Could only imagine how Mary felt.

"Here." John thrust his daughter into Sherlock's chest before the man could have time to think. "Hold her."

"What– John– I would really rather n– oh, ohh, okay."

John had seen Sherlock with children before, with Archie, in particular. He was good with them. Surprising, he supposed. Or maybe not so much so, since, according to Sherlock, children weren't so narrow-minded as adults. But he had never seen him with an infant, with a newborn, and the image of Sherlock coat-collar-turned-up-so-he-looks-cool Holmes standing with a very tiny human being cradled awkwardly– so awkwardly– in his arms, tipped John off from smiling to laughing. This had gone all wrong, they were meant to be in hospital, comfortable and calm enough, and he'd delivered his daughter with the help of the world's only consulting detective in a parking lot. And it was perfect. This was actual, legitimate joy.

"John–"

"Got a picture," Mary murmured, phone in hand falling back to her lap. "Your arse was in the frame, but…"

"Mary, you traitor," Sherlock retorted.

"That's for telling me to relax."

They smiled at each other– Sherlock with no less wild-eyed panic still in his eyes– for a suspending moment. John was nearly overwhelmed. The two people he loved most in this world. His wife, and his best friend, and he couldn't ask for anything else.

Sherlock looked back at the baby, and John set about helping Mary out of the car with the EMTs.

When they were tucked safely in hospital later, Sherlock had fallen asleep in the chair with his phone still clutched between his fingers. Mary had fallen asleep while casually bickering with John over names. Their daughter was asleep, tucked into John's arms and held against his chest.

This really was a little slice of heaven. John didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, how it had happened after everything they had been through. Maybe, he thought, smiling as his daughter cooed in his arms, maybe the worst was behind them. They deserved this slice of heaven, all three of them together.

A/N: I'm not too much into describing childbirth but I still wanted to do something with this scene sooo the warm and fuzzy aftermaths! :D

Also, in a happy coincidence, prompted by Ashblood. Like I mentioned, it's probably not exactly what you were hoping for, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

I do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading!