Disclaimer: I own no copyrights or shares in BBC or Sherlock, nor do I claim to.
AN: So, I finally got round to fixing the formatting on this chapter. My tablet kept adding script and such when there was not meant to be. Anyway, I hope this will be much easier to read. I'm pretty much testing my voice of Sherlock. Please comment and let me know how he sounds and what you think of the first chapter in general.
After Midnight
"It was a frigid February evening, just as Watson was sure he would never get the smell of rotting pig out of his nostrils, that his cellular went abuzz. Sherlock was arm deep in the festering corpse of a common swine, looking for the evidence to wrap up a case. Just as his friend, the lunatic who thought it was absolutely wonderful to get elbow deep into a carcass couldn't get any more loony, he shoots a depressed-oh-better-answer-that-because-I'm-about-to-be-smart look at him. Watson merely rolled his eyes and turned his back from the kitchen counter, removing his protective goggles as he walked. The sickening crack of bone, was something that probably should have made the Doctor uneasy, but having done so many strange things with the Detective, led him to places much stranger than this. Watson caught the phone on its' last ring, the name Mary Watson, disappearing to black screen as he hurriedly held it up to his ear.
"Listen Mary, I'm sorry I'm…" John offered, certain he was much past the hour they had decided upon for dinner. But, the woman on the other end was not Mary. John turned his eyes back toward Sherlock, as he tried to comprehend what exactly the nurse was saying. The look of shock overtook his face. Sherlock was already removing the gloves that looked more like wading boots, a gold necklace and shoelaces were laid aside on the bloodied table. John was silent as he listened to the instructions, the woman was putting forth. Sherlock washed up, covered the hog with a tarp, and put his coat on. And perhaps it was the shock on John's face that had Sherlock fetching his friend's coat as well. Finally, John replied with a nervous, yet practiced, "Do not make any decisions until I get there, in twenty." He hung up the phone, slid it in his pocket.
Sherlock gathered from the conversation that something was wrong with Mary. A problem with the pregnancy possibly. Decision. Life and death decision. The necessity to ask him what he will do was nagging at him. But, it looked as if his friend hadn't the slightest idea how to breathe at the moment. It would be up to him to get John to the hospital. "I'll call a cab." He said, pulling out his own phone as he eyed John, putting on his scarf. "She is at…" John started.
"St. Thomas'. I'm aware. We'll get there John." He offered, before talking to the cab dispatcher. The cab made it three minutes and forty-five seconds. All the while, John lost more and more color to his face. He did not speak, Sherlock was certain it was more to keep his stomach from dispelling its' contents rather than avoiding conversation with Sherlock on the situation. At this point there were a few options.
Mary had been in some sort of accident, resulting in her delivering early. That was really the most likely of cases. While there were more subjective ideas vying for second place on the plausibility scale. Perhaps she had gone into early labor on her own. Or there was always the possibility of miscarriage in the late term. As a woman who smoked before she was pregnant, there was a likelihood that she might crave things that contain nicotine. Things that might hurt an unborn baby. Things like tomatoes, potatoes, tea, eggplant, and cauliflower all contained trace amounts of nicotine. Still mashed potatoes were unlikely to make Mary miscarry in such late term. It was not long before they had reached St. Thomas.
Sherlock followed John as he broke into a jog to get to the front desk, interrupting a casual conversation between nurses, to ask where Mary Watson was and if she was awake. Sherlock knew at that very moment, what had become of Mrs. Watson. And he knew he could not stop John from running down the hall as the nurse called for the Doctor on the floor. John had seen the room number on the report.
The other nurse, a withered blonde that reeked of cat litter slipped out of the way as Sherlock looked over at the first nurse, an Asian with high cheekbones and artificially colored green eyes. He put his hands in his coat pocket, watching as Watson disappeared from sight. "And the child?" Green eyes looked up at him sorrowfully, as she tried to tug on her wrinkled scrubs. Judging on wrinkled her white and blue uniform as it was, she had had given a great deal of bad news today.
"She is underweight as can be expected, but otherwise the Doctor deemed her healthy." Sherlock nodded dutifully and followed after Watson and into the room he had disappeared in. Dr. Nguyen was there with four others, two of which were holding back John, who was sobbing loudly and screaming. He screamed that he was a doctor. Screamed that she could be saved. Sherlock found himself looking at Mary now too. Her eyes closed, dried blood around her nose and sprinkled on the white sheets. Foul play certainly.
As John's tone reached lower depths and sunk to the floor, Dr. Nguyen approached Sherlock. "She was hit by a car on her way from fetching groceries. The driver was nowhere to be seen. Mary fought hard. She stayed with us until we got to the hospital, but fell into a coma. We couldn't stabilize her fast enough, she had too much internal bleeding." The Doctor explained in his thick Irish accent, shifting uncomfortably away from John who had amassed into a disjointed heap.
There wasn't much time. Mary needed an autopsy, more specifically she needed to be examined by Molly. But, even Sherlock who had the emotional range of teaspoon knew that John needed to be cared for. His daughter needed to be cared for. Quickly he texted Molly. Explained the matter in as few words as possible, and then told Dr. Nguyen that the body would be held here until an autopsy could be performed.
Sherlock watched carefully as the Doctor, who was frankly suspect now as far as he was concerned tried to conclude that an autopsy wouldn't be needed. John gathered himself then, willing himself to stand and clear his throat. "An autopsy?" He looked over at Sherlock, blue eyes wet and hurt. "Sherlock…is it?" Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow as the Doctor now continued to disapprove.
"Sherlock merely pulled out his phone and took a picture of the room, the Doctor and medical staff within them, and texted Lestrade. Not two minutes later, as Sherlock dragged John down the hall, the death of Mary Watson had become an investigation with Lestrade sending a team along.
"John, we will have to do what is necessary to find out what happened to Mary, but she wouldn't find it necessary that you continue crying so profusely. We have little time to act. You have little time to act." The good Doctor looked stricken, angry, possibly more tired than he'd ever seen him, as Sherlock led him to the maternity ward. "What do you mean?" He sniffled, trying to fight against the urge to lean against the wall for just a little bit to collect himself."John…" He started, opening the door to the room with an attentive staff walking down the aisles of eight sleeping babies. "It's time to meet Baby Watson. You're a father."