No one pays me to do this - I mean, who would! I do it for love.
Gold
by
thedragonaunt
Prologue
Molly Hooper-Holmes awoke in the darkened room and lay still, listening to the night time sounds of the house, recalling fragments of a rather disturbing dream and wondering if it was the dream that had awoken her.
She had gone to bed early, not long after William and Freddie, following a particularly tiring day at work. In the final month of her pregnancy, it seemed like she'd been pregnant for ever but that was always the case, when it came to the last few weeks. She just wanted to get on with it, now, and was rather glad that this was her last week at work, prior to her confinement.
For the last month, her boss had restricted her to sitting-down duties and she had also been given the honour of inducting her maternity leave replacement. That involved a lot of explaining of things which, to her, were second nature and consequently difficult to put into words. It didn't help that her cover – Amanda – fresh out of Medical School and wet behind the ears, thought she knew everything. Molly had lost count of the number of times over the preceding week she had been obliged to remind the newbie that every establishment had its own protocols, customs and practices. Didn't they teach them that at university any more, she wondered?
The final remnants of her dream had faded completely, now, leaving her with just a latent sense of unease as her attention was taken by the dull ache in her lower back. She'd had that pain all the previous day, accompanied by a rather high incidence of Braxton-Hicks and Olga, she had noted, had been unusually passive. Maybe the little one was gathering her strength for the final push, in roughly three weeks' time or maybe she was just so cramped in there that she found movement difficult. It must be a pretty tight fit, Molly mused.
Her mind then moved on to wonder what had roused her from sleep at this ungodly hour. She assumed the hour was ungodly but she reached out for her mobile phone, on the night stand, to verify that assumption and confirmed that it was just after two a.m. Positively satanic. That movement also confirmed her prime suspect for the cause of her wakefulness. Her bladder was in serious need of emptying.
Tempting though it was to snuggle down under the duvet and delay her trip to the bathroom, she knew that the possible consequences could be embarrassing, to say the least, so she rolled over and sat up, awkwardly, placing her feet on the bedroom floor and pushing herself upright with a hand on the bedside table.
It was then that she felt the gush of liquid down the insides of her legs.
'Oh, bugger! I've wet myself!' she thought aloud.
Even as she spoke, she realised that the pressure in her bladder was not the least bit reduced and the truth dawned. Her waters had broken.
Molly waddled into the en suite bathroom and sat on the toilet to pee and to gather her wits. That was when she felt her abdominal region begin to tense as her womb contracted. This was no Braxton-Hicks. This was the real thing.
Having relieved her bladder, she grabbed a hand towel from the heated towel rail, folded it into a wad and jammed it between her legs, to catch the dregs of the amniotic fluid as it drained away, then she waddled back into the bedroom, turned on the bedside lamp and picked up her mobile, again.
She speed dialled the number of her midwife, Helen. It rang several times – which was unsurprising, in view of the hour – but was eventually answered by the lady in question in a voice heavy with sleep.
'Hello, Molly. How can I help you?' the midwife asked.
'My waters have broken and I think I'm in labour,' Molly replied, as calmly as she could manage.
Helen's response was both reassuring and business-like.
'Well, Molly, if you think you are, a woman of your experience, I expect you're right. How frequent are the contractions?'
'About every fifteen minutes, I think. I haven't really timed them but that's my estimate. I had lower back pain all day yesterday but didn't pay it much attention. I think I might have been in labour even then.'
As she spoke, she could hear Helen moving around, probably getting dressed, then she heard the jangle of keys and surmised that the midwife was picking up her car keys.
'OK. Tell Sherlock he can start to put up the birthing pool. I'll be there in about twenty minutes,' Helen advised.
'Sherlock's not here,' Molly exclaimed. 'He's on a case, working away.'
Helen paused, with her hand on the front door knob, in her house.
'Working away where?' she asked.
'Lambourn, in Berkshire.'
'Oh, that's quite a way away, isn't it. Does he know about the situation?'
'No, I haven't called him yet. I called you first. I'm going to ring him now.'
'OK, you do that. I'm on my way. And, Molly?'
'Yes?'
'You're an old hand at this. You're going to be fine,' Helen assured her, detecting the slight note of apprehension in the other woman's voice.
As Helen cut the connection, Molly scrolled back though her Contacts List and pressed Sherlock's name. There was a short pause, as the connection was established, then the phone began to ring.
It rang and rang, nine times, then cut to the generic voicemail message. Molly broke the connection and gave the phone in her hand a puzzled look. Maybe it was a wrong number. She tried again. This time, it rang just four times then went to voicemail.
'Sherlock, when you get this message, ring me back. Olga is defecting to the West.'
She cut the line again. She couldn't imagine why he wasn't answering his phone, even if it was the middle of the night but, right now, she had more urgent things on her mind. Since she was somewhat incommoded, someone needed to be here for the boys. She scrolled down again, found Mrs Hudson's number and dialled.
'Please be at home, please be at home,' she muttered under her breath, as she listened to the phone ringing out inside 221 Baker Street.
ooOoo
Sorry this has taken so long and many thanks for your patience, my lovely readers. I do so hope it is worth the wait!
