They left for Chichester at the end of April. The midwife followed them as far as her nearest son's house; she would come to stay with them in the summer.
Holmes spent a good deal of time outdoors ambling about the grounds. Watson accompanied him when he wasn't making the twice weekly trip to London to fetch their post and anything else that couldn't be obtained in the area.
The exercise and the long-awaited easing of his nausea gave Holmes a tremendous appetite. After a full week of eating a substantial amount at all three meals, he joked that he would end up looking like Mycroft. Watson laughed but assured him that some weight gain was desirable, then he made sure Holmes always had access to things he enjoyed.
The midwife visited soon after that conversation and encouraged him to eat as much as he felt he needed. "You were a sight too skinny starting out, so you've got to make up for lost time," was her advice. He truly did feel hungry in a way he hadn't before.
Even so, it was something of a surprise the first morning he couldn't fasten his trousers at all. "I knew this day would come, but I'm not ready," he said, standing shirtless in front of the full-length mirror and running his hands over the lump that had developed into a distinct bulge.
Watson stood behind him and spread his hands over Holmes' protruding stomach as he pressed kisses to Holmes' neck. "You look magnificent," he said.
Holmes felt the child react to Watson's touch and Watson stopped his kisses to whisper, "Is that . . . "
"So now you feel it too," Holmes said, covering Watson's hands with his own and sliding them to where the motions were most distinct. "I think that's kicking, but it's hard to tell."
Watson was barely breathing, he was so intent on the activity beneath his palms. "It's wonderful," he said in awe.
When the drumming stopped, Watson turned Holmes around and kissed him thoroughly.
Trousers were soon deemed entirely irrelevant.
.
In those lazy days of watching and feeling the child grow, Holmes found himself becoming hopelessly attached to the small being he carried. He talked to it and even tried singing to it when they were alone, calling it Baby for lack of a more suitable moniker, and tried to soothe Baby with speech and touch when it moved as if agitated.
He consulted with Baby about foods, paying careful attention to the reactions caused by his consumption of various foodstuffs (this was how he discovered Baby had a fondness for raspberry scones, which Watson obligingly fetched from London whenever he went). Sometimes he would lounge beneath a tree and rub his stomach, enjoying the little kicks and jabs that Baby tried to attack him with.
So Baby grew and thrived as the weeks passed, steadily expanding its home in Holmes' stomach until there was nowhere to go but out. Baby's movements could be felt almost constantly then, and Holmes could even identify the various parts of Baby's body as they struck him from within.
Though he was pleased that Baby was doing so well, Holmes was starting to have some difficulty with getting comfortable, especially when Baby was kicking him repeatedly in the same spot. He could no longer amble for long-he would quickly become short of breath-he had to eat frequent small portions or else run the risk of feeling ill, and his back often ached abominably.
Watson was quick to do what he could to ease him, and Holmes found he couldn't be unhappy with the state of things even when he slept poorly at night (which was more and more often as June turned into July). Watson utterly spoiled him with back rubs and belly rubs and foot massages and long baths and providing anything and everything he could have asked for.
Mycroft came to visit once in the middle of July. Holmes was somewhat self-conscious at first about how large he had become and how ungainly it made him, but all Mycroft said about his appearance was, "You look well and I am glad to see it."
The rest of his visit was devoted to speculation about the sex of the child and discussion about their plans once the child was born. Mycroft was quite interested in their intentions for the child's upbringing and schooling and even promised to do what he could to secure a good position for him when he was ready to start his career.
"But what if she's a girl?" Watson said to Holmes when they had settled into bed after Mycroft left.
"Why should it matter?" Holmes responded and they launched into a debate about whether or not they would be able to obtain the same quality of education for a girl as they would a boy. Holmes was confident their daughter would be more than sufficiently intelligent to match any boy in school but Watson tried to take the practical view that the best schools would never accept a girl regardless of intelligence.
This troubled Holmes and he lay awake long after Watson was asleep. He whispered a promise to Baby that it wouldn't matter, boy or girl he would do everything he could to make sure Baby had the education and the chances he or she deserved. Baby gently tumbled over in response.
.
The midwife Ada came to stay with them a few days after Mycroft left. She had said her son Jonathan would be bringing her over, but she failed to mention he would be bringing his male partner and their new baby. Watson showed Ada and her son to her room and helped with the few bags while the partner-David-settled in the sitting room with Holmes, who eyed him warily.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, David asked conversationally how much longer he had to go.
"Six weeks or so," Holmes responded briefly, then gave in to his curiosity. "How old-?"
"She's six months old," he replied easily, sitting her up in his lap so she could look at Holmes with wide eyes. "Is this your first?"
Holmes gave a slight nod. "Is she yours?"
"Oh, no, we have two boys at home. They preferred to stay behind and play with their cousins."
"I don't know that I'd want to do this more than once," Holmes said, frowning as his back twinged painfully.
"The worst is still to come," David was quick to tell him. "The labor is the hardest part, especially with the first. But it's worth it, I promise you."
They fell into easy conversation after that, and though Holmes wouldn't ordinarily have enjoyed the company of someone like David, the things he could tell him about what was yet to come were invaluable, as was the knowledge that Ada had helped him deliver all three of his children without trouble.
David's parting piece of advice was something he had reiterated throughout the conversation: "Do whatever Mother Ada tell you and do it exactly as she says, and you won't regret it."
Watson asked Holmes about it when they prepared for bed that night-he had missed almost all of their conversation to have his own with Jonathan-so Holmes told him what they had talked about.
"It was reassuring," he admitted as they settled into the bed, "but I had been trying not to think about the birth part and now that's all I can think about. It sounds terrible."
"I'm sure it is," Watson said slowly. "But I'll be right here to help you and Ada will know what to do."
"I know that," Holmes said irritably. "It just seems there is ample opportunity for something to go wrong."
Watson kissed his forehead gently. "As you pointed out a while ago, babies have been born successfully for generations. You both will be fine, I promise."
.
Ada easily adapted herself to their daily routine and she was delighted to learn that Holmes played his violin most evenings. He blushed and shrugged when she praised his talent; he had only begun the nightly ritual because Baby seemed to sleep better when he played before bed. Otherwise Baby would be turning somersaults in the middle of the night and keeping him awake. (At those times, since he couldn't play the violin, he tried singing to Baby, which worked almost as well but only if the song was in French; during the day he steadfastly maintained that he could not sing.)
When August came it brought stifling heat that seemed to sap Holmes' energy if he so much as looked outside. During the day he took refuge in the inner rooms of the house and still sweltered from the elevated temperature and the added heat of the child he bore. He briefly considered adopting Mycroft's mode of dress but quickly dismissed it; the amount of sweat he produced needed to be absorbed by something or he'd feel even worse.
A cool bath was added to his routine just before bed, and sometimes it provided enough relief that he slept reasonably well. Other nights were so bad that he shouldn't have bothered going to bed at all, since he spent most of the time tossing and turning and very little actually resting, much less sleeping.
He was slow and stupid for days after one of those nights as he slowly made up for the lack of sleep through numerous naps during the day. Ada would coax him into stretching out on his bed or the settee and she would drape damp cloths over his face, stomach, and wrists and he would rest more comfortably for it. Sometimes she even sat with his head in her lap and rubbed his temples or massaged his scalp to help him relax.
As the heat lingered it also affected his appetite. He often felt queasy from the heat and many of the foods he'd been enjoying felt heavy and dense in his stomach. Ada worked with the cook to provide light food and cool drinks that would meet his needs without making him uncomfortable.
Her efforts did help how he felt after eating, but he still wasn't often hungry. He would sit at the table and watch Watson eat and feel no need to join him-that is, until Baby not-so-gently kicked him in the ribs and reminded him why he needed to try to eat something anyway. So he did, touching his belly as he did so, and Baby would quiet down.
Through all his discomfort, he was relieved that Baby seemed unaffected by his temperature troubles. The early cramps visited him more often than they had, which Ada assured him was quite normal. She also assured him it was normal for Baby not to move around quite so much on account of running out of room, but Holmes missed the tumbling feeling and did not like that Baby's kicks were concentrating themselves in one area-he felt like he was being bruised.
Then Baby shifted downward and he suddenly found he could breathe and eat easier than before. This change pleased Ada immensely, as it meant his time was drawing near, and he was fascinated by the difference in how it felt and where his measurements were largest (he had continued the scientific study of his progress quite faithfully). Watson was amused by his fascination but didn't seem to care either way. His evident affection and his constant habit of assisting Holmes were just the same as before.
Despite his fascination, this development also made Holmes more anxious about how this all would end. The thought of Baby forcing itself out of his body rather terrified him even though he knew that describing childbirth in that fashion was not strictly correct. But that was the way his mind insisted upon presenting it.
He was also nervous about having Baby on the outside of him-what if he did something wrong and damaged Baby? what if he dropped Baby? what if he turned out to be a terrible parent?
As the middle of August came and went, he began feeling sick with anxiety and even threw up after a few meals. When Watson found him heaving up his food for the third time, Watson asked him what was the matter. He felt foolish and didn't want to admit any of it aloud, but Watson persisted, taking Holmes into his arms and kissing his forehead as he coaxed Holmes to allow him to share in the worry.
So Holmes confessed it all and Watson listened silently and when he was done, to Holmes' relief, Watson didn't laugh. Instead, he carefully responded to each concern, comforting him where he could and promising that, though he couldn't guarantee the outcome, he would be at Holmes' side the whole time. Holmes felt much better and faced the next fortnight before the anticipated arrival of Baby with more serenity.