The sound of the baby crying caused Joan to emerge instantly from the painful and hazy world she had existed in during her labour, and she found herself fully conscious and alert in the bedroom in her apartment, her breathing slowing and her body aching, as she stared at her former partner, who was bending over the tiny infant. Joan swallowed, pressed her trembling hands onto the ground and slowly lowered her legs, pushing herself forward slightly in an attempt to see the baby, who Sherlock was currently wrapping in one of her warm white towels. The baby was concealed completely from her view, with just his or her gentle cries announcing the presence of the tiny human being. Joan stared at the carefully wrapped bundle in Sherlock's arms for a few moments, her heart racing and an indescribable feeling of panic and impatience rising within her, which seemed to intensify each moment that she was unable to see her baby. Her eyes drifted quickly to Sherlock, whose had just finished wrapping the child in the soft towel and was gazing down with wide eyes heavy with emotion. Sherlock was holding the baby in a nervous and uncertain manner, but with incredible care and consideration which she would have found almost touching, had the fact that she had not yet seen her child not caused her to feel a level of desperation that rendered her breathless.
"Sherlock?" she asked, her voice low and hesitant. The sound of her voice broke Sherlock from his thoughts and he turned instantly towards her, lifting his head so that their eyes met, his wide and unblinking ones staring deep into hers.
It had quickly become apparent that Watson's labour was further advanced than he had initially realised. Despite this, he was not expecting the infant to be born less than eight minutes after he had discerned her condition. Watson had been stronger and more determined during childbirth than he could ever have imagined. He knew she was strong and resilient, but her bravery and endurance during her labour amazed him, as she herself continued to. She had tried not to scream but had done so on a couple of occasions, releasing an agonising and terrified scream which he could never imagine as coming from her, but she was valiant. He spoke to her consolingly and encouragingly, and after a few minutes she had successfully delivered the child. Sherlock had placed a towel beneath her as soon as she had started pushing, and the moment the baby had been born he had placed the child carefully upon the towel and clamped the cord with hairpins before cutting it, then wrapping the child securely in the soft white towel. Sherlock had found himself acting instinctively and with little thought, his hands overtaking his mind as he assisted Joan and the infant, whose initial cries were beginning to subside slightly as he held the child more securely to his chest, as he adjusted his arms so he was almost cradling the baby. Sherlock was surprised to find himself feeling an indescribable draw to the child who, despite being less than a minute old, seemed to rouse in him intense feelings of protectiveness and loyalty to a degree he only experienced with a few people, including Watson. And although this feeling was comparable, it was somehow different. This feeling puzzled him, as did his inability to describe it. Sherlock looked down at the child and took in the dark hair and eyes, the light pink lips and the delicate skin. The baby's eyes had remained closed for several moments, but as he looked down upon the baby the newborn's eyes slowly opened, and he found himself gazing into a beautiful pair of wide and intelligent eyes which appeared to be the combination of Watson's and his own. He would have stared into those eyes for an eternity had Watson's voice not drawn him back into the present moment. Upon hearing her call his name he looked up instantly, his whole body filling with a curious cocktail of emotions which he could not describe.
Sherlock looked up at Watson, whose cheeks were flushed and whose breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling as she slowly lowered her legs to the ground. Sherlock's attention was immediately drawn to her eyes, which were wide and glassy, and focused on the towel-wrapped bundle he was holding in his arms. After mentally chastising himself for his un-thinking Sherlock pushed himself up onto his knees and leaned forward, gently passing the baby into Watson's arms. She leaned forward instinctively, holding her arms out and accepting the child as Sherlock gently lowered the light bundle into her grasp. Sherlock watched as his former partner's entire body relaxed as she held the baby in her arms.
"You have a daughter" he said in a low and gentle voice, his eyes drifting from the baby's face to Watson's. Joan nodded slowly in understanding, her lips playing into a small smile and her eyes glistening, before the look of concentration and intelligence that Sherlock recognised swept across her features.
Joan looked down at the baby in her arms and felt herself relaxing entirely as she held her close. The baby's eyes were open and looking up at her, her wide-eyes watching her with an intelligence which she had seldom seen in children of that age. Her eyes were captivating, and Joan found herself drawn towards the familiarity of the gaze, which reminded her very much of Sherlock. After a few moments Joan turned her attention to the baby's face, which was beautiful. Her nose and lips were similar to Joan's own, and her hair was dark and soft. The baby had stopped crying seconds after being placed in Joan's arms, and she could feel her moving her arms and legs beneath the carefully-wrapped towel as the sound of her soft gurgling noises filled the silence.
Joan held the child for a short while longer memorising every look and expression and savouring every precious moment. After assuring herself that the baby was fully conscious and alert, and appeared to be breathing without difficulty, she lowered her legs to the ground and placed the baby gently in her lap. Sherlock watched as Joan opened the towel and looked down upon her daughter, who began kicking her legs and moving her arms the moment the towel had been removed. Joan placed her hand gently upon the baby's chest, running her fingertips across her smooth skin as she tested her reflexes and gently lifted her arms and legs. Joan explored the baby's hands, fingers, feet and toes, checking her over completely, before resting her fingers lightly over the baby's heart, which beat strongly against her hand.
"She's strong" Joan mumbled, the first words she had spoken since holding the baby.
"Of course she is" Sherlock returned gently, watching as Joan slowly removed her hand from the baby's body, relief sweeping over her features as she wrapped her back up in the blanket. "As are you, Watson" Sherlock added, watching Joan as she slowly lifted the child and held her to her once more. "The placenta was delivered in tact and the bleeding has completely subsided" he stated, watching as Joan nodded once in understanding. Sherlock continued to watch her for a few moments as she held the baby to her, the relief that she was experiencing at her child's safety failing to conceal the sad and forlorn look in her eyes. At first Sherlock had wondered whether she was in some acute pain. He knew that she would be in considerable discomfort and undoubtedly feeling exhausted, but that was not what he saw in her eyes. In the look she was giving her daughter, one which he could best describe as fear tinged with guilt, he saw something which completely overrode pain. "Are you alright?" he asked gently, causing Joan to look towards him.
"I'm fine" she returned, her voice low and tired. "She's okay too. She's responsive and alert, she is breathing without any difficulty and her heart rate is normal" she continued, her voice becoming stronger as she spoke. "She seems to be a healthy weight, too. I'd guess she's around seven pounds."
"Six pounds thirteen ounces" Sherlock stated, watching as Joan's eyes rose instantly to meet his.
"Right" she stated, a small smile playing on her lips as she looked down upon the child, before lifting her head and facing Sherlock with feigned confidence. "Thank you" she added simply, which Sherlock returned with a small nod.
Sherlock and Joan watched each other for a few more moments before the soft gurgling of the baby drew both of their attention back to her. Sherlock watched as Joan adjusted her hold on the infant, whose soft and gentle noises fascinated him. Sherlock and Joan sat in silence for several minutes as he watched her holding the child, who remained calm and still in her mother's arms.
"She appears to already possess the patented Joan Watson look of analytical consideration" Sherlock stated, causing Joan to exhale a light breath. "She was looking at me in the same way you did when we first met."
"I'll have to caution her against dropping her handbag in front of you or lending you her car" Joan returned, earning a fleeting smile and nod from Sherlock, who then turned his attention back to the people before him.
There was something about the image of Watson holding her child that he found mesmerising and completely captivating. Whether it was due to the suddenness of the child's birth and his complete ignorance to her pregnancy, and the subsequently surreal nature of the situation he could not be certain. But regardless of the unpredictable current circumstances, Sherlock found himself observing that he had never seen something which appeared more natural and more completely and utterly unquestionable. And yet, there was something in Watson's eyes which held the deepest sadness and guilt that he had witnessed upon another human being, and it troubled him deeply. But before he could react to it his attention was drawn away from Joan's eyes and to her body, which appeared to be shaking slightly, as her skin became noticeably paler.
"You're trembling" he commented, pushing himself up on his knees and leaning forwards, his face just inches from hers as she turned to face him.
"I'm fine" she stated dismissively, watching as Sherlock's eyes travelled analytically across her body, which was shaking slightly but visibly. Sherlock's eyes darted across her once more before he placed a hand on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. He walked back towards her wardrobe and stood on his tiptoes as he reached for two blankets on the top shelf, pulling them towards him in a single deft movement before carrying them back to Watson. Sherlock knelt beside her and wrapped the thicker of the dark blankets across her shoulders and chest, so that it was also wrapped around the baby in her arms. His hand lingered upon her shoulder for a moment as he adjusted the blanket around her and removed her hair from the back of it, causing her to turn slowly towards him and watch him with a calm expression. Sherlock removed the towel from Joan's legs and placed the blanket across her, covering her completely and ensuring that she was warm. She did not appear to have lost any more blood since the baby's arrival, but her paleness and shaking made him believe that the blood loss she had already suffered during her labour was having a direct affect upon her, even if she was reluctant to admit so herself. Sherlock watched as Joan held the baby closer to her, adjusting the blankets around her so that she was covered and warm. She needed something to revitalise her, something to restore some of the energy and liquid she had so recently lost. Sherlock knew that encouraging her to eat would be futile, but he needed to assist her and prevent her condition from deteriorating. Her energy was focused on her baby, which was completely understandable. But she needed to be taken care of too.
"I'll make you some tea" he stated simply, rising from the ground and walking briskly from the room before Joan had time to respond.
The baby began to gurgle lightly on her arms, causing Joan's attention to return immediately to the infant. Joan lifted her right hand and extended her fingers towards her daughter, running her fingertips lightly over her cheek as she yawned and flexed her little arms. Joan felt a lump rise in her throat, which she swallowed as she blinked back the tears which were brimming in her eyes. She registered the sound of the kettle boiling in the background, which suddenly made her wary of the time, and how little time she had before she had to carry out the decision she had made many months ago. A decision which, as she predicted, was harder than she knew it would be following the arrival of her baby. Joan held the baby close to her, looking down at her sweet face and delicate features, before glancing back towards the kitchen area where Sherlock stood. She had no choice.
Sherlock filled the kettle and began searching through Watson's cupboards for some of her mother's medicinal tea, of which he felt certain she would maintain a readily-prepared supply. The opening of the third cupboard confirmed his deduction, and he set about preparing the tea. As he did so, he found himself becoming acutely aware of how his heart rate had increased significantly and his mind had begun to race since leaving Watson's bedroom. The previous thoughts and confusion and questions which he had forced to the back of his mind whilst assisting his former partner now appeared back to him in full force, battling themselves for dominance at the forefront of his mind. Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration, drumming his fingers upon his thigh in agitation as he tried to calm himself. With the increasing amount of questions that were forming in his mind, Sherlock found himself going over the very brief pieces of conversation he had shared with Watson since his arrival at the apartment. He remembered Joan making clear that Mycroft was the child's father and that he was unaware of her condition, which dominated his thought process, and caused him to re-examine the logic of her explanation for her decision not to tell him. It was clear that it was a decision she had found incredibly difficult which, due to Joan's innate honesty and loyalty to the people she is close to was completely understandable, as was the decision itself. As the kettle finished boiling and Sherlock began to pour the hot water into a large mug of herbal tea, he understood that knowledge of Mycroft's connection to the child would endanger both the infant and Watson. Le Milieu would certainly have found out about Watson's pregnancy had she not gone to such lengths to conceal it, and if they had done so, he dreaded to think what their course of action would be. To punish Mycroft? Joan? To use the child as a weapon to illicit the compliance of himself, his brother and his former partner in various schemes? As Sherlock replaced the kettle and stirred the tea, he found his heart racing and a feeling of anger and adrenaline burning inside his body at the thought. He could only imagine what Watson must have gone through over the past eight months, wrestling with the same knowledge and pain. Alone. Watson had made it clear that she had concealed her pregnancy to protect Mycroft and their child. Although she had not stated so explicitly, Sherlock believed that Joan had not informed anyone of her condition. But as he stood in the kitchen and found himself battling his thoughts and confusion on the subject, he found himself wondering what Watson intended to do once the child was born.
Sherlock's attention was drawn from his thoughts by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, which he extracted quickly and read the caller ID. It was Gregson. Sherlock inhaled quickly and answered the phone, speaking briefly and calmly to the Captain, who had called to see if he had any news on Joan. Sherlock calmly (and convincingly) explained that Watson was dealing with a case which demanded her entire attention. She had not realised that her battery had died until Sherlock had arrived at her apartment. Sherlock explained how, after some badgering, she had allowed him to assist her on the case. They were making significant headway and so he would have to wish the Captain goodnight. He apologised for forgetting to call and let him know Joan was okay, explaining that the case was highly engaging and required their complete attention, before thanking him for the call. Sherlock hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket, before walking briskly back into the bedroom. Sherlock paused in the doorway and stared in confusion at the sight before him, his eyes darting across the room briefly as he surveyed the scene before him in surprise
"Watson?" he began, his voice low and confused as he took a step towards his partner, who was standing beside the bed, and was half-way through getting dressed.
Joan was wearing a pair of jeans and light brown boots, and was tugging a white top over her as Sherlock entered the room, the thin fabric of the material covering her as he entered. Joan turned towards him at the sound of her name being called, pulling her hair from out of the shirt as she did so. She did not respond immediately, and watched as Sherlock's eyes travelled quickly from her to the bed, where the baby was laying, surrounded by the blankets he had draped across Joan's shoulders less than five minutes before. Joan's face was pale and her body was trembling, and it was clear to Sherlock that she was in some discomfort, which was to be expected. He was amazed that she could stand and walk, let alone dress herself independently so quickly. It must have taken a lot of will power and strength, which Joan Watson utilised best when protecting someone. Which, as Sherlock correctly deduced, was precisely what she was doing now.
"Watson, what are you doing?" he asked, placing the tea on a chair by the door as he entered the room and walked towards her. Joan turned on the spot so that she was facing him directly, but the speed at which she did so and her levels of blood loss and exhaustion caused her to sway slightly on the spot as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Sherlock walked quickly towards her and placed one hand on her upper arm and the other on her waist, before gently guiding her back a few paces to the bed, where she sat without much encouragement. Sherlock heard Joan's sharp intake of breath as she slowly sat upon the bed, an act which clearly caused her some level of discomfort, which Sherlock was mindful of. As soon as she was seated on the bed Sherlock removed his hands slowly from her and sat beside her, turning towards her and looking upon her expectantly.
"The baby needs medical attention" Joan stated calmly, her voice low and words slurred with tiredness and pain. Sherlock turned his attention from her and towards the infant, who was sleeping just behind them, snuggled within the warm towel. "She's okay" Joan assured, watching as Sherlock's body became tense and rigid at his misunderstanding. "Sherlock, she's fine" Joan reassured him, watching as he slowly turned his attention back towards her. "But she's a premature newborn baby, she needs to be in a hospital" she explained gently. Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"I quite agree" he responded amiably. "But she is not the only one who requires medical attention." Sherlock watched as Joan's eyelids flickered and her breathing pattern changed slightly. She evaded his gaze for a brief moment to glance at the baby, before turning her attention back to him.
"I'm not going to hospital, Sherlock" she stated confidently. Sherlock stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he absorbed her words.
"Watson, you've just-"
"I know" she interrupted, her voice low but confident. "I'm okay, really" she stated simply, forcing a weak smile as she spoke in a vain attempt to reassure him. "If I go into a hospital it will be very clear what... what happened here tonight" she continued, watching as Sherlock's eyes darted across her face, before fixing themselves on hers. "If I go to a hospital my pregnancy and details of the baby's delivery will be put on file. If people find out I was pregnant they're gonna know how far along I was, which means that it will be fairly obvious who the father was. The baby will be in danger and so will he. I can't risk that" she stated, her words soft yet confident. /
Sherlock stared at Joan for a moment, his mind racing as he considered her words and deduced her actions, which caused fear to rise within him to a greater to degree than he thought possible. Joan was clearly unwell and in pain, but she had the look of determination and resolution upon her weary and pained features that he recognised.
"What are you suggesting?" he asked, his voice low and his heart pounding against his chest as he found himself already knowing the answer.
Joan stared at Sherlock for a moment, resolving not to break his gaze as she spoke. She needed to stay strong. "I'm going to do the only thing I can to protect this baby" Joan stated simply, her eyes becoming glassy and her voice becoming slightly choked as she spoke. Sherlock stared at her with a look which almost perfectly mirrored her own. "I brought her into this world and have placed her in the most incredible danger. The only way she can stay safe is to be taken to somewhere where no one knows who I am, who she is or where she came from" she continued, watching as Sherlock watched her silently, his face awash with emotion as he waited for her to continue. "I'm taking her to a safe haven."