Rain hit the hospital sideways as the London storm grew stronger. No one bothered to move the old magazines getting a shower from a crack in the window; no one blinked as the lights flickered and the generator kicked on. All eyes were on the small creature cradled in Mary's arms.

She handed her to John, who, despite having held dozens of children in his clinic days, carried her as though she were made of thin glass. He smiled as a small whine emerged from the bundle of blankets. "Beautiful" was all he managed, and he looked at Mary with eyes full of tears before turning to the lost figure in the corner of the room.

Sherlock. He had jammed himself into the crude chair, gripping his knees against his chest in reaction to both the immense pain he was experiencing and the "miracle" of birth he'd just witnessed for the first time. He had remained silent throughout the ordeal, eyes bouncing from husband to wife, only clenching when his headache and chills intensified.

"Would you like to hold her?" John asked, though it appeared he'd never let her go. He'd spent the less intense portion of the labor begging Sherlock to accept medical care, only relenting once Mary demanded his attention. Now his eyes were softened, and all threats seemed to be retracted.

"No," Sherlock answered flatly, denying the unspoken request for eye contact.

"I'll show you how," John offered gently. "Come here."

"The first unrelated person to hold your child should not be a drug addict." He shot the doctor a glare and retreated into the hall, stumbling despite all attempts at composure.

John sighed and looked down at his daughter. Goodness, she was beautiful. Mary's eyes, that's for sure. Maybe his nose. He handed her back to her mother, reluctantly, and stroked Mary's hair. "You mind?" he asked.

She reached for a kiss. "Don't be long. I don't want to leave until we've chosen a name."

John found the detective battling a vending machine for a candy bar. "Hungry?" he asked, but Sherlock only shot him another glare and sat on a nearby bench in defeat.

He calmly managed to retrieve the bar and handed it over. "Go on. I haven't seen you eat yet."

Sherlock obeyed but didn't bother to unwrap it. "You should be in there, John, not out here. She might be frightened by the storm."

"Mary'll manage. I want to know why you're being such an idiot." The insult was enough to get eye contact. "You won't hold my daughter because of your drug habit, yet you refuse treatment. A little counterintuitive, don't you think?"

"They can't do anything for me here," he mumbled. "I'd either get a mundane IV tap or, if I'm lucky, a small dose of opiates. I don't want either. I don't need either. The withdrawal process has only just begun, and while I'm already miserable, the best treatment will be received at home." He looked away. "I won't hold your daughter until I'm officially clean."

"Define officially."

"I'll know it when I'm there."

The two sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the crashes of lightening and the bustle of the hospital wing. "Mary and I will be…occupied…with her," John finally said, "but we will do everything we can to look after you as well. Just please be patient with us. And if you ever feel comfortable enough to interact with her, I'm sure having you around will prove helpful."

"Doubtful," Sherlock said, digging through his pockets for his vibrating phone. He slid the message open.

Do you have John's permission to help on a case? –GL

Sherlock glanced at John before typing a reply.

Only with his company. He's tied up at the moment. Birth. –SH

Relay congrats, but will he ever be free? Huge case. Tell him I won't take my eyes off you. –GL

John read the message and sighed. It was true; he wasn't at liberty to run around chasing criminals anymore. He and Mary had agreed, risks considered, that his life with Sherlock must be allowed to continue. But now? With a baby at home, with a wife to support?

"You're sick," he tried.

"This is distraction." Sherlock held his thumb over the screen, anxious to reply.

John shut his eyes. Okay. "You don't leave Greg's side, understand? He picks you up, he drops you off. No running around, no cases with drugs. Eat something. Home by ten. No excuses. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, understood." He quickly typed a reply and stood. Even John could see the pain radiating off his face. But maybe he was right. Maybe this is what he needed.

The doctor waited for Sherlock to get into the elevator before pulling out his phone and typing his own message to Lestrade.

He's sick and having a hard time deducing. Keep him away from Donovan and let him think whatever he's giving you is brilliant. A confidence boost may be just what he needs. Please send hourly updates. –JW

You got it. I'm officially on babysitting duty. –GL

John put his phone away before heading down the hallway and pulling it out again.

If he wanders off, call Mycroft first. Ankle bracelet. Don't ask. –JW