Chapter 7
Author's note: Let me preface by saying that A/Ns will not be a regular thing, but I want to add something here. It seems that that Barts Hospital itself doesn't have an obstetrics and gynaecology ward, so far as I can find. For this story, it does, because I said so. I'm more interested in writing than in spending hours perfecting the details of various London landmarks, considering I've never been there. I just got the sprogs into bed and sat down with a cup of English Breakfast to finish Chapter 7, only to find I'd had five hundred views in just a few hours, had several followers, and had a bunch of email. This story is not beta'd. In fact, I barely proofread. There are errors. If you are able and interested, contact me. I wrote the first six chapters in two days and expect this story will finish between 20 and 25 chapters.
Also, Figure 1 is a real app. It's basically Instagram for doctors and it is an amazing learning resource for health professionals and future health professionals (like me.)
-Chapter 7-
Molly was laying back on a high table in the diagnostic imaging suite. Her lower abdomen was exposed and a sheet covered her below. Dr. Carter Morecome sat beside her. He knew how awkward it was for Molly to be a patient in her own hospital, so he hadn't trusted this to one of the many sonographers on hand in the hospital. For this, she was grateful.
Five days post-op, the swelling hadn't even started to abate and Molly's blood pressure and laboratory values hadn't normalized. Her obstetrician was very concerned and wanted to re-scan her to ensure there was no continuing leak of blood that they had missed.
"Just relax, Molly. This won't take long. Do you want me to print any images for your collection?" Morecome was one of the physicians who provided her photos of interesting cases. He'd pointed her to Figure 1, a social media mobile app that documented absurd and fascinating medical conditions. She was a regular contributor, as were a number of pathologists around the world. Carter knew her well enough to know she would enjoy being able to post an image of her own.
He pulled the bottle of coupling gel out of the warming pocket and squirted a stream of it just below her incision. "I'll be careful," he told her. "It might be a bit uncomfortable but let me know if anything hurts, alright?" She nodded. Her colleague pulled the transducer over and placed it gently into the gel.
He turned it downwards and his mouth opened in an O of surprise. Molly had been focused on a spot on the far wall, wanting to avoid the pitying looks that Carter had been failing to suppress. She saw his expression change out of the corner of her eye and was turning her head to him when she caught sight of the wide, pale blue eyes peeking between the blinds to the hall window that hadn't been completely closed. The door handle turned and Morecome spun around on the tall chair as Sherlock Holmes stepped into he room.
"Sorry, occupied. Suite four should be..." he clearly recognized the tall man immediately and glanced sideways at Molly, who had gone wide-eyed. "Should I ring a nurse to get rid of him, Molly?"
"No, thank you, Carter. He'll just be going now." She drew in her lips, struggling to sit up despite the protests of her compromised abdominal muscles. "Get out, Sherlock."
He had only glanced briefly at Molly since entering his eyes fixed on the monitor. "We need to talk. I should have been here earlier, but I want to talk to you."
She sighed heavily. "I'm sure you know where my room is. Wait for me there. I'll be done here soon." She lay back down on the padded table.
"Actually, I think I've found the problem already." Carter swung the monitor around to her. "Look at this."
It had been over a decade since Molly had needed to read ultrasound scans regularly. She consulted with radiologists even for simple imaging purposes. But even she, with a long unpractised eye, could see the outline of one very fully formed fetus surrounded by the thickened uterine wall in the screenshot Morecome was showing her.
She glanced over at Sherlock hesitantly. His expression gave nothing away. He looked back and forth from the monitor to her face, but he was otherwise unmoving.
"I need some more measurements, but I believe the continued swelling had to do with this little one hanging on here." He smiled widely at Molly. "Mr. Holmes," he turned to the man who appeared struck silent. "Could you please step out so we can continue?"
Molly pulled her gown back up again and laid flat. "It's okay, he can stay."
Carter glanced from the pathologist to the consulting detective whose adventures he had read with interest for years. He had made his own deductions, but said nothing, turning the monitor back so he could complete the scan. He touched the button to turn on the wall-mounted monitor that showed Molly what he was seeing. Sherlock moved to the side of the small room, standing almost as far from the patient as he could but where he could see the other monitor.
Replacing the transducer on her abdomen, he hit the button to save the still image to Molly's record and return to the live view. "Here we go," he said happily. "This is the best part of the job - being surprised by things like this. Over here, you can see where the adnexa was closed when we removed your tube, Molly. This bub is definitely where it should be, though. I've only ever seen one of these before, Molly my dear."
"If you have only seen one fetus before, I have my doubts as to your qualifications, Doctor Morecome," Sherlock drawled.
The physician smiled at him, perfectly straight teeth gleaming in the low light coming from the monitor. "A surviving heterotopic pregnancy, Mr. Holmes."
Molly piped up, her voice quavering a bit. "It's where there's fetuses in more than one location. Usually one tubal and one intrauterine." She could see the image on the screen of a little human twitching and turning in the black pool of fluid around it in her uterus.
"Just so. Usually two, but I saw a set where one triplet was abdominal and wasn't discovered until the c-section." His eyes had been roving over the screen and he had clicked several buttons as he'd gone. "Length and anatomical measures are good, nuchal translucency is normal. Heart rate is 159. Congratulations, Molly. You appear to have one healthy baby still in there. Lucky bean, that one. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?"
She nodded, then realized he'd not be able to see her well in the dark. "Yes," she choked out, embarrassed by the emotion in that one word.
He clicked a button on the panel, and the rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the Doppler echo filled the room, sounding almost like the galloping of tiny hooves. She felt tears well in her eyes and run down her temples into her hair. Eyes closed, she allowed the sound to consume her and she breathed heavily to suppress a sob.
She looked up when she felt a hand slide into hers. She saw Sherlock standing beside her, staring at the screen in open wonder, his head cocked slightly to the side, a look she had only once seen on his face before, after she had pulled him into a fierce hug following his death defying dive off of the roof of this very hospital.
Carter Morecome had delivered happy news many times in his twelve years as an obstetrician. The opportunity to do so regularly was why he had pursued the specialization in the first place, though the moments where there was no happy outcome grew harder to bear by the year. The look of awe on Sherlock Holmes' face was a memory he would carry with him for a while, to remind him why he loved this job.
The machine's integrated printer hummed quietly as it ejected small prints of the best of the images. He closed out of Molly's patient file, cutting off the sound of the fetal heart tones. He tore off the strip of thermal paper on which the images had printed and pressed it into his patient's hand. "All things considered, I think that's the best outcome we could have hoped for, Molly dear. I didn't see any sign of continuing bleeding, so I think it's safe to release you today, once we get those staples out, and you can follow up with me next week. I'll want to watch you carefully, probably have a few extra scans to make sure everything continues as it should. Sound alright to you?"
Molly nodded, wiping at her eyes before she moved to sit up. Carter extended his arm and she grabbed his elbow and opposite shoulder, moving with him to sit up carefully on the table. She hopped down gingerly and shuffled over to the wheelchair by the door. "That sounds okay. I suppose it is a good thing I hadn't thought to cancel my antenatal appointments yet. Back upstairs for a bit, then?" She sat down carefully, adjusting her gown about her knees then spreading the sheet over her lap and legs.
"I have a cesarean scheduled in twenty, but I'll pop by after to remove your staples, unless you want to let a nurse do it. I can just sign the discharge papers for you when we get back to the unit." He moved to take the handles of the wheelchair, but Sherlock stepped ahead of him before he could. Molly turned in surprise and looked up at the man, but his expression was inscrutable.
"Lead the way, Morecome." Molly knew that Sherlock knew the layout of Barts better than she did herself, and she'd worked here for eight years. He was being polite. Would wonders never cease?
They walked together towards the lifts, Sherlock pushing Molly in the wheelchair with ease. Hospital policy required that she move between wards in a wheelchair because of her recent surgery. She was less than impressed, as someone who had a habit of considering hospital policy malleable, but Carter had insisted and she had just wanted to get everything over with so she could put the nightmare behind her.
In the last five days, it had not once occurred to her that she might still be pregnant. She had lain awake at night, listening to the babies in the other parts of the ward, and had felt her heart hardening and her resolve to move on settle more deeply into her plans. But here she was, being helped back into her bed now, by Sherlock, as Morecome strode off to complete her paperwork. The detective dropped himself into the vinyl-covered horrendously turquoise chair beside her bed and appeared to be avoiding looking directly at her.
Molly sat up on the edge of the bed and looked down at the strip of images in her hand. Three prints, each of a slightly different image, but all showed the unmistakeable outline of her child. She folded the last image back and creased above it with her thumbnail, then folded it back the other way and creased it again. She tore the picture from the strip and held it out to Sherlock.
He reached out and took the photo from her, meeting her eyes for a moment with a nod of thanks. Sherlock settled and sat perfectly still in the chair, gazing silently down at this first image of his child.
