It was close to around noon now on New Year's Day in the busy flat. The curtains had been closed and slivers of sunlight were sneaking in through the gap between them where they didn't quite close all the way, casting odd shadows across all the fixtures, walls, and floor. John had been working on Faith for several hours and had finally sutured back together the tear that had caused the bleed in her vagina around 9am. At this point it was just a waiting game before he dared go any further; she had to recover at least a little bit before he tried a C-section or even a normal birth. John was currently dozing off in his chair while Sherlock tidied up a bit around the flat. Mrs. Hudson had gone down to her flat as well for a bit of rest before the next escapade of events occurred. Sherlock hadn't actually slept in well over 24hrs at this point and for once in his adult life he was beginning to feel the effects.

He was currently in the kitchen washing some dishes from their breakfast earlier when one slipped out of his hand and smashed to pieces on the tiled floor. The sound immediately alerted John and he woke with a start, frantically looking around until he spotted the wreckage in the kitchen.

"You OK Sherlock?" He asked slightly groggy and with squinted eyes. Sherlock instantly turned away from John so his back was facing him and looked at his hands. They were shaking and he was finding it hard to focus on them.

"Just fine John, go back to sleep. You're going to need it." Sherlock responded. John just shrugged and settled back into his chair and was soon back off to sleep. Once hearing soft snoring coming from John, Sherlock turned back around to make sure his friend was really asleep. Satisfied he was, Sherlock sunk to the ground and leaned his head back against the cabinets below the sink and closed his eyes. The world around him seemed to be swimming suddenly and it was hard not to drown in the whirlpool. He quickly opened his eyes and concluded that keeping them closed was far more dangerous than having them open. Sherlock slowly surveyed the room and saw the plate pieces still littering the ground and sighed. Slowly but surely he stood back up, aided by the counter, and grabbed the dust pan and broom from one of the cabinets to clean up the shards.

The sound of Mrs. Hudson coming up the steps made Sherlock look up through the doorway at her. He was pretty sure he looked like the walking dead at this point, but that didn't matter. She immediately noticed his appearance and came over to take the dust pan and broom out of his hands, seeing the mess behind him.

"I'll take care of that dear, why don't you have a bit of a lie down?" Mrs. Hudson asked quietly and kindly, like she usually does when trying to get Sherlock out of soon-to-be bad situations. She slowly slipped the items out of his hands like a police officer does with a gun from a distraught criminal when they try to talk them out of doing something they'll regret. He didn't seem to notice and unconsciously nodded, then slowly walked to the sitting room where he heavily sat down in his leather chair; tilting his head back onto the top of the chair then closed his eyes. Mrs. Hudson worried about him something terrible sometimes, but knew he'd come out alright. Sherlock always did.

She got to work cleaning up the shards from the floor when Faith faintly called out for her brother in the other room. Mrs. Hudson immediately got up and went over to John's sleeping figure in his armchair.

"John… John! Wake up dear your sister needs you." She spoke quietly to him and shook his shoulder to try and wake him. He stirred slightly and his eyes slowly opened.

"Hmmm… wha—what is it?" John asked sleepily and rubbed his eyes.

"Faith dear, she's calling for you." John looked at her for a second or two before nearly falling on his face from trying to get up and out of the chair too quickly. He headed down the hall and into Sherlock's bedroom where Faith was resting in his bed.

"You rang?" John asked with a small smile then approached the bed to check on her stats. He gently grabbed her wrist and checked his watch to measure her pulse then placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature. Everything seemed normal except her forehead was a bit warm, but that was to be expected after the procedure she'd just undergone.

"Indeed I did. I was wondering if you could tell me, kind sir, why my crotch hurts more now than it did before. And don't say it's because I'm in labor, I know what that feels like in comparison." Faith said in her typical witty nature and they both couldn't help but smile. John sat down on the bed facing her and placed his hand on hers.

"Well, I managed to stop the bleeding, which was coming from a tear in your… um, ya know, and I was waiting for you to wake up before going any further with any procedures."

"I see," Faith said realizing the situation. "Is the baby OK? This didn't harm her did it?" She asked suddenly desperate and John shook his head.

"I don't believe so, no. But then again without the proper equipment—"

"I know, I know… but you've done a fine job so far. That counts for something." Faith said reassuringly and took his hand. "I couldn't ask for a better brother, John. Thank you." John was a bit baffled at this, considering she'd never been this nice to him before, not that she was ever incredibly mean to him, but one could say tough love ran in the family. He smiled and looked away, not quite sure of what to say, but when he looked back he didn't have to say anything. Faith had gone incredibly pale and her face was now twisted up in pain; the most likely cause being the labor had increased and the baby was due within the hour. John quickly went to work; pulling back the sheets, telling his sister it was going to be alright, and, more importantly, calling Mrs. Hudson from the kitchen to come and help.

Sherlock had only dozed off for a few minutes, but when he woke with a start it had seemed like a lifetime. Mrs. Hudson was dashing off to his bedroom and loud, pained noises were coming from it. He could only conclude they were coming from Faith, judging from the current and past predicaments plus the higher-pitched voice and the—

"Sherlock get in here!" John's voice suddenly came, cutting through his thoughts. He immediately found himself lifting up and out of the chair and practically stumbling to his room; his nap hadn't nearly been long enough to recharge and he was therefore finding it hard to use his motor functions properly. Sherlock stopped and leaned on the doorway, taking in the state of his room.

Mrs. Hudson must've at some point changed the bloodied sheets and now clean ones adorned the bed and covered Faith modestly. Both John and Mrs. Hudson were wearing surgical-type masks covering their nose and mouth as well as latex gloves protecting their hands. Faith was propped up against the head board with some pillows as support behind her and Mrs. Hudson was holding her hand trying to comfort her as well as telling her to push. John, of course, was at the foot of the bed preparing his sister for the inevitable. He looked up and saw Sherlock standing awkwardly at the door and gestured for him to come forward. Reluctantly he did.

"You called?" Sherlock said a bit quietly and timidly to his surprise.

"Yep, put a mask and a pair of gloves on. I need your help." Sherlock looked around then, again trying not to look at Faith's legs and what have you, and looked back at John.

"Are you sure? You seem to have it handled." He tried inching away a bit, but John grabbed hold of his arm and looked him dead in the eye.

"Stop acting like a scared rabbit, man up, and help me would you? What is up with you anyway? Ever since this whole thing started you've been avoiding me, you've been avoiding her, and you've been acting like none of this matters to you. Well dammit Sherlock, it matters to me! So please, for God's sake, imagine it's some sort of experiment or an autopsy, something if it'll help you help me. Because right now I need you to focus and to know that you're with me." John paused and let go of Sherlock's arm, resolving himself slightly. "Well? Are you?" Sherlock, for the second time in his life, had absolutely no idea what to say. So he picked up a mask and pair of gloves from the nearby table and held them in his hands for a moment, then looked back at John.

"Always, John. I've always been with you, it's just… this, all of this. It's not…" Sherlock was finding it increasingly difficult to try and explain himself; his mind just wouldn't—couldn't allow them to come out.

"Look, it doesn't matter. Whatever it is you can tell me all about it when this is all over. Right now I need to teach you how to deliver a baby, cause guess what? You're going to." John smiled smugly and Sherlock could feel his face turn a shade whiter.

"…what?" Sherlock asked after a second and John couldn't help but laugh.

"It'll be fine, don't worry. I'll be behind you all the way, I just figured the father would want to deliver his child." And with that John pulled his mask back up and went back to Faith while Sherlock quickly put on his mask and gloves to match, joining him at the end of the bed. Faith's legs were pulled up revealing everything they needed, not necessarily wanted, to see and Sherlock found himself looking away every few seconds. It appeared this was going to happen whether he liked it or not.