Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Disclaimer: Not graphic but due caution to those who are squeamish. Descriptions of childbirth ensue.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you all had a blessed day with friends and family. I know I did! Thank you, as always, for your encouragement and support for the story but I have to say see below for more thoughts along those lines. Enjoy the birth!

John, who had been wondering what was going on, decided he'd better check on Molly. He knocked gently and pushed the door open. It was quite a strange scene, Molly gripping Sherlock's hand, which was outstretched slightly from his body as though Sherlock was too afraid to go any closer.

"Everything alright?" he asked and Sherlock turned around.

"You mean asides from the infant trying to force itself out of Molly's body? Yes, fine."

John sighed.

"Molly, how are you doing?"

"It hurts," she gasped. "Please, I don't want to do this anymore."

"You don't have a choice." Sherlock said flatly.

"Drugs." Molly exclaimed. "John, I want all the drugs they can give me."

John went to the edge of the bed, side-stepping Sherlock.

"You're doing amazing," he murmured, picking up the compress from the basin where it sat on the small table. He smoothed back her damp hair with it.

"You're strong and beautiful," he said in soothing tones. "And you're almost there."

Molly let out a shriek as the contraction gripped her harder than ever. Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth nervously.

"Shh," John soothed, running the cloth down her neck. "You're alright."

"Do not shush me!" Molly yelled. "This hurts!"

"I know," John said. "The contraction is almost over."

Molly's face was screwed up in pain and she moaned throughout the rest of the contraction. Even though the contraction was done, her face remained contorted and her eyes were closed.

"Molly?" John asked, noting that Sherlock had dragged the visitor's chair closer and was still holding Molly's hand.

"What?"

"Shall I get the midwife? It might be good to see how you're progressing."

"Mhmm."

John handed Sherlock the cloth and left the room, returning with a tall, slender, dark-skinned woman wearing the standard blue dress of the midwife. She smiled at Molly.

"I hear things are picking up a bit," she said pleasantly, finding herself a pair of gloves.

"I want drugs." Molly said weakly.

"Why don't I see how you're doing and then we'll talk, is that alright?"

Molly frowned but nodded. John glanced at Sherlock and noticed he looked slightly uncomfortable as Molly rolled onto her back and spread her knees for the midwife.

"Very good," the midwife said a moment later, smiling at Molly. "About seven centimeters dilated, eighty percent effaced. Oh!" she exclaimed, looking surprised and glancing down.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"Nothing at all," the midwife said, looking up again. "There went your waters."

Molly wrinkled her nose – what a disgusting feeling. She felt like she'd wet herself.

"We'll get some real action now," the midwife said, busy cleaning up the mess the amniotic fluid had created.

"Don't say that," Molly moaned. "Can I have drugs?"

John went to the other side of the bed, taking her free hand.

"You're doing so well," he said. "And I'd hazard a guess that what you've been feeling in these past few contractions is the beginning of transition labour."

He glanced at the midwife, who confirmed this with a nod.

"You know that doesn't last very long," he said. "And then you'll get an adrenaline rush to help you push. You can do this, I know you can."

"As do I," Sherlock said quietly and Molly glanced at him. "You are, without doubt, the strongest woman I have ever met. You can do this just fine."

Molly sighed, her eyes closing again as she felt another contraction start.

"No," she moaned.

"You're doing fine," the midwife reassured her. "I'll be staying until the birth now so you have nothing to worry about. Find what works for you and go with it."

The midwife stepped away from the bed and Molly turned onto her side, tightly clamping her knees together and drawing them up as much as possible. She'd turned towards Sherlock, just because he was on her left and she'd been instructed to lay that way to avoid cutting off an artery to her liver. Sherlock, still allowing his hand to be squeezed, took the cloth and pressed it gently around Molly's hairline.

"Just breathe," he said, spieling off the exact breathing pattern that had been taught in the birthing classes. John looked shocked.

"How do you know that?" he asked curiously. Sherlock shrugged.

"Case research."

John didn't want to know what case had involved childbirth and decided it was best not to ask. Rather, he set about working to relax Molly by rubbing her feet, back, neck, and shoulders throughout the contractions. As John had predicted Molly went through transition labour. The contractions were strong and painful and thirty minutes into it, Molly wasn't even trying to hide her cries anymore.

"You're doing wonderful," the midwife said soothingly, stepping up after the latest contractions. Sherlock and John gently nudged Molly onto her back and the midwife did a quick exam, smiling broadly.

"Good news, Molly," she said. "You're ready to start pushing. Let's have this baby."

Molly was in too much pain to hear the good news. Under the midwife's direction, John and Sherlock helped Molly sit up a bit.

"Legs apart, that's a good girl," the midwife said, getting things ready. "On your next contraction, push down as hard as you can."

Molly, feeling incredibly exposed, nodded and did as she was told. She was holding both John and Sherlock's hand now and squeezed both equally tight.

"Keep going," the midwife encouraged. "Good girl," she added when Molly ran out of air and fell back against the mattress.

"That's the right idea, Molly, but next time, try to hold it longer. You're doing well, you're so close."

Molly was all too aware of the building pain and pressure and, heeding the guidance, did as she was told.

"You're doing it, Molly," John whispered. "You can do this."

In response, Molly let out a yell. Sherlock winced but it didn't seem to bother the midwife.

"Good," she said. "Another push and the head will be out."

True to her word, through the next contraction the head was delivered.

"Alright, relax a minute," the midwife said, suctioning the mouth and nose of the baby. Molly didn't know how to relax – this wasn't exactly comfortable – and was more than ready to be done.

Within another minute, the baby was entirely delivered. John felt tears spring to his eyes as he saw the small, slightly blue body squirming in the receiving blanket. Molly was already sobbing, more out of relief to be done. To his surprise, Sherlock felt tears welling up though he quickly made them disappear.

"Why isn't it crying?" Molly asked. "What's wrong, why isn't it crying?!"

The nurse was clearing the mouth and nose again and her smile had turned to a frown. John saw her reach for a panel on the wall, hitting a button so that it glowed red. Within ten seconds, other midwives and a man in blue scrubs came bursting into the room.

"What's happening?" Sherlock demanded but all the attention was on the not-breathing-baby that was placed in an incubator and rushed away. No one even glanced at Molly, who hadn't moved since delivering.

"What's going on?" she wailed and the midwife turned back to her.

"She'll be taken care of," she said gently. "There appeared to be complications - "

"Complications?"

"What sort of complications?"

"Is my baby going to be okay?"

The nurse nodded in response to all three questions.

"The Neo-Natal Team is with her now. She's in the best possible hands."

"She?" Molly whispered, feeling as though she was covered in cold sweat – both physically and emotionally. The midwife nodded again.

"A beautiful baby girl."

Molly felt her smile return and John glanced at Sherlock, surprised to see a lone tear running down his cheek.

"Congratulations, Molly," John said, smiling himself.

Throughout the next few minutes, the midwife helped Molly deliver the afterbirth and then got her cleaned up, changed, and tucked into clean sheets.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked and Molly shook her head.

"No. Is my baby alright?"

"I'll go up and check on her now," she said. "In the meantime, you should rest. You've earned it."

The door closed behind her and Molly shifted uncomfortably in her bed.

"You should sleep," John said, noting that Sherlock was pacing in the corner. Molly shook her head.

"Once I know that she's okay."

"What's her name?" Sherlock asked, looking up.

"Celia Rose," Molly answered. "If you like it."

"It's fine." Sherlock said, returning to his pacing and Molly sighed. John smiled, looking down at her.

"He'd like whatever name you chose," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not." Molly answered, yawning. "I'm worried about Celia."

John didn't have a good response for that and the room lapsed into silence.

Come on, did you really expect this to have a picture book ending? You should know me better than that! Reviews are appreciated!

Okay, the subject of reviews. I've honestly been apprehensive to post new chapters to this story due to the response I've been getting – namely negative responses from a Guest who reviews anonymously. This person has flamed several of my stories, making several claims that are not only unfounded but untrue.

Well, 'Guest', I have a message for you: First of all, I think you are a coward who doesn't have the courage to log in under a proper account and leave such a review. Second of all, if you want to earn my respect as a reader and reviewer, learn to spell and use proper punctuation and grammar. I'd be more insulted if I could actually read what you wrote, rather than being amused by your horrible writing. Third of all, for saying you're never reading my stuff again, you always seem to come back. Funny, we must have different definitions of 'never' and 'again'. Finally, I think you have failed to grasp the golden rule of Fanfiction: Don't like it? Don't read it. There are thousands upon thousands of stories posted on the internet and if you don't like one, stop reading it. It's as simple as that. You gain nothing but disrespect from not only the author but also the fandom by doing what you're doing.

And now a message to the fandom: I am blown away by the amount of support you have given me in regards to this flamer and other rude reviews. I'm sure we've all read about Caitlin Moran's "interview" and heard about the response from the author of the piece selected to be read by the actors. My response is similar. Your reviews and PM's encouraging me not to let this person get me down have restored my faith in the fandom and the community we have built on a communal love for Sherlock Holmes. Thank you ever so much for supporting a fellow Sherlockian xx