Chapter Twenty-One
She was being wheeled away, cringing and crying in the pain of her labor. He tried to keep up with the doctors taking her to the delivery room, but for some reason, he couldn't. He felt a familiar pain in his leg, a pain he hadn't felt in over two years. He slowed down significantly, taking a look down at his aching leg, and when he looked up again, they were gone, in a flash.
He kept walking there. He knew where to go. He knew he had to be there. He could hear her crying out, looking for him, calling his name.
"John!"
He ran. He needed to find her. He didn't know where she was now. He was so confused. His head began spinning, her voice echoing and banging at his head like a drum until finally there was nothing but silence.
John didn't feel pain in his leg. He didn't feel so confused, so nervous, so upset. He went looking for her again, not as hurriedly as he thought he should. He walked through familiar white halls with white tile floors...until he found a trail of blood. He became scared. A sign that read "Delivery Room" pointed straight in the direction the blood trail was going. John followed it slowly, nervously, hoping that it wasn't her blood.
There was a man waiting there, in blue scrubs. His face was familiar and haunting as John noticed him standing at the end of the hall with a small bundle in his arms.
"Why are you here?"
The man looked up at him, dark eyes piercing him like a knife in his chest. He gave him a smile, twisted and evil, like the devil himself staring him in the face. The man looked back down at the bundle once again, bouncing it lightly in his arms.
"Poor thing," the man said. "So sorry you had to miss it, Johnny Boy, but you would rather, wouldn't you? Nobody made it. You didn't make it to see her. She didn't make it through the labor...and this little one...well, you see where this is going, don't you, Johnny Boy?"
"No... This isn't happening. You're dead! She's not dead! God, please tell me she's not dead..."
"Sorry, Johnny, but it's true. I was there...making sure she was good as dead." The man came up to him and handed him the bundle. "I believe this is yours." He dropped it into his arms. Limp. Cold. Stiff. Pale. Dead.
"John!" He looked up. It was her voice. "John!"
"John."
John woke up with a jolt, in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. His face was wet, but not entirely from sweat. His face felt sticky. He put the balls of his hands into his eye sockets, drying his eyes, using his arm to wipe the sweat from his head.
He looked next to him, relieved. There she was, Sherlock, the girl he adored, a bump still adorning her belly. John let out a long, deep sigh.
"Oh, God, Sherlock," John said once he caught his breath, "it's finally getting to me. You're giving me the most insane nightmares nowadays."
"Oh," Sherlock replied. "That's good to know."
"No! No, it's not...Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just...worried about all this. My worry keeps getting stronger the more the baby grows."
"Oh. You're just worried."
"Yeah, exactly. Just bad dreams...I'm just as scared as you are. If something goes wrong..."
"That's funny. You're the one who usually says nothings going to go wrong and everything will be fine-"
"Of course I don't know that for sure."
"Then what do you know for sure?"
"That-" He almost said it. He stopped himself before he could, swallowing his words back in. He shook his head, looking away from her. His heart went up his throat with what she said next.
"That what?"
John looked at her again, seeing how curious she was. It wasn't obvious to her at all. How could it not? His feelings were obvious to her, but not what he was about to say? He swallowed again, looking her in the eyes before he finally mustered the courage to say what he was going to say.
"That I love you."