Sherlock froze, and for a moment it felt as though his heart stopped beating. His hand remained on Joan's shoulder, and he was gently tilting her towards him. His mind was racing, and he was only drawn from his fearful and panicked thoughts by Joan, who cried out and pushed herself backwards on the bed, before leaning forwards and wrapping her arms around her abdomen. Sherlock was brought out of his thoughts immediately, and became instantly aware of the fact that Joan was panicking. Her breathing, her movements, her wild and frightened eyes, all revealed that she was terrified. She was in pain, she was afraid, and she was losing control.
"Watson, listen to me, Watson" he stated, in a more confident tone than he believed himself to be able of achieving at this particular moment. "It's alright, you're going to be alright. Just... just try to breathe deeply, okay? Calmly, calmly... that's it, yes." He soothed her gently, placing one hand on her back and the other on her shoulder, and slowly easing her back so she was sitting up against the pillows. Her breathing was becoming more regular and less strained, but her eyes glistened with tears, and her right arm remained firmly wrapped across her abdomen. Sherlock turned to face the opposite direction, grabbing something from the bedside table, as Joan shifted uncomfortably in her position and tried to remain calm.
"It's too soon" she whispered, her voice containing a trace of panic. Sherlock turned slowly back towards her, and she saw that he was holding his cell phone in his hand. "It's... I can't, I..." she broke off, inhaling deeply, before leaning back against the pillows and exhaling in sharp, ragged breaths.
Sherlock put his phone down on the bed and moved towards her slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder and once more turning her to face him. He needed to comfort her, to help her to remain calm, and to feel less frightened and out of control. He had never seen her so panicked before, but it was completely understandable. He wanted to help her, in any way he could.
"Watson, it's alright, look" he began, as she slowly turned to face him, her eyes wide and tearful. "We aren't sure that you are actually in labour yet, alright, so please don't-"
"Sherlock-" she mumbled, so quietly that he was not aware of her speech. She inhaled deeply and shifted slightly in her seat.
"-don't panic, alright? And even if this is the case, thirty-six weeks is a safe amount of time for the baby to have developed. Everything is fine, you are both healthy, and I-"
"Sherlock" she stated, in a voice that was a slightly shakier version of her own. "Sherlock, my waters have broken".
Sherlock removed his hand from her shoulder and slowly moved the blanket that was covering her legs. He inhaled slowly, his eyes wide and brimming with concern, before turning back to her with a calm and almost impassive expression.
"It's alright, Watson" he reassured her, placing his hand back on her shoulder, and drawing her towards him. She leaned into his chest, burying her head in his shirt, as he gently soothed her. She felt another wave of pain sweep through her body, affecting her stomach and back, and she pushed herself away from him, leaning forward as she held her abdomen with one hand, and gripped the bedsheets tightly with the other. Sherlock continued to soothe her, whilst reaching for his phone, dialling a few numbers, and calling 911. He spoke to the operator for just a few moments, giving the person on the other end all the relevant information. Joan was vaguely aware of what he was doing, but she was not paying too much attention. Instead, she was focusing on the pain. It was intense, almost unbearable. She had never experienced anything like it before, and it frightened her. She felt as though she was very out of control, which terrified her even more than the pain levels. During the time Sherlock spent on the phone, she gritted her teeth and inhaled deeply and periodically, determined to control her breathing. She found herself feeling remarkably calmer and more in control as she did so, and was unaware of the fact that Sherlock had already hung up the phone, and was sitting on the bed and watching her. He couldn't imagine how much pain she was in, and how terrified she must be, but she was doing remarkably well. Sherlock waited for a few moments, until Joan's breathing sounded more controlled and relaxed, before speaking again.
"The ambulance will be here within fifteen minutes, Watson" he began, edging closer to her as she slowly turned her head to face him. Her eyes were wide, and bright with tears and fear. Before he could ask her if she was alright, she began to speak, in a voice which was a slightly shakier though clearly identifiable version of her own.
"Sherlock I-" she hissed in pain, pushing herself back slightly on the bed. Sherlock watched with curiosity, and was about to place his hand gently on her arm, when the movement was stopped by Joan's next words. "I don't... I don't think we have that long."
Sherlock watched her with confusion for a moment, and he called her name a couple of times until she turned to face him directly. "Watson, what do you mean? What... what is it?" he asked, his voice gentle yet confident. This reassured Joan, who turned towards him immediately, continuing to talk as she began to remove her thick, red jumper.
"Sherlock we... we don't have-" Joan's statement was cut short as she was struck with another contraction, causing her to wrap one arm around her abdomen and dig her nails into the depths of the bedding and she began to calm her breathing. Without even thinking, Sherlock immediately and instinctively reached across to her, moving his hand palm-up underneath the hand which she was digging into the bedding. He squeezed her hand tightly, and was talking to her in a kind a gentle tone, using words which she was unable to focus on. But his demeanour, his actions and his tone comforted her greatly, and she was surprised at how much it helped her to establish control over her breathing and her pain. She was feeling more in control, and less afraid than she had been. She was also finding herself able to think in a more clear and logical manner. She knew that, based on her previous doctor's appointments, the baby was very healthy and full developed. The baby had been active recently, and was progressing wonderfully. The only issues or complications which arose at the doctor's appointment were in relation to her own health which, at this moment in time, mattered very little to her at all. As the contraction subsided, and she turned towards Sherlock, she saw deep-rooted concern etched into his features. And yet, somehow, he still retained his confidence, his calmness, and the look of conviction which reassured her. Staring into his eyes, they exchanged a brief yet memorable look, which assured them both that everything was going to be alright. She almost believed it, but not quite.
"I... my contractions are about a minute apart. My waters have already broken, and I... I feel like I need... I need to-" She was cut short once more by another wave of pain, one which was stronger and more overwhelming than the last. She had to breathe in sharply, and struggled not to scream, as she gripped Sherlock's hand tightly. She could feel him returning her grasp, and was aware of movement from his direction, followed by the warm and comforting touch of his hand on her lower back. He rubbed the bottom of her back, whilst applying gentle yet even pressure, and Joan felt herself calming. The pain lessened slightly, but was still intense, yet she found herself able to manage the pain more effectively. She was not afraid of it any more, and she was no longer flooded with feelings of confusion and uncertainty. She realised that she had been experiencing signs of labour the day before, but had dismissed them, believing them to be due to the activities which she had undertaken during the day. She knew that the pain she was experiencing now was very real, and that she was into the active stages of labour. She knew that they had very little time before their baby was born. As she began to breathe more evenly again, she found herself thinking with the same degree of clarity that she had achieved just minutes ago. She knew that the fifteen minutes it would take for the ambulance crew to arrive would mean that the baby would be here before they would. She felt her chest tighten with fear for a moment, but then forced this feeling aside. Her baby needed her to focus, and so did Sherlock. And as a former medical practitioner, and mother-to-be, so did she.
"Watson" he stated calmly, placing his fingers between her own, and squeezing tightly, which drew her attention towards him. "Watson, tell me what is happening. What are you-"
"I need... Sherlock I..." she began in a shaky and slightly fractured manner, before breathing in and continuing with confidence. "We need to... to get things ready, okay?" she asked gently, watching him with an intense and commanding stare. He nodded immediately, moving slightly closer towards her, and breathing in slowly.
"Tell me what you need, Watson. I can help you, I will help you."
"I... We need to... My medical bag, it's, it's in the wardrobe" she began, gazing at the piece of furniture opposite her. Sherlock nodded immediately, removing his hand from her own, before moving from the bed and to the wardrobe. As he opened it and bent down to collect the bag, Joan began to speak once more, in a voice even cooler and calmer than before. "There are some blankets and spare bedding on the shelf at the top, would you bring those too?" Sherlock picked up the bag and reached up for the other items, hanging them over his arm as she approached the bed. Joan breathed in sharply, and began to try to manage another contraction. She was unaware of Sherlock's actions during this time, but would have been amazed if she had seen the quickness and confidence in the way in which he acted.
Sherlock reached the bed and placed the bag and the materials on the bottom, placing one blanket on the radiator near Joan's bed, and the other two by her side. Sherlock opened Joan's medical bag and pulled out various items, placing them to the right of the bed, a few feet from where Joan was sitting. He then unfolded one of the medium-sized bedsheets, folded it in half, and then approached Joan.
"Watson, Watson I need you to listen to me for a moment, alright?" He asked in a gentle yet commanding tone. She was drawn from her pain and to his features, and nodded at him as he spoke. "You are going to be alright, Watson, I assure you. You and the baby are going to be alright. You can do this, of that I have absolutely no doubt. And I will help you, okay? I will not leave your side, Joan. I will be right here."
She nodded at his speech, before lowering her head slightly, and smiling nervously. This made Sherlock feel both concerned and relieved, and he tilted his head slightly to watch her. "What is it, Watson?" he asked, his voice almost reflecting his normal tone.
"Nothing, I just-" she began, breaking off as she turned her head to face him. "That is the first time you have called me 'Joan' since I... since you found out about the baby."
Sherlock considered this for a moment, before nodding in agreement. He always called her 'Watson', usually. Well, most of the time. He always addressed her by her surname, but would occasionally refer to her using her forename, usually when talking to his father or brother. But he seldom called her by her first name. It was odd, and yet, seemingly familiar. As he considered how normal and how natural it felt to call her by her first name, his attention was drawn to the present situation. He realised, at that moment, that, despite the unfamiliarity of the situation, he felt prepared and he felt able. He and Joan were both well acquainted with medicine and medical practices, and he believed that, between them, they would be able to ensure the safety of their baby, despite his or her slightly early arrival. As he pondered these thoughts, his attention was drawn towards the brave yet frightened woman on the bed. Joan was calling his name gently, and he responded immediately.
"Thank you" she stated, reviewing the items on the bed. "I just need to-" Joan was prevented from finished her sentence by another contraction, which felt as though it was about to tear her body apart. For the first time that night, since first experiencing the contractions, Joan screamed. She seldom screamed, or shouted, or swore in any circumstances. But the pain she was experiencing was so intense and so overwhelming, that she could not prevent herself from crying out. Her scream was pained and frantic, and Sherlock was immediately by her side. He placed one hand on her lower back, and the other in her own hand, which she squeezed with impressive strength as she struggled to control her breathing and her pain. Sherlock drew her closer to him, resting his head against hers, and whispering softly and reassuringly in her ear. He felt her whole body shaking beneath his grasp, and he continued to soothe her, with a notable degree of success. Joan stopped shaking, and her breathing returned to normal, as she drew her legs close to her body and dug her heels into the bed.
"I'm sorry" she mumbled, in a voice like a whisper. "I'm sorry" she repeated breathlessly, leaning tiredly into him. She felt limp against his side, and Sherlock removed his hand from her back and turned Joan towards him, so that he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, and her face was a ghostly pale hue. Her lips were dry and pale, and she was struggling to raise her head. Joan felt tired and completely drained, and the urge to allow her eyes to remain closed and slip into a deep and restful slumber almost completely overwhelmed her. But not quite. Despite her lethargy and her pain, she found herself thinking of the baby. The baby needs you she kept saying to herself, even mumbling it to herself a couple of times. Joan forced her eyes open gently, and found herself inches from Sherlock, who was calling her name gently yet imploringly, and was tilting her head towards him as he attempted to place her into a seating position.
"Joan, Joan are you alright? Joan?" he asked, pushing her up against the pillows and placing one hand on her bare leg, and the other on her cheek. Joan slowly opened her eyes, and tried to push herself up further, but struggled to. She felt incredibly weak and tired, and could not understand why. She had felt strong, almost confident and slightly less panicked just moments before, but now she felt completely and utterly drained and exhausted. She fought her body to stay awake, opening her eyes wide and gripping Sherlock's hand tightly. It was a battle she was determined to win. As she gazed at Sherlock, she saw him staring at a spot by her legs, and his entire face paled. His eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, before turning towards her. He grabbed a bed sheet from the small pile on the bed, and placed it over Joan's legs, which were raised. Joan watched him with curiosity and confusion, before pushing herself up against the pillows and moving the sheet down slowly. It was at that moment that she became aware of what it was that Sherlock had been so disturbed by. She realised that she was bleeding.
Joan inhaled deeply, and found herself feeling more awake and alert by this startling revelation. She turned to face Sherlock, who had moved towards her and was adjusting the white bed sheet, using it to cover her thighs as she raised her legs, and she drew them back. "Sherlock-" she began, in a shaky voice.
"You're bleeding, Joan, but it's alright" he began, in a tone which betrayed none of his internal fear. She felt drawn to him and his words, and found herself almost believing them. She saw the blood, and knew that, whilst it was not considerable, it was certainly more than was expected. She was frightened and she was in pain, and she desperately hoped that the medics would arrive earlier than their estimation. The baby needed them. Before she could complete this train of thought, she was drawn back to the present moment by the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Joan, I need you to look at me, alright?" he asked gently, yet in a confident tone which highlighted the need for action. "Joan, you are close. You are very close, alright? The baby is almost here, and you are doing absolutely wonderfully" Sherlock paused for a moment, placing his hand on the sheet covering her thigh, as he placed a towel beneath her legs. "Now, we don't have much time, alright? The baby will be here is just a few minutes, and we are ready. Okay? We are prepared, we have everything we need, and you will both be alright." He spoke with confidence and conviction, and Joan found herself subconsciously nodding as he spoke. Sherlock paused between statements, allowing her to continue to breathe calmly, before continuing. "I've placed a towel beneath you and a sheet across your legs, and there is a blanket on the radiator, which will be warm by the time the baby arrives, okay?" Joan nodded once more, not shifting her gaze from his eyes. She had been vaguely aware of his movements, but had not considered them in any great depth. She was afraid.
Sherlock moved slightly so that he was sitting by her side, and placed his hand over her own, which was resting on the bed and was shaking uncontrollably. Joan's teeth were chattering, and her whole body was shivering. Joan seemed tired, and her body was coveting the rest which she so desperately needed. But Joan's brave face and glistening eyes juxtaposed the physical aspects of her current situation. She appeared calm, prepared and convicted. And she was.
"We can do this, Joan" he stated gently, squeezing her shaking hand. "We will do this together, alright? I will not leave you, either of you."
"I... I know, I..." Joan was struggling to express herself coherently, and found that he thoughts became once more clouded and confused. She also found herself feeling tired and breathless. She did not want to alarm Sherlock, but she was fairly certain that she was still bleeding. "We... we can do this" she began, offering him a small, weak smile. "The baby needs us" she stated warmly, before being overtaken by another contraction. She pushed her hands into the bed, almost rising from it, as she dug her heels into the mattress and stifled a scream.
"Joan, Joan" Sherlock repeated, as he moved lower down the bed. She could feel his hands on the bottoms of her legs, and she instinctively adjusted herself so that he would be able to help her. "Joan, you don't need to stop yourself from screaming, or crying, or doing anything else, alright?" he began, as Joan nodded briefly in response, before breathing in raggedly. "If you want to scream, to shout, to cry, do it. Do whatever it is that you need to do, alright? I will be right here, I will help you." Joan looked up briefly, her eyes filled with tears. She believed him. Despite her current condition, and the fact that she was certain that she was less well and stable than either of them realised, she had never felt so safe, so protected. And she knew that the baby would be too. "Joan, are you happy for me to-" Sherlock broke off, uncertain of how to phrase his request. He felt suddenly embarrassed, uncertain of how to proceed with his statement. Joan nodded quickly, and pushed herself back against the headboard, as she spoke to him in a tired and breathless voice which he did not recognise.
"Please" she began, which drew his gaze immediately to her own. "Do what you have to do" she nodded, trying to smile once more. "Help the baby". As if on cue, Joan doubled over as she was struck by another wave of pain, and pushed her hands down upon the bed, digging her heels into the mattress. She was aware of Sherlock's movements, and did not feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. Instead, she was overcome by the same feeling of safety and protectedness which she had experienced a few moments before. It was an incredible feeling, and it empowered her as she continued to push through the contraction. As it subsided, she felt breathless, and leaned her head back against the pillows which were pulling her welcomingly into their warm embrace. Despite her tiredness and feelings of physical weakness, Joan fought the overwhelming desire to relax herself, to slip into a deep sleep. She pushed herself back from the pillows, exhaling sharply as she was struck by another contraction, and continued to push, following Sherlock's instructions. She was aware of the sound of his voice, of his movements and his actions. She could feel that the baby was close to being born, and suddenly became aware of how far she had got. Sherlock was reaching for the warm blanket which was lying across the radiator, and pulled it to his side. Joan saw this movement as she opened her eyes and prepared herself for another contraction, and for some reason, this occurrence frightened her. She felt her strength and her conviction depart her almost entirely, and her body began to shake once more. Sherlock seemed to notice this almost immediately, and looked up towards her pale and frightened face.
"I can't do this" she stated in a quiet, subdued tone. "I... I can't, I..."
"Joan" Sherlock stated in a calm and gentle tone. It was incredible, really, how he could adopt such a tone. It was kind and gentle, yet conveyed a sense of urgency and need. "Joan, you are very close. You have done beautifully, truly. The baby will be here with the next contraction." Joan shook slightly, and felt as though all of the breath had left her body, and her chest tightened. She froze, and shifted her gaze to her right, to where the warm blanket was resting on the bed. She stared at it for a moment as she tried to control her breathing. She could sense Sherlock moving slightly, and he placed his hand on her leg reassuringly, drawing her attention towards him. "Joan, you are almost there, the baby is right here, okay? After the next contraction, the baby will be with us, and you will be alright." He spoke with calmness and conviction, although his eyes betrayed his fear.
"What's wrong?" Joan breathed, pushing down upon the bed. "What's... what's happening?"
Sherlock leaned forward slightly, pursing his lips together, before parting them slightly and beginning to speak. "Joan, I... it's fine, but... we need to make sure the baby gets here as soon as we can, so that you can be helped too, alright?" He sounded fairly calm, but even through her pain and confusion, Joan realised that he was not. But from his language, from what he was saying, the baby was not the one in danger. She was. Joan nodded in understanding, as Sherlock began to mumble some assurances, informing her that she would be fine.
"Sherlock" she began, her eyes tired and tearful. "It's alright." Those two words were spoken with more certainty and conviction than anything she had said during the entire night, but they did not give Sherlock the reassurance that he needed. Joan needed medical attention very soon, and he was worried about what would happen if the ambulance was late or in any way delayed. He glanced at the clock on the bed, and realised that they should be about five minutes away. He turned back to Joan, who offered him a warm and comforting smile, before bracing herself for another contraction. This time, she pushed as hard as she could, the sound of his comforting voice drowning out her pain. A few moments later, the room was filled with the gentle cries of their baby.
Joan felt herself fall backwards against the pillows, leaning into them for a moment, before the sound of her child crying brought her instantly out of her reverie. She pushed herself forwards from the pillow, watching as Sherlock wrapped their child in the warm blanket. Joan leaned forward slightly, and with great effort, and attempted to catch a glimpse of her child. Sherlock looked up at that moment, smiling at her warmly, as he held their swaddled baby close to his chest.
"She's beautiful, Joan" he stated, turning the swaddled bundle to face Joan. He said 'she'. Joan's eyes widened, and her attention was completely devoted to the tiny, healthy little person in front of her. The baby's lungs were clearly fine, although she had quietened almost as soon as she had been held and wrapped in the warm blanket. Joan placed her shaking hand upon the blanket near her face, drawing it to one side, so she could see the baby's face. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful and incredible child Joan had ever seen. She had dark hair, a beautiful and healthy complexion, and eyes which were very much her father's. She stared up at Joan with an expression which she was sure Sherlock had given her on multiple occasions.
"Hello, sweetheart" Joan stated in a warm yet quiet tone, as she felt the familiar feeling of tiredness begin to creep over her. She gazed adoringly at the little girl's face, watching with interest as she opened her eyes to watch her mother, before allowing them to close gently, and adopting a peaceful and satisfied expression. "Is she okay?" Joan asked Sherlock, in a low and uncertain tone which she did not recognise as belonging to her.
Sherlock looked up at Joan encouragingly, and nodded with conviction. "She is breathing independently, has a strong heartbeat, and is alert and receptive to the sounds of our voices" he began in a warm and comforting tone. "She is slightly small, I would estimate that she is not quite six pounds, but she is perfect, Joan. She is... wonderful." Sherlock looked from Joan to the baby, who lay sleeping contently in his arms. He watched her for a moment, before looking back towards Joan. "Joan, I need you to remain perfectly still, alright?" he said gently, as he began to ease himself from the bed. "Lie back, it's alright. Just try to relax." Joan watched him with confusion, but assented to his requests. She was feeling very tired and weak, which she knew was to be expected. But at the same time, she had an overwhelming feeling that something was not quite right. She knew that she was not well, that she had lost a considerable amount of blood, but she had been so concerned about her baby, and relieved that she was okay, that her own health became a secondary concern to her. But not to Sherlock, who was watching her intently, and moving slowly towards her.
"It's very cold tonight" she began, in a quiet and subdued tone. "That...the...blanket is not...not enough". She felt herself becoming more and more tired, and it was becoming more difficult for her to speak, to focus. She turned wearily to her left and picked up her favourite red jumper, which she had previously discarded. She opened it out, placing it on her lap, and then turned to Sherlock, reaching her arms out weakly towards him. He reacted immediately, gently placing the baby into her arms, and watching her with amazement and awe as she drew their tiny daughter close to her chest. Sherlock placed one hand of Joan's shoulder and used the other to support the baby. He knew that Joan was exhausted, and suffering from the effects of fairly substantial blood-loss. He had not told her exactly how unwell she had been, but was confident that he had been able to stop the bleeding, and that she was not in any immediate danger. Still, she required medical attention immediately, and he glanced from his daughter and her mother to the clock on the table. Two minutes, he thought to himself.
As he considered this, his attention did not leave Joan or the baby. Joan slowly lowered the infant into her lap, so that she was lying in the centre of Joan's trademark red jumper. Joan stared at this image for a moment, not realising until just now how small the baby really was. She was completely dwarfed by the red material. Joan drew the bottom of the jumper across the baby's legs, before pulling the sides across and over her, wrapping the red arms around her, and drawing the warm, sleeping bundle close to her chest. Joan cradled the baby, who was still being lightly supported by Sherlock, and stared down at her with wonder.
"Thank you" she was able to mumble, as she looked up towards Sherlock with warm and grateful eyes. "You... you saved her. Thank... thank y-" Before she could finish her sentence, Sherlock felt Joan's body go limp once more, and her eyes closed slowly. Despite this, she managed to ensure that the baby was held tightly against her, protected by the layers of material which ensured her warmth and comfort.
"Joan? Joan can you hear me?" Sherlock asked in a puzzled and urgent tone, as he slowly removed the baby from her grasp. "Joan, it's alright, it is alright. You're going to be okay" he soothed.
Sherlock placed the baby gently upon the bed, lying her between two pillows, and adjusting the blanket to ensure that she was sufficiently warm. He then turned directly to Joan, and tilted her head forwards as he removed the pillows from behind her, before gently easing her down, so that she was lying flat on the bed. He leaned over her and took her pulse, finding that her breathing was slow, but her heart was strong. He kept calling her name, muttering reassurances to her, as he pulled blankets across her shivering body. She was pale and tired, and her eyes flickered open occasionally. Sherlock was fairly certain that she was suffering the effects of the blood-loss and early delivery, as well as exhaustion. She would be alright. Joan would be alright. "It's okay, sweetheart" he said gently. Joan's eyes flickered open at the term of endearment, and a small smile graced her pale lips.
"Sweetheart-" she mumbled, as she turned her head towards the baby, staring at her for a moment. Joan's features softened, and she exhaled in a satisfied manner, before slowly closing her eyes.
"Joan" Sherlock stated, placing one hand on her cheek and pulling her face towards him. "Joan, Joan can you-"
"Sir?" came a voice from the left, causing Sherlock to look up instantly. "EMTs, sir. It's alright, we got it." Spoke the tall, fair-haired man, as he and a female colleague entered the room. Sherlock stared at them in confusion for a moment, wondering how they had entered the building without him realising. He then turned his attention back to Joan, who was lying unconscious upon the bed. He felt her pulse once more, which was strong, and he lowered her head onto the mattress, only moving from his side as the male medic gently placed his hand upon his shoulder, and drew him aside. "It's okay, sir, I got her. You guys did a great job, but we can help you now, okay? We'll take good care of her, I promise." Sherlock nodded absently, before turning to the left as he heard the familiar sounds of his daughter's gentle cries. The female EMT had just picked her up, and was holding her to her chest, before moving towards a spare section of the bed and laying the infant down. Sherlock watched as she examined his daughter, and nodded in understanding as she confirmed that the baby was healthy.
"She... she's early" Sherlock stated, turning his body to face the kind young woman tending to his daughter. "She... Joan was thirty-six weeks, and... and she-"
"It's alright, sir" the female EMT stated, as she wrapped the baby in her blanket and the red jumper, before walking slowly over to Sherlock. "Could you hold her for us? I will help to look after your wife."
"She... She's not... She isn't my wife" Sherlock stated, as he gently accepted his daughter from the female EMT. She did not seem to hear him, as she did not respond, and he held the baby tightly against his chest as he turned to face Joan. She was lying in the same position on the bed, and was being tended to by the medics. The female medic was tilting Joan's head back, and the man was adjusting the blanket across her legs. Sherlock walked over to the male medic, holding his daughter tightly as he began to speak.
"Miss Watson lost a considerable amount of blood before and during the delivery" he spoke in a low and fractured tone. "I... I managed to stop it, shortly before the baby was... it stopped" he spoke, in a dazed and slightly confused manner. The female EMT looked up towards him, slowly placing Joan's head back upon the pillow, and placing her stethoscope across her shoulders as she approached Sherlock.
"Sir, you both did a wonderful job. Now, mom here is unconscious, possibly due to the blood loss and from the trauma of the delivery. But we're gonna take her in now, okay?" She stated, in a calm and reassuring tone which would normally anger Sherlock. But not today. This was not about him.
"I understand" he spoke, in a low tone, his eyes not leaving the face of Joan Watson. As he watched her, lying motionless on the bed, he held the baby closer to him, and began to massage her back slowly. It was only then that he realised he was running his fingers through the soft material of Joan's favourite jumper. He looked down at the baby, and stared at her in wonder, considering how, despite the fact that her mother was lying unconscious a few feet away, the child was still completely immersed in her warmth and comfort.
