Disclaimer – I don't own the characters. They belong to ACD, MG and SM and the BBC. No one pays me to do this, I do it for love.

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Chapter Thirty Seven

Sherlock walked into the bedroom and closed the door. He crossed over to the birthing pool, reached inside the pack and took out the hose and the tap attachment. Fitting the attachment to the hose, he dropped the loose end of the hose into the pool then went into the bathroom, uncoiling the hose, as he went, and fastened the attachment to the hot tap of the bath. He was about to turn on the tap on when he remembered the liner. Oh, good lord, he thought to himself, get your act together, Holmes! He needed to calm down. Molly was having the baby and she was calm. Just chill. He went back into the bedroom and placed the liner in the pool, then put the end of the hose back in and secured it in place. Then he turned on the tap. The water began to trickle into the pool.

He needed to change his clothes. He wouldn't be much use, as a birthing partner, in a tailored shirt and a designer suit. He stripped off down to his boxers, hung up his suit and threw the shirt and socks into the laundry basket. He dressed in a clean t-shirt and pj bottoms. He felt more relaxed, then. He started to unpack the birthing pack, placing all the items on top of the chest of drawers, so they would be accessible, when needed. Having done that, he sat on the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. It was the waiting that was killing him. He didn't do waiting very well.

In the sitting room, Molly was beginning to pace. The contractions were still not painful but they were quite regular, about thirty minutes apart. She found that sitting still gave her cramp so she chose to pace. It was nice being in her own space. She could wander into the kitchen and get a bottle of water from the fridge, she had the TV on, not really to watch it but as a distraction. At one point, she went out into the garden and had a walk around out there. And, in between the contractions, she could sit or lie on the sofa or on the floor or anywhere she felt like. It was very empowering.

At quarter to four, William arrived home, with Marie, and was delighted to find Mrs Hudson was there. Molly explained to him that the baby was coming but wouldn't be here for quite some time, so he took up his usual position on the sofa and switched to CBBC. Marie and Mrs Hudson went off to the kitchen, to start preparing supper and to make yet another pot of tea. Molly wandered into the bedroom, where Sherlock was still supervising the filling of the pool. The water was about four inches deep, now, and he had put the cover on, to keep the heat in. The cover floated on the surface of the water and rose as the water level did.

Molly came over to him and put her arms round his waist, resting her head against his chest. He draped his arms around her.

'You will tell me what you need me to do, won't you?' he said. 'I don't want to just stand there, like a spare part. I want to be useful.'

'I know you do, babe. And you will be, trust me. Last time, when I had William, I was all on my own. OK, I had Maria but she was there to make the video. She didn't help with the birth at all. I was in a strange place with a bunch of people I'd never met before. And the thing that really helped me was the thought that I was doing it for you. I thought about you the whole time. I could hear your voice in my head. I don't have to imagine you, this time. You're here, for real and we're doing this together.' She looked up at him and he bent his head and kissed her.

'Hmmmm, kissing therapy. That's better than whale music, any day,' she murmured. She moved away from him and lay down on the bed, on her side.

'Will you rub my back, please?' she said, closing her eyes. He sat in front of her, on the bed, and began to rub her lower back with one hand, placing his other hand under her head, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She rested her arm against his thigh and ran her hand up and down his leg.

'Oh, that is so lovely,' she breathed. 'Do you know what I'm hearing in my head?'

'No, you tell me,' he replied, softly.

'Bach's Double Violin Concerto, the second movement, the Largo. It's so beautiful. I could just float away.'

'Shall I go and get William? We could play it for you, live,' he whispered. Then they both started to giggle at the thought of William playing that particular piece. As the giggles subsided and the music filled her head again, he leaned forward and kissed her neck, tasting the salty tang of perspiration. She sighed, deeply, then said,

'I'm going to have to get up. I need to pee.'

He sat upright and then slid off the bed and offered his hand, which she took and pushed herself up onto her feet. She reached up and kissed him again, then tottered off to the bathroom, feeling slightly euphoric. He watched her go, feeling rather light-headed, himself.

ooOoo

At five thirty, Marie tapped lightly on the bedroom door and popped her head in to say she was going and to wish them luck. Molly was on the bed, taking a nap, and Sherlock was just sitting on the floor, watching her sleep. The pool had filled up to the required level and was ready for action. Sherlock got up from the floor and came out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He thanked Marie for her good wishes and saw her to the front door, then went over to sit next to William, on the sofa. William climbed into his lap and nestled into his chest, never taking his eyes off the TV show about dolphins.

'Has Mummy had the baby yet?' he asked.

'No, not yet. She's just resting,' Sherlock answered. William turned sharply, to look at him.

'She's not being sick again, is she?'

'No, she's just sleeping,' Sherlock replied, giving him a comforting hug. William relaxed again and turned back to the TV.

'That dolphin had a baby,' he informed his father. 'It poohed it out and it swam straight away.'

Sherlock wondered if he had heard correctly.

'What did you say, William?'

'The mummy dolphin poohed the baby dolphin out and the baby dolphin swam straight up to the top of the water. Will our baby be able to swim, straight away?'

Sherlock was just wondering how he was going to explain that babies were not exactly poohed out by the mother, even though it did sort of look like that, but he diverted to the swimming issue, that being the easier option.

'Actually, human babies can't swim when they are born but they can seem as though they can. They have a dive reflex, that makes them automatically hold their breath under water and they have another reflex that moves their arms and legs, if they're put face down in water, so it looks as though they're swimming. But they can't swim up to the surface, like a dolphin can.'

William nodded his head, adding this information to his bank of data.

'Babies like being in water, though. They are floating in water all the time they're inside their mothers, so water is their natural element. That's one reason why Mummy is having a water birth, so the baby doesn't get such a shock when it's born. It will be born into the water and it won't breathe until it's lifted out.'

'Is Mummy having the baby in the bath?' William asked. Sherlock explained about the birthing pool and said he would show it to William when Mummy was awake. William was intrigued with the idea of seeing the pool but he was happy to wait until Mummy woke up.

ooOoo

At six thirty, Mrs Hudson announced that supper was ready. Sherlock went into the bedroom to see if Molly wanted to eat. She woke up as he came into the room and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

'I'm not hungry, actually. You go ahead and eat, though. Ask Mrs H to put me something on a plate. I might want it later.'

He didn't ask her how things were, he figured she would tell him anything worth telling.

'I'm going to get changed into my birthing outfit,' she announced, and gave a goofy grin. She had started to refer to her 'birthing outfit' when the midwife had asked her what she proposed to wear whilst she was in labour. Obviously, in hospital, she would wear a hospital gown but, at home, she could wear what she liked. She had decided on a crop t-shirt and a sarong, tied above her bump, as this would preserve her modesty but would not impede access and could be easily discarded when she decided to get into the pool. She was going to put her hair into a pony tail and loop it through the bobble, to keep it out of the water and out of the way. She climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom to put that plan into action.

When she came into the sitting room, the rest of the family were eating supper, round the kitchen table. While she'd been asleep, the contractions had become stronger and more frequent but they were still only moderately painful. She leaned on the back of the sofa and breathed through the latest one.

'Why are you doing that?' William asked.

'My tummy is trying to squeeze the baby out so it gets really hard and it hurts a bit, but if I lean on the sofa and breathe really slowly, it doesn't hurt as much.' As the contraction eased, she walked into the kitchen and got another bottle of water from the fridge. She was pleased to see there were plenty more in there. She might well get through them all, tonight.

Meal over, Sherlock took William to see the birthing pool. He was impressed.

'It's like a swimming pool, in the bedroom!' he exclaimed. Sherlock showed him the air pump and explained how it blew up the pool but then it could be reversed to suck out the air, as well. And he showed him the water pump, that would be used to empty the pool, after the baby had been born. He didn't go into the intricacies of the pooper scooper. He figured there was enough confusion in that area, already. Pool tour over, William said,

'Is it my bath time yet?'

Sherlock confirmed that it was and took him off to his own bathroom. William loved his routines. Sherlock doubted he would be awake for the birth, since it didn't look likely the baby would arrive before bed time. But then the baby might not be born until the morning. What would be, would be. Having bathed his son and read him another chapter of Harry Potter, he kissed him good night and turned out the light. Going back into the sitting room, Molly was pacing again and muttering to herself and to the baby. She turned to him, as he came into the room, looking hot and flushed,

'I think you can call Helen, now. The contractions are every ten minutes.' He picked up his mobile and dialled the number.

ooOoo

True to her word, Helen arrived about twenty minutes later. She took Molly into the bedroom to examine her and found she was five centimetres dilated – half way there. She placed a hand-held foetal monitor against Molly's abdomen and they could hear the baby's heart, strong and regular, speeding up as another contraction began, then slowing down again as it subsided. It was clearly feeling the pressure, too.

'When do you think I should get into the pool?' Molly asked.

'Whenever you feel like it. This is your party. You can do what you like. If it feels right, you do it,' Helen declared.

Molly's waters hadn't broken yet but that was not an issue. Her labour was progressing steadily. If the waters didn't break on their own by the time she was fully dilated, they could be broken then.

Molly went back to pacing, up and down the corridor, in and out of the bedroom, into the sitting room, pausing to lean on whatever was handy, to ride out each contraction. Sherlock stood by the sitting room window, where he could see her wherever she was, apart from in the bedroom, and watched her as she turned in upon herself, completely engrossed in what was going on inside her own body. On more than one occasion, it was him she leaned on, taking hold of his hands and pressing her forehead to his chest, breathing in for one count and out for four counts, as he counted along with her, in his head. In between contractions, she put her arms round his waist and leaned against him, just enjoying the comfort of his presence and the touch of his hands on her skin.

At about nine thirty, Molly went into the bedroom and didn't come out again. Sherlock waited a moment or two, then followed her down the corridor and into the room. She was lying on the bed. He sat on the floor and stroked her head. The contractions were about three minutes apart, now. She was humming, under her breath. He didn't think she even knew he was there but then she said,

'Get me some water, please.'

He picked up a bottle from beside the bed and pulled out the stopper, holding it to her lips and tilting it, so she could drink. When she'd had enough, she pushed his hand away and he withdrew the bottle, putting it back on the floor. She took hold of his hand, briefly, then rolled over onto her knees and elbows, as another contraction began to build.

Helen came in. She had been chatting to Mrs Hudson and then realised that Molly had not reappeared from the bedroom. This change in behaviour indicated to the midwife that Molly might have reached a milestone in the birthing process. She might be in transition. When the contraction eased, she examined Molly again. She was fully dilated.

'I think I might break your waters, Molly, if that's Ok with you,' Helen advised.

Eyes closed, Molly nodded her acquiescence.

'Do you need to have a pee first?' Helen asked.

Molly shook her head.

'OK. You'll need to lie on your back for this.'

Molly rolled over onto her back, with her feet flat on the bed and her knees bent. Helen looked at Sherlock and said,

'You just talk to her while I do this.'

He nodded and knelt down next to the bed, put his hand on Molly's cheek and his lips next to her ear, and whispered so that only she could hear.

This was where the giant diapers came in. Helen spread them out on the bed, under Molly's hips, and used an instrument not dissimilar to a plastic crochet hook to make a small tear in the amniotic sac. The gush of fluid soaked into the diapers but not onto the bed. Helen gathered them all up, along with the latex gloves she'd put on to perform the proceedure and the amniohook and stuffed them into a yellow biohazard bag, to be incinerated, later. She then applied the foetal monitor again. The heart rate was still strong and regular.

With the amniotic sac breached, Molly moved into the active phase of labour. She pushed herself up to sitting and said,

'I need to get in the pool, now.'

Helen went over and lifted the cover off, to check the temperature. It was a little low so she asked Sherlock to put some more hot water in. He went into the bathroom and turned on the tap, then came back into the bedroom to find Molly preparing to get in. She untied and dropped the sarong, then held out her hand to him. He took it and supported her whilst she stepped over the side of the pool, into the water. She lowered herself down onto her knees, still holding his hand, then leaned her forearms on the side of the pool, letting the water support her belly. He knelt down next to the pool and put his arms around her shoulders.

She looked into his eyes and smiled.

'You have no idea how nice this feels,' she breathed. Then, 'I hope you've got your pooper scooper handy.'

He smiled back and replied,

'You poop, I'll scoop,' and they both snorted like a couple of school kids.

Helen checked the temperature again and turned off the tap. Then she assembled the gas and air equipment, in readiness for the next phase of the process.

'Are you going to be in charge of the gas and air,' she asked Sherlock but, before he could answer, Molly said,

'No, I need him for other things. Ask Mrs Hudson if she would be the Entanox monitor, would you, please?.'

When Helen went out to speak to Mrs Hudson, in the sitting room, Molly said to Sherlock,

'You're my kissing monitor. I'd much rather kiss you than Mrs Hudson.'

'That's good to know,' he replied and confirmed his appointment by with a long, slow kiss that sent shivers right through to her core.

ooOoo

Helen had attended many births and every one was unique but this one, she felt, was really special. The bond between these two people was so strong. They communicated almost by osmosis. He seemed to anticipate her every need – reaching for a bottle to give her a drink before she even asked, rubbing her back, with those long, slim fingers, holding her, caressing her and breathing his life force into her. She'd never known a couple kiss so much during labour but they seemed to find so much strength and comfort in this intimate contact. She'd rarely presided over such a quiet labour, either. Molly barely made a sound, just closed her eyes, held onto him and pushed through every contraction. Helen felt virtually redundant. Every fifteen minutes, she checked the baby's heart beat and, from time to time, used the torch and the mirror to check for the baby's head crowning.

As the contractions became really fierce, and Molly needed the gas and air, Sherlock counted her breaths in, slowly, so she gained maximum benefit from the pain relief. She could feel the pressure building in her pelvis. The upright birthing position was so much better than lying down, since gravity could play its part and the warmth and support of the water made it so much easier to relax between contractions. It just felt so right.

Now, Helen was talking. She could hear her saying,

'The baby's head is crowning. With the next contraction, I want you to pant. Remember, Strictly Come Dancing – pant, pant, blow.'

Molly had practiced this in her antenatal classes, imagining herself dancing a Quick Step with Sherlock. And now, here she was, with his arms around her, albeit on opposite sides of the pool side but she put her head on his shoulder and, as the contraction squeezed, she pictured him whirling her around a dance floor – quick, quick, slow; pant, pant, blow – over and over, round and round, until she felt the sudden release of pressure and heard Helen say,

'The head is out. Next contraction, your baby will be born. It should pop up in front of you. Just reach down between your knees and you'll find it.'

Molly lifted her head from Sherlock's shoulder and he from hers and their gazes locked. The contraction surged, she gripped his hands and pushed. And almost with a sigh, she felt the baby slip into the world. She pushed back off the side of the pool, sat back on her heels, reached down between her knees and felt the firm, waxy body of her baby, his baby, their baby. She lifted it out of the water and held it to her chest. Almost as soon as its face cleared the surface of the pool, it took a sharp breath and began to cry.

'What sex is it?' Helen asked, peering over Sherlock's shoulder, giving the baby a quick APGAR check. Molly moved her arm and looked down.

'It's a boy,' she whispered.

She looked up at Sherlock's face. His lips were parted and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. He reached out and put his hand on the baby's head, then lowered his face onto her shoulder and sobbed, uncontrollably.

He felt Mrs Hudson's hand on his shoulder and lifted his head, wiping his face with his free hand. He didn't want to remove his hand from the baby's head but the midwife was asking him if he wanted to cut the cord. He nodded, mutely and she offered him a pair of surgical scissors. Whist he'd been overcome by his emotions, the midwife had clamped the baby's chord in two places and now she was pointing to the space in between, where he needed to cut. His hand was shaking but he took a couple of breaths, consciously relaxed and performed the act of separating the child from the support system that had kept him alive for nine months.

Molly had been watching Sherlock perform this task and, as soon as the cord was cut, she lifted the baby towards him and he took him in his hands, drawing him towards his chest, to hold him in his arms. The midwife laid a towel over the baby and tucked it round his tiny form, so he wouldn't get cold. Sherlock was in a trancelike state, completely mesmerised by the little bundle in his arms. The baby wasn't crying any more but his eyes were wide and he was gazing out at the world, aware of so many new sensations of sight and sound, touch and smell. Sherlock looked into those eyes, which were a dark mixture of brown and green, with long, fair lashes. Sherlock could see Molly in those eyes and in the shape of his face, especially his chin. The baby's head had a fine covering of straight hair, which, as it dried, grew lighter in colour, edging towards the chestnut tones of Molly's hair.

The midwife was speaking again. Sherlock tore his eyes away from the baby. Molly was out of the pool now and sitting on that strange white semi-circular object that he had not recognised earlier. Helen was scooping something up into a surgical bowl and now Molly was being wrapped in a thermal blanket and helped over to the bed by Mrs Hudson.

Helen turned to him and said,

'I need to weigh and measure him and give him his Vit K, then you can have him back.' She held out her arms and Sherlock relinquished the baby to her, still in a daze. As the midwife took the baby over to the chest of drawers, where all her equipment was on hand, Sherlock got to his feet and crossed the room to the bed, where Molly was sitting, wrapped in two towels and a blanket, looking almost as dazed as he felt. He perched on the bed next to her and hugged her to him. He was speechless. There were so many emotions racing through his mind, he could not formulate a single coherent utterance. He just closed his eyes and held her tight. She felt small and fragile in his arms but he knew that was an illusion, She was a tower of strength and he loved her more than ever.

ooOoo