"John!"
The cry carried from the sitting room as soon as I crossed the threshold, and the door slammed shut behind me.
"Mary?"
A faint groan was my only answer, and I quickly exchanged my files for my medical bag before limping toward the back room. Had something happened while I was gone?
"Mary!"
Silence answered me, and fear bloomed as I limped heavily down the hall, resisting the urge to curse my protesting leg. I had made the foolish decision to walk back from the Adair trial, and now my leg refused to move quickly, but I needed to reach her.
"Mary!"
Not our child. Please. Not again.
I found her half-sitting on the settee, leaning against a pillow with pain written plainly on her face. She gasped at a contraction just as I appeared in the doorway, and I crossed the room in five heavily limping strides.
"It's too early," she panted when the pain eased. "John, please. It's too early. Our baby."
My bag landed on the floor, and I quickly helped her readjust on the settee. She was nearly a month before her time, but I would not show the fear shooting through me.
"You are going to be fine," I said firmly. "Focus on yourself and let me take care of our little one."
Another spasm shot through her abdomen as I set up supplies, and footsteps came at my bellow to stand in the doorway behind me.
"I need water, towels, and blankets," I ordered our maid without looking back. The contractions were far too close together for this to have just started. "This baby is coming now. Mary, when did you start having pains?"
Her stomach rippled beneath her dress, and she grimaced before answering. "Early this morning. I thought they were—" the word cut off with a gasp, "false, like last week."
If only, I thought as the footsteps moved away, but I would not say that. I simply hoped they would come through this. Birthing was dangerous, especially early births, and I had nearly lost her along with our child the last time this had happened. Holmes' death still weighed heavily on me, even three years later, and the stillbirth of our daughter last year only added to that weight. I had no wish to add the deaths of my wife and another child. If either one of them died, only I would be to blame.
"John." Her hand found and gripped my own, and I tore my focus away from my preparations to meet her gaze. "I wish he could be here, too," she told me, the breaks around her contractions never softening the firm words, "but I do not plan on joining him yet."
I swallowed hard, forcing my thoughts behind my barrier. She did not need to be worrying about me right now. "You are not going to," I replied, forcing a lightness I did not feel, "and neither is our child." Her grip tightened with another pain. "Breathe, Mary."
Her gasp became something like a laugh, and familiar hands deposited a bowl of water and several towels and blankets on the table behind Mary's head.
"Thank you, Ivy," I said, my focus on Mary. "Stay nearby, please."
Footsteps moved away, and Holmes appeared in the corner of my vision, leaning against the wall behind the settee as he watched. I could not stop a sad smile. It seemed only right that he would appear for the birth of his godchild. His presence here made far more sense than many of the other places I had seen him over the years.
Another pain rippled her stomach, and she bore down.
"Breathe, Mary," I said again, checking her progress. The babe was well down the birth canal. I had returned just in time.
Her next push ended in a pained cry, sweat beading on her face, and with my hands busy, I gave her a blanket to squeeze.
"Almost there."
A small tuft of hair appeared on the next push. I readied a towel to catch the child, glancing up at Mary and ignoring the way Holmes' ghost leaned forward slightly.
"One more."
She nodded, shallow pants stealing her words, and she took a deep breath before a scream tore its way free. A wriggling newborn landed in my hands, and her scream faded to be replaced by his squeaking cry.
Emotion coursed through me. Our precious bundle fit easily in one hand, and he curled his arms close, apparently protesting the change in temperature. His small face twisted with his squeaks as he announced his displeasure to the room.
Red, wet, and squirming in my grip, he was one of the most incredible things I had ever seen.
I blinked hard, forcing myself to focus. My son was small, and his squeaks indicated his lungs were probably a bit underdeveloped. I checked him over carefully, but I could find nothing truly wrong despite his early arrival.
My son. The words echoed in my mind as I helped Mary with the afterbirth. We had been trying for so many years, and only now, when Holmes was long gone, did we finally have a little one. How I wished Holmes could be here!
I was my own fault he could not, and I studiously ignored the apparition still leaning against the wall as I cleaned our child.
"John?"
I met Mary's gaze. She was sweaty and tired from her exertion, but she had never looked more beautiful.
"We have a son," I told her quietly, smiling slightly as the little one tried to free his arms from the blanket. The boy let out something close to a squawk, and I put him on his mother's chest. "He is perfect, Mary. What should we name him?"
"Sherlock," she said immediately, flicking her gaze up to me before just as quickly resuming her study of the hungry infant, and I failed to smother a flinch. She had suggested that before, but while I wanted to honor my friend, I doubted I could tolerate hearing his name spoken every day—not when the guilt and grief were still so painful.
"How about James Sherlock?" I asked.
She hesitated but nodded. "James Sherlock," she said quietly, testing the name. "James Sherlock Watson. It suits him."
She ran a finger down his cheek, and I started to clean as young James had his first meal. I found Ivy breathlessly rushing down the hallway when I went to dispose of the bloodied towels, and relief shone in her face when she saw me. I scarcely noticed.
"I can get those, Doctor," she said quickly. "How are they?"
James let out another cry, and I made no attempt to stop my grin as Mary shushed him. "Mother and child came through splendidly. We have a son."
"Oh, Doctor. That's wonderful!" She nearly bounced down the hallway despite the towels in her hands, and I knew Mrs. Hudson would be here shortly. I had told Ivy weeks ago what to do and who to message when young James arrived.
Mary had relaxed into the pillow when I entered the room, but she glanced away from James to smile tiredly at me.
"He is already asleep," she said quietly.
"That was fast," I replied. "Did he eat?" I moved to stand next to her, firmly keeping my gaze away from the hallucination across the room. I doubted Holmes would stay much longer, anyway. I rarely saw him for more than a few minutes at a time.
"Quite a bit." She paused, staring at the sleeping newborn. "Is he supposed to be so small?"
I nodded affirmative as I dug through my bag. "He is nearly a month early, but he does not seem any worse for it." My stethoscope dwarfed his small chest, and I was glad to hear his lungs were clear. "We will have to watch him for breathing problems, though."
She made no answer, staring at our little one much like I was staring at the two of them, and silence reigned for a long moment.
"I did not expect you to name him after me," Holmes' quietly surprised voice said from his place behind the settee.
I smothered a start, keeping my eyes on Mary as I settled into my chair near her head. Holmes had stayed this long a handful of times before, but he had not spoken in over a year. Even those hallucinations had not captured his voice so accurately, and I tried to hide the twisting in my chest. It was my own fault he could not be here, and I could deal with my reaction later. I would keep watch to ensure Mary and James had no complications from the early labor.
Instead of leaning back to get some sleep, however, Mary abruptly looked away from James and started trying to sit up.
"What is it?" I leaned forward, supporting her with a hand behind her shoulders. "What do you need?"
"Sherlock?"
I frowned. "Lie down, Mary. He is right here." She tried to peer over the back of the settee, and I gently took our son. She did not seem to notice except to brace herself with that hand, and the illusion pushed himself off the wall as I tried to catch her attention. "Mary, stop. James is right here. You need to rest."
Holmes moved to stand at her feet, apparently alternating between frowning at me and glancing at Mary, and my worry grew when she froze. Was she about to start convulsing? A seizure could begin with confusion, I knew, and I quickly set James in the bassinet Ivy had brought earlier.
"Mary?"
She made no answer, and I moved to where I could see her eyes, my own confusion mixing with the worry when I realized she was staring about where Holmes was standing.
"Mary, answer me."
"You're alive."
I stilled with my hand halfway to hers, and the room around me disconnected in a way I had not felt in many months. I leaned against the settee, scarcely noticing the ringing in my ears.
"You can see him, too?"
The question came out as the faintest whisper, though Mary obviously heard anyway. She abruptly refocused on me, wide-eyed, but Holmes' quiet reply cut off whatever she would have said.
"I am," he said as he moved towards us, slowly pulling a chair closer so we did not have to look up at him. "I intended to return sooner, but it was too dangerous." He sat, and I forced myself to look at him, to truly look at him, for the first time since I had noticed him in the room.
My vision narrowed. He was thinner than I remembered, shadows under his eyes announcing he had not slept in a couple of days, and he wore the outfit of the bookseller I had seen on my way home. His hair was slightly longer than he used to prefer, he had not shaved in over a day, and he held his right shoulder awkwardly, as if he had a recent injury. More importantly, though, he was solid. The cushion dipped beneath him, and I could not see the upholstery pattern through his shoulders. A solid, breathing ghost sat in my sitting room, worry beginning to show on his face.
"Watson?"
The second half of the word elongated, ringing strangely, and I barely felt Mary's hand grip my arm before my already narrowed vision darkened completely.
Poor Watson is apparently doomed to faint no matter when Holmes returns XD
Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review! Thank you very much to those who always drop a thought. You know who you are, and I very much appreciate it.