Sherlock stood motionless for a moment, staring at Joan's pale face and closed eyes as she fell back into unconsciousness. He called her name a couple of times, tugging her hand gently as he spoke, hoping to illicit a reaction from her. Sherlock's curious eyes darted across her face and body, searching for any signs of awareness or consciousness, but he found none. As he look down upon her small and fragile figure, he felt an overwhelming feeling of panic and fear, which struck him with an almost physical force. He was unable to speak or to act, and simply remained staring down at the unconscious Joan, staring at her resolutely and hoping she would awaken, as the voices of the doctor and two nurses mingled in the background, eventually drawing him back into the present situation.
The doctor had summoned a colleague, a senior OBGYN, who removed his stethoscope from his neck as he rushed into the room, the doors closing quickly behind him. He adjusted his glasses as he spoke with the older doctor, nodding in understanding, before glancing at Joan and nodding at the words of the first doctor. By this time, the nurses had removed all of Joan's clothing from the waist down, and had draped a thin white-sheet across her propped-up legs, in an attempt to give her some privacy and shield the agitated Sherlock from the seriousness of her condition. At that moment, the first doctor returned to Joan, continuing with his examination as the nurses inserted an intravenous drip into her hand.
"Sir" the second doctor called, walking over to Sherlock as he spoke. Sherlock tightened his grip on Joan's hand as he turned to face the doctor, who was facing him with a calm, composed expression. "Sir, I'm Dr Adams, I'm a senior OBGYN, and I'm here to help Miss Watson, alright?"
"Yes" Sherlock breathed, his voice hoarse and croaky. He turned his head to the side slightly, as if to shake himself out of his stupor, before turning back to the doctor and speaking in a quieter version of his usual voice. "Why is she bleeding?" he asked simply as he looked towards the doctor, his bright eyes widening in apprehension. He knew the answer already. Some of it, at least. The evidence seemed pretty conclusive. But something was very, very wrong.
The doctor held Sherlock's gaze for a moment, before realising that the man before him clearly knew very little of the woman's condition. Judging by the way he was acting, the agitation as well as the comfort he was giving her, he was her boyfriend. And yet, she had not told him. For a moment, he found himself wondering why, until the penetrating glare of the man before him drew him back to reality.
"From Dr Harlow's initial examination, we discovered that Miss Watson is in the early stages of pregnancy, no more than eight weeks" he began, lowering his voice and speaking in a calm, matter-of-fact manner. Sherlock inhaled sharply, finding that his breath remained in his throat, as his chest tightened slightly with the words. He had already deduced her condition a couple of minutes before, but hearing it spoken to him, by a medical professional, somehow had a greater effect upon him than his own inner thoughts.
"Is she alright?" he responded, his voice lower and slightly shaky. The side of the doctor's mouth lifted slightly into a small, sympathetic smile, as he nodded slowly in response to Sherlock's question, watching as the man's alert eyes darted across him curiously.
"Shortly after she was admitted, Miss Watson began haemorrhaging. She lost a fairly considerable amount of blood, but Dr Harlow was able to reduce it" he paused for a moment, watching Sherlock's face as he nodded quickly in response, before looking at the doctor expectantly. "Miss Watson is still bleeding, but it is under control, and has almost stopped. Her BP is rising slightly, and her heart rate has stabilised." Sherlock nodded in response, turning to face Joan as he considered the words of the doctor. As soon as he saw her small, broken body lying helplessly upon the bed, his previous relief at knowing she was going to be alright began to falter. She was so pale, unresponsive, and felt cool to the touch. He had never seen her looking so vulnerable before, so much in need of assistance. She was the one who did the comforting, the caring, the looking after. Joan was the one who reassured everyone when someone was hurt, or when something went wrong. Looking down upon her now, he found himself wishing that she would open her eyes again, speak to him. Not to reassure him she was alright, but to demonstrate it. Sherlock nodded absently as he glanced upon her, before turning back to the doctor and inhaling slowly, and speaking in a low, uncertain voice.
"And..." he began, swallowing hard as he struggled to form the sentence. "And the... the baby?" he choked, raising his wide, frightened eyes to meet the doctor's. The doctor parted his lips slightly, turning towards the other doctor for a moment, before facing Sherlock with a look of empathy.
"It's too early to tell" he stated in a low, respectful tone. "Miss Watson has lost a considerable amount of blood, and our priority has been stabilising her" he explained, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, and speaking in a slow, simple manner which, in his emotionally fraught state, Sherlock found to be slightly condescending. As the doctor's words of uncertainty sunk in, Sherlock found panic rising in him once more, and he glanced past the doctor and towards the sheet covering Joan's legs, which shielded the first doctor's medical attempts from him. Despite this, he had caught a glimpse of the extent of the bleeding a few minutes before. Just before the nurse placed the sheet over Joan's legs, Sherlock saw the blood which had covered her thighs and the bed, and was continuing. He knew that some bleeding was common in the early stages of pregnancy, but not like this.
"I... I would like you to find out" Sherlock stated in a low and sombre tone, in a calm yet resolute manner. The doctor nodded immediately to Sherlock's request, grateful that he had responded. He couldn't imagine how traumatic this must be for him. He was married himself, and if his wife were admitted in such a serious medical state, he had no idea how he would react. The fact that he didn't know she was pregnant must have made this situation even harder for the guy.
"Miss Watson's bleeding has almost stopped, and one of the nurses has just gone to get a doppler from Maternity. As soon as it's here, we'll check for a heartbeat" the doctor spoke in a calm, soothing tone. "But I have to warn you, that... because of the extent of the blood loss, it... it's important that you prepare yourself for-"
"I understand, thank you" Sherlock responded in a low, calm tone, cutting the doctor off before he finished his statement. Sensing the man's need to be alone for a few minutes, to process what was going on, the doctor nodded in understanding, before turning from the spot and assisting Dr Harlow.
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the spot, his whole body feeling numb and shaky. Everything was happening so quickly, and he felt overwhelmed by the amount of information, and the seriousness of the situation. Joan was pregnant, she had collapsed and lost a lot of blood, and the baby... Baby Sherlock thought, repeating the word in his head. His eyes widened slightly, and his hands began to shake, before the feeling of his fingers against the skin of Joan's hands brought him back into the moment. As soon as he had realised that she was pregnant, he had felt his chest tighten with fear and terror, as his mind swam with confusion, and a combination of thoughts. Images of the night they had shared together two months ago came flooding back to him, as did Joan's behaviour over the past couple of weeks, and the memory finding her collapsed. Before he had time to process his thoughts further, her condition had deteriorated rapidly, causing the entirety of his being to become completely focused upon her. As he had ran to her, calling her name and squeezing her hand, he had been attempting to rouse her from her unconscious state. He wanted to know that she was alright, that she would be okay. He wanted to talk to her, ask her if she was alright. As she opened her eyes for a moment, and stared up at him with a wide-eyed expression of fear and pain, their eyes locked for a moment, and she understood. In that very brief moment, Sherlock was convinced that something about his expression or demeanour had made her aware that he knew. Finally, he knew. But before he could ask her, talk to her about it, she had collapsed once more, falling deeper into the unconscious.
As he stood beside her, listening to the bleeping of the monitors, which were upholding the doctor's statement that she was recovering, Sherlock found his attention being devoted to the precise nature of Joan's current situation. Her pregnancy.
Once more, Sherlock found the word 'baby' running through his mind. No one had used it yet, apart from himself. The doctor referred to her 'pregnancy', but did not use the word baby. Sherlock believed this was due to the fact that he believed that, following Joan's blood-loss, the chances of their baby surviving were negligible. And yet, as a man of logic and of figures and of reason, he knew that there was still a chance. And despite having being frightened of the subject, despite it shaking him to the core, and filling him with a curious cocktail of emotions which he felt completely unable to describe or deal with, he found himself hoping more than anything that the machine being wheeled in at that moment would reveal their baby's heartbeat.
"Doctor" the nurse called, as she wheeled a small piece of medical apparatus over to the doctors.
"The bleeding has completely subsided" Dr Harlow proclaimed, turning towards Sherlock as he spoke. "Miss Watson is out of danger. Her blood pressure is increasing, and her heart rate is stabilising." Sherlock nodded in response, holding onto Joan's weak hand tightly at the news, and finding himself feeling temporarily sated by it. But as the machine before him was plugged in, and Dr Adams picked up the small wand attached, he found himself experiencing the familiar sensation of a heavy weight crushing him from the inside.
Dr Adams pulled the machine to Joan's side, standing opposite the bed to where Sherlock was. He took a step towards her, gently lifting her blouse, to reveal her toned and taut abdomen. Sherlock's eyes drifted sadly down to her abdomen, his curious eyes darting across it with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. Physically, he could see no difference in her current state. And yet, beneath her skin, he knew that an incredible amount of hormonal, physical and biological changes had been occurring in the past couple of months, culminating in the creation of their child, a consequence of the single night they allowed themselves to be completely and utterly without restriction. As the doctor turned his attention towards the machine, Sherlock's eyes were fixed firmly upon Joan's stomach, staring at it with intensity. Despite the fact that she did not appear to have gained weight, or incurred any physical changes as yet, he found himself completely astounded that he had not managed to deduce her condition. Despite her sadness, her fear, and the now painfully obviously leading conversation she sparked regarding the painting of the children, he found himself overwhelmed by his own ignorance. But more than that, his incompetence and his failure. If he had been paying attention to her, instead of to their latest case, he may have noticed. He would have, surely? He would have deduced her condition, addressed the matter with her, and provided her with assurances and support which would have saved her weeks of fear and pain, and possibly even prevented the current situation from occurring. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, inhaling a shaky breath as he increased his grip on her hand. He had failed her.
Just as the hand he was holding Joan's with began to shake with Sherlock's remorse and frustration, a deep, dull thudding sound filled the room, causing his eyes to open instantly, his pupils dilating as he stared from the wand being held to Joan's abdomen to the screen before him. The sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the room, with the sounds resonating throughout, much to the relief of everyone. Dr Adams appeared to recover from his initial shock at the sound that he was clearly not expecting to hear, as he adjusted the wand on her abdomen slightly, his eyes wide as he listened to the heartbeats. Sherlock's eyes, too, widened at the sound of the baby's strong heartbeat. It sounded to him almost like a sheet of music, a collection of notes being played and replayed, much to the contentment and relief of all those who were lucky enough to hear them. As he continued to listen to the only sound filling the temporary silence within the room, Sherlock found himself drawn to it, his own heart rate increasing and his breathing becoming lighter as he focused the majority of his attention upon the sounds. He felt an unquestionable and indescribably pull towards the sound of the baby's heartbeat, which was so strong and so confident, so determined despite everything that had happened. Sherlock felt his own heart beat faster and stronger with each sound of the baby's, until he became unsure whether the deep, confident beats filling the air were the baby's or his own.
"Strong heart beat" Dr Adams proclaimed, removing the wand from Joan's stomach, causing the sound to cease. "Very strong indeed, remarkable."
"They're both alright?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, as though the ceasing of the sounds had somehow reawakened his fears and doubts regarding the health and well-being of Joan and the baby. Dr Adams glanced up at the enigmatic man before him, whose eyes were wide an expectant, matching the notable hints of urgency and concern present within his voice. He wore a look that he had seen a thousand times before, and would see thousands of times after. And he knew the way to alleviate the fears of expectant fathers.
"It would seem so" he stated, his voice adopting a notably brighter tone, now that Joan and the baby were out of immediate danger. "Just to be certain, and to see how everything is going, I will perform an ultrasound on Miss Watson" he continued, lifting his eyes to meet Sherlock's, whose grew slightly. "We will be able to see the baby, as well as hearing it." Sherlock nodded in response, before glancing back at Joan's face, which remained unchanged. As the doctor summoned a nurse, instructing her to remove the doppler and bring in the ultrasound machine, Sherlock found himself filled with unfamiliar feelings, which he believed were similar or equal to remorse or guilt, but he could not be sure. Joan usually acted as his moral compass and guide, and without her, he found his emotions difficult to process. She always seemed to know how he was feeling, describing it better than he could himself. She just knew. And now, as he found himself looking down upon her unconscious and still fragile figure, he found himself questioning himself once more.
"Why did this happen?" he asked in a low tone, his face not leaving Joan's as he spoke. Dr Adams glanced up from Joan's chart as Sherlock spoke, before lowering it slightly and turning to face him directly.
"The simple answer is, we don't know" he began, his voice losing its brightness. "We can never be certain. Has Miss Watson been under a lot of stress recently? Undertaking any physically-challenging tasks? Has she been eating and sleeping regularly?" Sherlock's face remained impassive as he listened to each of these questions, but he felt his chest tighten as he answered each one in his mind. She had been under an enormous amount of stress, had been as physically active as usual, and had been neglecting her rest-related and nutritional requirements. They had both been working tirelessly on the case, working longer and harder hours than he could ever recall them undertaking. Throughout that time, he knew something was wrong. He knew she was worried, and he had attempted to reach out to her, but had failed. He took in a sharp breath, turning his head to the side slightly as he looked upon her weakened body, before his eyes became tired and glassy. "Yes" he breathed, his voice low and slightly choked.
As Sherlock looked down upon her fallen figure, he considered whether, maybe, if he had probed the issue further, whether he had been more observant, paying more attention to her than to the case, he would have worked it out. Or, at least, that he would have been in a position in which Joan felt able to confide in him. But he didn't, he hadn't, and she had not. He couldn't even begin to imagine how someone as conscientious and as selfless and Joan would have felt having known of her condition, and feeling completely unable to discuss it with him. He could not be certain why she did not disclose the information to him, but he could make several deductions which he believed to be highly accurate. She probably kept the information to herself because of their current case, her own personal fears, and the fact that it was so sudden and unexpected. Perhaps she didn't feel he was able to deal with the situation, and perhaps she feared his reaction. Sherlock winced slightly at this possibility, the thought of her fearing his reaction. Of keeping such news to herself, too worried or frightened or uncertain as to how to address it with him. He was not angry that she did not tell him, far from it. He wasn't confused either, not really. He thought through several different reasons why she chose not to disclose the information to him and, from a purely logical perspective, they made sense. From an emotional one, which he found himself undertaking, the reasons were even more obvious. Perhaps, that night at the gallery, she had tried to tell him of her pregnancy. That conversation they had about the children, was that her 'testing the water', so to speak? Trying to find out how he felt about children? Sherlock winced once more as he remembered his response to her question. For someone who was dealing with the news all alone, such a response, regardless of how insincere and sarcastic, must have pained her. All the events flooded through his mind, causing his head to ache. As he lifted his glance to Joan's face once more, he became aware of the fact that all of the issues he had been running through in his mind had one thing in common: they had resulted in Joan almost losing her life, and the life of their baby.
"The main thing you need to focus on" Dr Adams continued, his voice drawing Sherlock from his thoughts, "is that Miss Watson is going to be okay, and so is the baby" he stated, as the double-doors to the back of the room opened, and the nurse wheeled through an ultrasound machine.
"Are you quite certain?" Sherlock asked, turning his face to the side and looking up at Dr Adams, who was preparing the ultrasound machine.
"Miss Watson lost a considerable amount of blood, more than usual, but not an amount that is unheard of in women of her condition" Dr Adams continued, his voice resuming the use of the simple and slow tone which irritated Sherlock markedly. "She is stable, and the baby is alive. The bleeding has completely stopped and, from my examination of her, everything appears to be fine." Sherlock held the doctor's gaze for a few moments, before nodding in understanding, and watching as he placed some gel onto Joan's abdomen. "I'm just gonna have a look at the baby, see what's going on, alright?" Sherlock nodded once more, not lifting his eyes from Joan's abdomen, as he watched the doctor move the wand across her. "Right... ah, yes, wonderful. Hello there" he stated to the monitor, causing Sherlock's eyes to lift from Joan's abdomen, and rest firmly upon the screen.
Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight before him, and he found himself gripping Joan's hand tighter as he watched the small movements or the grainy figure upon the black and white screen. His curious eyes darted across the image before him, as he ran his eyes across the developing figure of the baby. He felt a similar draw towards the baby that he felt when he heard the heartbeat, and found himself flooded with emotions which he did not understand and was not completely familiar with. Although he had continuously stressed that he did not believe in love, he found that his growing relationship with Watson had caused him to reassess that statement, due to the plethora of feelings she was able to illicit from him, without doing or saying a thing. And now, despite his concerns, his fears and his doubts, the tiny figure upon the screen was wielding the same power that Joan Watson had: the ability to cause Sherlock Holmes to question his belief that he was unable to love. Love. Was it love? Was the confusing, frightening and all-consuming emotion which was running through Sherlock's veins, and causing him to feel shaky, unsteady and incredibly frightened, love? Was this what love felt like, what it equated to?
"The baby is absolutely fine" Dr Adams stated, causing Sherlock to blink himself from his thoughts, and turn his attention towards the doctor. "Perfectly formed, developing nicely. Nothing concerning at all. And I can confirm that Miss Watson is just over eight weeks into her pregnancy." He stated, looking up at Sherlock as he spoke, who nodded in return. "Now, as Miss Watson is stable, and there are no immediate dangers to herself or the baby, I am gonna have her taken through to a room on the Maternity Ward, where we can monitor her. It'll be quiet up there, you'll have some privacy."
"Yes" Sherlock replied mechanically, "of course". He lowered his gaze to Joan, who had not moved in the past twenty minutes. The doctor observed him for a moment, noting his expression, before continuing to speak.
"She's been through a lot. Physically and emotionally, she's exhausted" he explained, to which Sherlock nodded to. "She may be unconscious for some time. But her heart-rate and BP have recovered. Her BP is slightly low, but that's understandable given the nature of her condition. We've got her hooked up to a saline drip, which should help." Sherlock nodded once more, not allowing his attention to be removed from Joan. "We'll move her now, alright? Dr Harlow has gone to arrange for some porters to take her up. You can stay with her."
"Yes" Sherlock replied confidently, his unblinking eyes fixed upon his partner. Dr Adams placed Joan's chart at the end of the bed, before instructing the two nurses to prepare her for the move. The nurses brought some patient attire into the room, dressing Joan's lower half and covering her in warm blankets, in preparation for her move.
A few minutes later, two tall porters walked into the room and talked briefly with the doctor, before raising the bars on Joan's bed, and taking up their positions at either end. Sherlock gave her hand one final, reassuring squeeze, before placing it gently upon her abdomen, and walking with the bed as they left the ER and made for an elevator, which took them to the Maternity unit. Dr Adams accompanied them upstairs, and guided them into Joan's room, before plucking her chart from the end of her bed and scanning her notes, before glancing at her monitors and comparing the results. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, before replacing her chart and looking towards Sherlock, who had resumed his previous position by Joan's side. Sherlock was standing at the edge of her bed, his hands resting upon the sides, as he stared down upon her.
"Everything appears to be fine, Sir" Dr Adams stated, offering a small smile to Sherlock, whose eyes rose to meet his face. "A nurse will come in to check her vitals every thirty minutes or so, but if you have any concerns, please don't hesitate in calling for someone. There's an alert button just above the bed, and staff will be just outside should you need anything. Alright?" Sherlock nodded in response, before casting a cursory glance across the room. Joan's ward room was medium-sized and painted in a light yellow colour, which matched the white, upholstered chairs and table in the room. The room itself was well lit, and had a window on the far-right wall which overlooked the street. "I'll be back in about an hour to check on her personally, alright? But as I said, any concerns, please let us know."
"Of course" Sherlock stated, nodding a couple of times, before returning his gaze to Joan. The doctor watched the curious man for a few moments, before suppressing a small smile, and walking slowly from the room.
Sherlock's attention was devoted to Joan, and only the sound of the door closing behind him drew him from his thoughts. Everything was now quiet and still, with the exception of the occasional beeping of the machines which were monitoring Joan, whose paleness was replaced by a slight glow to her cheeks. Now that the emergency had been dealt with, and Joan was recovering, Sherlock felt deeply relieved. After having seen the amount of blood she had lost, and watching as she fell lifelessly back onto the bed, he truly feared that her condition could be fatal. But now, as she lay in a deep sleep, resting comfortably upon the pillows, he found himself overcome with familiar feelings of fear and anxiety. Sherlock was still processing the fact that Joan was carrying his child, and the emotions and thoughts which accompanied this knowledge made him feel incredibly worried and overwhelmed. But as he glanced down at Joan, whose chest was rising lightly with each breath she took, he found his attention removed from his own concerns, and fixed completely on her. He rose his left hand from the side of the bed, placing it by her cheek, as he ran his fingers gently through her soft hair. Sherlock leaned towards her, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against her own, feeling reassured and comforted by their level of closeness. He tilted his face up slightly, before parting his lips and allowing them to graze her forehead.
"It's alright" he whispered, the words trailing from his mouth and falling upon her ears. "Watson, it... it's alright" he repeated, before closing his eyes and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. He felt her hair around his fingers as he allowed the kiss to linger for a few moments, before he drew himself back into a standing position, and looked down upon her. She appeared almost serene as she slept, which he was grateful for. Sherlock felt increasingly nervous and unsteady, and pulled a chair from the corner of the room to Joan's side, before easing himself slowly into it, and clasping his hands together in his lap. He lifted his head to face Joan, whose head was resting upon the pillow at the top of the bed, which was in perfect alignment with his line of vision. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply, and considered the events of the past hour or so. As he leaned forward in the chair, clasping his hands tightly in his lap, he found himself running over the events in detail in his mind, considering every piece of information, every fact, and every consequence. He then considered the words he had just spoken to Watson, his reassurance to her that everything was going to be okay. And as he sat by her side, her spent the next few hours considering ways to ensure that he kept his promise.