Life After Death - A Post-Reichenbach Trilogy

Part Two - Consequences

Chapter Four

At work, Molly's duties had changed considerably as the pregnancy progressed. Because of the risk of exposure to bodily fluids, and despite the very high levels of infection control practiced in the Pathology Department, HR had ruled that Molly should have more of a desk job. She mostly spent her time doing library and Internet research for other members of the team, which enabled her to carry out her own research, on anything baby-related. Very occasionally, she would be asked to double check some test results or findings of another team member, so long as bodily fluids were not involved.

Such was the case, one day towards the end of her thirty-sixth week, when she was asked to take a look at some non-biological trace evidence found at a murder scene. She had been standing at her bench, peering into the lenses of a microscope, at various prepared slides, for a couple of hours. She stood up straight and arched her spine, rubbing her lower back.

'You OK, Molly?' asked a colleague, working on the next bench.

'Yes, fine,' she smiled. 'I must have slept a bit awkwardly last night. I woke up this morning with awful back pain. I'll be OK.'

Half an hour later, she breathed a rather irritated sigh. At this late stage in her pregnancy, her womb and its occupant took up rather a lot of space inside her abdomen, so her bladder had been squashed, making it necessary to spend a penny rather frequently. She felt the need to go, now.

Taking full advantage of the more generous dimensions of the Disabled toilet, Molly pulled down her pants and eased herself onto the seat. Her mouth then formed a startled 'O' shape, when she glanced down and saw a red stain on the gusset of her pants.

'Oh, God!' she said, out loud, 'I'm spotting!'

She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, then took out her mobile and rang the number of her obstetrician. The clinic nurse answered on the fourth ring. Molly explained the situation.

'Do you have any other indications that you might be in labour?' the lady asked.

'Well, I have had lower back pain since I got up this morning and I've had rather more Braxton Hicks than usual,' she replied. 'But this is only my thirty-sixth week.'

'It's your thirty-eighth week, Dr Hooper,' the nurse corrected.

'Yes, yes, thirty-eighth week.'

In the heat of the moment, Molly had forgotten to make the adjustment between the 'official' date of conception – the first day of her last period– and what she knew to be the actual date - the night before Sherlock left - which was two weeks later.

'Well, you know, babies don't always go by the calendar. They come when they're ready and I think yours is!' the nurse replied.

'So what should I do next?' Molly asked, in full action mode, now. The nurse assured her that there was no need to rush. She advised her to time the intervals between her contractions and, when they got to fifteen minutes apart, come into hospital but, in the meantime, to just carry on as normal but not to do anything too strenuous.

'Bloody typical!' she thought, 'Two weeks early! Trust Sherlock's baby to set its own agenda.'

She clicked off the call and sent a text to Maria. It read:

Showtime!

ooOoo

Maria arrived, breathless, about ten minutes later to find Molly sitting in her ergonomically designed computer chair, sipping a glass of water.

'Oh!' she said, a little disappointed. 'I thought you'd be rolling around on the floor, yelling 'The baby's coming! The baby's coming!' Not sitting there, like you're waiting for a bus.'

'Only in the movies, Maria. Real life is not nearly so dramatic.'

Molly told Maria what the nurse had advised.

'The thing is, I don't have my hospital bag here.'

She had packed her hospital bag weeks ago and it was sitting just inside the door to her flat, ready to be grabbed at a moment's notice.

'If I give you my keys, could you please go and fetch it for me?'

'Yes, but you must promise me you won't have that baby before I get back', Maria replied.

'Girl Guide's honour', Molly assured her.

By the time Maria returned, things had progressed. The contractions were now twenty minutes apart and getting a bit more uncomfortable. Molly had moved to the staff lounge and was standing by the sink unit, bending over the counter top and practicing her breathing. She felt remarkably calm. Her anti-natal classes were proving their worth, as she recognised each new sensation as it occurred. Maria was just about to settle herself on the sofa when Molly gave a sudden gasp, and looked down at the floor, at a small pool of liquid that was spreading round her feet.

'Bloody hell, my waters have broken,' she declared.

That was the cue for Action Stations. Molly knew, once the waters broke, labour would normally progress apace, so it was time to go. Maria called a taxi, gathered up her camera bag and Molly's case and they were on their way.

ooOoo

The next few hours went by in a blur.

Molly was admitted to the labour ward, examined and advised that her cervix was five centimetres dilated. Her labour was well progressed. She was prepped and changed into a hospital gown and advised to stay on the bed. But her body was telling her to pace - so she paced, up and down the room, and round and round the bed, stopping - with gradually increasing frequency - to rest her hands on the foot bar of the bed and bend forward, riding out each contraction, as it came and went.

Maria got her cameras ready and started to film.

As the contractions became more frequent and more intense, Molly's consciousness moved onto a different plain. She was barely aware of anything going on around her. At varying intervals, a midwife came in, examined her and gave a progress report but she hardly took any of it in. She was entirely in tune with the physiological changes going on inside her own body and she responded instinctively to these changes.

From time to time, she would mumble encouraging words to herself and to the baby, in a private dialogue between herself and her unborn child. Four hours in, she was moved from the Progress Suite to the Birthing Suite and things began in earnest. She still wanted to pace but the midwife was insistent that she lay on the bed, so she had to find the position that felt right to her. This turned out to be on her side, with two pillows between her knees.

Molly had made a commitment, early in her pregnancy, to have a natural birth. This was not as common now as in previous eras but she had read that babies born in drug-free labour were more alert and fed better in the first few days post-partum and, given Sherlock's history of drug abuse, she didn't want to risk any potential propensity that might be genetically inherent in her child by exposure to awareness-altering drugs, even at this early stage in its life. So, in compliance with her wishes, she was given just the gas and air, to help manage the pain.

Time ticked by.

The contractions were becoming much stronger now and Molly felt an irresistible urge to bear down hard but the midwife instructed her to resist these urges and to pant, because she wasn't quite fully dilated. Acting on an impulse, Molly rolled onto her elbows and knees, with her bottom in the air, which seemed to slow things down a little and give her cervix the time it needed to complete its dilation.

All the while, Maria was doing a very professional job of recording the event. As a highly regarded medical photographer, she was well accustomed to working in this type of environment, getting perfect shots from optimum vantage points whilst keeping well out of the way of the health care professionals, so as not to impede them in their work.

Molly was beginning to get agitated. She wanted so much to push but the midwife was still saying it wasn't time until, at long last, the woman said,

'OK, Molly. Next contraction, I want you to push.'

Molly hooked her hands behind her knees and, when it felt right, she took a deep breath, tucked her chin to her chest and pushed as hard and as long as she could. She tried not to make any vocal sounds, as she'd read that this was wasted breath and reduced the efficiency of the bearing down. Molly was a scientist and she was applying her knowledge to the task in hand. This was the business end of the process and the time when one learned that it was not called labour for nothing.

In the short breaks between pushing, Molly lay on her side with her eyes closed, crooning to herself, taking sips through a straw from a glass of iced water held by a nurse, marshalling her strength for the next onslaught. She lost count of the number of times she bore down but she was becoming very tired and beginning to see red flashes in her vision, which she knew were warning signs of raised blood pressure. She began to feel she couldn't take much more of the straining. She had no energy left. She had used up every ounce.

Then she heard the midwife say,

'Next time, Molly, we need a big push! Baby's nearly here.'

'I can't, she whispered, 'I can't do this any more.'

'Yes, you can! You've done brilliantly this far. You're nearly there, Molly, just a couple more pushes and we're there!'

Molly felt the next contraction begin to build, felt the pain engulfing her. She braced herself for one more push and began to bear down…

'Molly, pant, now! Pant!' The midwife spoke urgently.

Molly converted the push into panting and she felt the pressure in her pelvis suddenly reduce.

'The head is out, Molly, your baby's head is born. One more push and you'll have your baby!'

Molly could feel the next contraction coming and she rallied one final time. It was almost instantaneous. She began to bear down and she felt the baby slip from her like a fish over a weir…

'It's a boy, Molly. You have a beautiful baby boy!'

Molly heard him cry out, just once, and then go quiet.

'Let me see him…please…give him to me….' she gasped, as she rolled onto her back and held out her arms. The midwife scooped the baby up from between Molly's knees and placed him, face down on her chest, naked and bloodied and slippery as an eel, with a damp shock of thick black hair, plastered to his scalp. Molly placed her hands on him and looked into his wide open eyes. They were almond shaped and sea-green.

They were Sherlock's eyes.

ooOoo