"Sherlock, we've been through the house twice, he's not here," John said, leaning back against the wall disappointedly. "We're wasting our time."
"He has to be here!" Sherlock shot back. "It makes no sense; in the span of an hour he couldn't have come in, found the information he needed and then headed out without us seeing him. Tom, is there anywhere in the house we've not looked?"
"No, no we've been everywhere…" Tom answered, trying to think if he had missed anything.
"We got here too late," John regrettably but firmly stated. "We should be more focused on making sure James is alright now."
"No, no," Sherlock persisted, "he's here! There's just something we aren't thinking of…" He racked his brain hard, while John and Tom exchanged pessimistic looks.
"Something weighing on your mind, mate?" Tom asked John casually, as if trying to escape the extraordinary and unsavory reality he was currently experiencing.
John took a look of surprise by the out of place question, but gave it up anyway. "My wife's nine months pregnant…and I'm here…with you." Tom mouthed an 'oh.' "No offense."
"Ah! That's it!" Sherlock exclaimed, getting back on the same level as his companions. "John, you stay in here, keep your gun out and ready. Tom, with me. Now!"
"Wait!" John yelled, before his friend could whisk away. "What's the big revelation?"
"We've been together the whole time, the three of us…"
"Yeah…"
"We've moved between the inside and the outside several times while we were looking for him, but we all stayed together," Sherlock explained. "He's outside, probably up against the house. He knows if he leaves we'll see him so he can't yet. He's got to wait until we do."
"Simple enough," Tom said, now beginning to fear that he was going to come face to face with his stalker.
"Tom and I will go outside, go around the house in opposite directions, if he tries to run he won't get very far."
"Why am I inside then? He could be armed and neither of you have the gun, I do," John objected, not wanting to send his comrade into battle with a convicted attempted-murderer without protection.
"Neither of us has a baby on the way either," Sherlock said concisely, and then checked with Tom. "At least, I assume…" Tom shook his head to confirm. "Alright, let's go."
John tried to oppose once more, but the two other men left before he could. So, he stayed in with is weapon cocked and ready, hoping the man they were after was not carrying one as well.
OOOOO
The sounds coming from the television had now just become white noise in the quiet flat, since there was absolutely no chance of Mary paying attention to it. She wholeheartedly tried not to think about the baby, to fill her mind with thoughts of anything else, but she couldn't help it. Eyes wandering, she glanced out the living room window where a snow flurry had begun to powder the trees and window sills of the houses across the whitened street. It was peaceful, and for a split-second it even allowed her to feel relaxed. That feeling, however, was short-lived.
She suddenly sucked in an involuntary breath through gritted teeth as her stomach began to tighten again. This one had a bit more kick. Once over the surprise of it, she picked up the paper and pencil she was keeping by her side and wrote down the time as the abdominal constriction went on. Unfortunately, this one was not any closer than the last, a realization that made the pain of it seem even worse. Wincing just a tad, she rubbed at her belly, counting the seconds passing in her head. Seventy and it was over. "Whew…" she exhaled, staring down at herself. "Easy darling…"
She didn't want to deal with her mind playing tricks on her again, as she had been all morning, so she reached for her phone on the coffee table and dialed the number one. "Odd…." she murmured when John didn't answer. She didn't bother leaving a voicemail message. She really only wanted to hear his voice. She called one more time, but still got no response. Trying not to over think the reason behind the silence, she put the phone down and scooted to the edge of the couch. It took all her strength and the help of the coffee table as support, but she was able to push herself up off the seat and head to the kitchen. She really couldn't wait for the day when moving would no longer be such an imposition.
On the counter, a tiny booklet caught her eye. It was one of many of its kind—John's case notebook. Delighted, Mary managed to somewhat distract herself from all the frustrations of not yet being in labor as she flipped through pages of notes on cases, clients, and clues. These were undoubtedly the skeletons of what would later become more fleshed-out blog entries. He had even included some possible titles in the margins: The Mobile Bachelor, The Dancing Mentalist, The Military Cyclist… They all sounded good, and she could vaguely remember hearing about them when they were actually going on.
Not long after finishing the details of The Six Leon's, her reading was interrupted by a double-ring on the doorbell. "Afternoon, Kate," she accommodatingly addressed, opening the door fully to allow her neighbor in.
"Oh, I can't stay," the other woman politely informed. "I've just come to give you this." She thrust an envelope into Mary's hands. "It came to my flat, but it's got John's name on it…figured they must have written the wrong address."
Mary checked the return address and raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Harry? That's a surprise. Thanks for bringing it by, you're sure you don't want a cup of tea?"
"Absolutely, thank you though," Kate said, waving a hand. "Isaac's taking me out to dinner. He's got a new job."
"Oh, that's lovely, enjoy!" Kate smiled wider than Mary had ever seen and just about skipped away. After seeing she got down the stairs alright, Mary receded back into her own home. Slicing the envelope with a fingernail, she extracted Harry's card from inside. It was a pastel-yellow card with a stork on the front and 'Congratulations on your bundle of joy' printed across is in a playful font. 'Well, she tried,' Mary chuckled to herself, staring out the window at the slow fall of snowflakes. Abruptly though, she stopped when a strange feeling hit her. Almost like a 'pop.'
Her eyes instantly widened in recognition and shot down to the floor. "Oh my God," she uttered. Her water broke and was now in a small puddle by her shoes. "Oh my God," she repeated, much happier this time as she scrambled back to the couch for her phone. She called John only to have the call again go to his voicemail. "Ugh," she scoffed, knowing he would certainly want to hear about this. She tried Sherlock instead, and thankfully heard his deep 'hello' after the first ring. "Sherlock, I need to talk to John!" she excitedly told him, practically doing a dance in the living room—until she heard something in the background. "Is that an ambulance? Please tell me he's not in it…" Panic promptly set in.
"No, no, that was for the stalker, a.k.a. your erstwhile wedding photographer. John's fine, although he's with the EMTs right now, can this wait?"
"No, it can't wait!" Mary's eyebrows furrowed. "Why's he with the EMTs?"
Sherlock begrudgingly began the trek over to where John was being taken care of. "He had a small altercation with the perpetrator; sliced up his hand on the bloke's nose ring."
"Oh, well was it bad? Why does he need EMTs for one cut?"
"Several cuts, actually," Sherlock lowly corrected. "He punched him quite a few times."
"Alright then, please just let me talk to my husband," Mary begged, bringing a hand joyously to her stomach.
"Mary…" John's voice came through, already sounding worried. "I just saw the missed calls. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Mary assured him through a laugh and an ear-to-ear grin he couldn't see but could certainly hear in her voice. "But, uh…my water broke."
His eyes went wide and his chin nearly fell off his face. "Your—your wat—…oh my god, are you sure?" he stammered, realizing immediately how stupid a question that was. Mary answered it anyway without making fun of him. "Alright, so you're in labor…jeez, God, you're in labor?!" He was rapidly entering panic mode, complete with the sudden onset of eye-popping nausea and a desperate need to quickly find something to hold on to so he wouldn't stagger into a heap on the ground.
"Mmhm, looks that way."
"Christ," he grabbed his forehead and ruffled his hair, swirling around trying to find Sherlock. "Sherlock!"
"Yes?" He was still behind him.
"We need to leave," John commanded, already hustling to one of the cruisers and then returning to Mary. "I'll be there as soon as I can, okay…and you're alright?"
"Yeah, I'm alright," she assured him, still smiling. "I guess it wasn't Braxton Hicks at all…"
"Wait a minute, you mean you've been in labor all morning?" He checked his watch. It was already 12:45.
"Uh-huh," she admitted, feeling silly for being so upset about not being in labor all the while it had actually already begun. "Hurry home please; I don't think I can drive."
"No, no don't drive! Just wait for me to get there and if the contractions get closer than five minutes apart or the pain gets too bad, call Mrs. Hudson or Molly or an ambulance. Just don't drive." Mary complied and then made John hang up, knowing that he would stay on the phone if she didn't. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he once again spun around to see Sherlock. "I can't believe this, the ONE day I let you drag me out to Slough Mary goes into labor."
"John, don't be hysterical," the taller man said, perfectly even-toned.
"I'm not hysterical," he defensively shot back. "I just need to get home. Excuse me, officer…"
"Yeah?" The cop acknowledged, coming off of the hood of the cruiser he was complacently leaned up against.
"We need a ride to the train station," he said firmly, unwillingly to take anything less than 'yes, right away, sir' for an answer. "And I mean right now."
The cop's eyebrows disappeared up into his hat. "You must be joking…there's an escaped inmate in handcuffs over there. We can't just leave 'cause you've got somewhere to be."
"We just caught you that inmate," John pointed out shortly. "The police work's already done, there's three more cops and two other cruisers here, and you're not playing a huge part of anything. All that suggests you can 'just leave.'"
"Nicely done," Sherlock sardonically commented as the cop stomped away from them.
"What the hell does he have to be pissed off about?" John berated, watching the grump approach his superiors. "Great, now the D.I.'s coming over."
"Funny, I never knew you to be one to head-butt with the Scotland Yarders so easily."
"You afraid of copyright infringement?" John quipped back.
"John Watson," the head cop checked, joining the two men by the cruiser. John nodded, visibly annoyed that he was not en route to a train station yet. "Wes says you're asking him for a ride to the train station."
"Yes, I need to get back into London. My wife's—"
"In labor, I know." the D.I. finished, surprising John. "Your friend told me. I'll drive you two back to London myself, it'll be faster. Besides, this guy escaped a month ago without a trace; we owe you." He dismissed his irked subordinate and lead Sherlock and John to his cruiser which was conveniently out of the way of the others and sped off.
In between thanking the police officer and incessantly checking his phone for any update from Mary, John tried to take as many slow and calming breaths as possible. Nothing else was said, until about ten minutes into the thirty-minute drive. "This is a different side of you," Sherlock said to him, glancing over at his friend's heaving chest.
"What?"
"Usually stress doesn't affect you; you thrive on it, if anything. You've fought in wars…probably saw more tragedy in a month than most people do in a lifetime. All that was more stressful than this, but look at you."
"Stop talking."
"This is how you've been for weeks, but now you've really kicked it up a notch."
John's teeth clenched just a bit behind pressed lips while he stared hard at Sherlock. "War was not more stressful than this… this is… I don't even know what this is." He racked his brain for the words, but there was no articulate way to verbalize the fear, excitement, nausea, uncertainty, and nightmarish thrill he currently felt. "This is my wife bringing my child into the world. If anything happens to either of them…" He couldn't, nor did he feel he had to, complete the sentence. And to his relief and surprise Sherlock appeared to understand this. A few more seconds went by, when John's head suddenly snapped back up. "You told the cop Mary was in labor?"
"Yes," Sherlock responded resolutely.
"But you were with me when she called…" His teeth bit into the side of his cheek and glared at the man in the seat next to him. "Did you know?"
"Know what?"
"Did you know Mary was in labor and not tell me?!" he repeated much louder for him. "Clearly you had to have told the cop about it before the phone call."
"It was a precaution," Sherlock said in a mumble, and John's look became instantly incredulous. "I had a hunch and wanted to be prepared."
"You know, you're unbelievable," he growled shaking his head. "You had a 'hunch' that my wife was going to go into labor and you still took me on a case half an hour away to catch a guy who'd probably like to kill both of us…Who does that?!"
"Well we caught him, didn't we," Sherlock hastily replied, much calmer than his counterpart. "And besides, balance of probability indicated no real need to worry."
"Balance of—are you kidding me?!" John responded in disbelief.
Sherlock sternly turned to him and delivered his reasoning. "Major James Sholto's life was in danger, as was Tom's. That was a guarantee. Next to the possibility of Mary going in labor, the immediately dangerous threat took precedence. Moreover, even if Mary was to start having contractions, you'd still have plenty of time to get back to her in time. From what I've read, labor can apparently take hours; days even, for particularly merciless offspring. So, again, balance of probability indicated no real need to worry."
John didn't seem quite as angry at Sherlock; still, he was a far cry away from giving him a pat on the back. For the moment though, he decided to be content to believe him. No real need to worry. At least not now.
OOOOO
In London, Mary paced across the kitchen floor with the phone to her ear and a hand on her back where the normal aches and pains of pregnancy had significantly increased in the last twenty minutes. Finally, her intended recipient picked up. "Molly, hi, it's Mary."
"Hey, I was just about to call," Molly answered cheerfully, before picking up on the slight trill in Mary's tone. "Are you alright? You sound a bit flustered."
"Um, well yeah, you could say that," Mary got out, rubbing at the small of her back. "My water broke not too long ago… and I was doing okay, but the contractions are getting worse now, and…I'd really like not to be alone. I didn't know who else to call."
"John's not with you?" Molly asked in surprise, processing the news.
"No, he went with Sherlock to Slough, and Mrs. Hudson's sister fell off of something, and I'm trying to just watch TV and ignore the pain, but there's nothing good on—"
"Alright, of course I'll come, I've just left work." Molly quickly cut across two traffic lanes, getting a few angry honks as she went, and turned onto the road headed for John and Mary's flat. "I'll be right there. Ten minutes."
Mary set the phone down and leaned her hand against the counter, taking a deep breath in. Her water had only broken twenty minutes ago, and already the pain was becoming challenging. She glanced down at the piece of paper on which she had been recording the contractions, grimacing when she saw that she was likely due for her next one in the next couple minutes. She thought she could hold out until John and Sherlock returned, but, like her husband, she too had her fair share of nerves bubbling around inside her at the thought of something going wrong.
Just then, her phone began buzzing against the marble of the countertop. "John, where are you?" she asked straightaway.
"It's Sherlock…"
"Why do you have John's phone?" She inwardly prayed it was for a good reason and not a terrible one.
"Uh, well," the detective hesitantly began, knowing he was about to be yelled at. "We're all fine, but there's an accident up ahead of us…the highway's gridlocked…not moving…at all."
Mary's heart sank. "And John?"
"He's… sprinting up ahead to find out how far away the accident is," Sherlock reported.
Mary's brow wrinkled. "But, John texted me…he said you were in a police car. Can't you just turn the sirens on and go through?"
"Yup," Sherlock responded, popping the 'p' to convey the silliness of the whole thing.
"God, he's gone absolutely mental, hasn't he…"
"Admittable." Regrettably, Sherlock glimpsed at the traffic up ahead. "Mary, I'm sorry but, if there aren't any other responders at the accident yet…well," he searched for the delicate way of putting it, which as not something he often did for anyone other than Mary.
"I know, you are in a police cruiser after all," she sighed grievously. "Just catch up to John and get him back in the car. I don't need him to get run over."
"Right."
Mary felt yet another spike of pain crescendo up her abdomen and immediately keeled over to subdue it best she could. "Sherlock, I've got to go, I'm having another contraction," she wheezed out, tossing the phone away and trying to breathe through what was happening to her. She was a trained special agent. She had endured injuries and accidents any squeamish person would not be able to handle, but nothing, absolutely nothing, felt like this. And the worst part of it was, she knew, this was still the beginning; this was the bearable and manageable labor pain. What the hell was to come?!
The contraction lasted, in total, about sixty seconds. Picking up the pencil with her hand still a tad shaky, she inscribed the time into her notes for John. This was truly her reason for calling Molly. She hadn't had a problem timing them at first, but now it was becoming difficult to concentrate on anything except the pain.
Molly was spot on with her ten minute ETA, and Mary graciously flung the door open when she heard her muffled voice on the other side of it. "How are you doing?" Molly asked calmly as she pulled off her gloves following Mary inside. There were snowflakes on her hair and hat that she dusted off as she came in.
"I'm doing alright, but just alright," Mary said with a small chuckle. "Thank you so much for coming over, the boys were supposed to be back by now, but they got stuck."
"I can't believe they would go on a case and leave you alone," Molly scoffed, helping Mary lower herself into the couch after taking note of the pregnant woman's struggle.
"I wasn't supposed to be alone, I was supposed to go to Baker Street, but Mrs. Hudson had an emergency. It's partly my fault anyway," Mary admitted. "I was so tired of John fussing over me all the time, I told him to go."
"Still," Molly continued to chide the men, and put a comforting hand on Mary's shoulder. "How about I get you some tea?"
Mary smiled appreciatively, but shook her head 'no.' "Thank you, but I don't think it'd be much help. There's a pot already made; help yourself."
Molly accepted the offer and moseyed into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Mary's notepad on her way over. "Are these all the contractions?" Mary nodded her head. "Eight minutes apart already?"
"Is that all?" Mary said, only half-joking before her face contorted into another wince. "Ooh, speaking of…ahh," she straightened herself up and brought both hands to either side of her stomach as another contraction began rippling through her.
Molly had no idea what to do, but stuttered some comforting words as she rushed over to Mary. "Alright, um, just breathe, probably…" she attempted, rubbing her shoulder hoping it was making some sort of difference. "That's it…" Molly kept her eye intently on her watch, tracking the second hand with diligence. "There you go, nearly done now…"
Mary continued on breathing in and out, the way John had told her to during one of the times he wasn't freaking out about impending fatherhood. Although, she didn't think it was helping; she was convinced women only did this during labor so that they would have something other than pain to think about. Finally, the pain died down and her body relaxed back into the couch. "How long was that one?" she exhaled, positive it was longer than the last.
"60 seconds exactly," Molly answered, dutifully pulling the notepad from her pocket. "Just like the last ones." She penciled it into the growing list and discreetly glanced at Mary who was still very much taking her time breathing. "I'm sorry, Mary…I don't—I don't know how to do this."
Mary smiled and patted Molly's hand sweetly. "It's my first go at it too. And you being here is enough, really."
Molly reciprocated the smile appreciatively. "If you like, I can try to get in touch with Sherlock again…"
Mary nodded. "Please."
The morgue specialist hurried to reclaim the phone she had left in a heap with her purse and winter wear on the kitchen table, which gave Mary the chance to close her eyes and lay her head back. What had previously been a dull soreness in between contractions before was intensifying with every clench of her abdominal muscles. She just wanted John there with her.
John, fidgeting with a gum wrapper he had picked from his jeans pocket, wanted the exact same thing. Unfortunately, simple wishing couldn't make the cruiser go any faster, nor could requesting such to the cop driving it. "I'm going to miss the birth of my child…what a tit I am. Why did I go with you?" he mumbled disgruntled at Sherlock.
"We're almost there; you aren't going to miss anything." Sherlock said, scrolling through his phone. "Molly's just sent me a list of all of Mary's contractions. Here, take a look." He passed the phone to John after reviewing the data himself.
"Oh God, they're already 7 minutes apart…" John bemoaned, running his fingers coarsely over his scalp. "Is this all Molly sent?" Sherlock nodded and John sadly returned the phone to him.
Sherlock watched as his friend continued to nervously fiddle with all the little things he could get his hands on: the end of his coat, a string on his sleeve, his own fingernails. "John, listen to me."
"Huh?"
"In a very short time, Mary is going to need you. And it's not helpful to her if you're like this, is it? So, get yourself under control and set the dial to soldier, because you're both going to be basket cases and it'll probably be useful if the one that doesn't have to push another human being out of their body can provide some support to the one who does!"
Slightly surprised by the sudden assertion of direction, John just stared for a moment; though he knew Sherlock was right. "You've been worried about the pregnancy and the baby too, how come you're suddenly so calm?"
"Being hysterical isn't an advantage, and maybe staying calm isn't either, but it's at least more convenient."
John sighed and turned to the window. "I know Mary needs me…that's why I'm getting all the crazy out now."
The detective gave a stoic nod. "Let's hope so."
OOOOO
"They're five minutes out!" Molly announced to Mary, knowing the mum-to-be would be thrilled. "Can you hang in there for a bit longer?"
"I have so far," the blonde replied, with a small smile, rubbing at her tummy with one hand and holding her back with the other.
OOOOOOOOO
Almost at the end now! Thank you so much for reading and don't forget to leave a comment :) I like constructive criticism, so if you have some advice, I'm all ears! Also, I'm always looking for new Mary-friendly fanfics to read, so all suggestions are more than welcome. Cheers!