Thank you to all who have stuck with it, that means SO much! Just a heads up: this will be the penultimate chapter…
As always I LOVE knowing what you think, please review J
OOOOO
The women's eyes darted to the door when they heard two sets of footsteps racing heavily up the stairs. In an instant, the door flew open and John came barreling in with Sherlock following close behind, dusting the snowflakes out of his hair. "Mary!" John let out in exhausted relief to finally be with his wife as he rushed over. Kneeling down in front of her, he could see she was in pain—her jaw was tight, her hands were stiffly clasping the sides of her protruding stomach, and her eyes swirled with the focus of a woman on a mission and the alleviation that her husband was finally by her side. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."
"It's alright, you're here now," she said with a genuine smile, cut short by a dull but shooting pain that she knew was a prelude to an upcoming contraction. "Did you catch him?"
"What?" John breathed confusedly. "Oh! The murderer, well would-be murderer, yes we caught him," he answered with a chuckle as he brought his hands over hers. He swallowed and looked down at her belly, trying to see if he could see it tensing. Unfortunately, he couldn't. "Molly, when was her last contraction?"
Molly quickly consulted the notepad. "'Bout seven minutes ago…"
John nodded and went back to Mary. "So, you're alright?"
"Yes," she replied quietly, swelling at the devotion and nervousness and excitement in John's eyes.
"Good, let's get to the hospital then, shall we."
"But it's still too early. Dr. Marshall said to wait until the contractions were five minutes apart."
"Well, as husband and soon-to-be dad, I'm getting a second opinion…Huh, second opinion says hospital now."
"Not sure that's entirely ethical."
His lips pressed into a small smile. "Are you ready to have this baby?"
A tiny pool welled in her eye and she nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please."
"Sherlock, grab my keys and get the car. Molly, her hospital bag is in the bedroom, to the right of the dresser." Both of them immediately ran off to do as instructed. "Can you walk?"
Mary nodded her head again. "Yeah, I think so." John stood up, securing both his arms under hers, and pulled her off the couch. He led her out of the living room, and the pace was good enough, until another contraction made Mary curl over. "Ahh, that's another…"
"Alright, just breathe, just as we practiced…" John coached, though his face was not showing the same steadiness his voice was. He rubbed her lower back, knowing those pains were probably just as uncomfortable as the ones in front, and pulled her hair out of her face. "That's it. You're doing great, just breathe love…it's alright."
"I've got the bag!" Molly exuberantly reported, emerging from the bedroom. Her smile faded when she saw Mary hunched over and John holding her up.
"In the car, please," John politely directed. As Molly hurriedly left the flat, Mary straightened herself out a bit, catching her breath and leaning into John's body for support.
"This is less than fun," she quipped lightly, as they continued moving toward the door.
John kissed her head and did his best to help her walk, grabbing her winter coat off the rack as they passed through the threshold. "Sixty seconds…was that shorter than the last one?"
"Same," she told him, putting her arms through the coat he held up for her. "Let's keep moving, before Sherlock finds the game we packed for him in the hospital bag."
As John locked up their door behind him, Sherlock suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Can't you two move any faster?!" he yelled up. "The game is on!"
OOOOO
"3 centimeters dilated," Dr. Marshall happily reported, pulling off her rubber gloves.
"Seriously, is that all?" Mary reacted disbelievingly, brows in a backward arch.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry. You've been in labor at least sixteen hours already," the doctor said, writing something into her patient chart. "Your contractions are getting consistently closer together. Things will start moving faster now." She shot the couple a smile and then made her exit.
Discontentedly, Mary took her husband's hand and let out a heavy sigh. "I really thought it would have been more."
"Sixteen bloody hours?!" John incredulously shouted, quickly regaining his composure for Mary's sake. "Sorry…" He looked up and did the math in his head. "That means you started at 10 o'clock last night. What the hell kind of doctor am I if I didn't even know my own wife was in labor…"
"In your defense, you have been quite mental lately," Sherlock chimed in from his place in the corner chair, flipping through a birthing brochure he had picked up in the lobby. "Good news Mary, apparently most women aren't in labor longer than 48 hours… so you're, at the very least, a third through it."
"God, only a third…" She fell back into her hospital bed dejectedly.
"Not helping, Sherlock." John scolded, rubbing Mary's arm. "How you doing, hun? Do you need anything?"
"I'm okay, and no," she replied shaking her head, "are you watching the monitor?"
John looked to the screen next to him and realized why she had asked. "Alright, you've got another one coming now…" he reported regrettably, and took her hand.
"Christ, they never end!" A second later, the next contraction circuited through her and she yelped out in pain, squeezing John's hand much harder than she had the last few times as waves of stabbing pressure clenched her body.
"Deep breaths, there you go…" John said, wincing a bit at her grip. If this was her in passive labor, he was almost positive active would completely break his hand. "It's almost over, keep breathing…"
"Stop telling me to breathe!" she shouted, moaning through the last ripples of pain until the incredible cramping very gradually subsided. Her body released and she collapsed back into the bed. "Ugh, how do people do this multiple times?"
John rubbed the back of her hand and pushed a tress of hair out of her face, feeling her skin begin to get a bit clammy by her hairline. "You've done wonderfully so far."
"Minus the complaining," Sherlock put in.
"Shut up, Sherlock!" Mary yelled to him, not having the energy to look in his direction. Her look immediately softened and the heavy heaves of her chest relaxed. "I'm so tired."
John sympathetically smiled down at her, putting a hand on her bump so he could feel his baby. "Why don't you try to sleep for a little while," he offered.
"And be woken up in seven minutes by another contraction?" she hopelessly retorted.
"Just try it, you might even get to sleep through some," he said soothingly. "Besides, it'll be easier to sleep now than it will be when you transition into active labor."
Mary could have objected again for the sake of stubbornness or spite, but she truly was exhausted. She resolved to at least close her eyes for a little while, and in just over a minute she was out cold. "How did she do that?" Sherlock wondered aloud to John who remained over the hospital bed staring at his wife and lightly rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "She was just in excruciating pain and now she's asleep."
"Labor is taxing on a woman's body," John told him, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb her. "Plus, I don't think she slept more than 4 hours last night."
"Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time; you'd think someone would have happened upon an easier way by now." He flipped the pamphlet closed and tossed it into the nearby waste basket. "I'm going to the morgue. There's a body down there with some spots I have to examine. Coming?"
John lightly chuckled. "No, mate, I'm staying here with Mary," he answered, lowering himself into the chair by her bedside.
"Suit yourself." When Sherlock left, John delicately returned his hand to Mary, staring up at her with admiration. She looked so beautiful, and peaceful too (apart from the subtle twitch of her nose and mouth when the next contraction came and went.) He was thankful she could sleep through it, since he had a feeling there were still quite a few hours ahead of them.
"How's she doing?" Molly asked Sherlock, watching him study the corpse she had laid out for his examination.
"Probably fine, she's dead," Sherlock said, still averting all his attention to the spotted body.
Molly rolled her eyes. "I meant Mary…"
"Oh," he realized foolishly. "She's sleeping. Hasn't been too hysterical thus far. I predict she'll opt for the epidural in 4 hours, and give birth around 9 o'clock."
"I thought she didn't want to use the drugs."
"She doesn't," he responded, checking behind the deceased woman's ear. "But based on the look on John's face and the redness of his hand during the last few contractions, that resolution will probably crumble after a while."
"Oh," Molly voiced meekly.
"Can't you get any better lighting in here?" he suddenly asked, violently pulling the hanging lamp closer to the table.
"Be careful!" Molly asserted instantly. "You broke the last lamp and I got the blame for it."
"The last lamp was even worse than this one. I did you a favor."
"You know, my shift was over this morning," she grumbled fruitlessly. "You aren't even supposed to be here."
"I never am."
"You should be upstairs helping John and Mary."
He pulled away from the corpse with a crinkled brow. "Help them do what? The whole procedure seems fairly straightforward."
"Not with that! With other things…emotional support."
"Emotional support…" he repeated with puzzlement. "I'm not exactly proficient in either of those things."
She had known it was a stupid suggestion even before she said it, but obstinately defended her point anyway. "You are perfectly capable of it, you just choose not to do it. You think it makes you look cool or something."
Before Sherlock could answer back, his phone began to buzz in his pocket. It was Mrs. Hudson. Molly could hear the excited, muffled shrills coming from the speaker as Sherlock succinctly explained to her what had happened. "No, there's no need to come now… it's going to be hours" he tried without any luck. "I certainly will not…how should I know…in the morgue, where else?" Molly was sure she heard the landlady scolding Sherlock now; his statements confirmed it. "There's no reason for me to be in the room. Maybe you should all tell me at once, form a nice little chorus…yes, fine….goodbye, Mrs. Hudson."
"She agrees with me?" Molly smugly inquired when the detective dropped his phone back into his pocket.
"Yes," he sulked.
"Off you go then," Molly said cheerily, as she rolled up the sleeves of her lab coat. "I'll put Mary-Ella Jr. back."
"Not yet," he halted, holding up hand. "I'm going to finish what I started, and then go up. And considering I am going to be completely useless upstairs, John and Mary can certainly wait until after I've conducted a few tests."
Molly shook her head and sighed. "No chemicals. And don't break the lamp. I'm going to the loo."
Sherlock's examination took a bit longer than expected, not that he minded. By the time he had emerged from the morgue, the snow outside had accumulated in several inches on the pavement and the gray sky of earlier had turned into a navy, evening backdrop. "Five o'clock already," he mused, consulting the phone of a worker at a nurse station whose phone screen (recently checked) was just barely visible though the thin, pink fabric of her scrubs.
To his surprise, upon reentering Mary's hospital room, he found the bed empty and the previously occupied space completely vacant. Before he had time to concoct a deduction, he heard a loud clang come from behind the curtain that divided the room in half.
"Mary, please, back into bed," John's voice begged.
"No!" Mary shot back, which was followed by another loud clang. "You get into the bed! I'm staying here, I'll watch the snow fall."
Sherlock made his way to the curtain and pulled it back, revealing Mary who was up as close as she could go to the window, and John who stood behind her looking nervous and desperate. On the ground were two metal cups which the detective effortlessly knew had made the clang he heard before.
"Evening," he greeted, against his certain assumption that staying silent would be safer.
"Where have you been?!" Mary demanded, coming—with noticeable struggle—toward Sherlock. "I need you to take my husband somewhere, anywhere, go on a case. Just something!"
John had come over after. "Mary, I'm only trying to help, you know that."
"If you really wanted to help than you shouldn't have done this to me!" she exclaimed, throwing her index finger illustratively in the direction of her stomach. She grabbed the rail at the end of her hospital bed to hold herself up.
"She's mad at me because I won't sneak in food," John informed him, situating his arms under his wife's for added support.
"I'm starving, I haven't eaten all day," she reiterated to Sherlock what she had been telling John for the past half hour.
Unsure of whose side to take, Sherlock looked from Mary to John cautiously. "I could probably run down to the cafeteria, and grab—"
"Yes!" "No!" The husband and wife said at the same time. Mary's head dropped in a grumbled moan, knowing she wasn't going to win this one.
"You know you can't eat anything yet," John said gently, comfortingly rubbing her back. He wished he could go get her something, and it was taking every doctor's muscle he had in his body not to send Sherlock out for a takeaway, but he stayed strong against the temptation. "I can get you some more ice chips…"
"No, no more ice chips," she groaned, tightening her grip on the rail. "Shit, here's another one…"
John watched her stomach muscles constrict and secured his hold on her. "Sherlock, get on the other side of her…" The detective did as he was told, intently watching as John rubbed her back and whispered encouraging words to his wife as she gritted and moaned in pain—clearly giving up on any breathing techniques for this one. It was over in just 30 seconds, but Mary looked beat.
"I want Dr. Marshall in here," she said, out of breath. "I need to know how much farther along this is. Sherlock, can you go get her?"
"Yes, right away," he obliged, hurrying out of the room, whether it was out of concern for Mary or nervousness of having to standby through another contraction which seemed to be a million times worse than those he left her with before.
"He's white as a ghost," Mary lightly chuckled, staring after Sherlock.
John smiled and rubbed her arm. "Do you want to get back in bed?"
"Not until Dr. Marshall comes in. Standing up is a bit easier," she said, wincing as she leaned her body exhaustedly up against her husband's.
"When the doctor comes back in, we can ask for an epidural, too."
Mary shook her head. "I don't want one."
"You can barely move you're in so much pain," he pleaded, hating having to watch his wife suffer. "It's not going to get easier."
"No, I want to hold off for as long as I can." She was persistent.
"You have, you've been amazing," John told her desperately, genuinely floored by her performance thus far. "Mary, please…"
She was still shaking her head though. "No."
He sighed and put his arm around her rejectedly, placing a kiss in her dampened hair. "Alright, but don't think you need to be a martyr. If it becomes too much—"
"I know, I know, I know."
John smiled and brought a hand to her stomach, hoping it would help a bit. It didn't seem to, though. "Maybe I can get you some sorbet…"
"No," Mary blurted immediately. "Don't leave."
He chuckled and pulled her closer. "I'm not going anywhere; I meant I'll send Sherlock for some." Mary breathed a relieved sigh, and then looked up toward the door where she saw Sherlock approaching with her doctor.
"Hello Mary," Dr. Marshall spiritedly greeted, coming into the room with Sherlock at her heels. "How are we doing in here?" John quickly gave her a synopsis of Mary's state as well as everything that had gone on since the doctor's last visit. Mary spoke when she had to, but for the most part she was just trying to manage everything going on in her body. "Alright, can you help me get her up on the bed?"
Unfortunately, Dr. Marshall didn't give much of a warning before taking a look at Mary's progress—at Sherlock's expense. John grabbed him by the neck and pulled him away when he saw the detective's fascinated, nauseated, and awkward expression, but the damage had been done. "Well," he whispered to his friend after being yanked away. "That was certainly…educational." John just rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall while his wife was being checked. "A word of advice, John…if you ever want to have intercourse with your wife again and find it even mildly enjoyable, do not look at what's happening down there."
John shot him a look. "And if you ever want to breathe again, do not put that in your mind palace.'"
"That seems fair."
"Seven centimeters, you're almost in transition," Dr. Marshall said, pulling the blanket over Mary. "It shouldn't be too long now." Mary gave a weak smile and sunk into the pillow propped up behind her while Dr. Marshall turned her attention to John. "I'll be back around in about an hour, but if anything happens before then, just call. And Sherlock told me you were getting a bit hungry, so I put some popsicles in that cooler over there. Hang in there, Mary." She patted her foot and headed out, with the same chipper step with which she had arrived.
"I hate her," Mary mumbled when the doctor had left.
John raised an eyebrow. "What? Since when?"
"Since right now, how come she doesn't have to be in labor?"
"She practices better birth control than the two of you?" Sherlock suggested, earning a vexed look from both his friends. He didn't notice the daggers though; he was staring down at his phone. "Mrs. Hudson's arrived…says she's stopping in the gift shop. What could she possibly be buying? She's already filled up an entire closet at Baker Street with every toy and stuffed animal imaginable."
John glanced at Mary, seeing just how overwhelmed she was apparent on her face. "Actually, Sherlock, why don't you go check on her. You know, make sure she doesn't buy the whole place out."
"Good idea," the detective agreed, "since presumably I'll be the one having to carry everything home."
"Thank you, Sherlock," Mary told him before he made his departure.
When it was just the husband and wife, John sat down on the bed, facing Mary. "How are you feeling?"
"Like World War III is happening in my uterus," she answered, closing her eyes. "But other than that, great." John smiled and massaged her leg. "I want my baby."
"I think she'll be worth the wait," he reassured her, rubbing her tummy. When he did, he felt what immediately made Mary's face contort. "That's another contraction starting?"
Mary couldn't talk, but she nodded, bracing herself for the brunt of it as the pain came ripping through her body. "Oh God, John, this is the worst one" she cried, clutching his hand until his knuckles became even whiter than hers. She could feel his bones cracking within her grasp, but even still it did not relieve her pain.
"You're doing great, deep breaths now…that's it." His eyes watered with every second she had his hand, but he didn't dare show it.
Mary tried to breathe in and out, but it just wasn't working. "I need to push!"
John's eyes widened. "No! Jesus, Mary don't push!"
"Ugh, bloody hell!" Mary cried, panting and moaning through the waves of agony.
"You can do this," John said encouragingly, praying she wasn't pushing. "Only a bit longer…there you go."
The contraction passed and Mary collapsed back on to the bed, trying to catch her breath. "I can't do this anymore," she nearly wept.
"Yes, you can," John optimistically propounded, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a small towel. "You've done brilliantly so far…and she's almost here." He gave her temple a kiss and went back to rubbing her leg. "How about that popsicle?"
Clearly the incredible hunger had passed, because his wife shook her head apathetically. "I won't be able to keep it down."
"Are you nauseous?" John asked, becoming concerned.
"Bit, yeah."
"Eh, alright, well uh…" he stuttered, looking around for plastic cups. He found a stack in a cabinet by the baby monitor. "I'll just run to the bathroom to get you some water, okay…I'll be right back." The bathroom was only ten feet away, in the room and all, but he still felt he needed to reassure her that he was not going anywhere.
In the waiting room, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly all sat twiddling their thumbs. "How long has it been now?" Mrs. Hudson asked, breaking the silence.
Molly checked her watch. "Nearly 9 o'clock, so over twenty hours…"
"Twenty-two and a half to be precise, if Dr. Marshall's evaluation was correct," Sherlock corrected.
"Poor Mary," the landlady commiserated.
"Oi! You lot," a voice called, approaching the only group in the waiting room. "No baby yet?"
They all looked up to see Lestrade coming their way. Molly was the first to answer. "Not yet…did you come to see?"
"Oh, no, I was just," he tried to play it off, but forgot what his reason was supposed to be, "bringing in a junkie, thought I'd check in."
"No you weren't," Sherlock said without even looking.
"What?"
"Your hair's wet."
Lestrade ran a hand through it causelessly. "So?"
"So it's been snowing all day, if you had come in with a junkie you would have come in the ambulance which drives directly into the lower level terminal. Your hair is wet, so are your shoes, meaning you walked through the car park, meaning you came here on your own." The detective leaned back expressionlessly the way he always did. "Plus you reek of Thai food…unless, of course, the imaginary junkie made you stop for a takeaway."
"Real impressive." Lestrade dropped into a seat across from the crew.
"Please, even Mrs. Hudson could have put that one together."
"I was being sarcastic," Lestrade threw back.
"So was I."
The landlady scornfully smacked his arm, shutting him up quick. Molly, on the other side of him, decided to bring the conversation back to the reason they were all sitting there in the first place. "So, let's take bids, shall we? I say Mary has the baby at 10:30 tonight. Mrs. Hudson, what's your guess?"
"Ooh, I don't know," the woman said, smiling excitedly. "If I'm going on what Sherlock's told me, I'll say…midnight."
Molly turned to Greg, who took it as his turn. "I've never been good at making these kinds of predictions."
"You're kidding," Sherlock wryly quipped.
The D.I. frowned, but gave it some thought anyhow. "Tomorrow morning, sometime…let's say nearly eight."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're all wrong. Granted, I was able to gather the most data being that I was the one in the delivery room the longest." He deliberated a bit longer, running through the calculations in his head. "Let's see, it's 8:58 now. I predict she'll give birth within the hour, sometime after 9:30."
Just then, the sound of footsteps hastening toward the waiting area snapped all their heads up. It was John, looking bewildered and slightly unaware of his surroundings. "Already?!" Mrs. Hudson joyously exclaimed, jumping up from her seat.
"Congratulations Mate!" Lestrade warmly boomed with an eagerly outstretched hand, also standing up to greet the new father.
For the first time, John realized there were people around. "Oh, hi…uh, no, no baby yet…Jeez, you're all here, aren't you. Wow, thanks…" he was truly appreciative, but still looked a bit like a deer frozen in headlights. "Sherlock, can I talk to you for a second?"
Sherlock privately moved off to the side with John, staring intently at the doctor. "What's wrong? Is Mary alright?"
"Um, yeah, technically I guess…" John answered, pushing his hands exhaustedly through his hair. "She tossed me out though…her contractions are getting really bad, she still won't get the epidural, and she completely hates me right now. She screamed at me to leave and I didn't, and then she starting pelting me with the ice chips. One of the nurses is in with her now…this is ridiculous!" The panic in him was starting to rise to apparentness. "It's bad enough I have to see my wife in the most excruciating pain I have ever seen another human being endure, that's coming from an army doctor by the way, but now she kicks me out so I can't even be there for her. Why won't the baby just come out already?!"
Sherlock had never seen John hyperventilate, but the possibility seemed to become more likely with every passing second. "Alright, just calm down…when did you leave Mary?"
"Just now, 'bout two minutes ago," John responded confusedly.
"Well, two minutes seems like long enough, maybe she's gotten over it."
"I can't decide if she's punishing me for actually getting her pregnant or just because I was the only other person in the room."
"Did you hear what I said?"
"It's probably the first one…"
"John!" Sherlock yelled, snapping him out of his trance and inadvertently startling a nurse who was passing the pair. "Go back in there. Mary's in pain, she doesn't mean what she's saying. She needs you in with her, so go back in there."
"I told her that! It made her even more pissed off."
Another nurse came hustling around the corner. "Doctor Watson…she's asking for you. She wants you to come back in."
"Oh thank God," John sighed in relief, running back to his wife's room. "Wipe that stupid smirk off your face!" he shouted back to Sherlock as he went.