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It was early. Too early to be awake...the stars were still out. The flat was dark and still. The ticking clock was the only sound, and the light from a streetlamp painted stripes on the wall. John turned over with a sigh. He wasn't surprised to find the space beside him cold and empty; Sherlock was awake at all hours lately (even more so than usual), and every time he got up to go to the bathroom or pace around the flat, John woke up too. If this baby wasn't born soon, they'd both go crazy. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep. And he was almost there, too, when he realized what it was that had first woken him: it was quiet. This flat was rarely quiet, even at night.
"Sherlock...?" he whispered. He laid there in the dark and listened so hard his ears hurt, but there was nothing. No shuffling of feet or rustling of papers or distracted muttering to tell him where his boyfriend was. Which probably meant he'd dozed off somewhere. John kicked off the blankets and got out of bed. Sure, he could function on three hours of sleep; why the hell not. "Sherlock?" he said again in a stage-whisper. He descended the stairs slowly, skipping the one that always creaked. "Sherlock, if you're here I'd really like an answer." The main room was dark, save for the glow of an open laptop. Looks like Sherlock had been up doing research again. John picked his way across the room- stubbing his toe on an endtable in the process -and shut the computer with a *click*. There was a rustling of fabric behind him, and the sound of a yawn.
"Hello, John." Sherlock's voice rumbled through the dark. John turned toward the sound.
"Sherlock, it's way too early to be awake. For either of us, but you especially." John stifled a yawn of his own. "What are you doing up, anyway?"
Sherlock sighed heavily. "Contractions. Didn't want to wake you." he said, casual as anything.
John stood motionless for a second as the words sank in. "Contractions- you mean real ones?"
"Mm."
John fumbled for the lamp. It bathed the room in yellowish light and illuminated Sherlock's rounded form on the couch. The detective was slouched with one hand lazily rubbing his belly, and there were gray circles under his eyes.
"How long?"
"Four hours. They're fairly regular; last one was..." he glanced at the clock. "...nine minutes."
"Christ, Sherlock, why didn't you wake me??"
Sherlock sighed. "My water hasn't broken, and there's very little pain. Actually, it's been very boring."
Typical Sherlock. John moved his boyfriend's hand aside to press gently on his belly, eliciting a quiet hiss of discomfort. "Well, the baby's right in position; it's very low. You're sure it doesn't hurt?"
"It's just tight. And uncomfortable."
"That may change. In the meantime, I'm going to start getting things ready." John beamed up at Sherlock. "We're having a baby." he said, as though it had only just dawned on him. Sherlock smiled back.
"Indeed we are."
~
John buzzed around for a while, collecting all the things they'd need. He found string and towels, disinfected the scissors and clamps from his medical bag, and boiled enough water to last them a week. Now and then he returned to the main room to check on Sherlock. He had taken to walking laps around the room with his violin - sometimes playing a simple tune, sometimes just carrying the instrument - as the contractions closed in. He still insisted they didn't hurt. But John had spent enough time around him to know how to read him; he could see the detective gritting his teeth with each one.. He said nothing, though, and left him to it. They'd know when it was time.
Once the preparations were done, it was John's turn to be restless. Sherlock's back had become too sore to let him walk around, so he'd retreated back to the couch. His boyfriend, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. He fussed around the room, tidying this, straightening that; you could almost feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. Every contraction brought him back to Sherlock's side, to hold his hand or rub his back or do whatever else needed doing, then he was off again. After an hour or two of this, Sherlock had had enough.
"John." he hoisted himself upright on the couch. His boyfriend had migrated to another room, but he could hear him rattling around. "John." he called again. The rattling stopped. Footsteps padded toward him, and John's anxious face appeared around the corner.
"What's wrong?"
"You. You're going to wear a hole in the carpet." he jerked his head at the space beside him. "Sit down, or I'll drag you over here myself."
John sighed and did as he was told. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm just excited."
"So am I, but you don't see me tearing the flat apart."
"No need to be hyperbolic."
"Who says I am?"
"Oh, shut up."
They were silent for a moment. A car rattled by outside. Then John turned and kissed Sherlock on the temple. The detective was leaned against the back of the couch, as lazy as an afternoon nap. One long arm snaked around John's shoulders and when the doctor tried to pull away, he tightened his grip. "Stay." he said quietly. John smiled and settled against him. He tucked his head under the detective's sharp jaw, and laid a hand on his belly. Even under a T-shirt and bathrobe he could feel the muscles tightening. Sherlock felt it too; he closed his eyes, and John could hear a quiet intake of breath. His hand found John's, and squeezed it.
"Don't hold your breath." John reminded him. "Breathe with it." the air left Sherlock's lungs in a long, slow sigh. He breathed hard through the rest of the contraction before relaxing again. John glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past four, and the contractions were almost at six minutes. They still had some waiting to do. "I guess you won't be seeing Mycroft tomorrow, after all." he said thoughtfully, and grinned at the noise of disgust this earned him.
"I'm about to give birth to our child, John," said Sherlock, still a little breathless, "could we not bring my brother into this?"
"Sorry." said John, not sorry at all. He'd taken Sherlock's mind off what was happening, if only for a moment. He nestled a little closer. "I'm going to shut my eyes for a bit. You should do the same, while you still can."
"I make no promises." Sherlock grumbled. But he rested his head against John's nonetheless, and within minutes they were both asleep.
~
"John. John!"
He was awake in an instant. Sherlock was breathing hard and fast next to him, his head thrown back, his hands fisted in the couch fabric, and his bare feet braced against the coffee table. "She's coming," the detective gasped. "need to push."
John leapt up. "Not yet, hang on just a moment-" he made a dash for their supplies, neatly stacked and stupidly on the wrong side of the flat, but Sherlock was already bearing down behind him. All he had time to do was grab a couple of towels before running back. When he got there, the detective was bent double around his belly and his face was flushed; a dark stain was spreading down the inseam of his sweatpants. John dropped his towels and pulled the damp fabric down off of Sherlock's hips. He tossed it to the side once it was off, and when he looked back he was half-surprised to see a damp little scalp already forcing its way out. Sherlock let out a loud breath as the contraction ended; the scalp slid back out of view.
"Sorry...couldn't stop..." Sherlock panted.
"That's alright, you've gotten a good start." John worked quickly to spread towels between the detective's feet. Then he put his hands on Sherlock's knees and eased them further apart. "Tuck your chin into your chest with the next one." Sherlock did just that, moaning through clenched teeth as he pushed. The scalp slid forward again, and stayed. "Good, Sherlock, that's great! It's coming fast."
"I know!" the detective growled. He took a deep breath and pushed again, moving the head further down and out. "God, it burns-!"
"It's crowning. Just keep breathing."
Sherlock's breathing turned into harsh, rapid panting as the head slowly emerged. He let out a deep groan of relief when it finally came free. John wiped the baby's face clean with a spare towel. "It's almost here, Sherlock. Just a couple more pushes." he beamed. Sherlock groaned again. In one long, loud push, the shoulders were out, and the rest of the baby quickly followed suit. John let out a little "Oh!" of surprise as the little body slid into his hands. Then he instinctively held it close. "Hello, little one." The baby startled alive and wailed, and he lifted it up onto Sherlock's belly. The detective's slender hands hovered over it, unsure what to do, while he rubbed it down with a towel. "It's a girl." he said, just as breathless as his boyfriend. "You were right."
"Of course I was." Sherlock retorted with none of his usual sharpness. His hands seemed to find their purpose, and he gathered his still-crying daughter into his arms. "Oh, I know," he whispered to her. "I know." There was nothing else in the world but the two of them. John grinned and blinked back tears.
"That may be the fastest delivery I've ever witnessed." he said, laughing.
"I suppose we both wanted to get it over with." the baby was quieter now that she could hear Sherlock's heartbeat. She laid on his chest and squinted up at him as though trying to remember who he was. "Hello there." he kissed her damp forehead. "Hello, Anya."
"Anya?"
"Mm. That's the one we decided on, isn't it?"
"Well, it is now." John reached up and stroked his daughter's fine, pale hair. It was already quite the same color as his own. "Welcome to the world, Anya." she grabbed his finger in one tiny hand, and his heart swelled. His life with Sherlock Holmes had been one hell of an adventure. And now that their daughter was here, it could only get better.
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