"A Friend In Need"
After three years of happiness with his wife Mary, John Watson must face the worst moment of his life. And Sherlock Holmes is there to pick up the pieces. Third installment of "The Case of The Blue Duvet" and "Termites at Baker Street"
Death character, angst moments, some swearing, bad language and BAMF!John.
This is a fictional story. Neither Sherlock (BBC) nor the respective characters belong to me.
Welcome to "A Friend In Need". This is the third installment which follows "The Case Of The Blue Duvet" and "Termites At Baker Street". I highly recommend you to read them, otherwise you'll be thoroughly lost here.
I am not an English speaker, I apologise in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!
THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING
He was at his flat when he got the news. He heard the front door being open, then being closed by someone with rush and excitement. Then, feet running up the stairs and Sherlock immediately knew who was the owner of those feet. And who was behind his door. The man was smiling excitedly. His blue eyes were read, he had been crying and his hands were shaking.
"Sherlock, Mary's is pregnant!" Said John, half mumbling an struggling himself with his own words.
The detective, who was sitting on his armchair in front of an old lady - A possible client - got the biggest hug of his life. John pressed his body over his and embraced his friend with all his strength.
"John... you are going to break my ribs..." Murmured Sherlock while feeling himself breathless.
The doctor let go of his friend and realised what was happening. Sherlock was talking with a potential client and the lady in front of them seemed to be as clueless as Sherlock was when he first opened the door of the flat "I'm sorry, I -."
Three minutes later both friends were sitting in their respective armchairs with a warm cup of tea on their hands. Sherlock looked closely at his friend. John clothes were slightly wrinkled, not so wrinkled, but he had certainly had more than a few kisses with his wife, Mary Watson, before coming to his flat to deliver the good news. All those lines around his face had been erased somehow and the new wrinkles around his eyes meant happiness and not stress.
John was happy.
"Took you time to realise Mary was pregnant." Said Sherlock and sipped more of his tea, well, John's tea. "Tell me about the her blood test results and the number of -."
John cut him off "You knew? You knew all along?"
"I saw her last week when she came to have tea with Mrs Hudson, and it was obvious. Obvious to me, of course. Do not worry, John. She didn't even know it." Explained Sherlock calmly.
"It wasn't obvious to me! I'm a doctor and I'm her husband, I should have know before anyone!" Said john, but he was hardly angry. The only thing he wanted to know was how Sherlock knew.
"Two months and one week I presume?"
The doctor nodded happily, "We have scheduled an ultrasound next week. I can't wait to see it, to see my baby!" Added John, totally excited.
Sherlock admitted, only inwardly and only to himself that he wanted John to stay a bit longer that afternoon. It had been two years since his wedding and his friend had been keeping his promise alive; he had assisted Sherlock in every case he could and they had been visiting each other now and then when time, work and family allowed them to do so. Mary visited him frequently when she stopped by to share a nice cuppa with his landlady, but things were different and the consulting detective knew he had to get used to it.
After the termites episode, Sherlock kept his promise and every time he needed to see John and Mary, or only John, or only Mary, he said so. But this time he knew he had to keep distance. This time it was different because John was starting his own family. And even though John told him he was also family, Sherlock knew the couple needed their space. More space to themselves than ever.
A week later when he visited them, Sherlock witnessed a scene he wish he could erase from his hard-drive.
They were enjoying tea and a cake Mrs Hudson kindly baked for Sherlock and for the happy soon-to-be parents. Mary and John were discussing names and who was going to be godmother and the godfather of their first child and Sherlock was trying to fight a series of facts around his head. There something, he was able to sense something no one else seemed to notice but him.
Sherlock ignored it. Or at least, he tried.
"If it's a boy, we should name it Sherlock Mycroft Watson. What do you think?" Asked Mary to both of them, joking playfully.
"Love, for God's sake! It should be Mycroft Sherlock Holmes, isn't it Sherlock?"
The detective shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Judging by the tone of your voices, I must know you two are, how is the word John? Joking?"
John nodded, "Of course we are joking, Sherlock. No disrespect, but I don't want to name my child after two insufferable grown ups who keep a childish rivalry alive after years and years."
"But I like Sherlock! Sherlock Hamish Watson, what do you think?" Asked Mary, but John shook his head.
"Hamish - Hamish Watson?"
Mary smiled. Sherlock didn't say a word.
"I like it, John." Mary smiled as she placed a hand over her stomach. She didn't have a visible pregnant stomach, but Sherlock realised she seemed to like to do that, place a hand over it. "But, let me wash your cups. Sherlock, you're staying for dinner, aren't you?"
The detective twister his mouth "If I must."
Both husband and wife smiled at each other and Mary stood up from her place on the brown sofa in their living room to take the tray with the empty cups and then she made her way to the kitchen.
Sherlock's grayish eyes met a dark stain left where Mary had been seated and when he was about to say something, both he and John heard the sound of porcelain cups hitting the floor and a cry.
Mary was leaning against the counter with her blue eyes full of tears and both of her hands over her stomach. Her blue jeans had a big stain of blood and as soon as John saw her, he almost fainted. Sherlock dialed the emergency number for the first time in his life and tried to calm his friend down. The only thing Mary did was murmur I'm sorry, while John hugged her and cried with her as well.
The doctors told John it was a simply miscarriage. That it happens and it was inevitably and no matter what he couldn't have done, it was meant to happen.
John and Mary were devastated.
Sherlock only visited her once, when Mary was still in hospital and didn't say a word more than 'I'm sorry', while he was keeping an eye on her after he finally convinced John to go and get something to eat. Mary didn't look at Sherlock, her eyes were whitish, and she looked lost. When Sherlock took her hand, they were cold. And Sherlock felt useless.
After that day, John stopped visiting Sherlock as he always did and Mary stopped visiting Mrs Hudson to have their weekly cuppa. Everyone knew how sad they were, and Sherlock understood, feeling his chest aching with pain, that his friend was sad and no matter how much he wanted to stay with him, with them, he couldn't. Mary and John needed their time, their space and mostly important, they needed each other.
Three months later John visited Sherlock, and with tears in his eyes he confessed him he saw it. He told Sherlock he saw it after the surgery and as far as he could tell, it was going to be a boy. He even made Sherlock promise him he would keep his mouth shut. Because after that day in which Mary had the miscarriage, she had been under a strong depression.
At the end of the following summer, John visited Sherlock once to tell him Mary was pregnant again. And everything changed. The doctors orders - And John's - confined Mary to stay on bed during the whole pregnancy. Literally, Mary followed all the things her doctors and John, her own husband, said.
John stayed beside Mary's side every day. He barely left their flat, and when he did it, it was to buy tea, milk or another thing Mary was craving for. Sherlock silently agreed to make more frequent visits with Mrs Hudson to make Mary feel better. It didn't matter if she was pregnant again, because the memory and the thought of the previous baby lost continued there, haunting the Watsons every day.
While Sherlock told John about his latest cases, Mrs Hudson helped Mary with her knitting. It was too early to know, but Mary knew it was going to be a girl.
Sherlock never believed in destiny. To him it was such a word he wasn't even able to pronounce it, nor think about it. To him, destiny was a word people used as an excuse. An excuse to say they weren't able or that they did not want to do certain things because it wasn't in their destines. How dull people were, thought Sherlock.
That morning they were supposed to visit John and Mary, Mrs Hudson's sister, who lived in Cardiff fall ill and she had to go. Sherlock was left alone in a cab with that chocolate cake Mary loved so much. It was one of those cold days in which Sherlock would go to John's flat and spend the day with him and Mary, maybe watch crap telly and discuss more baby names.
"What happened to Mrs Hudson?"
When Sherlock arrived, John and Mary were in the living room watching the news. The place was warm and the detective felt a sensation of belonging to that place. It had a similar structure to Baker Street, but the furniture and the decoration gave the place a cozy look. Every place looked better than Baker Street if it had John and Mary on it.
Sherlock told them about his landlady's sister and later John agreed to cook pasta.
"Yes, Mary." Replied Sherlock keeping his gaze on the papers he was reading. John had left five minutes ago to the nearest Tesco to buy some supplies and they were alone.
"It was a boy, wasn't it?"
Silence. The detective was speechless as he looked at Mary, who was sitting next to him with both hands over her lap, close to her small pregnant stomach.
"I know it was. I saw it on John's face after the surgery," said Mary and a few tears fell down her blue and tired eyes. "The doctors warned me not to get pregnant soon. I don't know what will happen."
Mary Watson, always knew about Sherlock's lack of experience when it was about feelings. She knew and she understood him. That's why Sherlock liked Mary so much. She wasn't that kind of woman who always demanded explanations, caresses, nice words. He knew he could tell her ignorant and she wouldn't get angry. And he knew he could drag John from some dinner and take him to some crime scene and she wouldn't say a word. She even liked it.
That was the last day Sherlock saw Mary again.
Four days later, Lestrade called Sherlock and asked him to help him with a strange case involving a serial killer that liked to leave as a trademark a piece of jigsaw puzzle inside the victim's mouth. And Sherlock being Sherlock he accepted the case, totally forgetting it was the day he was supposed to be visiting his friends.
The consulting detective was very early at the NSY ready to collect information and then visit some crime scenes when Lestrade asked him for Mary and John. "How are they?"
"Fine." Replied Sherlock while looking at some pictures of previous crime scenes involved in the same case.
"I know how it is. Molly had to be on bed the last three months of her pregnancy. We were quite scared."
As Sherlock predicted and told John when he burned his blue duvet, Molly and Greg got married and had a little son. And the little toddler now calls them 'Uncle Sherock' and 'Uncle Jawn'.
The case, which seemed to be dull and fully predictable, turned out to be more fascinating Sherlock initially thought it could be. A few looks at some crime scenes, some pictures, files and CCTV footage, and Sherlock had the case all wrapped up at the end of the afternoon when his phone rang.
It was Mycroft. And as soon as his older brother told him to leave whatever he was doing and go to Bart's Hospital because John needed him there, Sherlock didn't need to be told twice.
John was sitting on a chair alone in the waiting room outside the trauma rooms of the second floor of Bart's when he arrived. Mycroft had been helpful enough to send a car to the NSY and the driver was ready to take him to the hospital as fast as he could, even if it meat he had to avoid some street lights, but his employer was the British Government after all.
"John? John, what happened?" Asked Sherlock using a soft voice, that soft voice he always used when he has to interrogate some witness or when he needed a woman to do something for him and for the sake of a case. But this time his voice was soft, but true, real. Sherlock didn't need to get any information or to get a favour from John. He really meant it and he needed to know how was his friend.
Sherlock supposed Mary had lost the baby, but he saw on his friend's eyes that something worse had happened.
"John, tell me what happened, please." The detective sat next to him and placed an arm around his friend's shoulders.
As soon as John felt the warm touch of his friend, he allowed himself to sob loudly and big, heavy tears fell down his eyes. Sherlock didn't know what to do, he really needed John to tell him what had happened, even when he already knew it. He saw it, it was written all over John's face and he couldn't help but let some tears fall from his grayish eyes as well.
"Mary... she's - oh god, no. This can't - no, Sherlock." John tried to speak, but his sobs were strong enough to make it an impossible thing to do.
Sherlock continued caressing his friend's hand and rubbing his back to make him feel better. If it was possible to do so.
The detective realised what happened. He let his mind accept it.
"I'm sorry, John -."
Soon, the doctor broke the contact and grabbed his friend by the collar of his long coat and pressed his tall body against the nearer wall.
"You weren't there, Sherlock! You fucking weren't there when she died! You can't be sorry you heartless bastard!"
Sherlock let John press his body against the hospital wall and closed his eyes as soon as John started shouting at him. For a moment, Sherlock couldn't recognise his friend. John's eyes were red and he was crying uncontrollably even when he was shouting at him. However, John tighten the grip on Sherlock's coat. He buried his face in Sherlock's chest and cried. Sherlock hugged his friend and allowed himself to cry with him as well.
John was angry.
John was sad.
John was broken.
And Sherlock knew he was there to pick up the pieces.