Chapter Text
“You have her dummy?”
“For the dozenth time, John, yes I have the dummy. And a backup dummy. And an entire bag of nappies.”
Sherlock couldn’t help but to turn his lips up in an amused smile as his boyfriend paced the living room. John was called in to work a nightshift, and the doctor seemed more nervous about leaving his six month old alone with his own partner than rushing in to assist with surgery in the middle of the night.
“She’s been fed and changed?” John asked.
“Obviously. It’s nine o’clock, John. Go to work. Some poor sod is waiting for you in an operating room, and all we’re going to do is sleep, now go!”
He gave John an encouraging push toward the front door, but his boyfriend didn’t look amused.
“If you need me, my number at the hospital is on the fridge,” John said.
He turned around, meeting Sherlock’s eyes as though desperately pleading with him to be serious about this. In the six months that he became a father John hadn’t spent a single night away from his little girl, and while Sherlock didn’t see what the big deal was at first, when he looked into his lover’s eyes and saw the utter fear inside them, he understood.
“We’ll be fine, John,” Sherlock promised. He leaned in and planted a kiss to his lips. “Go take care of your patient. Amelia and I will be fine.”
John’s eyes twinkled.
“You know, it’s not just Amelia I’m worried about,” he teased.
Sherlock smiled, delighted that John finally seemed to calm down.
“We’ll be fine,” he repeated, and gave him a final goodbye kiss.
“I’m just going to go say goodbye-"
Grabbing his arm, Sherlock warned:
“She’s fast asleep, John. If you wake her up she’ll start to cry, and then you’ll never want to leave. Go. It’s fine.”
His boyfriend’s eyes darted toward the nursery; he seemed to be unable to get his feet to move.
“I should be back by morning.”
“Then I’ll have breakfast ready. Go. Your patient is waiting on you.”
It looked like it physically pained John to finally grab his bag and head toward the door. He stopped one final time and turned to Sherlock with a longing gaze.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Sherlock just smiled. John left quietly, and Sherlock waited until he heard the sound of his car starting up before he retreated back to the guest room. He hadn’t officially moved into the Watson household, but he might as well have. Most of his clothes were here, what few experiments John allowed him to bring was here, the violin was here, and whenever Sherlock needed something at Baker Street he spent more time having tea with Mrs Hudson than inside the flat. The funny thing was, even though Baker Street felt like home for so long, he hardly missed it. He knew his life was with John now, and Amelia, and wherever they needed to be he needed to be. Besides, the suburbs were a much better place to raise a baby. Less noise, less people, newer construction. Still he kept paying rent at Baker Street out of mere sentiment…and the fear of giving Mrs Hudson his notice.
He settled into bed and flipped on the baby monitor. John was trying his best to let Amelia sleep through the night by herself- something Sherlock could hardly understand. Staying in his room while the child cried seemed cruel, and part of him almost believed that John was reluctant to leave him with Amelia because he knew Sherlock would spoil her.
On cue, at two in the morning, he woke up to Amelia’s wails. He lay there, breathing hard after being jerked from a rather intimate dream involving John and handcuffs, and he made it a full five minutes before he gave up and raced to the nursery. After all, they did live in a townhouse. Wasn’t it rude to the neighbours to let the baby cry all night?
“There, there,” Sherlock encouraged as he burst into the nursery. Up close, the cries seemed even louder than usual, and he didn’t hesitate to lift the screaming baby into his arms. “It’s okay, Amelia.”
But Amelia only cried harder, louder, and Sherlock frowned. He gently sat her back down and studied her. He flipped on a lamp to get a better look, and panic rose through him when he saw the pained look on the child’s face.
Sherlock felt her forehead, but her skin felt fine. Amelia grasped her baby blanket it and screamed.
“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked her desperate, though he knew it was usually. “Are you ill?”
He was wearing his dressing gown, and he knew his mobile was tucked in his pocket. He thought of the number John left on the fridge- the one he knew by heart though his boyfriend insisted on writing it down anyway. But John would be well into surgery right now; it would be no use bothering him. Plus, who goes in when the on call doctor has to deal with a personal emergency?
So Sherlock just stood, staring in horror at the screaming child. It might have been his imagination, but her face seemed paler than normal. Usually her cheeks were bright red during crying spells.
Suddenly the wailing stopped. Her crying turned soft and sounded more like desperate gasps for breath.
Something was clearly wrong. He could feel it in his gut, but he hadn’t done enough research on baby symptoms to identify the problem. It seemed foolish to call 999 when he wasn’t sure exactly what the emergency was, but he was too afraid to just leave her in case something really was wrong.
Then he heard the terrible, heartbreaking sound of wheezing, and when he realised it was coming from Amelia and not his own chest he grabbed his mobile and did what any grown man in his situation would do.
He phoned his mother.
“Sherlock?” He had obviously woken her up. A million thoughts were probably going through her head- he had done drugs again, a case had gone incredibly wrong, something had happened to Mycroft. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”
Usually he hated it when his mother called him ‘sweetheart’, but for the first time it was comforting to hear her say it.
“I think something’s wrong with Amelia,” he explained. “John was called into surgery around nine. Everything was fine until she woke up screaming at two am. At first she started crying harder than ever, but then she just sort of stopped. Her crying was so soft, almost like she was gasping for breath. Then she began wheezing.”
“Wheezing?” His mother exclaimed. “Sherlock, maybe you should call an ambulance.”
A pit dropped in his stomach. His mother had never been one to panic and rush to the hospital at every little symptom, so hearing her suggest going to the A&E made him even more nervous.
“Do you really think it’s that bad?” He asked.
It was a stupid question, but he was in complete panic mode.
“You should never gamble with fate when a baby is wheezing,” his mother warned. “Do you have a number for John at the hospital?”
“He’ll be in surgery until early morning. I can’t bother him. Mum…I don’t know babies. I don’t know what to do. She’s….she’s acting like she can’t breathe.”
“Hang up the phone right now and dial 999.” But he didn’t. He hesitated, scared stiff. His mother’s voice was much calmer when she spoke again, trying to encourage him. “Sherlock, she needs you to be strong right now. Do you need me to come to London?”
Yes!
“No,” he lied. He was actually beginning to feel like he couldn’t breathe. “No…I better call an ambulance. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mum. I just panicked.”
“It’s quite alright, love. Trust me, every parent has been there. I love you. Give me a ring when you get to the hospital.”
“I will.”
He hung up and called for an ambulance straight away. It took less than five minutes for an ambulance to get there. He had a feeling John had something like this in mind when he chose a townhome close to the hospital.
“Are you the father?” The paramedic asked as they prepared Amelia in the ambulance.
Eyes wide, Sherlock could only watch in horror as teeny tiny blood pressure monitors and stethoscopes were used on her. He heard the question again, and he was snapped back into reality. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that if he said ‘no’ he might not get full access to Amelia in the hospital. Sherlock settled for:
“I’m her stepfather.”
This seemed to be good enough for the paramedics, who pulled him into the ambulance. The short ride to the hospital passed in a blur. A series of questions were asked, questions he hardly knew how to answer. He knew very little about John’s family’s medical history, and he considering he hadn’t realised something was wrong with Amelia until she woke up that night he didn’t find himself very useful.
It was only when they were rushing through the A&E doors that it hit them that they were in John’s hospital. Amelia was rushed into a room and a nurse stopped him before he followed.
“Please, I need to be with her,” he pleaded.
“And I need to ask you some more questions,” the nurse challenged. Her nametag read ‘Amanda’. Her eyes looked tired, her shoulder slumped forward, and she was clearly in a bad mood. She had obviously been called in as well. “Does anyone in the house smoke?”
His face fell, and his chest became tight.
“I…just…no…” but he knew he couldn’t lie. This was Amelia’s health they were talking about. Finally he confessed: “Only outside, but that was just once, I swear. I quit smoking when she was born.”
The confession earned him a cold glare from the nurse, and Sherlock felt like a complete arse. How had he ever chosen his own selfish desires over someone else’s wellbeing?
“Any history of drug abuse in the household?” She asked.
“My…my stepdaughter is in there clinging to life and you’re asking me about-“
“I’ll take that as a yes,” the nurse replied dryly.
From the note she scribbled down he knew he was due for a lecture about second hand smoke and children. It was a lecture he had heard from John a dozen times before he was allowed to stay over. The one time he gave into his cravings he felt so ashamed that the single cigarette made him feel ill for days.
“What about a history of asthma?” Amanda asked.
Sherlock stopped.
Asthma?
He had never thought about asthma a day in his life, though it was entirely possibly that either Mary or John’s family had a history of it and he didn’t know.
“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “Can babies have asthma attacks?”
This also earned him a look, and he felt stupid for not knowing any of this.
“Sometimes,” Amanda finally said, “but it’s important to know the family’s history up front. Having a single attack at her age might not indicate that she’ll have asthma as she gets older, but it will be important in case she does have further issues later on.”
“Like I said, I’m her stepfather,” he finally confessed, “but father works in the hospital. John Watson. He’s in surgery, but his history should be on file.”
The nurse’s eyes lit up with alarm.
“This is John’s daughter?” She asked, pointing with her pin toward the door.
Sherlock nodded. He’d somehow forgotten in his moment of panic that John was hailed a hero at his new hospital. His first week on the job he worked a sixteen hour double shift as he fought to save the lives of a family of car crash victims, all of whom were discharged on a good note despite the fiery crash that brought them there. Less than two weeks later he caught the early stages of a brain tumor in a twelve year old girl, which ended up saving her life. Of course the staff would be anxious to help John’s kid.
The nurse placed a hand on his shoulder, and Sherlock was surprised at how comforting he found the gesture.
“We’re doing everything we can,” she promised.
He nodded, but it wasn’t the promise he wanted to hear. It was the promise that was usually made when a patient took a turn for the worse. It was a promise he remembered hearing the week before his grandfather died of cancer. It was a promise he heard Lestrade give hundreds of times, to no avail.
“You’ll need to fill out paperwork at the front desk,” Amanda said. “We’ll take good care of Amelia.”
A small smile crossed her face, and Sherlock had a feeling the A&E staff knew all about John’s new baby girl. John didn’t take her to work to show her off in fear of her catching something, but he did have a small baby party (he had refused to call it a shower), which drew more guests in a single hour than Sherlock had known his entire life.
As he began filling out the paperwork he once again struggled to find answers to even the simplest questions. He almost considered phoning Mycroft to find a way around it, but he knew how much his brother detested being woken up in the middle of the night.
“Mr Holmes?” The receptionist called.
His eyes shot up, hoping to see a doctor, but she motioned for him to bring the paperwork.
“Amanda tells me this is Dr Watson’s daughter,” the receptionist said; she offered him a reassuring smile. “We’ll take care of everything. We have John’s background on file, so there’s no need to worry.”
There was a certain glimmer in her eye that threw Sherlock off-guard, and when he glanced down at the paperwork and saw his self-proclaimed title of ‘stepfather’ he realised what it must be. He and John had only been officially dating for three months, and most of their dates consisted of take-away dinners or a quick round of sex. Of course people at the hospital wouldn’t know yet. They still thought he was John “I’m not gay” Watson who proudly boast his “Three Continents Watson” nickname whenever someone doubted him.
He swallowed nervously, and pleaded:
“Please don’t-"
“We’re professionals here, Mr Holmes,” the receptionist said, throwing her hands up in defense.
But even as he walked away images of John being teased in the break room flooded his mind.
“Sherlock?”
It wasn’t thirty seconds after collapsing in a plastic seat with his head in his hands that he heard the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. John was dressed in scrubs, complete with a mask resting on his head and latex gloves he had just ripped off sitting in his hand.
From the mixture of shock and hurt on his face he couldn’t tell if John just happened to be wandering the A&E or if he was paged.
“I was paged,” John explained. “They said Amelia was here. What happened?”
Carefully he stood up and began to place his hands on John’s shoulders, but his boyfriend jerked away.
“Don’t!” John snapped.
Rather it was out of frustration, exhaustion, or fear Sherlock didn’t know, but John sighed as though he felt guilty about it.
“Come with me,” John sighed.
He led Sherlock through the emergency ward to a cleaning station for doctors and nurses. He scrubbed off and shed his sweaty scrub top, leaving him in the bottoms and a plain white t-shirt. His hands shook as he cleaned them, and when he finally turned the water off Sherlock placed a hand over his.
“John,” Sherlock said quietly. He squeezed his hand, hoping to help calm him down.
Letting out a shaky sigh, John finally turned to him.
“At about two Amelia woke up crying, like usual, but this time it was louder, like something was really wrong,” Sherlock explained. “I went to her room and at first everything seemed okay. Then she just had this look of pain on her face, and her crying turned very soft. She started wheezing-“
“Oh god,” John croaked, holding a hand to his mouth like he was going to be sick.
“I phoned for an ambulance and we came straight here,” he finished, carefully leaving out the part where he called his mum in a panic.
“Oh my god.”
His boyfriend was breathing hard, and all Sherlock knew to do was to embrace him in his arms and hold him close.
“Everything will be fine,” he whispered.
“Don’t say that,” John shot, “please don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep. I left her for one night…I didn’t even say goodbye! Oh my god. What if she, what if…”
Suddenly John let go of him and collapsed on the floor to throw up into the trash can. When he lifted his face a moment later, chest heaving, he looked nearly as pale as his daughter did just a half an hour ago. For the first time it truly struck Sherlock how much John and his daughter looked alike. Their hair, their eyes, their noses…everything was just alike.
Sherlock just didn’t know what to say, but he had a feeling this was one of those moments when John just needed him to be here. He helped John to stand, and he was just embracing him again when someone called their names.
“Dr Watson and Mr Holmes?”
Sherlock couldn’t help but to be caught off-guard by the wording. He was so used to it being the other way around. But he was in John’s territory now.
“Dr Oliver,” John greeted, stretching out his hand to shake on it. “Sherlock, this is Dr Kevin Oliver. He’s a brilliant doctor.”
Dr Oliver grinned.
“Thanks for the kudos, John. Do you want to talk in here or-?”
“Here’s fine,” John replied.
“First of all, Amelia’s going to be fine.” Sherlock and John let out simultaneous sighs of relief. “Her airways were briefly swollen.”
“She had an asthma attack?” John blurted out.
The doctor looked hesitant to respond, and Sherlock couldn’t imagine how hard it was to talk to new parents. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder and held his breath as the doctor explained:
“She had what appeared to be an asthma attack, but it can be difficult to determine if a baby actually has asthma. Has she had any colds lately?”
John shook his head.
“She hasn’t been coughing at all, or wheezing. She’s been perfectly fine, unless she just started to feel sick tonight.”
“It’s not in your file, but you have any family history of asthma?” Dr Oliver asked. “It’s not really a diagnosis I can make after one attack, but if she hasn’t been sick otherwise it is something to consider.”
John hesitated and glanced down at the ground as he admitted:
“When I was a kid…yeah, I did. I just don’t like to think about it. It made growing up hard, you know, with inhalers and all that. I couldn’t run very fast or keep up with the other kids. Apparently my dad had it too. I’ve been fine ever since. I never imagined passing that onto my own kid.”
“We still don’t know if that’s what it is,” Oliver pointed out. “We were able to give her emergency treatment for now, and she improved immediately. My recommendation is that we keep her overnight and set an appointment to start monitoring her symptoms. If this was asthma it could have been an acute attack, and she may not experience anymore symptoms. Now, earlier today or this week, have you noticed anything different about her crying, feeding, or breathing?”
John and Sherlock exchanged glances.
“She didn’t want to be fed this morning,” John admitted. “I just thought she was being fussy.”
“When she first started crying tonight it was her normal wail, but then all of a sudden her cries became soft and shallow,” Sherlock confessed. “That’s when the wheezing started.”
The doctor nodded as he jotted down notes.
“Well, Sherlock definitely did the right thing in calling an ambulance,” Dr Oliver said. He offered a kind smile and shook hands with John again. “She’s going to be just fine. John, I’m sure you know all about asthma and infants, but I’m still going to give you some information on what to watch out for, just in case it does happen again.”
Sherlock, for one, was secretly grateful for the offer. If something like this happened again he needed to be able to do something other than just panic. The doctor left them alone, and as they turned to one another John let out another shaky breath.
“Jesus,” John whispered, running a through his hair. “Everything’s happening so fast.”
Nodding in agreement, Sherlock leaned back against the wall of the washroom and closed his eyes. He kept thinking, what if he didn’t hear the baby monitor in time? What if he had convinced himself it was nothing? What if he had followed John’s advice and let Amelia cry herself to sleep? As he opened his eyes and saw the cold, sunken eyes of his boyfriend, he knew John was thinking along the same lines.
Suddenly his mobile began ringing, and Sherlock exclaimed to no one in particular:
“Mum! I forgot to call.”
“You phoned your mother?” John asked, his lips turning up ever-so-slightly in amusement.
“I panicked,” Sherlock confessed as he answered the call. “Mum? I’m sorry, it’s been a bit of a rush.”
“I just wanted to check in. I haven’t been able to sleep, I was too worried. How’s Amelia?”
His mother sounded wide-awake, and he could just picture her sitting up with a cuppa and one of her science books. The thought made him smile, and he suddenly found himself longing to hug her.
“The doctor said she’s going to be fine,” Sherlock said. “It could have been an asthma attack, but they can’t be sure. We’ll just have to monitor her.”
“Poor Amelia,” his mum sighed. “How’s John holding up?”
He glanced over to his lover, who was leaning against the wall with his head in his hands.
“About as well as you could expect.”
“And you?”
Sherlock let out a long sigh. He couldn’t say the things he wanted to around John, so he slipped out of the room and into the hall.
“I keep thinking, what if I didn’t get there in time?” He confessed. “Or what if I didn’t react the right way? What if I did everything right but something happened to her anyway?”
“Oh love, you can’t think like that or you’ll drive yourself crazy,” his mum said. “You know, this same thing happened to your brother.”
“Mycroft?” He asked, shocked.
Mycroft was prone to colds as a child, but no one in his family ever said anything about asthma.
“They called it an acute asthma attack,” she explained, “he had a nasty cold when he was about a year old. He gave me and your dad quite a fright. In a few days he was right as rain. For the next few weeks I lived in fear of something happening to him again. Honestly, Sherlock, a parent always lives in fear of something happening to their child. Bloody hell, I worry about you and Mycroft every day.”
He couldn’t help but to grin.
“Send John our love,” his mother instructed. “I love you, Sherlock. You can phone me anytime, you know.”
“I know. I love you too, Mum. And…thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
She hung up at that, and when he looked around, observing the nightly happenings of the hospital, he finally felt the knot in his stomach loosen. He stuffed the mobile back into his dressing gown and laughed.
He was still wearing his bloody dressing gown! He hadn’t even bothered changing. Looking down at his feet, he was grateful he had at least thought to put on some trainers. He knew he must look ridiculous, but no one seemed to care.
John came out of the washroom and took his hand.
“Let’s go see her,” John said quietly. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock softly, sweetly. It was their first public display of affection. Sherlock kept his eyes open and caught the glances of a few nurses who giggled behind their hands. This was John’s own way of coming out, and honestly Sherlock couldn’t think of a better opportunity than here, at the hospital, where his colleagues doctors had just saved his daughter’s life.
And that’s when Sherlock remembered:
“Oh, and by the way they kind of think I’m her stepfather.”
John stared at him.
“Do I even want to-"
Sherlock grabbed his hand and cut him off.
“No.”
Without saying another word he led John into Amelia’s room and smiled, feeling like things were finally okay again