Work Text:
As soon as Molly was admitted to the hospital Sherlock didn't leave her side. The neonatal specialist, Dr. Jarrod Lewis, had come in four hours after Molly was admitted. He did his own sonogram and ordered some tests to be run, and the conclusion was that there were complications, but they wouldn't be able to tell the full extent of them quite yet. There were surgeries they could do in utero, but it would take time to get a team together. Molly was under total bed rest because they wanted to wait as long as they possibly could before they had the surgery just in case they had to deliver the baby. Sherlock took the news better than she did, and he broke the rules and climbed into her bed with her to hold her close while she sobbed.
Mycroft had pulled some strings and gotten Molly an entire room to herself with four beds in it and made sure no one else was staying in that room, so Sherlock slept in one of the other beds when he couldn't stay awake any longer. It was hard to sleep since he wasn't next to his wife, but he was close enough. He didn't want to be far away in case their daughter went into distress and everyone needed to rush to bring her into the world. The nurses took pity on him and let him shower in the locker rooms they used since he adamantly refused to go home.
They had been there five days when the specialist came into the room. Sherlock had been sitting in a chair next to Molly's bed while she napped, and he saw the frown on Dr. Lewis’s face as he got closer. He reached over and shook Molly awake. She blinked slightly and looked at Sherlock, who pointed to the specialist. Molly looked over at him. “It's gotten worse, hasn't it?” she asked quietly.
“Yes and no. Her hate rate isn’t getting any slower and there appear to be a few problems that need prompt attention, but she isn’t getting progressively worse, either. We’re going to do the surgery in-utero, and then let you carry her longer in order to let her vital organs develop better. It's risky, but if we don't she might not survive. However, we run the risk of triggering premature labor and you're only twenty-five weeks along. There is a fifty-fifty chance she won't survive if she's born now.”
“What are her chances if we don't do the surgery?” Sherlock asked quietly.
“Twenty-five percent, most likely. We won't know completely until we see the extent of the complications.”
“Is she going to be able to live a normal life?” Molly asked.
“If the surgery is successful and you can carry her to term I'd say yes, there's a very good chance she'll live a normal life. If you go into premature labor there is still a good chance she'll live a normal life, though she might have lingering problems.”
“If she was your daughter what would you do?” Molly asked, looking at him intently.
“I'd have her doctor perform the surgery. The benefits greatly outweigh the risks, and the longer she's carried without the surgery the higher the chance the complications will be too much for her. I think she's a fighter. Most children with the complications we can confirm your daughter has decline at a quick rate. She's holding steady for the moment. But any additional help we can give her will go a long way towards improving her condition, even if she's delivered now.”
Molly turned back to Sherlock and he nodded slowly. “It's the best course of action,” he said.
“Then we should do it,” she said quietly. She turned back to Dr. Lewis. “Go ahead and do the surgery.”
“I'll get everyone prepared, then.” He looked over at Sherlock. “I'm afraid you won't be allowed into the room while we're doing the surgery. But if anything happens during the surgery I'll come out and tell you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. Dr. Lewis left and Sherlock looked at her. He reached over her hand. “I'm worried I'll lose both of you today, but we have no other choice.”
“I know. I'm worried too,” she said as she squeezed his hand. “But he's a good doctor. He knows what he's doing. And the staff here is top notch.”
Sherlock gave her a slight smile. “I should be trying to comfort you, not have it be the other way around.”
“It's all right.” They lapsed into silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. “Make sure you're not waiting alone while I'm in surgery. Call John and see if he can come here and keep you company.”
“I will,” he said with a nod. “He said if something like this happened he'd drop everything and come here.”
“Good,” she said. “He's a very good friend.”
“Yes, he is,” he said. “I'll call Lestrade and Donovan and Mrs. Hudson as well. They're friends too.”
“There's so much we still need to do, all these things we need to set up for when I have her,” Molly said. “We haven't even decided which room to use as the nursery and we don't have anything for her.”
“Hopefully we'll have plenty of time to get it all sorted, even if you're confined to a bed.”
“I hope so. I just wanted to be a more active part in all of this. I wanted to be able to enjoy being pregnant and all of it. And it just isn't going to happen that way.” She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “We need to talk about the worst case scenarios. I need you to know what you should do.”
“Molly...” he began but she shook her head vehemently and he stopped.
“If Lydia survives and I don't you need to promise me you'll take care of her. And you need to promise me you won't stay alone for the rest of your life.”
“I can promise I'll take care of her, Molly, but I don't think I'll ever get into another relationship,” he said quietly. “I don't want to spend the rest of my life with anyone but you. If the worst happens and you die then that's it. I'm going to stay alone for the rest of my life whether you want me to or not.”
“Please, Sherlock. Promise me,” Molly said quietly.
He could see tears slip down her face and he let go of her hand, standing up. He lowered the railing on her bed and then sat on the edge of it, facing her. “No. I never expected to fall in love in the first place. I never expected to get married or have children or actually have a fulfilling life. I sincerely doubt if I lose you I'll ever be so lucky again. And I won't want to be with anyone else. Not ten years down the line, or twenty, or any length of time after that. You get my heart for the rest of my life.”
“I don't want you to be bitter and angry,” she said as he reached over to touch her face gently. “I don't ever want you to go back to how you used to be.”
“I won't. I may be sad and lonely for a time, but I won't be uncaring and cold. I won't be aloof. I will make sure my friendships stay strong and our daughter never thinks I don't love her, and she'll know you loved her with all your heart. But we shouldn't even be talking about this. You're going to be fine and Lydia's going to be fine.”
Molly opened her eyes and looked at him before turning her head so his hand cupped her cheek. “I really hope so.”
He ran his thumb along her cheekbone and said nothing else, even as she brought her hand up and placed it on top of his. They stayed silent for quite a long time, locked in that position. They were still like that when the nurses came in to prep Molly for the surgery. He moved off the bed and let them do their job, and finally it was time for Molly to be taken to surgery. He grasped her hand one more time, squeezing it tightly, and then she was wheeled away. He watched her leave and felt at a loss for what to do. He knew he should call their friends and have them come, but right now he just wanted to not think about things, to not worry. He went back to the chair and sat down, shutting his eyes and trying to clear his mind. When he finally felt settled he opened them again and picked up the phone in the room by her bed. He called everyone he could, and then made his way to the waiting room outside of the operating room.
His friends arrived more quickly than he had thought they would. John got there first, followed by Mrs. Hudson, and then Lestrade and Donovan. Shortly after their arrival Mycroft and his mother arrived. No one really spoke while they waited and the hours ticked by, but the fact that they were all there and no one was making a move to leave lent him strength. Four hours later Dr. Lewis came out, a grim look on his face. Sherlock's heart sank as he stood up. “How bad was it?” he asked quietly.
“The complications were serious but less serious than we had originally thought, which is the good news,” he said. “But after the surgery, while we were finishing up, Molly went into labor so we had to deliver your daughter today. Molly is fine and is on her way back to her room. Your daughter is in the neonatal unit and despite being early is doing well enough. I'm afraid only family can go see her right now, though, and none of you can get close quite yet.”
Sherlock nodded, thankful that both of them had pulled through. “Thank you,” he said.
“Your daughter might still need additional surgery, but we'll wait until she's recovered from this one.” He reached over and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, squeezing it gently. “She's definitely a fighter, though. I was right about that.” Then he lifted his hand up. “One of the nurses can take you to the neonatal unit so you can meet her.”
“Thank you,” Mycroft said quietly as he stood up. He moved over to Sherlock's side. “We should go see her now, the three of us,” he said.
“Yes,” Sherlock said. He heard his mother stand up and he let Mycroft guide him to where the nurse was waiting. The three of them followed her to the part of the hospital where Sherlock knew Lydia was going to spend quite a bit of time, and then she pointed to a window. There was an incubator on the other side near the window and he looked into it. His daughter was lying there, and she looked very tiny, very fragile. There were tubes in the incubator attached to her, and she knew for the time being those machines were what were going to give her the best chance of surviving. “Hello, Lydia,” he said quietly, placing his hand on the window. He felt Mycroft go to one side of him and his mother go on the other. After a few minutes he pulled his hand away from the window and used it to pull his phone out of his pocket. He turned on the camera and snapped as good a picture as he was able. If his friends couldn't see her now he should at least have something to show them.
Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder. “We'll give you some time alone with her,” he said.
“You're family. You can stay,” Sherlock protested.
“But you need it,” he said. Sherlock glanced at his brother. “I'll take your phone to show the others.”
“Thank you,” Sherlock said with a nod as his brother lifted his hand off his shoulder and held it out for his phone.
Mycroft pocketed the phone. “You know, she's a Holmes. She'll be just as stubborn as the rest of us,” he murmured. “It's genetic.”
Despite his worry Sherlock felt himself grin just a bit. “I suppose it is,” he said quietly. Mycroft turned to leave as his mother hugged him. He embraced her back, holding on for a few minutes, and then she too left. He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Please, be just as stubborn as the rest of us,” he said, putting a hand back on the window. This was not how he had hoped things would go, and now he needed to do everything he could to be strong for her. He could do some things, be there as much as he could, but she would need to fight to survive. He just hoped she really was as much of a fighter as her doctor thought she was.