It was three weeks until his due date and they were holed up at home due to the presence of Hurricane Irene. Their little home was far enough inland that the damage wouldn’t be too severe and they wouldn’t have to board up or anything like they did in Florida, but it was bad enough that weathermen were expecting downed trees and probable power outages.
"It's normal... We're getting close..." John replied, already knowing where Sherlock's mind was going. At last, the dressing room. Gingerly swinging the door open, he loosed his grip on John long enough to shove a large stack of chairs in front the door, keeping any potential snipers out of the room for the time being. He'd figure out what to do if they started shooting when they come to it. Leaving John on a bench, he hurried into a side room, grabbing the items that John had instructed him to get; towels, a first aid kit, anything he thought they'd need. Of course, he did manage to take a moment to type out a frantic text to Mycroft.
He screamed bloody murder, unaware of any coherent words coming out of his mouth or the work his body was unconsciously doing, until he felt a sharp pop. He heard Jason telling him the head was out but didn’t have time to react before the shoulders were forcing their way into the world as well and it took all of his strength not to pass out on the spot.