Then he hurried over to the bathroom, picking up both swaddled babies from the floor and returning to the bedroom, laying them on the large bed next to their bearer. Francis moaned and wriggled weakly on the bed. His strength was spent. Francis threw an arm over his forehead and inhaled sharply as another contraction rolled over him. He was so tired. All he wanted was to sleep, and erase the last four hours. He turned his head and gasped loudly when his muscles tensed again, biting into the duvet to muffle his cries. Niso sat on the bed and watched him, gripping at his hand lightly now. There wasn't anything he could do but sit there with him. Sighing, he shook his head, wondering when Francis would next give birth and how many more he'd be having. Francis buried his face in the pillow. His soft cries became more urgent as he curled in on himself, clutching his heaving abdomen. His insides felt like they were being ripped open. "Nnnggh..!"With the next contraction he squeezed Niso's hand, hard enough to bruise. His back arched off the bed as the baby suddenly shifted and the horrible pressure in his pelvis returned. Francis groaned and rubbed his stomach furiously, feeling his muscles seize and contract against his will. This was not his body anymore; he had no control. Niso gritted his teeth but didn't say anything, allowing Francis to squeeze his hand. "Is it coming yet?" He asked, frowning as he watched Francis continue to writhe on the bed. Using his free hand, Niso tried to keep the other’s legs spread wide, hoping the nightmare would be over soon with the final birth or births. Francis whined, struggling to loose himself from the covers. He wanted to be on all fours but his legs were tangled and plastered to the bedsheets by sweat and birth fluids. He rolled over to his side and looked at Niso. "N-Need to get up.." Francis managed to gasp out before he concentrated on his breath. This time the pain was so strong it felt like knives were being twisted inside his gut. He latched onto Niso's arm and tried to haul himself upwards, wheezing, when suddenly his stomach clenched and a gush of fluids splashed down his legs. Francis shuddered. "AHHHHHHHHHHH...!"
"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.
When he woke, he was back in Arthur’s bed. He opened his eyes and glanced around. He wanted his son, the urge to hold him, to see him, was overwhelming. Before he could begin to panic though, his eyes fell on the cradle beside the bed, and he leaned over the side in order to get his first glimpse. All he could see was a tuft of golden hair and a wrinkled little face. He nearly fell off the bed trying to scramble out of it.
It felt like he was watching a movie as he saw the doctor cleaning out his son’s mouth and nose. Jason beamed as their little boy, Jackson was almost certainly going to be his name, was nestled into his arms by a grinning nurse. Distantly, he wanted to hold him too but the mere seconds of relief following his exit had disappeared and the pain was back with a frightening intensity.