"Lay one of the towels...on the floor..." was the next instruction from John, his breathing deepening as the next urges started to build. Sherlock had just managed to spread the towel out when John could no longer fight and gave into the urge to push, his body on autopilot now as it directed his actions. Instinctively, his hands reached for Sherlock's arms and sensing that this was what John needed now more than anything, he allowed John's fingers to squeeze painfully tight into his shoulders. John's green eyes then match up with his own gray ones and lock, showing unrelenting focus for nearly a full minute as he forced the baby further down.
Like a turtle on its back, Jensen was stuck on the floor. He’d squatted down to pick something up, was thrown off balance by their huge monstrosity of a dog, Harley, and when he tried to catch himself, his hand slipped on the tile. Jensen ended up flat on his back on the floor with Harley licking his face. If he really wanted to try, Jensen was sure he could get up, but decided just to lay there instead, just for a few moments until he could muster enough energy to pull himself up. Two minutes turned into twenty and Jensen was still lying on the floor weighing the pros and cons of staying there and waiting for Jared to find him, or attempting to try now to get up.
"Her name." John explains. "Sarah and I decided that we were going to name her Nora." And he held his breath in wait of Sherlock's response. He remembered the grief that Sherlock had given him when he and Sarah were deciding on names for their son, Rory; how they couldn't have come up with something more unique. This coming from a man named Sherlock who has a brother named Mycroft... Sometimes it was nice to be normal. And darn it if he was going to let Sherlock change...
As soon as the scalpel finished its mutilation, he registered the sensation of the vacuum being placed on his daughters head, the movements tearing his already brutalized opening. The doctor started pulling without even waiting for a contraction and the hands were back on his belly, crushing his insides without care. Each compression sent another flash of agony through his anatomy but he couldn’t do anything other than scream for mercy.
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