Sherlock's heart lept into his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. John's due due was still three weeks away and he had already from day one made perfectly clear that he didn't want to be anywhere near when 'it' decided to make its appearance. "I...I'll drive you to St. Bart's..." he stammered, unsuccessfully hiding the trace of fear in his voice.


“Ok Jensen, you really are nearly done. She’s right down now. I can see that she’s going to be a blondie like me, so how about you give me a really good one with the next contraction and we’ll see if we can get this done, yeah? What do you say?” the doctor coached as she used her hands to support the skin around their daughter’s tiny blood smeared head.
When an hour later, Tom finally came out to the ER, covered in Jensen’s blood, and told him Jensen was stable and going to be just fine, Jared had buried his head in brother’s shoulder and started sobbing all over again. After being ushered into his still unconscious husband’s hospital room, they brought in little baby Mason, who despite initial worries about being born three weeks early, was a perfectly healthy baby boy. The relief he felt at knowing his family was going to be okay, was staggering and he’d become so lightheaded and dizzy that he nearly passed out. Thankfully, Tom ushered him to a seat next before he fainted.
Jared would have laughed at the irony, except the situation wasn’t funny at all. Throughout the whole pregnancy, Jared had been the calm one, the one to provide reassurances when things were going bad, the one who always knew what to say. Now when it really mattered, when the moment of truth stormed in on them, and their baby was demanding to be introduced to the world, Jared was the one freaking out and relying on Jensen for reassurance.
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.
×