This Is Real

Chapter Seventeen

Sherlock wished the damn car would move faster, that the city traffic parted quicker to let them through. His knee wouldn't stop bouncing, his thumb becoming sore from how he chewed on it, his ears ringing loudly. He tried to calm his racing heart but it was impossible. All he could think about was how badly he'd let her down, admonishing himself for not making sure he was reachable at all times.

"I've spoken to Greg," John said, slipping his mobile away and chancing a glance in Sherlock's direction. "He called to make sure we were on our way."

"Has... did he speak to Eve?"

"He spoke to Mycroft," John replied. "He said...it sounds like she's pretty poorly, Sherlock, but she's where she needs to be now. She's in the best place, they're ready for this kind of thing."

Sherlock didn't dare ask John to elaborate on what he meant by 'this kind of thing'. As his brain scrolled through everything he'd read since they conceived Olivia, he realised the possibilities were too innumerable and horrendous to even begin to consider.

When they reached the hospital he was out of the car and running before the siren had cut out, hearing John's footfall keeping pace behind him as they burst through the automatic doors, weaving in and out of people and avoiding the reception desk. He hadn't memorised this hospital like he had Barts, and in his debilitating panic there was no way he would be able to navigate his way to the maternity unit. Luckily for him, John knew this hospital well enough after working as cover last year and he eventually stepped back, allowing his friend to lead the way.

All he could think of now was his wife, trying to focus on her smile, her laugh, how she felt in his arms, desperately blocking out any thoughts that might take him down a darker road.

The door to the unit was locked, and he pounded on the door, yelling for one of the members of staff at the reception desk up ahead to let him in. A nurse hurried round from the desk, a look of mild fear on her face at the frantic man glaring through the small glass window of the heavy wooden door. She hesitated.

"You need to keep it together, Sherlock," John said, a hand on Sherlock's arm, which he had to fight not to shrug off. "They won't let you in otherwise."

Just then another figure came into view – Mycroft – and Sherlock could see him talking to the woman, gesturing towards him, explaining things. It was agony to watch as the woman's expression downgraded from outright fear to mere uncertainty, but she eventually moved towards them.

"Evelyn Holmes," Sherlock blurted the second the door was opened. "Where is she? I need to see her."

"You're the husband?" She asked.

He nodded dumbly.

"Give me one second." Then she turned down the corridor, and it took all of Sherlock's restraint not to follow after her immediately.

Mycroft was stood in front of him, arms folded and face hard. "Sherlock–"

"Why are you out here and not with Eve?" He snapped. "Why have you left her on her own–"

"Brother mine, calm yourself. The doctors were treating her and I was told to leave the room. I've been standing here waiting for you," he grasped his brother's shoulder. "You need to be strong..." Mycroft trailed off as he followed Sherlock's line of sight to the cuff of his sleeve. The small crimson smear against the crisp white fabric.

Sherlock felt his heart freeze in his chest. "H– Has she been bleeding a great deal?"

Mycroft looked a fright, not even bothering to mask his concern. "It stopped in the ambulance, but started again once we arrived. They appear to have it under control now."