Holmes fic: Recollections 2/2
Title: Recollections 2/2
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 6,271 (12,332 total)
Characters: Watson, Holmes (Holmes/Watson), Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft
Warnings: mpreg
Summary: Watson narrates his experience with an unexpected pregnancy.
A/N: First person Watson POV, canon/Granada-verse.
Written for with two shkinkmeme prompts in mind:
First: More pregnant!Watson please.
With Holmes doing such things as measuring the circumference of Watson's pregnant stomach and concluding that it is far to small and fluffing Watson's pillows....and long suffering Watson finally getting to relax. idk..
Second: Mpreg, preferably Watson as pregnant one, but not too picky. Maybe fluff or comfort because pregnancy isn't great on Watson (or Holmes, if you prefer) ie he has bad morning sickness, swollen ankles, or perhaps always tired or even bad mood swings and how the other deals with them and tries to help cheer them up or soothe them
Continued from here
Our negotiation was well-timed. Two days later, Lestrade had a case for Holmes, so we went with him to the scene of the crime. I was the last to dismount from the carriage, and as I did so, a severe spell of dizziness overtook me. I had suffered from a few dizzy spells before, usually upon rising from bed, but only enough to force me to pause a moment while I regained my equilibrium.
This one nearly stole my awareness completely and I must have stumbled, for when I came to myself, Holmes was supporting me with an arm across my chest. He began to back away as soon as I straightened under my own power, and I realized that Lestrade was watching us. His eyes were on me, but not on my face, and I quickly straightened my clothing. In my stumble and Holmes catching me, Lestrade must have seen some sign, for he spoke in a tone of surprise, "Doctor, you are - "
" - quite all right, thank you," I said hurriedly, nodding to Holmes that he should carry on.
"Yes, of course," Lestrade said, his eyes glancing once more at me before he led Holmes and I to our destination.
No more was said about it until Holmes was finished and told Lestrade several details about the man responsible for the crime. Lestrade sent his men away, but remained with us until we were alone in the room. "I must say, I never thought you two were the family type," he commented quietly. "I won't speak a word of it if that's what you prefer."
"It is," Holmes confirmed.
"All right, then. My congratulations to you, and do let me know if I should stop coming by for a while."
"We shall."
"Thank you, Lestrade," I said, and he nodded once and left.
When we were safely stowed in a cab, Holmes asked anxiously, "Watson, are you certain you - "
"Yes," I said firmly. "I merely stood up too fast." I waited for him to insinuate that it was time for us to cease taking cases, but he said nothing, just looked at me with that concerned expression he only ever used on me.
But I was having doubts about how much longer I should act as if nothing had changed, and doubting myself for having such doubts. On the one hand, I was still reasonably fit; the side effects I experienced were, for the most part, relatively mild. On the other hand, another stumble like the one I'd just had could prove detrimental to myself and the child, for there was no guarantee that Holmes would always be within arm's reach (though I knew he would endeavor to be if he thought it would put me at ease).
I wrestled with my indecision for some time without arriving at a conclusion. Holmes spent that time tinkering with chemicals and staring out the window, deep in thought; he barely acknowledged it when I bade him good-night. I trudged up the stairs wearily, the ache in my back more intense than usual--no doubt from my near-fall--and the child restless within me. It was a long time before I managed to fall asleep.
I woke with a terrible headache pounding in my skull. Trying to move transformed the pounding into a stabbing centered at my right temple and I groaned. It had been quite some time since I'd suffered a migraine; evidently my reprieve had ended.
It took me quite a bit longer than usual to dress in shirt, trousers, and dressing gown, and sloppily see to my toilet--I did not even try to shave--and I shuffled down the stairs with my eyes squinted until they were nearly closed but still the light was too bright.
I was assaulted with food smells when I opened the sitting room door and my stomach churned alarmingly. I paused in the doorway until I was certain that I would not succumb to the nausea, but Holmes did not look up from the newspaper until I closed the door behind me. His initial brief glance turned into a searching gaze as he lowered the paper and hurried over to me. "Good heavens, Watson, you look terrible," he said, taking my arm and leading me to the settee.
"Headache," I mumbled as he urged me to sit down.
One of his hands moved to my forehead, and I leaned gratefully into its coolness, closing my eyes. "Have you taken anything?" he asked quietly.
I started to shake my head before I thought better of it. "Won't help," I said, sighing.
"Ah, one of those," he said sympathetically. He moved away, then I heard the blinds being drawn.
When he didn't return immediately, I opened my eyes; closing the blinds helped immensely.
Holmes came back with a plate of toast and a cup of tea. "Do you think you can manage this?"
"I have to," I said, accepting them. I really did not feel like eating, but the nausea would be worse if I didn't, I knew that all too well.
While I nibbled the toast and sipped the tea, Holmes covered the food, then left the room briefly. He returned with Mrs. Hudson in tow and they cleared the table with a minimum of noise.
My stomach felt marginally better after the tea and toast, though I did not feel equal to the task of rising and returning the dishes to the table. I held them in my lap, careful to keep them from knocking together, and rested my head against the back of the settee.
Gentle hands took the plate and cup from me, and I flicked my eyes from the their listless stare at the ceiling to watch Holmes move away and return. "You truly won't take anything?" he asked quietly, standing where I could see him without moving my head.
"Not yet," I said, conceding that the time may yet come to allow myself morphine.
A tap on the door drew him away; Holmes muttered an imprecation then spoke to Mrs. Hudson in a low tone before the door closed again. The sound of a cloth being wrung out into a basin, then a damp cloth was settled over my forehead and eyes.
Holmes laid a hand on my cheek and said softly, "I must leave you for a while to set Lestrade straight on the case from yesterday. I will return as soon as I may. Call on Mrs. Hudson if you need anything."
I put my hand over his. "I will, thank you."
He took my hand and squeezed it. "You are free to use my bed if lying down will help."
I pressed his hand beteen both of mine. "I will be all right," I assured him. He withdrew and I heard him in his bedroom briefly before his steps receded down the stairs.
Holmes had been gone for a short time when the ticking of the mantelpiece clock became more than I could endure in my sensitised state. Even with this motivation, it took at least five minutes to persuade myself into motion. The basin of water was still on the table so I rewetted the cloth on my way to the bedroom. Holmes had closed the blinds and turned back the covers; I sank gratefully onto the bed after leaving the door open a crack so Holmes would know where I had gone. I settled onto my side, laid the cloth on the throbbing side of my face, and tried not to think about how much my head hurt.
I drifted into a state where I did not sleep but I was not fully aware of my surroundings. Thus I did not notice Holmes had returned until the sound of his muted violin drifted through the now-closed door. Sometimes his playing helped, distracting me from the pain without making it worse; this was not one of those times.
"Holmes," I called as loudly as I dared.
The music stopped immediately and Holmes appeared in the doorway, instrument and bow in hand. "No?" he asked.
"Not today," I said, grateful for his understanding.
A few minutes later, he perched sans violin on the edge of the bed and gently kneaded my nape and neck. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No," I sighed.
He took the dry cloth and kissed my forehead. "It's nearly lunchtime, can you manage something?"
"I can try," I said reluctantly.
By the time Holmes returned with my food, I was sitting up in bed, my back braced against the headboard. More toast and a mug of broth; I murmured my thanks and waved Holmes off when he offered to stay with me while I tried to eat.
I could only force down the toast. The broth tasted heavenly, and I knew I needed the fluids, but it made my stomach churn unpleasantly and I was not willing to take the chance of having more.
When Holmes returned he didn't comment on my lack of success with the meal, he only sat next to me and slid his arm around my back, tugging me until I leaned against him. "Would a bath help?"
"I don't know," I said miserably, pressing my cheek into his shoulder. We sat in silence for a while, Holmes stroking my side while I tried to decide if the things I smelled in Holmes' dressing gown were going to offend my stomach or not. When the nausea didn't worsen, I moved on to considering the bath. It was difficult to think. "It wouldn't hurt to try, I suppose," I said finally.
Holmes remained with me for several minutes more before leaving to start the bath. It took him a while to return, in which time I rose and ventured into the sitting room to put the dishes on the table. Moving around was a nice change from the last several hours of immobile agony, but it did no favors for the migraine.
I stepped out into the hallway just as Holmes emerged from the bathroom; he escorted me into the warm, steamy room and began to undress me. I protested that I was not an invalid, but he insisted that I allow him this gesture. He also insisted on helping me into the tub, and I did not object.
The warmth of the water felt good against my skin, as did Holmes' hands when they massaged my neck and shoulders. For many long minutes the only sounds were our breathing and the gentle slosh of water against the edges of the tub. Then I sighed, and Holmes' hands stopped moving and simply cradled my head while the rest of me limply sank below the water.
"Would you like a wash?" Holmes asked when the water grew noticeably cooler.
"No, thank you," I said. "I don't want to risk the smell."
"Of course."
He'd known that the scent may make things worse, of course, it was why he'd asked. His fingers gently carded through my hair as we fell silent again.
At length he spoke again. "You should get out before the cold water makes you stiff," he said mildly.
"Yes, I should," I conceded, stirring myself enough to sit up under my own power. He rose and retrieved a towel, draping it over his arm. I stood, shivering as I emerged from the water, and Holmes enveloped me in the towel and helped me step free of the tub.
While I held the towel around myself, Holmes efficiently dried my limbs with a second towel. Then he moved on to my chest, carefully avoiding my overly sensitive nipples, and down to my stomach, where he paused, his fingers darting out to caress the bump there. He kissed the corner of my mouth before he resumed drying me off.
Holmes brought me a nightshirt that he helped me put on, then he stood close, embracing me from behind and rocking us slightly. "Feel any better?" he asked.
"I don't know," I had to admit.
So he put me back to bed and brought a new cloth for my face and sat on the floor holding my hand for quite some time. I think I dozed off briefly, for I roused from a period of insensibility with a renewed pounding in my head. I might have groaned, I'm not certain, but Holmes was there in an instant, refreshing the cloth on my brow and stroking my cheek soothingly.
I batted away his hand. "Holmes, please," I said hoarsely, hoping he would understand that my very skin was afire with overwhelming sensation and I could not bear to be touched. Had I the presence of mind to do so, I would have stripped off my nightshirt to cease its unpleasant rubbing against my skin. "In my bag-"
He stopped me from speaking further with a brief touch to my lips. "The usual?"
"Yes," I whispered, almost ashamed even in the midst of my agony that I was resorting to this.
I did not need to watch him administer the shot of morphine to know that he did it expertly. After a few minutes, I fancied I could feel it sweep through my body, dousing the fire in my skin and muffling the pain in my head enough that I could finally truly rest.
I slept then, and continued blissfully unaware through the night and into the morning. When I woke the pain had receded to a dull pressure within my skull; if past experience served, it would continue thus for up to a few days before I would finally be free of it. But the improvement was vast in comparison, and I spent a moment or five basking in the fact that I could open my eyes and think about breakfast without suffering mightily for it.
When I finally stirred myself, I checked my arm; Holmes had given me a second dose at some point during the night. I did not remember it, but that was typical, and he would not have done so had I not needed it.
I shifted in preparation to sit up and saw the top of Holmes' head leaning against the edge of the mattress. The foolish man was sitting on the floor against the wall next to the bed, sound asleep. I reached over and stroked his stubbled cheek and almost immediately he sat fully upright, though it took slightly longer for his now-open eyes to show full awareness. "You could have fetched a chair," I remonstrated with some amusement.
"I was not certain I could bring one in without excessive noise," he said, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips. "Can you manage some breakfast?"
"Yes, I think so, and I shall make the attempt at the table."
I was able to rise under my own power and, after a reasonable breakfast, changed clothes and shaved and otherwise tended to those things that made me feel much more like myself afterward.
True to past experiences, I was troubled with the lingering traces of my migraine for three days. Though I was able to resume many normal activities, I remained susceptible to light so Holmes and I delayed our daily strolls to dusk when the lingering sunlight would not cause a relapse.
It was during our stroll on the evening of the third day that I finally broached a subject I had not yet had the courage to speak of. "Have you told Lestrade that we will be unavailable for cases?" I had been wondering, from the absence of the detective inspector or his telegrams over the last few days, but it was entirely possible that there simply wasn't anything worthy of Holmes' attention.
"Not yet, but the telegram is ready to be sent," Holmes admitted.
"Ah." I fell silent and he did not press me. Our steps turned back toward Baker Street before I spoke again. "I think it time for us to turn our attention to . . . other things," I said evasively, mindful of the other pedestrians we passed.
"Of course," Holmes murmured, patting the arm that was linked through his. "I will send the telegram in the morning."
Holmes insisted that I share his bed that night, and as we lay spooned in the darkness, he spoke against my nape. "What would you say to going on holiday?"
"Holiday?" I echoed stupidly. "But where? Why?"
"We need to discuss many things before . . . the happy event," Holmes said, a hand gently cupping my abdomen. "I thought it would be easier to do if we had none of the usual distractions."
I considered the few times I had attempted to bring up issues like names for the child, only to be interrupted by one thing or another. "Like clients."
"Yes. It does not matter where; I thought a hotel in Brighton might be satisfactory. It is the off-season so it wouldn't be crowded, but there is still entertainment to be had should we desire it."
His lips against my neck were quite distracting, but I will admit the idea had some appeal. "How long would we be away?"
"A fortnight, I should think, and longer if we desire it."
"But I'm supposed to see Mrs. Holloway every two weeks."
"She gives the venture her blessing so long as you see her immediately upon our return."
I could not help but laugh. "I should have known you would have seen to everything before bringing it up. When do we leave?"
I felt Holmes smile against my skin. "Tomorrow afternoon."
We remained in Brighton for three weeks. Many of our discussions occurred whilst we were naked and in the contented haze that followed enthusiastic coupling; even so, we came to an agreement on several points concerning the child and its care and raising in light of Holmes' occupation and the threats it could pose to our family.
Our family. The phrase still warms my heart and I expect it shall do so for a long time to come.
Holmes was most conscientious about ensuring I had my meals, and I returned to London half a stone heavier and with three inches added to my waistline as the child thrived. We paid a visit to Mrs. Holloway the day after our return, and she was pleased. She still thought I was a pound or two behind where I ought to be, but that was her only critique and I had twelve weeks or so remaining in which to make up the difference.
Whereas Brighton was an idyllic time for both Holmes and I, the month or so following our return was a difficult one for me. I knew that the child would become steadily larger and interfere more and more with my body's functions and activities, but that knowledge did not prepare me for the experience itself.
Nearly overnight the bulge in my abdomen grew to a point that it began to get in the way as I sat at the table or leaned over to retrieve something I'd dropped. The added mass in front affected my balance and my lower back and hips seemed always to be in pain. The child moved often within me; a joyful thing, to be sure, and Holmes loved to wrap his arms around me and splay his hands out on my stomach to feel the child kick, but it could be exceedingly uncomfortable.
By the time I had ten weeks remaining, I was sleeping poorly and I wearied easily. I felt large, awkward, and ungainly and knowing that the child would grow still larger did not help. When Holmes took his weekly measurements, I looked away so I would not have to know just how large I'd become. I fear I grew quite irritable in my discomfort and often snapped at Holmes despite the fact that he did everything he could think of to make me more comfortable.
When I sniped about there being too many stairs, he offered me the use of his bedroom for the duration so I would not have to climb the extra set to go to bed. When I complained about my back, he rubbed it for me or drew me a hot bath. When I was tired and cranky from not sleeping well due to the child's incessant kicking or just not finding a comfortable position, he played the violin for me while I napped. When I fretted about my ungainly size and the appearance of angry red lines on my abdomen, he kissed and licked each of the stretch-marks and caressed me while murmuring in my ear how much he loved me, loved our child, how the sight of me heavy with our child was a ceaseless pleasure even as he longed to ease my discomforts.
So while there are some who find pregnancy agreeable, I am not one of them. My consolation was Holmes' care and the ever-approaching arrival of our child. I clung to these as the weeks passed and it grew more difficult to breathe, eat, walk, and sleep as the child grew and displaced or pressed upon my internal organs.
When I had eight weeks remaining, Mrs. Holloway gave strict instruction that I remain off my feet as much as possible, for my legs and feet had begun to swell rather alarmingly. I was only too happy to oblige, as I was out of breath far too often for comfort, and Holmes made it his duty to fetch anything I needed so I would not have to rise once I was settled in my chair or the settee.
Around this time I began experiencing false labor pains. Holmes had the privilege of feeling the first one along with me; I was lying in his embrace on the settee, his hands feeling the bumping of our child's kicking heels, when the sudden cramp shivered through me. Neither of us breathed for a moment, though the child continued to kick. "Now I understand what she meant," Holmes said finally. Mrs. Holloway had warned us that false labor pains might occur when we had seen her last, a most prescient warning.
While I sat around the flat with my feet up, I began organizing some of my notes in preparation for writing up a few more of Holmes' cases. I did not get much past the organizing stage, however, for I often felt restless and frequently rose to do a few rounds of the sitting room before returning to the desk or my chair. Holmes tried to dissuade me from this, as well as our evening rambles, on account of my feet and my breathing but I insisted for my sanity's sake. I did not tell him that I often grew dizzy when standing, since he would then absolutely insist that I remain inside and stationary, but I noted it for my next appointment with the midwife.
When I entered the examination room, Mrs. Holloway took one look at me and ordered me into a chair. A barrage of questions followed, and each of my answers caused the furrow in her brow to crease a little deeper. She listened to my heart and lungs--I could guess she would not be pleased by either, as my pulse was far too fast and my respirations shallow--and palpated my hands and face as well as my legs and feet.
"Complete bed rest, from the moment you return home until the child is born," she said at last, her expression grave. "I will come to you for the rest of your checkups, and they will be weekly."
"Is it truly that bad?" I asked. I had suspected that the degree of my difficulties indicated an underlying problem, but this is not my area of medicine.
"Only if it worsens," she said frankly. "The swelling in particular should abate with rest. You may rise to bathe periodically, but you should remain in bed otherwise. On your side may be most comfortable, but sitting with your feet elevated is also acceptable."
Holmes asked her some pointed questions that I do not remember, then he hurried me home, hovering protectively as I heaved myself up into the cab and then down again. I lingered in front of our door, taking a careful breath, and when Holmes tried to urge me forward, I snapped at him. I only wished to take a moment to enjoy the free air before beginning my confinement--I had never dreamed it would begin so soon or I would have spent more time outdoors--and once Holmes understood he allowed me to take as much time as I wished.
Mrs. Hudson clucked over me when Holmes explained the trouble as I laboriously climbed the stairs. She helped me settle in Holmes' bed while Holmes collected my papers and writing desk and brought them to me. I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but set them aside; I was quite tired and writing was not appealing. I curled up on my side and took a nap.
I napped frequently in the first days of my aptly-named bed rest. This often meant I was awake into the wee hours of the morning and Holmes' proclivity to keeping odd hours was a blessing. He would sit with me and we would talk about anything and everything, sometimes about our child and sometimes not. Sometimes he would read to me from the paper or recent correspondence. When my head hurt too much to have the gaslamp lit--headaches were apparently another symptom of my being unwell--Holmes would slide himself behind me, tucking his knees behind mine and slipping his arms around me, and press kisses to my neck.
By the end of my second week in bed, I was ready to be quite done with that nonsense and I had a new sympathy for Holmes' restlessness between cases. Truth be told, he was enduring our shut-in situation far better than I, though I too would have been in better spirits if I were allowed to be up and about. Against Holmes' wishes I occasionally stood beside the bed and walked around the room to exercise my languishing muscles. Once a day I took a trip to the bathroom; every three days or so I had a nice, long bath to help my aches.
The day after Mrs. Holloway's second visit to monitor my welfare, Holmes drew my bath before I even asked. It seemed rather early in the day, being only just after lunch, but my back had been particularly troublesome that morning and I figured that Holmes had noticed, as he always did.
He helped me into the tub, but as soon as I was settled, the bell rang and Mrs. Hudson called for him. I felt a keen disappointment when it became clear he would not be returning soon; I had hoped he'd lend a hand with my back. Instead, I heard the voices of strangers and a great noise as if something large was being moved. I could not fathom what was transpiring and longed to find out but I could not--between the slippery footing, my troubled balance, and the aches in my hips and back, I was unable to exit the tub without assistance.
Just as I resigned myself to bathing alone, Holmes came in to check on me. "What on earth is going on in there?" I asked peevishly.
He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You will find out in due course, my dear fellow. Afterward, I will rub your back. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes," I grumbled good-naturedly.
He brushed a kiss across my lips. "I will return shortly to help you up."
"See that you do."
He was, of course, as good as his word and returned within ten minutes, just as the water was becoming noticeably cool. He seemed quite pleased with himself and hummed while he helped me dry off and dress in a clean nightshirt. Then he escorted me back to the bedroom, theatrically throwing open the door before ushering me inside.
I clutched Holmes' arm tightly as I stared in amazement at the large bed sitting proudly where Holmes' old bed had been. While the previous bed had been reasonably generous for a single person, two people had been quite a squeeze, especially now that I was pregnant.
This bed, however, was designed for two with room to spare, and the wardrobe and the bedside table had been shifted aside to accommodate the extra width. "That explains all the noise," I said, still stunned. "But why?"
"Now you can roll over without having to worry about falling off," Holmes said, patting my hand. "And I thought we could see if this will allow us to remain together and still get some rest at night. If we can sleep in the same bed, then we can use the room upstairs for the child."
"And if we still don't sleep well together?" I thought of Holmes' odd hours, but we would both be subject to the child's schedule for some time, so that didn't seem as much of an obstacle as it once did.
"We'll have to draw straws or alternate who sleeps here each night," Holmes said with a grin.
The bed was truly a marvel. I could settle down on my right side and roll over to my left without having to shift in place, which was a godsend for my poor back, and Holmes could be near without being pressed up tightly against me. As we lay on the bed, testing its size and softness, our gazes met and we came together in wordless agreement; the second activity performed in that bed was sleeping.
I fear the novelty of a new bed did not alleviate the restless boredom that chafed at me. I spent a good deal of time writing up the cases that I had notes sorted out for, but I quickly exhausted that supply. I fretted and fussed for several aimless days before Holmes pulled out some of his old files. He curled up with me on the bed while he told me those stories as well as things from his younger days that he'd never willingly spoken of before. I told my own stories in turn, and it quickly became clear to us both that our child was going to be mischievous youngster.
I passed two more weeks in this manner, and had only two more remaining before the expected arrival of our child. Mrs. Holloway was satisfied with my health and that of the child, for its growth was good and it shifted into the birthing position in a timely fashion.
I acutely felt the change as a fullness in my pelvis and an improved ability to breathe. What seemed odd in comparison to before was the fact that the babe was always kicking me in the same spot--since he or she was no longer moving about freely in my womb--and that one area of my ribs soon ached rather fiercely. Holmes was fascinated by the shift in my measurements as a result of the child's new location.
As the hours and the days passed, I began to grow nervous about the birth and all that having a child would entail. The false labor pains came with some regularity, to the point that there were moments when I wondered how I would know when I was truly in labor. Holmes tried to reassure me, but he was just as anxious--if not more so, for there was nothing he could do besides watch and wait.
He hid it well, but I could tell he was afraid, and being afraid made him irritable and snappish and prone to brooding. In short, it was rather like his behavior when he was bored with the added strain of apprehension about my wellbeing and that of our child.
Mrs. Holloway assured us at her next visit that all of this was quite normal, but reassurance only went so far. Holmes was more at ease for perhaps two hours before some worry lodged in his mind again and he stalked about the sitting room like a restless tiger.
I will confess it was a relief to see his interest piqued by a brief story in the morning paper that sounded like it would make a fascinating case. I saw his eyes drawn to it repeatedly, and even when he continued on to other pages he periodically flipped back and stared at it again. When I laughed at him, he looked offended. "Go, Holmes," I told him, waving him toward the door. "Go see what Lestrade has to say about that investigation."
To say his face lit up would be overstating things somewhat, but his pleasure was palpable. "Are you certain, Watson?"
"Very. Now go. You're driving me half-mad."
"Only half?" he asked with a grin as he kissed me briefly before climbing down from the bed. "I will wire if I need to stay out for long. Send word at once if anything changes and I will come as soon as I am able."
"Yes, of course," I assured him.
The first thing I did after his departure was take a nap. Sleep had been elusive for some weeks and only came a few hours at a time when it did come, and the quiet in his absence turned out to be ideal for reclaiming several hours of lost slumber.
The second thing I did was begin this narrative. I had been considering it for several days, thinking it would be nice to have an account--albeit a personal one, as this is never going into print--of my experiences while being with child. In retrospect, I should have kept a journal throughout, for there are periods where I am not certain precisely what transpired, and there may also be occasions where I have remembered things out of order.
Holmes has been in and out for his case for nearly four days. When he is away, I receive telegrams at precisely two-hour intervals assuring me of his safety and providing me with the nearest telegraph office should I need to send for him. When he returns home, his first question is always about my welfare, and only once I assure him that I am fine and experiencing any pains does he tell me the latest developments in the case.
He has been wholly away for nearly an entire day now, and I have a stack of telegrams here to prove it (Mrs. Hudson has been so very patient with having to trudge up and down our stairs so frequently!). A few telegrams ago Holmes promised that he will conclude his work today, most likely by tea time.
This is fortunate, for I have a nagging suspicion that I am in labor and have been for at least eight hours. The contractions are yet mild, though they have begun to increase in frequency and duration. It is now just after lunch--I could not eat and told Mrs. Hudson it was due to heartburn--so I can allow Holmes time enough to conclude his investigation. I will likely have to immediately send him out again to fetch Mrs. Holloway, but he will not mind.
I was able to sleep for a while and was woken by a cramping pain that was the worst I have felt yet. It stole my breath away and I clutched my abdomen, willing the child to wait just a little longer.
The pain has eased and I am feeling better for now, though I know there is more to come. Holmes is due at any moment.
There is his voice in the entryway, and his tread on the stair. Oh, another pain . . .
Holmes has gone to retrieve Mrs. Holloway. Once he ascertained that I was not, in fact, dying, despite how my moaning made it sound, he ran from the bedroom as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels. I believe it is prudent for me to set this aside for now.
Watson, as usual you give me far too much credit and give yourself far too little. You make it sound like you complained far more often than you actually did, though I am gratified that my awkward attempts at solace were suitable.
We do need to discuss the fact that you did not send for me at once as we had agreed, but that will wait until you've had your well-earned rest. I trust that some sleep will also enable you to see more clearly in regard to our son's name, as your objection to naming him John is most irregular. It's a good, strong name--and one I am rather partial to--and it will not cause him hardship at school.
And no matter what you claim, he resembles you far more than he resembles me, which is to his benefit, particularly as concerning his nose.
Really, Holmes, there is such a thing as a name that is too unremarkable. John is one such name, and it certainly would cause him hardship at school, for there is currently an excess of Johns in the world. I remain firm in my suggestion that, if we wish to choose a family name, we name him after one or both of our fathers.
Say what you will about his looks, you cannot see yourself with him curled against your shoulder--your expressions in sleep are nearly identical. I told you your concerns about handling him were unfounded. You're already a natural and he's not even a day old.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 6,271 (12,332 total)
Characters: Watson, Holmes (Holmes/Watson), Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft
Warnings: mpreg
Summary: Watson narrates his experience with an unexpected pregnancy.
A/N: First person Watson POV, canon/Granada-verse.
Written for with two shkinkmeme prompts in mind:
First: More pregnant!Watson please.
With Holmes doing such things as measuring the circumference of Watson's pregnant stomach and concluding that it is far to small and fluffing Watson's pillows....and long suffering Watson finally getting to relax. idk..
Second: Mpreg, preferably Watson as pregnant one, but not too picky. Maybe fluff or comfort because pregnancy isn't great on Watson (or Holmes, if you prefer) ie he has bad morning sickness, swollen ankles, or perhaps always tired or even bad mood swings and how the other deals with them and tries to help cheer them up or soothe them
Continued from here
Our negotiation was well-timed. Two days later, Lestrade had a case for Holmes, so we went with him to the scene of the crime. I was the last to dismount from the carriage, and as I did so, a severe spell of dizziness overtook me. I had suffered from a few dizzy spells before, usually upon rising from bed, but only enough to force me to pause a moment while I regained my equilibrium.
This one nearly stole my awareness completely and I must have stumbled, for when I came to myself, Holmes was supporting me with an arm across my chest. He began to back away as soon as I straightened under my own power, and I realized that Lestrade was watching us. His eyes were on me, but not on my face, and I quickly straightened my clothing. In my stumble and Holmes catching me, Lestrade must have seen some sign, for he spoke in a tone of surprise, "Doctor, you are - "
" - quite all right, thank you," I said hurriedly, nodding to Holmes that he should carry on.
"Yes, of course," Lestrade said, his eyes glancing once more at me before he led Holmes and I to our destination.
No more was said about it until Holmes was finished and told Lestrade several details about the man responsible for the crime. Lestrade sent his men away, but remained with us until we were alone in the room. "I must say, I never thought you two were the family type," he commented quietly. "I won't speak a word of it if that's what you prefer."
"It is," Holmes confirmed.
"All right, then. My congratulations to you, and do let me know if I should stop coming by for a while."
"We shall."
"Thank you, Lestrade," I said, and he nodded once and left.
When we were safely stowed in a cab, Holmes asked anxiously, "Watson, are you certain you - "
"Yes," I said firmly. "I merely stood up too fast." I waited for him to insinuate that it was time for us to cease taking cases, but he said nothing, just looked at me with that concerned expression he only ever used on me.
But I was having doubts about how much longer I should act as if nothing had changed, and doubting myself for having such doubts. On the one hand, I was still reasonably fit; the side effects I experienced were, for the most part, relatively mild. On the other hand, another stumble like the one I'd just had could prove detrimental to myself and the child, for there was no guarantee that Holmes would always be within arm's reach (though I knew he would endeavor to be if he thought it would put me at ease).
I wrestled with my indecision for some time without arriving at a conclusion. Holmes spent that time tinkering with chemicals and staring out the window, deep in thought; he barely acknowledged it when I bade him good-night. I trudged up the stairs wearily, the ache in my back more intense than usual--no doubt from my near-fall--and the child restless within me. It was a long time before I managed to fall asleep.
I woke with a terrible headache pounding in my skull. Trying to move transformed the pounding into a stabbing centered at my right temple and I groaned. It had been quite some time since I'd suffered a migraine; evidently my reprieve had ended.
It took me quite a bit longer than usual to dress in shirt, trousers, and dressing gown, and sloppily see to my toilet--I did not even try to shave--and I shuffled down the stairs with my eyes squinted until they were nearly closed but still the light was too bright.
I was assaulted with food smells when I opened the sitting room door and my stomach churned alarmingly. I paused in the doorway until I was certain that I would not succumb to the nausea, but Holmes did not look up from the newspaper until I closed the door behind me. His initial brief glance turned into a searching gaze as he lowered the paper and hurried over to me. "Good heavens, Watson, you look terrible," he said, taking my arm and leading me to the settee.
"Headache," I mumbled as he urged me to sit down.
One of his hands moved to my forehead, and I leaned gratefully into its coolness, closing my eyes. "Have you taken anything?" he asked quietly.
I started to shake my head before I thought better of it. "Won't help," I said, sighing.
"Ah, one of those," he said sympathetically. He moved away, then I heard the blinds being drawn.
When he didn't return immediately, I opened my eyes; closing the blinds helped immensely.
Holmes came back with a plate of toast and a cup of tea. "Do you think you can manage this?"
"I have to," I said, accepting them. I really did not feel like eating, but the nausea would be worse if I didn't, I knew that all too well.
While I nibbled the toast and sipped the tea, Holmes covered the food, then left the room briefly. He returned with Mrs. Hudson in tow and they cleared the table with a minimum of noise.
My stomach felt marginally better after the tea and toast, though I did not feel equal to the task of rising and returning the dishes to the table. I held them in my lap, careful to keep them from knocking together, and rested my head against the back of the settee.
Gentle hands took the plate and cup from me, and I flicked my eyes from the their listless stare at the ceiling to watch Holmes move away and return. "You truly won't take anything?" he asked quietly, standing where I could see him without moving my head.
"Not yet," I said, conceding that the time may yet come to allow myself morphine.
A tap on the door drew him away; Holmes muttered an imprecation then spoke to Mrs. Hudson in a low tone before the door closed again. The sound of a cloth being wrung out into a basin, then a damp cloth was settled over my forehead and eyes.
Holmes laid a hand on my cheek and said softly, "I must leave you for a while to set Lestrade straight on the case from yesterday. I will return as soon as I may. Call on Mrs. Hudson if you need anything."
I put my hand over his. "I will, thank you."
He took my hand and squeezed it. "You are free to use my bed if lying down will help."
I pressed his hand beteen both of mine. "I will be all right," I assured him. He withdrew and I heard him in his bedroom briefly before his steps receded down the stairs.
Holmes had been gone for a short time when the ticking of the mantelpiece clock became more than I could endure in my sensitised state. Even with this motivation, it took at least five minutes to persuade myself into motion. The basin of water was still on the table so I rewetted the cloth on my way to the bedroom. Holmes had closed the blinds and turned back the covers; I sank gratefully onto the bed after leaving the door open a crack so Holmes would know where I had gone. I settled onto my side, laid the cloth on the throbbing side of my face, and tried not to think about how much my head hurt.
I drifted into a state where I did not sleep but I was not fully aware of my surroundings. Thus I did not notice Holmes had returned until the sound of his muted violin drifted through the now-closed door. Sometimes his playing helped, distracting me from the pain without making it worse; this was not one of those times.
"Holmes," I called as loudly as I dared.
The music stopped immediately and Holmes appeared in the doorway, instrument and bow in hand. "No?" he asked.
"Not today," I said, grateful for his understanding.
A few minutes later, he perched sans violin on the edge of the bed and gently kneaded my nape and neck. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No," I sighed.
He took the dry cloth and kissed my forehead. "It's nearly lunchtime, can you manage something?"
"I can try," I said reluctantly.
By the time Holmes returned with my food, I was sitting up in bed, my back braced against the headboard. More toast and a mug of broth; I murmured my thanks and waved Holmes off when he offered to stay with me while I tried to eat.
I could only force down the toast. The broth tasted heavenly, and I knew I needed the fluids, but it made my stomach churn unpleasantly and I was not willing to take the chance of having more.
When Holmes returned he didn't comment on my lack of success with the meal, he only sat next to me and slid his arm around my back, tugging me until I leaned against him. "Would a bath help?"
"I don't know," I said miserably, pressing my cheek into his shoulder. We sat in silence for a while, Holmes stroking my side while I tried to decide if the things I smelled in Holmes' dressing gown were going to offend my stomach or not. When the nausea didn't worsen, I moved on to considering the bath. It was difficult to think. "It wouldn't hurt to try, I suppose," I said finally.
Holmes remained with me for several minutes more before leaving to start the bath. It took him a while to return, in which time I rose and ventured into the sitting room to put the dishes on the table. Moving around was a nice change from the last several hours of immobile agony, but it did no favors for the migraine.
I stepped out into the hallway just as Holmes emerged from the bathroom; he escorted me into the warm, steamy room and began to undress me. I protested that I was not an invalid, but he insisted that I allow him this gesture. He also insisted on helping me into the tub, and I did not object.
The warmth of the water felt good against my skin, as did Holmes' hands when they massaged my neck and shoulders. For many long minutes the only sounds were our breathing and the gentle slosh of water against the edges of the tub. Then I sighed, and Holmes' hands stopped moving and simply cradled my head while the rest of me limply sank below the water.
"Would you like a wash?" Holmes asked when the water grew noticeably cooler.
"No, thank you," I said. "I don't want to risk the smell."
"Of course."
He'd known that the scent may make things worse, of course, it was why he'd asked. His fingers gently carded through my hair as we fell silent again.
At length he spoke again. "You should get out before the cold water makes you stiff," he said mildly.
"Yes, I should," I conceded, stirring myself enough to sit up under my own power. He rose and retrieved a towel, draping it over his arm. I stood, shivering as I emerged from the water, and Holmes enveloped me in the towel and helped me step free of the tub.
While I held the towel around myself, Holmes efficiently dried my limbs with a second towel. Then he moved on to my chest, carefully avoiding my overly sensitive nipples, and down to my stomach, where he paused, his fingers darting out to caress the bump there. He kissed the corner of my mouth before he resumed drying me off.
Holmes brought me a nightshirt that he helped me put on, then he stood close, embracing me from behind and rocking us slightly. "Feel any better?" he asked.
"I don't know," I had to admit.
So he put me back to bed and brought a new cloth for my face and sat on the floor holding my hand for quite some time. I think I dozed off briefly, for I roused from a period of insensibility with a renewed pounding in my head. I might have groaned, I'm not certain, but Holmes was there in an instant, refreshing the cloth on my brow and stroking my cheek soothingly.
I batted away his hand. "Holmes, please," I said hoarsely, hoping he would understand that my very skin was afire with overwhelming sensation and I could not bear to be touched. Had I the presence of mind to do so, I would have stripped off my nightshirt to cease its unpleasant rubbing against my skin. "In my bag-"
He stopped me from speaking further with a brief touch to my lips. "The usual?"
"Yes," I whispered, almost ashamed even in the midst of my agony that I was resorting to this.
I did not need to watch him administer the shot of morphine to know that he did it expertly. After a few minutes, I fancied I could feel it sweep through my body, dousing the fire in my skin and muffling the pain in my head enough that I could finally truly rest.
I slept then, and continued blissfully unaware through the night and into the morning. When I woke the pain had receded to a dull pressure within my skull; if past experience served, it would continue thus for up to a few days before I would finally be free of it. But the improvement was vast in comparison, and I spent a moment or five basking in the fact that I could open my eyes and think about breakfast without suffering mightily for it.
When I finally stirred myself, I checked my arm; Holmes had given me a second dose at some point during the night. I did not remember it, but that was typical, and he would not have done so had I not needed it.
I shifted in preparation to sit up and saw the top of Holmes' head leaning against the edge of the mattress. The foolish man was sitting on the floor against the wall next to the bed, sound asleep. I reached over and stroked his stubbled cheek and almost immediately he sat fully upright, though it took slightly longer for his now-open eyes to show full awareness. "You could have fetched a chair," I remonstrated with some amusement.
"I was not certain I could bring one in without excessive noise," he said, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips. "Can you manage some breakfast?"
"Yes, I think so, and I shall make the attempt at the table."
I was able to rise under my own power and, after a reasonable breakfast, changed clothes and shaved and otherwise tended to those things that made me feel much more like myself afterward.
True to past experiences, I was troubled with the lingering traces of my migraine for three days. Though I was able to resume many normal activities, I remained susceptible to light so Holmes and I delayed our daily strolls to dusk when the lingering sunlight would not cause a relapse.
It was during our stroll on the evening of the third day that I finally broached a subject I had not yet had the courage to speak of. "Have you told Lestrade that we will be unavailable for cases?" I had been wondering, from the absence of the detective inspector or his telegrams over the last few days, but it was entirely possible that there simply wasn't anything worthy of Holmes' attention.
"Not yet, but the telegram is ready to be sent," Holmes admitted.
"Ah." I fell silent and he did not press me. Our steps turned back toward Baker Street before I spoke again. "I think it time for us to turn our attention to . . . other things," I said evasively, mindful of the other pedestrians we passed.
"Of course," Holmes murmured, patting the arm that was linked through his. "I will send the telegram in the morning."
Holmes insisted that I share his bed that night, and as we lay spooned in the darkness, he spoke against my nape. "What would you say to going on holiday?"
"Holiday?" I echoed stupidly. "But where? Why?"
"We need to discuss many things before . . . the happy event," Holmes said, a hand gently cupping my abdomen. "I thought it would be easier to do if we had none of the usual distractions."
I considered the few times I had attempted to bring up issues like names for the child, only to be interrupted by one thing or another. "Like clients."
"Yes. It does not matter where; I thought a hotel in Brighton might be satisfactory. It is the off-season so it wouldn't be crowded, but there is still entertainment to be had should we desire it."
His lips against my neck were quite distracting, but I will admit the idea had some appeal. "How long would we be away?"
"A fortnight, I should think, and longer if we desire it."
"But I'm supposed to see Mrs. Holloway every two weeks."
"She gives the venture her blessing so long as you see her immediately upon our return."
I could not help but laugh. "I should have known you would have seen to everything before bringing it up. When do we leave?"
I felt Holmes smile against my skin. "Tomorrow afternoon."
We remained in Brighton for three weeks. Many of our discussions occurred whilst we were naked and in the contented haze that followed enthusiastic coupling; even so, we came to an agreement on several points concerning the child and its care and raising in light of Holmes' occupation and the threats it could pose to our family.
Our family. The phrase still warms my heart and I expect it shall do so for a long time to come.
Holmes was most conscientious about ensuring I had my meals, and I returned to London half a stone heavier and with three inches added to my waistline as the child thrived. We paid a visit to Mrs. Holloway the day after our return, and she was pleased. She still thought I was a pound or two behind where I ought to be, but that was her only critique and I had twelve weeks or so remaining in which to make up the difference.
Whereas Brighton was an idyllic time for both Holmes and I, the month or so following our return was a difficult one for me. I knew that the child would become steadily larger and interfere more and more with my body's functions and activities, but that knowledge did not prepare me for the experience itself.
Nearly overnight the bulge in my abdomen grew to a point that it began to get in the way as I sat at the table or leaned over to retrieve something I'd dropped. The added mass in front affected my balance and my lower back and hips seemed always to be in pain. The child moved often within me; a joyful thing, to be sure, and Holmes loved to wrap his arms around me and splay his hands out on my stomach to feel the child kick, but it could be exceedingly uncomfortable.
By the time I had ten weeks remaining, I was sleeping poorly and I wearied easily. I felt large, awkward, and ungainly and knowing that the child would grow still larger did not help. When Holmes took his weekly measurements, I looked away so I would not have to know just how large I'd become. I fear I grew quite irritable in my discomfort and often snapped at Holmes despite the fact that he did everything he could think of to make me more comfortable.
When I sniped about there being too many stairs, he offered me the use of his bedroom for the duration so I would not have to climb the extra set to go to bed. When I complained about my back, he rubbed it for me or drew me a hot bath. When I was tired and cranky from not sleeping well due to the child's incessant kicking or just not finding a comfortable position, he played the violin for me while I napped. When I fretted about my ungainly size and the appearance of angry red lines on my abdomen, he kissed and licked each of the stretch-marks and caressed me while murmuring in my ear how much he loved me, loved our child, how the sight of me heavy with our child was a ceaseless pleasure even as he longed to ease my discomforts.
So while there are some who find pregnancy agreeable, I am not one of them. My consolation was Holmes' care and the ever-approaching arrival of our child. I clung to these as the weeks passed and it grew more difficult to breathe, eat, walk, and sleep as the child grew and displaced or pressed upon my internal organs.
When I had eight weeks remaining, Mrs. Holloway gave strict instruction that I remain off my feet as much as possible, for my legs and feet had begun to swell rather alarmingly. I was only too happy to oblige, as I was out of breath far too often for comfort, and Holmes made it his duty to fetch anything I needed so I would not have to rise once I was settled in my chair or the settee.
Around this time I began experiencing false labor pains. Holmes had the privilege of feeling the first one along with me; I was lying in his embrace on the settee, his hands feeling the bumping of our child's kicking heels, when the sudden cramp shivered through me. Neither of us breathed for a moment, though the child continued to kick. "Now I understand what she meant," Holmes said finally. Mrs. Holloway had warned us that false labor pains might occur when we had seen her last, a most prescient warning.
While I sat around the flat with my feet up, I began organizing some of my notes in preparation for writing up a few more of Holmes' cases. I did not get much past the organizing stage, however, for I often felt restless and frequently rose to do a few rounds of the sitting room before returning to the desk or my chair. Holmes tried to dissuade me from this, as well as our evening rambles, on account of my feet and my breathing but I insisted for my sanity's sake. I did not tell him that I often grew dizzy when standing, since he would then absolutely insist that I remain inside and stationary, but I noted it for my next appointment with the midwife.
When I entered the examination room, Mrs. Holloway took one look at me and ordered me into a chair. A barrage of questions followed, and each of my answers caused the furrow in her brow to crease a little deeper. She listened to my heart and lungs--I could guess she would not be pleased by either, as my pulse was far too fast and my respirations shallow--and palpated my hands and face as well as my legs and feet.
"Complete bed rest, from the moment you return home until the child is born," she said at last, her expression grave. "I will come to you for the rest of your checkups, and they will be weekly."
"Is it truly that bad?" I asked. I had suspected that the degree of my difficulties indicated an underlying problem, but this is not my area of medicine.
"Only if it worsens," she said frankly. "The swelling in particular should abate with rest. You may rise to bathe periodically, but you should remain in bed otherwise. On your side may be most comfortable, but sitting with your feet elevated is also acceptable."
Holmes asked her some pointed questions that I do not remember, then he hurried me home, hovering protectively as I heaved myself up into the cab and then down again. I lingered in front of our door, taking a careful breath, and when Holmes tried to urge me forward, I snapped at him. I only wished to take a moment to enjoy the free air before beginning my confinement--I had never dreamed it would begin so soon or I would have spent more time outdoors--and once Holmes understood he allowed me to take as much time as I wished.
Mrs. Hudson clucked over me when Holmes explained the trouble as I laboriously climbed the stairs. She helped me settle in Holmes' bed while Holmes collected my papers and writing desk and brought them to me. I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but set them aside; I was quite tired and writing was not appealing. I curled up on my side and took a nap.
I napped frequently in the first days of my aptly-named bed rest. This often meant I was awake into the wee hours of the morning and Holmes' proclivity to keeping odd hours was a blessing. He would sit with me and we would talk about anything and everything, sometimes about our child and sometimes not. Sometimes he would read to me from the paper or recent correspondence. When my head hurt too much to have the gaslamp lit--headaches were apparently another symptom of my being unwell--Holmes would slide himself behind me, tucking his knees behind mine and slipping his arms around me, and press kisses to my neck.
By the end of my second week in bed, I was ready to be quite done with that nonsense and I had a new sympathy for Holmes' restlessness between cases. Truth be told, he was enduring our shut-in situation far better than I, though I too would have been in better spirits if I were allowed to be up and about. Against Holmes' wishes I occasionally stood beside the bed and walked around the room to exercise my languishing muscles. Once a day I took a trip to the bathroom; every three days or so I had a nice, long bath to help my aches.
The day after Mrs. Holloway's second visit to monitor my welfare, Holmes drew my bath before I even asked. It seemed rather early in the day, being only just after lunch, but my back had been particularly troublesome that morning and I figured that Holmes had noticed, as he always did.
He helped me into the tub, but as soon as I was settled, the bell rang and Mrs. Hudson called for him. I felt a keen disappointment when it became clear he would not be returning soon; I had hoped he'd lend a hand with my back. Instead, I heard the voices of strangers and a great noise as if something large was being moved. I could not fathom what was transpiring and longed to find out but I could not--between the slippery footing, my troubled balance, and the aches in my hips and back, I was unable to exit the tub without assistance.
Just as I resigned myself to bathing alone, Holmes came in to check on me. "What on earth is going on in there?" I asked peevishly.
He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You will find out in due course, my dear fellow. Afterward, I will rub your back. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes," I grumbled good-naturedly.
He brushed a kiss across my lips. "I will return shortly to help you up."
"See that you do."
He was, of course, as good as his word and returned within ten minutes, just as the water was becoming noticeably cool. He seemed quite pleased with himself and hummed while he helped me dry off and dress in a clean nightshirt. Then he escorted me back to the bedroom, theatrically throwing open the door before ushering me inside.
I clutched Holmes' arm tightly as I stared in amazement at the large bed sitting proudly where Holmes' old bed had been. While the previous bed had been reasonably generous for a single person, two people had been quite a squeeze, especially now that I was pregnant.
This bed, however, was designed for two with room to spare, and the wardrobe and the bedside table had been shifted aside to accommodate the extra width. "That explains all the noise," I said, still stunned. "But why?"
"Now you can roll over without having to worry about falling off," Holmes said, patting my hand. "And I thought we could see if this will allow us to remain together and still get some rest at night. If we can sleep in the same bed, then we can use the room upstairs for the child."
"And if we still don't sleep well together?" I thought of Holmes' odd hours, but we would both be subject to the child's schedule for some time, so that didn't seem as much of an obstacle as it once did.
"We'll have to draw straws or alternate who sleeps here each night," Holmes said with a grin.
The bed was truly a marvel. I could settle down on my right side and roll over to my left without having to shift in place, which was a godsend for my poor back, and Holmes could be near without being pressed up tightly against me. As we lay on the bed, testing its size and softness, our gazes met and we came together in wordless agreement; the second activity performed in that bed was sleeping.
I fear the novelty of a new bed did not alleviate the restless boredom that chafed at me. I spent a good deal of time writing up the cases that I had notes sorted out for, but I quickly exhausted that supply. I fretted and fussed for several aimless days before Holmes pulled out some of his old files. He curled up with me on the bed while he told me those stories as well as things from his younger days that he'd never willingly spoken of before. I told my own stories in turn, and it quickly became clear to us both that our child was going to be mischievous youngster.
I passed two more weeks in this manner, and had only two more remaining before the expected arrival of our child. Mrs. Holloway was satisfied with my health and that of the child, for its growth was good and it shifted into the birthing position in a timely fashion.
I acutely felt the change as a fullness in my pelvis and an improved ability to breathe. What seemed odd in comparison to before was the fact that the babe was always kicking me in the same spot--since he or she was no longer moving about freely in my womb--and that one area of my ribs soon ached rather fiercely. Holmes was fascinated by the shift in my measurements as a result of the child's new location.
As the hours and the days passed, I began to grow nervous about the birth and all that having a child would entail. The false labor pains came with some regularity, to the point that there were moments when I wondered how I would know when I was truly in labor. Holmes tried to reassure me, but he was just as anxious--if not more so, for there was nothing he could do besides watch and wait.
He hid it well, but I could tell he was afraid, and being afraid made him irritable and snappish and prone to brooding. In short, it was rather like his behavior when he was bored with the added strain of apprehension about my wellbeing and that of our child.
Mrs. Holloway assured us at her next visit that all of this was quite normal, but reassurance only went so far. Holmes was more at ease for perhaps two hours before some worry lodged in his mind again and he stalked about the sitting room like a restless tiger.
I will confess it was a relief to see his interest piqued by a brief story in the morning paper that sounded like it would make a fascinating case. I saw his eyes drawn to it repeatedly, and even when he continued on to other pages he periodically flipped back and stared at it again. When I laughed at him, he looked offended. "Go, Holmes," I told him, waving him toward the door. "Go see what Lestrade has to say about that investigation."
To say his face lit up would be overstating things somewhat, but his pleasure was palpable. "Are you certain, Watson?"
"Very. Now go. You're driving me half-mad."
"Only half?" he asked with a grin as he kissed me briefly before climbing down from the bed. "I will wire if I need to stay out for long. Send word at once if anything changes and I will come as soon as I am able."
"Yes, of course," I assured him.
The first thing I did after his departure was take a nap. Sleep had been elusive for some weeks and only came a few hours at a time when it did come, and the quiet in his absence turned out to be ideal for reclaiming several hours of lost slumber.
The second thing I did was begin this narrative. I had been considering it for several days, thinking it would be nice to have an account--albeit a personal one, as this is never going into print--of my experiences while being with child. In retrospect, I should have kept a journal throughout, for there are periods where I am not certain precisely what transpired, and there may also be occasions where I have remembered things out of order.
Holmes has been in and out for his case for nearly four days. When he is away, I receive telegrams at precisely two-hour intervals assuring me of his safety and providing me with the nearest telegraph office should I need to send for him. When he returns home, his first question is always about my welfare, and only once I assure him that I am fine and experiencing any pains does he tell me the latest developments in the case.
He has been wholly away for nearly an entire day now, and I have a stack of telegrams here to prove it (Mrs. Hudson has been so very patient with having to trudge up and down our stairs so frequently!). A few telegrams ago Holmes promised that he will conclude his work today, most likely by tea time.
This is fortunate, for I have a nagging suspicion that I am in labor and have been for at least eight hours. The contractions are yet mild, though they have begun to increase in frequency and duration. It is now just after lunch--I could not eat and told Mrs. Hudson it was due to heartburn--so I can allow Holmes time enough to conclude his investigation. I will likely have to immediately send him out again to fetch Mrs. Holloway, but he will not mind.
I was able to sleep for a while and was woken by a cramping pain that was the worst I have felt yet. It stole my breath away and I clutched my abdomen, willing the child to wait just a little longer.
The pain has eased and I am feeling better for now, though I know there is more to come. Holmes is due at any moment.
There is his voice in the entryway, and his tread on the stair. Oh, another pain . . .
Holmes has gone to retrieve Mrs. Holloway. Once he ascertained that I was not, in fact, dying, despite how my moaning made it sound, he ran from the bedroom as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels. I believe it is prudent for me to set this aside for now.
Watson, as usual you give me far too much credit and give yourself far too little. You make it sound like you complained far more often than you actually did, though I am gratified that my awkward attempts at solace were suitable.
We do need to discuss the fact that you did not send for me at once as we had agreed, but that will wait until you've had your well-earned rest. I trust that some sleep will also enable you to see more clearly in regard to our son's name, as your objection to naming him John is most irregular. It's a good, strong name--and one I am rather partial to--and it will not cause him hardship at school.
And no matter what you claim, he resembles you far more than he resembles me, which is to his benefit, particularly as concerning his nose.
Really, Holmes, there is such a thing as a name that is too unremarkable. John is one such name, and it certainly would cause him hardship at school, for there is currently an excess of Johns in the world. I remain firm in my suggestion that, if we wish to choose a family name, we name him after one or both of our fathers.
Say what you will about his looks, you cannot see yourself with him curled against your shoulder--your expressions in sleep are nearly identical. I told you your concerns about handling him were unfounded. You're already a natural and he's not even a day old.