Chapter Text
“Haaaaaaaaangh!” the sound comes out of him instinctively; he hears it as if someone else is providing the soundtrack to his pain. He can not help screaming, he can not.
“Good, John, good.” says someone soothingly, a woman’s voice, one of the nurses attending to him. He’s not seen her before, not that he would necessarily remember. He feels her wiping his head with a cool cloth.
“You’re doing so well.” She says tenderly, and for a moment he thinks he is going to weep. These days, this is the only time kindness is shown to him. Another contraction ripples through his body, and beyond the pain John hears himself crying out again. The desire to push is overwhelming, but he doesn't. He knows; he’s done this before.
“Almost ready, almost there honey.” Says the Nice Nurse after seeing her colleague nod his head. He is standing between John’s legs which are elevated and stirppued. John is thankful for this; giving birth has never been so difficult before. His body seems to be completely out of his control, he can’t catch his breath, he can’t do anything but convulse with each contraction. The male nurse is swabbing him, preparing to slice his perineum open. John knows that part of his body must be bulging outward; the searing burning pain between his legs feels too much to bear.
The Nice Nurse takes his hand.
“Okay, honey, get ready we’re going to make an incision and then you’ll be able to push.” she says. John believes he must be crushing her hand, but she doesn’t seem to blink. He has a vague impression of her face through the pain. It is a face perhaps his own age, half hidden in a mask, eyes laced with compassion. He barely registers the cut - it’s just another bright note lost in a choir of pain - but he does feel the sudden release of pressure, a warm gush of fluid escaping him, and an all new urgency as the baby’s head starts to crown.
“It’s really big.” Says a second woman attending. She somehow sounds surprised and a little bored at the same time. “This is going to take a while. Should we administer anesthesia?”
“Not allowed.” Says the male. John wishes he could see their faces, without the surgical masks and caps that curtail their humanity so effectively. He wishes he could do more than scream but he can barely breathe it seems. Sweat trickles into his eyes, blurs his vision as he gasps, right on the edge of panic.
“You’re going to hyperventilate, love,” says Nice Nurse, as if reading his mind.
“We need to steady things now, honey or it’ll be worse for you. I’ll breathe as you ought to, and you follow my lead, okay?” John nods as best he can, follows her lead as best he can, wrangles his breathing pattern back into something like helpful as best he can.
“Good job John!” says Nice Nurse a little too cheerfully. “Now get ready, we’re going to start pushing.”
It seems like forever before the child’s head is out. There are several false starts, John can feel himself start to open, only to have the child slide back, cruelly, painfully. At last he feels the familiar sensation of the head stretching him impossibly wide; past the point of no return. There is a harsh kind of pop and then it hangs heavy between his splayed legs, giving a moment of reprieve for both of them. John is exhausted, and he knows there’s more to come. He can’t do it, he is sure of this and is about to vocalize the sentiment, when the door opens. And suddenly Sherlock is there, a set of pale cruel eyes behind a mask. These days it is a rare and terrifying moment for him to be in the delivery room, and for a second fear knocks a deep stillness into John. Then reality sets back in and he is struggling around pushing the shoulders of the child out of his body. Behind the white mask Sherlock watches him emotionlessly, watches as John bears his child - again. When at last John feels the baby spill from between his legs, Sherlock turns on heel and leaves the room.
The three staff members snap into action, Nice Nurse is coaching him to get the afterbirth out, the male nurse has snipped the umbilical cord; handed the baby off to the other woman to clear its nostrils, check it over. He is already prepping John to be stitched up. Nice Nurse is commending him, John is not quite aware of the placenta sliding out of him; they’ve added something to his IV and he can feel himself slipping away far too quickly. He is out of time. He looks up at Nice Nurse pleadingly, she’s been so kind to him these long hours. Tears spring to his eyes.
“Please,” he rasps desperately, “Please let me hold it... just for a minute...please, please... please”.
Things have changed though, and her eyes are devoid of the empathy he thought he saw earlier - maybe he was mistaken. Her gaze flickers over him; clinical, detached, far too familiar. None of them will speak to him now, will acknowledge him, he thinks. John suddenly struggles to sit up, he wants to see the baby he’s just suffered for, wants to have some kind of memory besides this horrible moment to hold on to.
“Increase Ketamine by 10mg.” (Not So) Nice Nurse says, and his struggle is met with soft swift blackness, and series of sad, strange dreams.
His eyes peel open. He is groggy and exhausted, body aching. The child was large.
Sherlock sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for his consciousness. When he sees John is awake, he taps the bag on the IV stand matter-of-factly.
“I’ve asked that the fertility drugs you were on be changed. You seem to have become resistant to them. I expect more from you John, quite literally.”
John says nothing, though his heart clenches and he wants to scream.
“You asked for something today.” Sherlock says disapprovingly.
John looks at the blurry figure in front of him, marvels at the transition from trusted friend to lover to tormentor and captor this man has undergone. His tongue feels too large in his mouth.
“How...long... can... this go on?” John rasps weakly. He’s lost count of the time he’s been here, the number of children he’s been forced to bear, suffer for, yet never see.
Sherlock looks at him steadily.
“Until we’re done,” he says sliding a cool hand along John’s inner thigh,
“Until we’re done.”