The Holmes Called A [Sherlaide III]

Clock Watching

It was only twenty minutes after Adelaide's operation had started that Mycroft arrived at the hospital, having managed to persuade the others to stay at home. Since John was watching Mirabella with Mary he'd decided to come and wait with Sherlock. He knew all too well that Sherlock would need someone to keep him from shutting down or blowing up from the stress. Adelaide will need him to be as sound of mind as possible, after all. He thought to himself as a duty nurse directed him to the waiting lounge where he found Sherlock pacing the length of the corridor, narrowly avoiding bumping into the hospital staff and patients around him.

The British Cabinet adviser sighed and stepped into the middle of his path. As Sherlock approached he spoke up, "You need to sit down, brother mine, before you're added to the list of patients at this hospital for colliding with one of the nurses or gurneys."

The detective side stepped him though, gritting out; "I don't need you to supervise me, Mycroft."

"Maybe, but you do need support, Sherlock."

This got Sherlock to pause and turn to cast a look over his shoulder, "Since when is support  part of your vernacular?"

Mycroft didn't respond to the question, just motioned to the lounge, "Take a seat, Sherlock. You'll do far better in one of the chairs than you will dodging hospital traffic."

After a few moments of consideration, Sherlock puffed and relented. It was then that Mycroft could observe the toll that the exhaustion and emotional turmoil was taking on his sibling.

His entire form seemed to sag as he made his way to a chair before slumping down into it. His healthy complexion, which Adelaide had helped cultivate, had leached from his skin: leaving a stark, ashen one. Bloodshot, dulled eyes and the presence of slight tremors as well. Mycroft exhaled and sat down in the chair next to him.

After a long minute dragged by the younger Holmes spoke, his voice muffled as he rested his head in his hand, "They said that the operation should only take about an hour. The nurse said she's hemorrhaging because the placenta grew into the lining, which is why it wasn't coming away..."

Mycroft sighed, "Then it's not the fault of either you or Adelaide. That condition is rare and as I have researched, is often undetected before birth."

Sherlock's shoulders tensed again and he shook his head, "But now because we couldn't diagnose it, Adelaide is in critical condition and-!" He almost choked, cutting off as Mycroft watched him try to stifle any semblance of a sob. After regaining some level of composure he continued, "I'm sure you can deduce the rest, Mycroft. I shouldn't have to tell you any more than that..."

"Of course," A few minutes later Sherlock stopped leaning on the arm of the chair and sat up, letting out a shaky breath as he flicked his wrist towards him to check the time. Mycroft tutted, "Time will not pass any faster than it is, Sherlock."

"But it most certainly is passing slowly now."

Silence ensued, leaving them both to their thoughts. The only thing that stirred them was when John texted them an update on Mirabella, who had finally gone to sleep in her cot, guarded by Teddy as the attached photo showed. Knowing his baby girl was doing well calmed the new father down enough to finally accept a cuppa from one of the kindly nurses and breathe a little easier.

Both of them were anxiously watching the clock as the one hour mark rolled around. But when no nurses appeared to tell them the operation was over, their hopes waned. Finally, ten minutes later, a frazzled looking nurse shuffled into the lounge. Sherlock stood up at once and Mycroft followed suit as the nurse came to a halt, "Mister Holmes?"

"Yes. Is the operation over? How is Adelaide doing?" Sherlock asked quickly. Mycroft nudged him with the end of his umbrella to remind him to breathe between questions, allowing the nurse to speak.

"Your wife is still in surgery, Mister Holmes. As we were operating we found more haemorrhages and the surgeon is having trouble removing the tissue he needs to without causing more internal bleeding. We've had to give her a blood transfusion but she is still stable."

"And how much longer could it last?" Sherlock asked dismally.

"Another hour, maybe more if we can't keep her from hemorrhaging again."

Sherlock's heart sank even more and Mycroft stepped in to finish the conversation for him, allowing him to fall back into the chair so he could absorb the nurse's words. As Mycroft sat down again he rasped; "Do you think it would have been better if we had had a hospital delivery with Mirabella, Mycroft..?" The older man considered it and then shook his head.

"No."

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