John Watson was a doctor. John Watson was a soldier. John Watson knew the smell of blood and the scream of a dying man. What he didn't know was how these sounds and smells could be emanating from his wife. He looked on the scene as doctors bustled back and forth taking crimson towels out from between Mary Watson's legs. He prayed that one of the bundles would be a baby, but twenty towels later the only things that he held in his hand were Mary's ivory fingers, her grip growing distinctly weaker with every passing hour.

Mary Watson was an assassin. Mary Watson was a wife. Mary Watson knew precisely how much blood had to be lost to kill a person and what it felt like to be loved. What Mary Watson didn't know was how she was going to be able to tell John that she had passed the limit an hour ago or how she would ever fully explain how deeply she loved him. Each breath tore a bigger hole in her chest and opened it up to let a little more love out. She saw his blue eyes spilling over with tears and fear as his blonde hairs fidgeted because his fingers couldn't. They were too busy trying to tether her down to this earth by lacing them into her own. He was so afraid. That was another thing Mary knew. He would be alright without her. John was, after all, a soldier. They are trained how to fight but also how to lose. John Watson had lost so much already.

Mary Watson knew she could give John two more gifts. She steadied her breathing, and pushed as hard as she could. Her body was empty now. Nothing remained except one last massive gulp of air she had been holding in. She tugged her husband close because each molecule of oxygen was precious and couldn't be wasted over distance. She had given John the first gift and now it was time to give him his last.

"John, I love you. I will always love you. Every second we have spent together has been one of the best seconds of my life. I thank you for them." Mary felt a drip roll down her cheek. She couldn't tell if it was her sweat or her tears or one of John's.

"Mary, we are going to have so many more seconds. A lifetime together with our baby. You've done so well. I can hear the doctors saying she is healthy. Now, Mary, you have to stop talking and let the doctors help you." John knew that doctors saved people. He had done it on countless occasions himself. John also knew that doctors lost people. John Watson had lost so much already.

"John, I need you to listen carefully and don't interrupt." He was wonderfully obedient when she used that voice. "John, I want you to be with Sherlock."

"Mary you don't-"

"John darling, please, I don't have very much air left and I don't think I have the strength to take another breath. I know you have always loved him. The only reason you left him was because you thought he was dead. I know you love me with all your heart but I was loving you on borrowed time. Sherlock is back and I am gone and things will be alright. You have my blessing."

"Mary, I love you. You know I love you. I don't know why you are talking this rubbish. You've been spending too much time with Mrs. Hudson." Mary Watson looked up at her brilliant husband, and knew with time he would understand. He always just needed a bit more time than others.

"Be with Sherlock, John. Be happy with him. Love our daughter. Be loved and let yourself live. Do that for me, won't you dear?"

"God damn it, Mary! God damn it all to Hell! I'm going to be with YOU. I will be happy with YOU. WE will love our daughter! And I will be loved by YOU and no one else." This made Mary Watson smile and then laugh the last bit of air out of her lungs. Mary Watson died feeling more loved than most people feel in their entire life.

It took three security guards to pry John Watson away from his wife. It took three more to keep him away from the doctor who pronounced the time of Mary Watson's death. It took three hours for John to calm down enough to name the baby. John gave her three names, all of people who had died. First name Mary, for the wife he just lost, middle name Lock for the friend who only half died, and lastly Watson for himself who, though he still was breathing was dead once again. Mary Lock Watson would have to live for three.

****************I**

Sherlock Holmes hated hospitals. Very rarely did they ever have anything interesting in them. Just sick people whose disease was already known or dead people who died from being sick. No cases really. There was a mystery going on right now though. Mary Watson had gone into labor precisely 22.35 hours earlier. She was two weeks premature but that was to be expected with a first born. The average labor, even for first time mothers, never runs longer than 18 hours. Sherlock waited and looked for clues as to the whereabouts and status of his best friend and his wife. Hospitals are so sterile and full of dour faces that he couldn't tell what was happening. Sherlock waited. Sherlock wouldn't allow himself to worry.

After 27 hours of waiting and refusing to worry, John walked through the steal double doors. Sherlock knew that Mary Watson was dead. John's pallid face, trembling walk, and blood soaked shirt explained it all. Sherlock knew that the child was not dead or else John Watson may not have come through the double doors at all. His friend, his only friend, came up to Sherlock and tried to look him in the eye.

"Mary…Mary she…"

"She died. I know." Sherlock always knew everything.

"How'd you… Sherlock, I don't know what to do." Sherlock knew that John would keep on living and be a wonderful father.

"You will keep living and be a wonderful father."

"Sherlock, I don't want to hear that right now. My wife is dead and I have a child that I can't raise alone. I don't want you to say anything. There is nothing you can say to make this ok." Sherlock knew John was right and so he pulled his best friend into a hug. He knew that that is what you do for people like John when they are grieving. He felt John's heavy body and realized that John weighed 69 kilograms, just slightly below the national average. Sherlock held 69 kilograms of his sobbing best friend in his arms and for the first time in his life acted on impulse. Sherlock kissed the top of John's head because he thought that was what John needed.

Sherlock was wrong.

"What the bloody hell was that? You don't kiss me. You don't do that! You…." John looked up at Sherlock and couldn't truly see him. John heard the war in his head. He heard Mary screaming and then her last words to him telling him to be with Sherlock. John knew he had something to do with this. "You killed her. You've always wanted us together! You knew with the baby coming we wouldn't be able to be the dynamic duo anymore so you… you must have poisoned her, or or or , you made her eat glass and that's why there was so much blood… you did this to get to me. You can't love so you… you destroyed mine."

"John, you are going through the stages of grief. You are caught somewhere between denial and anger. If you just wait a little while things will calm down. You don't know what you are saying." John didn't know what he was saying but John Watson knew how to hit. He was a soldier after all. One swift crack to Sherlock's nose left just a bit more blood on his hands, but it didn't make the slightest bit of difference. John barreled out of the hospital letting the red of the blood and the black ball of grief in his mind propel him out the door.

Sherlock watched his best friend leave and for the first time in his life he didn't know what to do.

"Mr. Holmes, is it?"

"Yes."

"John has asked you take Mary from the hospital. He has placed temporary legal guardianship in your hands. If you refuse she will be put into child services until her father has had time to recover from the loss and feels fit to care for her."

Sherlock's loss of direction was only momentary as he pieced the information together. John Watson had lost so much already and Sherlock would not allow him to lose anymore.

"Take me to her."