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John has been rushed around all day and he is so tired. An early morning with Mary, waking him up and telling him it’s time. He drives. Mary is calm and cool, John is a wreck, he almost misses his turn. Can he handle fatherhood? How can he do this? Be a father and a friend and a husband.... They wheel Mary away and he calls Sherlock. He doesn’t know what else to do. He hasn’t been handling being a best friend particularly well, how can he handle all this too? He needs Sherlock to tell him he’s being an idiot. Sherlock doesn’t answer. John knew there’s a case on, that it was a long shot, but he had hoped.
They won’t let him in the delivery room. Mary had wanted to do this by herself. She’d decided while they were separated and has stuck to her plan. Time is going strange. Have they just got here, or has it been hours? John feels hungry. And then he feels guilty. How can he think of food now? His child, his little girl is being born and her mother doesn’t want him there. He can’t tell if he’s devastated or glad. Either way, he would be useless in there.
It could be days later, but a nurse comes for him. She’s fine, they’re both fine. Will he come and see? John goes where she points him. Mary has a room at the end of the hall. The blinds on the door are drawn, she must be so tired. He’s not sure if he’s smiling but he might be. His daughter. He is about to meet his daughter. He’s so proud. He’s a doctor, he knows this happens literally every day. But it still seems like a miracle to him.
The door swings open on quiet hinges and he tiptoes in. Mary might be sleeping. She might be... He can feel the world crack open under him. It’s too much. This is just too much, she can’t. He crosses to the end of the bed and stays there. He lets his body curl in on itself a little, but he wills himself to remain upright. This can’t be happening. It can’t.
Something is squeezing him. A great crushing weight is on his chest and his legs shake with the pressure of it. Someone has taken all the air from the room and the vacuum of space is crushing him. How can he live like this? Is nothing in his life real anymore? How did his whole life dwindle down to this. Just a few words on a scrap of paper.
I’m Sorry John.
She’s gone.