"In through your nose, out through your mouth." John was saying from across their make shift living room. Mary was lying on the leather sofa, though her face did look legitimately pained. Sherlock's attention was peaked, noticing that the woman's fingers were gripping upon the cushions and her eyes were shut.
"This is just practice, right?" Sherlock clarified apprehensively, shutting his book upon his cross shaped book mark and setting it aside quickly.
"I thought so." John agreed, grabbing at his wife's hand and patting it as calmly as he could manage.
"Yes, it was...it was." Mary agreed, taking deep breaths that were not in line with the diagnosed breathing plans.
"What do you mean was?" Sherlock exclaimed, now jumping to his feet and scrambling over to where the woman was lying. Mary took a breath, inhaling air and exhaling some sort of panicked yell.
"Okay, okay...John, it's happening." The woman declared at last.
"IT'S HAPPENING!?" Sherlock screeched, jumping nearly a foot into the air as all of his anxieties spiked in an instant. "It's happening?" he repeated again in a whisper.
"Oh my God, oh my God, alright! What do we do, what do you want us to do?" John asked at last, taking his wife's hand and nearly yanking to her feet in an instant.
"No, it's three days away, Mary this baby is early! Sit back down!" Sherlock insisted, though by now he was running laps around the couch and trying to remember Mary's breathing exercises for use on himself.
"John, just relax. Father Holmes, please relax." Mary was whispering, clutching John's hand and her stomach at the same time with an expression of agony upon her face.
"What do we do?" Sherlock asked again, tearing his fingers through his curls as if to demonstrate how hopeless he suddenly felt. The clock was ticking, and if this baby was on its way then it was going to have to be rushed to the hospital fast.
"You're the one who read all the da*n books, you tell me!" John growled.
"Um...umm..." Sherlock's head suddenly went blank, trying to remember if he was ever directed to do anything at the moment of the child's birth. "The Catholics don't talk about this!" he wailed at last.
"Father, just get the car!" John demanded.
"I can't drive!" Sherlock wailed in protest, to which even Mary's face turned in confusion. For a moment the priest stopped, realizing that such a statement made no sense. Of course he could drive; he's been doing it for fifty years now.
"Father, go!" Mary snarled, to which Sherlock gave a great nod and went scampering out the side door, racing off just about as fast as he feet could carry him. This was it, wasn't it? This was the great moment! Within hours he would be a Godparent, within hours he wouldn't be the biggest burden in this makeshift development! 

John POV: Father Holmes didn't seem to realize that the first step to having a baby was getting the mother to the hospital alive, for they must not have talked about road safety in his parenting handbook. The priest was easily doing ninety miles an hour down the highway, weaving and swerving around the other vehicles and going so fast he nearly missed the exit entirely. The man was perfectly out of his mind, and it made John wonder why he had ever let the priest get behind the wheel at all. Besides their potential for a catastrophic accident it was Mary's state that John was most worried about, for by now he was most certain that her water had broken during the bumpy ride. It was terrifying to see the poor woman now in physical pain, wailing and screeching in the back of the car while John tried everything he could to restrain her, to keep her in her seatbelt and hold her hand in desperation, trying to make her count her breathing and remember all of the things the doctors had suggested for the big day.
"Is this the right hospital?" Father Holmes clarified anxiously as they sped into the emergency room parking lot. The car stopped abruptly, throwing both husband and wife into the back of the front seats and jolting them back into reality.
"Of course it's the right hospital, it's the only one!" John agreed, untangling himself from the seatbelts and falling out of the car to help his wife with her departure. The woman was already having trouble walking, and it would seem as though she'll need both men's assistance throughout the long walk to the double doors. Father Holmes beat John to the door, and was already trying to help Mary onto her feet on the pavement. The poor man was looking just as sickly as was Mary, for his face was pale and his limbs were very clammy. John was wondering if he would need to help both of them into the hospital, or if he could just leave Father Holmes to brood in the parking lot until they could get a proper wheelchair.
"Mary you're leaking!" the priest exclaimed in horror.
"Her water broke you idiot!" John growled.
"That means the baby's coming!" Father Holmes announced excitedly, as if no one had realized that little fact already.
"Get me inside, both of you!" Mary demanded in a growl, clutching onto John's neck as the two began to hobble towards the main door. Father Holmes ran ahead, doing his Godfatherly duties to retrieve a wheelchair for the mother and the very impatient child, his legs flapping along awkwardly as his black shape went racing towards the emergency room doors. John and Mary were restricted to a much slower pace, for already Mary was having trouble taking any steps at all.
"He's an idiot." Mary groaned despite all of her pain, which seemed like a suitable declaration considering the situation.
"Don't worry about him, he's got spirit. You need strength." John reminded her, to which the woman gave a sigh of agreement and hobbled along the rest of the way. Father Holmes arranged a wheelchair for them just as Mary was stepping onto the curb (a chair they later found out he had nearly stolen from underneath someone else) and finally got the woman arranged comfortably within the plastic seat. Finally she was being moved at a much quicker rate, and before they knew it the men were waiting outside of the hospital room in agony, waiting for the proper moment to intrude. Mary had demanded a little bit of privacy, being as though there was going to be a lot of poking and prodding to see when the baby would decide to make its appearance. She would allow the two to come inside during the actual delivery, but up until then she claimed that she didn't want the added pressures of the men's mounting nervousness. This of course wasn't ideal for either of them, for Father Holmes took to pacing up and down the crowded hallways and John was sitting anxiously in a chair, scuffing his feet against the white tiles and staring blankly at the ground before him.
"You're going to be a father any minute now." The priest announced, as if John hadn't realized this little fact before.
"Yes, I know." John agreed quietly.
"You're going to have a child." Father Holmes repeated.
"I know." John muttered again.
"A living, breathing, replica of yourself." The priest whispered.
"Father Holmes, would you please just let me sit alone and think?" John insisted, wringing his hands together and trying to get his breathing under control. For whatever reason he was beginning to be afraid, afraid not only because of this early delivery but because of all that could go wrong from here on out. He's heard of the Victorian ladies dying in childbirth, he's watched Downton Abbey enough to see it happen! How could he cope with the loss of his wife if something did go wrong, if disease settled in, if the baby was retrieved still born? And if things did go well, then what then? How was he going to be a suitable father, how was he going to raise this child from this moment until the end of his life? This was going to be the first introduction of a major player in his life, and here he was nearly sitting on top of a stack of tabloid magazines!
"I should've read more books." John took to muttering. "God, how am I going to be a good father?"
"John you'll be a wonderful father. A wonderful, wonderful dad." The priest assured, finally pausing in his wanderings and dropping his hands from his hair. Father Holmes had taken to puling at his curls when he got excited, and now it looked as if he would be returning to his balding state earlier than his previous go of things.
"How could you possibly know that? What if I suddenly become an alcoholic, or I don't show up to his winning basketball game? Or what if I don't remember how to do long division, and in turn she fails her math test? What..." John's voice wavered before breaking off in desperation, rubbing his fingers across his face and trying to get himself under control. Oh here he was losing grip on reality, panicking for no reason at all! This child had been nothing more than a whim, and now here it was, premature! He had been promised nine months to prepare, and here they were, eight months and twenty seven days later! Those last three days might have been the make or break moment for his career in fatherhood!
"Father, what if there's something wrong with it?" John whispered nervously. "What if it's coming out three days early because it's already..."
"Shush, don't talk like that." the priest demanded, finally swooping in at John's side and taking the man's hands within his own. It was a comfortable position to be in, though even the soft caress of the priest's fingers weren't enough to calm John's racing and impatient mind. With a quick glance he saw that Father Holmes couldn't even settle himself upon one of the chairs, instead he sat on the coffee table so as to be as close as possible to the expectant father. Perhaps the priest was just as nervous, and was feeling the need for physical contact as well. Perhaps this tangle of hands was just as medicinal for John as it was the struggling priest.
"Father, you wouldn't allow that, would you? You'd have God come in; you'd have him work his miracles. He'd save my child, wouldn't he?" John whispered anxiously, his fingers tightening within the priest's grip as he leaned closer and closer still. John was looking for a solid body to lean against; he was looking for a warm spirit with which to heat himself back up from the shivers that were overtaking his nervous body. Suddenly the hallway was narrowing, the lights were flickering, and all he could imagine was his child, what was left of his child, being torn out of his wife in pieces.
"Father..." the man wailed, scrambling up onto the table to join the priest as close as he could manage. By now he was nearly sitting in the man's lap, though it was beginning to feel like the safest place he could find within this cold, desolate hospital. With one hand he clutched onto Father Holmes's hands and with the other he wrapped his arm around the priest's neck, holding their bodies close so that he could feel the steadying heartbeat up against his shoulder.
"John, come now, don't be worried. Nothing has gone wrong, and nothing is going to go wrong. It's a baby, John, babies happen every day." the priest reminded him.
"Not my baby! This is...this is the most important hour of my entire life." John insisted, his words coming out with a fresh wave of tears as if he couldn't annunciate properly without letting out some of his raw, unfiltered emotions. The priest shushed him softly, treating the father as he would the coming child. Perhaps the methods were the same when dealing with the fits of panic that settled in within the newborn and the man, and of course the priest would have mastered those methods by now. All of those books he read, already twice as prepared as the father who would actually have to take care of the baby! It was almost embarrassing to be one upped by your neighbor!
"Everything's going to be okay." the priest assured softly, running one of his hands up and down the trembling man's back in an attempt to steady his breathing. John was still hysterical, though slowly he could feel his fears melting away. It was nothing that the priest was saying that helped; in fact nothing could be helped once his mind began to wander off to the darkest depths of his imagination. John's emotions weren't calming because he was overcoming his fears; they were calming because he was slowly forgetting what he was becoming so unnerved about. With his face nuzzled upon the priest's shoulder it was impossible to tell exactly where he was, for he could only get a glimpse of whiteness out of the corner of his eye when he was staring so fixatedly at that white collar protruding from the man's black shirt. Soon the sounds of the hospital diminished as well, all of the intercoms that were playing over the speakers, all of the gurney wheels as they went rushing this way and that, all vanished. All he was able to hear for a long while was the soft beating of the priest's heart, concealed within his chest but beating so loudly against the man's ear that he could swear he was holding it within his hand. And the feelings of fear were slowly beginning to fade as John focused more intensely on the feeling of the black, starchy fabric against his cheek and the smooth, unaltered skin which was clutched within his hand. Suddenly his brain was not so caught up with the idea of still births and disastrous pregnancies, he was instead focused on the man with who he was tangled, and soon it was only the thought of Father Holmes which could fill his brain tonight. The rhythmic hand which was rubbing up and down his back began to feel like an ocean wave, with those long fingers playing along his protruding spine and along the wrinkles his shirt made in this hunched position. He began to feel like a child having run to his mother during a thunderstorm, the sanctuary within the priest's arms was quite indistinguishable. However, the feelings that sprouted up within his heart weren't just those of appreciation or those of safety. As his mind stilled upon one thing his heart began to wander, and slowly he began to feel a tugging in the priest's direction, not just for the man to offer him comfort, but perhaps something more as well.
"Are you feeling better, Mr. Watson?" Father Holmes muttered so close to his ear, tucking his arm more securely around John's back and holding the trembling man closer to his chest. John gave a little murmur of agreement, not wanting spoil this sudden closeness with any sort of forced conversation.
"You're going to be a great father." The priest whispered again, this time so softly that any eavesdropper may not have been able to hear.
"So are you." John assured into the man's chest, his words partially smothered against the priest's shirt. The man laughed quietly, tracing his fingers across John's shoulder before settling atop of his neck, in a way that was tried to pass as casual but was instead quite intentional. John didn't mind, in fact he almost rejoiced in the fact that the priest may have gotten such satisfaction by touching his bare skin. John was in a position where he felt he owed the man something, and while that was not the case (nor would any payment be accepted) he at least felt comfortable catering to the more unconscious portions of the priest's intentions.
"I won't be the father, John. That's your job entirely." The priest reminded him.
"You'll be the Godfather. And Sherlock, you'll be the best da*n Godfather there ever was." John assured quietly. The priest chuckled for a moment, his fingers playing almost beneath John's shirt collar and touching upon his smooth skin in the shadowed section of his shoulder.
"Sherlock." The priest muttered quickly. "You've never called me that before."
"Haven't I?" John clarified nervously.
"I would've remembered." Father Holmes assured quietly, his voice strained as if he was fighting back sentimentality. Perhaps he couldn't afford to think too deeply into the name, lest it possess his mind for the next very important minutes of this delivery.
"It's a nice name, really. A beautiful name." John assured truthfully. He did enjoy to say it, and if the priest enjoyed to hear it then it was all the better.
"Formally I am to be referred to as Father Holmes. But I do believe, John, that we've moved past that stage in our lives." The priest assured. John smiled, hugging himself closer to the priest's chest and nodding into him.
"I agree. I think I'm as much married to you as I am Mary, at this stage." John agreed. The priest faltered for a response, and for a moment he seemed dumbstruck by such a wild accusation. John might've regretted it, had his brain been working properly at that moment at all. Thankfully there was no time for a comment, for they were found by a nurse in their most tangled arrangement, interrupted almost at the worst time with some of the best news.

"The baby's on its way, gentleman." The nurse declared. Well this news, if nothing at all, was enough to get them to their feet. Suddenly John was renewed with life he didn't know he had, and before long he found himself in scrubs and a face mask, wading into the delivery room and preparing to meet the next generation. Father Holmes's hand caught into his as the two of them moved towards the bed in which Mary lay, the poor woman hunched onto her knees as the doctors tried to pull the baby out as easily as possible. As soon as John saw his wife in such a state of panic he pulled Father Holmes with him along to her side, in one hand clutching onto his wife's shoulder (as her hands were clenched at this point, and were not going to be very comfortable to hold) and in the other he held fast to the priest's fingers. Mary was shrieking at octaves that may very well startle the new baby, though the nurses were giving her words of encouragement and the doctors were nodding along, as if they felt this was going to be a very normal, very healthy delivery.
"Mary you're doing amazing." John assured, rubbing his hand along her sweat soaked shoulder. The woman's face was contorted miserably, and she was muttering things about keeping the baby inside, how it wasn't worth it at this point. She seemed as if she was giving up half way through, as if the pain wasn't worth it anymore, and this began to infuriate her husband beyond belief. John didn't know why he suddenly got angry, but that look of distress upon his wife's face almost made her look ungrateful, as if she was regretting every step along the way as she forced that baby into the world.
"One more push, Mrs. Watson!" the doctors called from afar. Father Holmes's hand gripped tighter, now latching onto John's wrist and nearly squeezing all the blood from his hand. Perhaps he too wasn't ready to see this child, perhaps he was afraid of what sort of thing might be presented to them from under the woman's hospital gown.
"Almost there, come on Mary, come on." John insisted, this time patting along her forehead and trying to pull her eyes into a more relaxed position. The woman let loose a growl, tears running down her face as she gave one last effort, and in a moment the room was silent but for that crying. Suddenly John didn't hear his wife's screams any longer, he didn't hear the priest's strangled breaths now hovering so close to his ear. He couldn't hear the nurses as they congratulated her, or the doctors as they sat back in relief...no, he heard crying. Crying from a voice he had never heard before. The wails of that little child filled his ears like any music he had ever heard, the choking, gurgling cries of a terrifying red thing that was being rushed aside to the scale and to the towels. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and as his wife rearranged herself upon the bed, as she let out a sigh of relief...John's hand fell away. He didn't mean to abandon her, he didn't intend to lose interest in the woman just as soon as the baby was gone. It was an absent minded action, though some part of his mind must have been thinking a bit clearer than the rest. His hand fell from his wife's face, and as he turned to watch the baby get dropped onto the scale it flew through the air and settled instead upon Father Holmes's shoulder instead, pulling the priest in closer to him so that their bodies collided throughout the delivery room. John fell forward upon the man's sturdy frame, distracted enough with the baby not to notice what sort of position he had found himself in. Both men were fixated upon the little flying limbs as they appeared in the air, now getting tangled up in a swaddling towel and silenced with calming coos from the nurses.