Run by T-Michael and Alexander Helle, Norwegian Rain is one of the most unique brands out there. Combining the founders’ superb aesthetic sense through sleek, exclusive designs, with high-end technical fabrics, the result is an ongoing flow of essential outerwear pieces. For AW15, the duo took both new and trademark models to Tokyo for an editorial shoot by Bent Synnevaag, portraying older locals in clean attires. Be sure to check the collection live at Pitti Uomo, Liberty Fairs, Tranoi and the label’s showroomsand stay tuned for a full preview after my visit to Pitti.
Summary: Sherlock and Dr. John Watson have solved yet another crime. But on the walk home, Sherlock gets the call of his life. You have gone into labor.
Author’s note: Third writing. Sorry if there are mistakes or it overall sucks. Can I dedicate another one to @fandoms-are-the-best-escape just because she is my beautiful German <3
Sherlock knelt next to the lifeless body that lay in the center of the floor, examined every inch of the dead woman. After working for two years, John knew Sherlock’s routine and that he would be able to solve this in a heartbeat.
“Mmm, you say the woman was poisoned?” Sherlocked asked.
Lestrade gave the classic Lestrade face back to Sherlock, “Well of course! Look at the veins in her neck. They’re bulging! Besides, the examiners ran tests on the funny bag of substance on her lip.”
A chuckle escaped Sherlock’s lips, “Who was the examiner? Anderson?”
“Well than there’s your answer. Obviously, she died of an overdosage. Look, the dark blue circles under her eyes. She also is beginning to wrinkle around the forehead which doesn’t look right for a woman of her age. She’s about…Mmm? 25? But she looks like she’s 50. Oh! These are signs of-”
He dipped his finger in the white powder, giving it a deep smell finished with a smile.
“Cocaine. My work here is done. Send the files to me via mail.”
John watched in amazement. Even after working with Sherlock for several years, his intelligence never seized to amaze the doctor. Sherlock wrapped his infamous blue scarf around his neck as John followed, trying to keep up to the tall man’s long strides.
“Well another case solved, John,” Sherlock said with pride, starting on the walk home to the 221B flat. Just then, a small buzz rang from Sherlock’s coat pocket. The two men stopped on the rain-coated sidewalk as Sherlock brought the phone up to his ear. His crystal blue eyes widened, dropping his phone. All of the world around them seemed to go in slow motion for Sherlock. John crooked his neck in confusion.
“Sherlock? Who was that on the telly?” John knelt down to grab the phone.
“I-i-impossible.” He stuttered. It seemed as if Moriarty were playing more games with Sherlock.
But this was no Moriarty. John grabbed the phone who’s caller ID read, (Y/N).
“(Y/N)” John asked. All he received was a scream off pain from the other side of the line. Now it all made sense at to why Sherlock would be scared. Regularly Sherlock never was scared of anything. Immediately, Sherlock and John bolted, their legs carrying them faster than normal to 221B Baker Street. Once they arrived, Sherlock fiddled with the key, eventually finding the combination and sprinting upstairs.
The flat door was opened by Sherlock. No blood. No robbers. No assassins. No Moriarty. You lay on the green couch Sherlock owned, nine months pregnant. Sherlock noticed the pool of water lying beside the couch.
“Look Sherlock, can you quit staring and think? You don’t need to make a deduction that your wife is going into labor!”
Mary, who had been with you at the time, had been staying beside you as you fought contraction after contraction. A thick bead of sweat was quickly building above your brow. Still in a trance, Sherlock stared at the fireplace. It wasn’t until John, gently, slapped him.
“Wake up, you drama queen, and get the bloody ambulance!” John yelled, grabbing a jacket for you. Mrs. Hudson hurried up the stairs, her tiny purple heels clicking in a rush.
“I called the ambulance and they’re here! Oh goodness, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson groaned.
A few minutes had passed and the paramedics were able to help carry you down the steep stairs and into the ambulance. Agony and pain is all that rushed through your mind, but in the end, you would know that you’re bringing another little detective into the world. The only thing that worried you was the status of Sherlock. You laid at an angle, looking at the back window of the ambulance. Mary and John were following in their own vehicle behind as Sherlock stayed with you in the ambulance back.
“Oooh, I hate you so much right now, Sherlock Holmes,” you groaned, practically breaking every bone in Sherlock’s hand. He nodded, not knowing how to respond. Sure, Sherlock had face many horrible things in his life time, but a baby? How would he ever be able to keep he or she safe with all of the danger that lurked around Mr. Holmes constantly? For goodness sakes, Sherlock didn’t even know where to begin with Rosie, Mary and John’s little girl.
Sherlock’s eyes fluttered opened as someone laid a hand on his shoulder, giving a subtle shake. A blurred image of John appeared through his sleep-deprived eyes.
“Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up. Come meet the newest Holmes.” John smiled while waking up Sherlock, who had fallen asleep on one of the waiting room couches. He stretched his arms, yawning, then looking at the bags which formed quite quickly under his eyes.
“Bloody hell, John. How late was I up?” Sherlock asked, fixing his bundle of messy curls.
“Well, (Y/N) went into labor at around, 1:30 in the morning? Would say that’s correcy, Mary?”
“Oh, yeah. We were just fixing tea for you two trouble makers when - boom!”
Sherlock nodded, growing more anxious to meet his first newborn. John took note of Sherlock’s growing anxiety and began to walk down the bright hospital hallway. Room 275 stood in front of Sherlock, (Y/N)’s name under the number. Right behind those doors, Sherlock realized he would have the biggest reward of his life.
“Go ahead.” John pushed opened the door, letting Sherlock in and then closing it afterward.
He took gentle steps closer to the frail woman whom he loved, laying in her flower-print hospital gown. Her (Y/H/C) hair was tangled in knots, coated in a thin layer of grease. Her face looked more sunk in than usual and overall week. IV’s were stuck into the left arm arteries, trying to provide as much comfortability to the mother. Sherlock hated the sight of his love so weak and vulnerable, but the small blue bundle in her arms gave so much strength.
“Sherlock Holmes, I forgive you for putting me through that.”
The couple chuckled at the bit of humor.
“Come hold him. You are his father,” you beamed. Sherlock walked over to the hospital bed. You scooted over and made room for your husband to enjoy the view of the newborn with you. The little boy peacefully slept as you placed him softly in Sherlock’s big arms. For the first time in years, a tear ran down Sherlock’s cheek.
“What’s his name?” Sherlock looked at you.
You smiled, “That’s why I waited. We decide together. I was thinking…Manuel.”
“Manuel… Manuel Hamish Holmes.”
“I love it Sherlock. Thank you.”
Gently placing your head on Sherlock’s shoulder, he planted a soft kiss on your temple.
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