The car crash happened right in front of the taxi that Dr. Watson was riding in on his way to the surgery early one cold morning.
Like any other medic, he jumped out of the taxi and right into the fray. The shock would not come until later, after coping with the emergency. Then things would be different. But for now, there were injured people and he had to deal with them first.
Before he even realized that he was moving, John had already barked orders to the cabbie to call the emergency services, then he was standing beside a small yellow car, jerking on the driver's door, trying to get to the person driving it. Someone else was already dealing with the second car. John could hear the calls of the emergency responders talking to the other driver. The two cars had hit almost head-on. John finally managed to pull open the smashed-in door and when he looked down at the driver, his heart almost stopped.
Molly Hooper was hunched over the steering wheel. So much blood. It was splashed on her pristine lab coat and across the windshield. John reached out for her hand and could find no pulse, so he laid his hand under her jaw. Without warning, the woman's head snapped back and her eyes opened. For a moment, they were unfocused and then they moved towards John's face. He was sad to see the damage done to Molly's face and knew this would be the last time he could talk to her. He fought back wanting to tell her to not try to speak that things would be okay, but he was too much of a realist and knew that comfort and not being alone was better at this point. Molly's brown eyes came into clear focus and bored into John's. She opened her mouth and a trickle of blood bubbled down her lips.
"John..." He nodded and grasped her hand in his own, though he knew she could no longer feel it. Her eyes started to slip closed but with some inner strength she was able to fight them open again. "John..." His name came out garbled and Dr. Watson almost did not recognize it for what it was. "He's....John....He's alive." With that, Molly slumped down into the seat and breathed no more. At that moment, John felt a hand on his shoulder and the sound of a baby crying cracked through the silence like a gunshot in the night.
All at once, there was a flurry of movement all around him. The paramedics called to each other and pulled out the injured and the dead, lights flashed. Suddenly, there was a hush over the entire scene when the medic closest to John opened the back door of Molly's tiny car. Somehow, someway, he had missed the tiny car seat in the back even though his ears had picked up the low sound of the mewling behind Molly. The paramedic gently took what appeared to be a pile of lilac blankets from it's seat and uncovered it's face. John stared at the little girl and a pair of almond-shaped green eyes stared right back at him. He reached out to the child and pulled her close. Something roared up in his chest but he refused to give it a name. He stepped back from the wreck holding the baby and felt the pressure on his shoulder again. He turned around and stared into the face of Mycroft Holmes.
John and Mycroft sat across from each other at a table in the hospital cafeteria. John's chair was slightly moved back from the table and he was bent almost in half staring down into a lukewarm styrofoam cup of coffee and attempting to both warm his hands and wrap his mind around the words coming out of Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft, as always, sat primly at the table, tea in front of him, legs crossed at an elegant angle, one hand resting on the umbrella at his side.
John rallied himself again and looked at the other man. Mycroft's voice had almost become background noise, but this time John knew he had to pay attention. There were so many emotions running through his body that he feared he would never be able to sort them all out.
"Dr. Watson, I assure you that I was completely unaware that this situation had occurred."
John stared holes into Mycroft's face and decided that the other man was telling him the truth. He knew the strain between the Holmes brothers, but also knew that Mycroft cared about his little brother in his own twisted way. It had hurt him when Sherlock made his choice that day just over a year ago.
"So you do understand what Molly said to me, then?"
"Yes, John, I think I do. Did you see that child?"
The thing that had been trying to work its way out of John's chest tried to jump out of his throat at that moment. He was torn between understanding the how and the when. He simply nodded at the elder Holmes.
"How old would you say the baby is, John?" Mycroft knew it was cruel, but it was better if John faced this now instead of later. John was intelligent, he couldn't not see the truth for what it was.
"About six months, I am guessing. But that means...." John's heart beat even faster. He did a quick calculation in his head. Even if the child had been born a month early, that would still go back fourteen, fifteen months? Oh god. Right after that day. Forgetting the coffee, John's shoulders sagged and his head fell to his hands. The coffee cup tipped to the floor and the coffee ran under his chair the way the tears ran down his face.
Mycroft sat back in his chair and allowed the other man his pain and his dignity. Somewhere deep inside himself, he wished he could offer some comfort, though his brain was already steadily whirring along underneath, needing answers and needing to find out just what his baby brother had done.