Lessons in Friendship 7 – Needing something
Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.
I never thought I'd write a sic-fic but this just kind of happened.
This was beta-ed by atypicalhumanbeing/ 221bhannah. Many thanks to her for her efforts/work. Check out her stories.
This takes place after TBB, before TGG.
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For all of you who are already following:
I was recently told that my English is so bad it's putting people off, so I will upload an improved version of this now.
There is nothing new, I'm just trying to improve the reading experience. Sorry.
The first chapter of this story was originally published on March 23rd 2014 and the story was completed on May 3rd 2014.
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Day 1 - Friday
They had been out all morning, working with Lestrade on a crime scene and it was afternoon when they came back.
John switched on his laptop to check for emails while Sherlock went to his room to change. He had gotten his neat pants dirty crawling through the mud of an industrial chicken farm.
"Maybe you should have a shower, too," John yelled through the flat.
"I think I will, actually," Sherlock's voice was muffled and sounded as if he was getting out of his clothes. The next thing John heard was the bathroom door and a short time later the shower. Actually he was a bit worried, even angry when Sherlock had searched through the farm with Anderson and another lab technician. The other two had been dressed in lab overalls and had worn dusk masks, but not Sherlock Holmes. He was above such things and didn't need protection. He solely had taken off his coat to protect it from the dirt. They had quite a discussion about being irresponsibly vain and childish with the protective gear, but it was no use, Sherlock had not put on any of the stuff that any sane person would have taken gratefully.
John had made a late cold lunch consisting of sandwiches and fresh vegetables with a dip. Sherlock had actually eaten two sandwiches, and finally he spread a thick layer of the dip over another slice of toast; he ignored the vegetables completely.
"Sherlock, the dip was for the vegetables, you could've at least left me more than a tablespoon." John complained while he wiped the meagre remains out of the bowl with a slice of carrot.
"Make some more," Sherlock suggested.
John decided it was not worth it and munched the carrots without a dip. Sherlock threw him a slightly disgusted look about his chewing noises but John ignored him.
After the meal, they had discussed further details about the case and where the body might have been hidden. For once they had a murder without a corpse and the search for it had already lasted three days.
Lestrade came by in the evening and brought some new facts and lab results.
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At one point during their dinner (Sherlock had decided that his one would consist of a mug of tea), John had seen Sherlock lift his mug with a hand that was slightly shaking.
"You're okay?" John asked.
"I'm fine, just tired."
That must be a first, Sherlock Holmes admitting he was tired. John wondered if it translated into 'I am dead on my feet and barely able to stand.'
They had finished the meal and John was thinking about writing another blog entry, he was much too wired to go to bed already.
Sherlock had stood up… and swayed.
"You're sure you're okay?" The doctor, out of reflex, reached for Sherlock's arm and stood up.
"Yes!" Sherlock hissed and raised his hands, signalling being touched was not an option. He headed for his bedroom without further elaboration and John stood kind of suspicious and lost in the living room.
He needed some seconds before he decided to finish the TV-show and then start to clear the table instead of following the detective. When he stored the left-over food into the refrigerator, he saw Sherlock's door was wide open. Usually Sherlock closed it when planning to sleep.
John stood there for several seconds, listening, and not sure if he needed to be suspicious.
When something fell in Sherlock's bedroom he decided to take a look, though it sounded like a shoe falling over the edge of the bed.
As silent as possible he looked into the room, Sherlock was indeed pulling off his shoes and the second one fell while John was watching.
Sherlock was on the bed, fully clothed, on top of the duvet, on his stomach, eyes already closed.
"Sherlock?" John whispered.
No reaction.
"Sherlock? You're alright?" He tried a bit louder.
"'m fine. Leave 'e alone."
Not good. Something was off. John stepped closer. Sherlock was kind of pale and looked really exhausted. The doctor decided to leave him for now but check on him in half an hour when he had fallen asleep. He headed back into the living room, cleaning the table.
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Thirty-eight minutes later John neared Sherlock's room again. Sherlock had not made a noise and he wanted to make sure he was okay before heading upstairs.
His friend had not moved, he was still on his stomach on the bed, still fully dressed and pale. The doctor stepped closer. Sherlock's breathing was a bit of an effort and since one of his wrists was in easy reach John wrapped his fingers around it. Sherlock felt clammy and his heartbeat was slow. He did not react to the touch.
"Sherlock?" No reaction. John shook him gently and Sherlock grunted, he actually grunted!
"Sherlock? Are you with me?"
"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, as if fully awake and in a normal conversation.
"Are you awake?" John knew Sherlock had an excellent auto-pilot.
"Yes, of course, what do you want?" Sherlock repeated.
"You seem more than just exhausted. I'd like to take your BP." John explained in a low voice.
"No! Why are you bugging me when I finally try to sleep?" Sherlock asked; John was still not sure if he was awake or really heard his request.
He went for the closet in the stairway and fetched his emergency bag.
John didn't need a sphygmomanometer to determine Sherlock's BP was low. But John inserted an infrared ear thermometer, it said Sherlock was running a slight temperature… but Sherlock was either dead to the world or simply ignored him, which was kind of unlikely.
"Sherlock, I need you to lie on your side, can you manage?" John asked in a quite loud voice. When Sherlock gave an annoyed grunt again he shook him to make him more awake. "Come on, turn around." Sherlock did, not complaining, he just did.
Sherlock's face was giving the impression he was relaxed but John saw how stiffly he moved. Sherlock was sick!
"Sherlock, can you describe to me how you feel?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm fine."
"I can see from the kitchen you are not fine, so tell me how you feel."
"I'm fine, I just need to sleep a bit." Now this was already an odd thing. John had never heard Sherlock actually expressing that he needed to sleep out loud!
"At least get out of your outside clothing."
"No."
"Come on, I will help you. It is not really comfy like that!" John offered.
"I said NO!" Sherlock was getting unnerved.
"Okay. Okay… Tell me if you need anything."
"Yes, go away," Sherlock voiced his need.
" that already," John turned around and fetched a blanket. After he draped it over Sherlock he left the room, leaving the door wide open.
He decided to write some mails instead of heading to bed. He needed to check on Sherlock again and make sure he was okay before heading to bed himself.
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About an hour later, John tiptoed into his flatmate's room. Sherlock was lying on his side but wore an expression of slight distress on his face.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?" came the immediate reply, so not asleep.
"How are you doing?"
"Go away."
John doubted this conversation would be much different from the one they had an hour ago and decided to work in silence. He fetched the thermometer once more, placed it into Sherlock's ear and held it there. Sherlock frowned but did nothing else.
While he waited for it to beep, he watched his flatmate closely. A loud rumbling from the area of Sherlock's stomach made him raise his eyebrows. The device beeped, slight temperature, like before.
"Sherlock, does your stomach hurt?"
"No."
John reached for Sherlock's shoulder and gently pushed him onto his back, Sherlock's body followed at first but then he started battering the doctor's hands.
Relieving posture? John stopped the movement, if Sherlock was resisting there was no way to examine him.
"When did you last eat? I mean before today's meal with me?" He verbally probed, maybe his stomach was just overstrained with the meal after a period of not eating for… one and a half days? Sherlock's stomach made more gurgling noises.
"I need to examine your abdomen, roll onto your back," John ordered and now Sherlock did not resist.
"Everything is fine," Sherlock sat up.
John knew he only had a few seconds before Sherlock would jump out of the bed and start an evasive manoeuvre. So, he leaned over the detective and pushed him back down gently. The fact that Sherlock did not resist made him raise his eyebrows. John hurried to probe several spots on Sherlock's stomach. He had barely touched him when Sherlock's face contorted.
"That hurts?"
Sherlock shook his head. John touched another spot.
"Are you nauseous?"
Another headshake and Sherlock started batting his hand away again.
"Work with me here. You might have caught a stomach bug."
"I'm fine," Sherlock sat up again and was about to swing his legs over the bed away from John when a dizzy spell hit him. He tried to hide it but John's professional look didn't miss it. He had known Sherlock for long enough now to know that there were two possibilities: either Sherlock was really concentrated on something else so he honestly missed feeling miserable or in pain…. he seemed to have problems registering it at all sometimes, or he just didn't notice, the other way was he refused to grant his transport to feel lousy and suppressed all symptoms and pains. He was really good at that. To distinguish between the two, John needed Sherlock's help. It was absolutely possible Sherlock hadn't realised he was in pain. In the beginning of them working together John had thought he was just stubborn, but over time he had learned how different Sherlock's perception really was.
John rounded the bed, "What are you doing?"
"Getting away from you touching me," Sherlock answered honestly.
"No need, I'll go to bed and leave you alone. Lie back down… Sleep," he knew it was no use, as long as Sherlock didn't grant him access this would just be a waste of time and end in a 'domestic' as Mrs Hudson would say. If Sherlock really had caught a bug it would show more signs soon and since there was nothing a doctor could do at the moment anyway John decided to let it go for now.
He headed for the door; Sherlock was still sitting on the far side of the bed.
"Good night," John left the room, the door wide open. He slowed down in the hallway and stood at the entrance to the kitchen, listening. Sherlock did not move at first. When he finally did, he seemed to be lying back down, not getting up or trying to close the door.
Okay, so he felt shitty, maybe hadn't even noticed the door was open.
John decided to sleep on the couch. Sherlock Holmes sick would be an unpredictable thing. He presumed it would go one of two ways: either Sherlock would be grumpy and whiney as a kid or he would try to manage his misery with willpower and denial. Both ways it would be difficult.
John had never imagined Sherlock could get sick at all, and Sherlock always pointed out that he didn't. In fact in all the months they had known each other now Sherlock had not even had a mild cold or a running nose (well, maybe from an experiment, but not from an infection). Which was quite remarkable considering how careless Sherlock used to treat his body and its needs, and not eating and sleeping on a regular basis.
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A/N:
Thank you for reading.
I'd love to get some feedback.