Joan was rudely awakened by her phone buzzing with an incoming text. She looked at the display on her alarm clock: '5:27am'. Propping herself up on her elbows, dark strands of her hair hanging in her face and her blanket hanging off her shoulders, Joan grabbed her phone and read the message.

'Needed at the Brownstone'.

"Sherlock..." She said to herself.

Instead of replying she just sat her phone back on the table and laid down again, curling up on her side to try and salvage what sleep she could. Just as she began to doze off back into a peaceful slumber her phone buzzed again. Angrily she grabbed her phone and checked the message.

'Emergency. Please come.'

More annoyed than concerned Joan decided to call Sherlock rather than respond to the text. To her surprise the voice that responded wasn't Sherlock's, it was Kitty's.

"Kitty? Why are you using Sherlock's phone? What's going on?"

"Sherlock is ill."

"And?" She flipped over onto her back and leaned against her pillow, she pressed her palm against her face in irritation.

"He won't allow me to take him to the clinic. He needs medical attention but he won't listen to reason."

"And you think he'll listen to me?"

"No. But you are a physician and can provide help. Please?"

Joan heard the sincere desperation in her voice. "Alright. I'll come over."

"Wonderful. I look forward to your arrival."

Both women ended the call simultaneously. "Wonderful..." Joan repeated.

Joan arrived at the brownstone within twenty minutes of the ended phone call. She was not happy to be woken up so early and really wasn't ready to spend alot of time with either Sherlock or Kitty, after dealing with their tense 'reunion'. Just as Joan's finger met the doorbell the large front door swung open quickly with Kitty standing on the other side.

"Please, come in. He's in the study."

Joan immediately noticed that Kitty looked as though she was up all night and the fear in Kitty's voice made her stomach drop.

Following Kitty into the study Joan saw Sherlock laying on his back on the small sofa. His grey t-shirt was drenched in sweat and his face was shockingly pale, even for him. Dark purple circles under his eyes only accentuated his sickly pallor, while the sheen of sweat on his face was just as abundant as the sweat on his shirt. His breathing sounded heavy as he took in deep, slow labored breaths.

Forgetting her lingering resentment for Sherlock, Joan walked over to him and kneeled down on the floor next to the sofa. She placed her hand on his forehead and felt the intense fever that was ravaging his body. "How long has he been like this?" She asked Kitty without taking her eyes from Sherlock, her fingers now checking his wrist to measure his pulse.

"For about two hours now." Kitty looked at her mentor's face with concern. "It started yesterday morning. He had only a cough and lack of appetite, but his symptoms continued mount and proceeded to get worse as the day wore on."

"What about the fever?" She finished checking his pulse and was now checking his eyes, he didn't react to Joan's examination of his ailing body.

"The fever started around noon yesterday. Approximately 37.9 degrees." Kitty quickly caught her mistake in 'Western grammar' when she saw Joan arch her eyebrow. "I apologize, 100.3 degrees Fahrenheit." She continued as she mentally calculated the appropriate conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit. "Last night his fever spiked in degree to 102.5, but he wouldn't take any medication and refused to see a physician."

Joan sighed and shook her head. As a recovering addict Sherlock would and should be very cautious about taking any medication that could be categorized as a narcotic. "What are his other symptoms?"

"Uh," Kitty paused for a moment as she recounted all the signs she had seen his exhibit the day before. "cough, fever, lack of appetite, exhaustion. That's all I can say for certain."

Carefully Joan opened Sherlock's mouth to check his throat for irritation and his tonsils for swelling, but there was no sign of infection. "Probably a respiratory infection." She finally gave a possible diagnosis to fit his confirmed symptoms.

"Is it serious?"

"Serious enough." Joan tried to rouse Sherlock by patting his face, then rubbing her knuckles down his sternum.

The pain from the sternal rub was enough to bring Sherlock around from his fever induced slumber. His glassy, bloodshot eyes struggled to focus as they slowly opened. "Watson?" His voice carried a mild slur. "Where is... Kitty?"

"She's with me." Joan answered calmly. "She called me."

"Why?" He blinked and his eyes reopened slowly, his overwhelming fatigue was still present.

"Why? Why do you think? You're sick."

"Nonsense. A mild cold at worst."

"Sherlock, you're burning up. You're probably a little dehydrated and you haven't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. You should go to the hospital-"

"No. No hospital... no doctors."

Kitty offered her opinion on the matter. "I think you should listen to her, Sherlock. After all she is a doctor and-"

"Former doctor, Kitty. Former." Sherlock corrected her harshly.

"Former or not..." Joan butted in. "You're still sick and need to be taken care of." She stood up from the floor and looked at Kitty with uneasiness. "We're going to need some ice."

"Right." Kitty slipped into the kitchen leaving Sherlock and Joan alone.

"Watson," Sherlock slurred weakly. "you do not have to tend to my illness."

"Apparently I do. You won't take care of yourself and you won't let Kitty help either; otherwise she never would've used your phone to call me."

"What do you think?"

"Excuse me?"

"Of Kitty. What do you think of her?" Despite the fever he was studying Joan carefully.

"I think... she means well and has alot of potential. Why are you asking what I think of her?"

"Curiosity."

Kitty returned to the study with ice in a large bowl and two clean towels. "Here we are."

Joan took some of the ice and wrapped it up in a towel and laid the compress across his forehead. Taking the second towel Joan placed the rest of the ice and laid the compress across Sherlock's chest.

"If your fever doesn't start to come down within the hour I'm calling 911."

"Very well, Watson. Call for medical assistance I will simply refuse to go. I am of sound mind and body and thus am legally capable of declining any and all medical assistance when offered."

"Then I will drag you out the front door and into a taxi."

"Surely you jest, Watson. Physically you lack the proper strength to freely heft a person of my weight, even with adrenaline coursing through your veins it would be a challenge." He groggily looked at Kitty who shared the same look of determination on Joan's face. "Perhaps of course, your combined strength with Kitty would suffice."

Kitty addressed Joan flatly. "Has he always been this stubborn?"

"You have no idea." Joan adjusted the compress on his forehead. "But so have I."

...to be continued...