It had been over two weeks since Lestrade had last found a case demanding enough that he needed to call in the yard's favorite consulting detective, so when he finally did text him about one he wasn't surprised when Sherlock showed up in his office, interrupting his conversation with Sally, in less than five minutes. There was something that surprised Lestrade immensely though; Sherlock showed up looking like a walking corpse. He was pale and his eyes were sunken. He looked even more gaunt if it was possible and his black hair, still rather short from his three year absence, was matted to his slightly sweating forehead. Most alarmingly of all, the detective seemed to be bleeding at various points on every part of his skin that was showing.
Lestrade then noticed that Sherlock was in fact showing more skin than what was usual for the suit-wearing man. He was in his normal slacks, but instead of a neatly pressed button up and suit jacket he wore a simple grey t-shirt that showed spots of blood coming through from his chest and back. He was also barefoot.
"Sherlock, what-what the hell mate? You look like shit" Lestrade managed to stutter out as he and Sally both gaped at the detective in shocked unison.
Sherlock nodded curtly, acting as if his appearance was nothing but normal, "Good day Lestrade. Sally."
They both continued to gape.
Lestrade shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, "Sherlock what happened? Is John alright? And what about Irene and Nero are they-"
Sherlock cut him off.
"Yes, yes," he said waving a hand impatiently, "Everyone is fine, nothing is wrong in the world."
Lestrade scoffed at that and gestured towards Sherlock.
"Well then what the bloody hell is this all about? Sherlock it's freezing outside and your barefoot and in a t-shirt!" he exclaimed loudly.
Sherlock twitched and itched at his shoulder.
"Yes well, I had to leave rather quickly," he looked away as he spoke before snapping his eyes back to the DI quickly, "And I would appreciate if you kept this quiet."
He itched at his other shoulder now as he stared down Lestrade.
"What, did Irene beat you up?" joked Sally.
Sherlock just looked nervous at the mention of Irene.
"No but she will if she finds out that I'm here. John will as well."
His scratching was becoming more frequent and aggressive now.
"Don't they know you're here?" asked Lestrade slowly.
Sherlock looked away again, still scratching, "No. They were rather adamant about me staying in the flat, Irene even tied me up, " he said with a smirk, "But I obviously escaped and here I am. I've been going insane without a case, cooped up in the flat."
Sally looked like she was thinking very hard, trying to piece something together when suddenly she snapped out of her concentration and spoke.
"Why would your girlfriend and John," Sherlock rolled his eyes at her use of the word girlfriend, "Yes your girlfriend freak, try to keep you contained," her eyes widened dramatically, "Oh my god he's got the fucking chickenpox."
Both her and Lestrade stumbled away from him comically.
Sherlock rolled his eyes once more.
"Don't be so dramatic, I'm not contagious anymore according to John," he continued with his scratching before adding, "Neither is Nero."
Lestrade threw up his hands in exasperation.
"Oh for god's sake Sherlock! You got the chicken pox from your own kid? Didn't your parents try to make you get them early on? And you've scratched all your spots raw, you're covered in blood!"
Sherlock glared at him.
"Tell me Lestrade, what was I suppose to do? Ignore my two-year-old child because he had a virus? My contraction was merely an unfortunate consequence of my superb parenting."
Sally snorted at that comment and received a glare from the detective in return. She and Lestrade had moved back closer to Sherlock after their embarrassing panic a few moments earlier.
Sherlock huffed, "Now let me see what I came here for."
For the next half hour the three of them poured over pictures and evidence sheets from the latest murder case. Sherlock had ignored their offers of medical assistance and kept dutifully scratching away at his bleeding spots. Lestrade had given up trying to stop his from itching after slapping his hands away for the twentieth time. If he wanted his spots to scar he could bloody well do so. Lestrade's flow of thought was interrupted by the sound of a struggle close to his office followed by a shriek.
"WHERE IN THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT INSUFFERABLE CHILD! DON"T LIE TO ME I KNOW HE IS HERE!"
Sherlock paled and actually tried to hide under Lestrade's desk before the door to the office was flung open and a furious Irene was revealed. Her eyes swept the office quickly and when they settled on Sherlock's cowering form her screaming began again.
"Sherlock Holmes you insufferable bastard! If you can't follow my instructions that's your problem but you had bloody well listen to John. He's a doctor for god's sake!'
Sherlock continued to stare at her wide-eyed and not moving, to the amusement of Sally and Lestrade, while she continued to rant.
"Your own toddler son takes better care of himself than you! We asked you to stay in bed for three days Sherlock, three days! And you couldn't even do that. I swear if you weren't sick and so pathetic looking right now I would kill you where you stand. Honestly it's like I have two children."
She sighed while pinching the bridge of her regal nose in frustration before looking up.
"Hello Detective Inspector, Sergeant."
The two murmured greetings at her, still amazed that this woman could inspire so much fear in Sherlock Holmes.
"Help with my overgrown child would you?" she asked them sarcastically as she began rummaging through the bag on her arm. The two yard members followed the woman as she marched over to the still silent Sherlock, who was watching her approach warily. Irene stared at him critically before raising a hand to his cheek. His posture relaxed at her touch and he leant into her hand. Irene looked at him lovingly, albeit a little exasperated as well. She sighed.
"Honestly Sherlock, look at what you did to yourself."
Sherlock closed his eyes and pushed his face harder into her hand.
"Everywhere itches," he whined pitifully. Lestrade tried his hardest not to laugh at Sherlock's child-like behavior.
"I know darling," said Irene in a soothing voice, still rubbing his cheek, "But I don't want to sleep with a pockmarked man for the rest of my life. Stop scratching."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he glared at her as the other two chuckled. Irene just smiled cheekily at him before adding, "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you later."
Sherlock's forehead furrowed in confusion before a look a panic shot across his face and he moved to get up. Irene was too quick though and she shoved a syringe into his thigh. Sherlock froze, he didn't want the needle to break in his leg, and he glared at Irene again.
"You methods in the care department are slightly unconventional you know."
Irene smiled as she emptied the sedative into his leg, "You wouldn't have it any other way."
Sherlock's eye-lids fluttered before he slumped down in the desk chair. Sally and Lestrade looked like they didn't know what to make of the situation as Irene eased the unconscious detective onto the carpeted floor.
"You're still drugging him them?" asked Sally looking impressed.
Irene continued to stare at Sherlock as she smoothed some of his hair away from his face.
"Only when he's being particularly obstinate. Come on, he'll only be out for about half an hour"
Lestrade chuckled at that.
The three got to work on fixing up the pox stricken detective. Irene stripped off his shirt and they cleaned and bandaged the spots on his chest before clothing him a fresh shirt from Irene's bag. They scrubbed away all the blood from Sherlock's skin and Lestrade even managed to scrounge up some socks and a blanket to keep his friend warm. Sally and Lestrade looked proud with their work. They looked at Irene questioningly as she pulled a pair of oven mitts and a roll of duct tape out of her bag.
She looked up and met their disbelieving gazes.
"What?" she shrugged, "I warned him that it would come to this."
She placed the oven mitts on his limp hands and secured them in place with multiple layers of tape. She sat back and admired her work as he began to stir.
Sherlock sat up slowly and looked very confused as he blinked his eyes for a minute or two. He raised one of his hands to scratch at a spot on his face only to be surprised by the touch of something that was most certainly not his hand. He stretched both his hands out in front of him and stared at the mitts for a moment, and then he seemed to realize the situation he was in and glared at the offensive things.
Irene laughed and rubbed a hand up and down his back. Sherlock stared at her accusingly.
"I did warn you," she said evenly. Sherlock still glared but he sighed, looking resigned, "Come on, Nero wants to compare matching spots with his daddy."
Sherlock looked a bit more upbeat at the mention of his son and he allowed Irene and Sally to help him up. He was a ridiculous sight to behold; hands sheathed in oven mitts, feet bare of shoes, and a bright orange blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Lestrade patted him on the shoulder.
"Rest up a bit and get better, then you can come back and figure this case out for us," he said cheerily. Sherlock nodded at him.
Irene picked up her bag and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's back.
"Let's go. I've go a cab waiting downstairs and I'm sure your son is driving John up the walls."
Lestrade and Sally watched the couple walk past the astounded desk workers and into the lift. Sally turned to Lestrade.
"Weirdest couple ever, but hey, it works for them I guess."
Lestrade smirked and patted her on the back before getting back to work.
