Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Hello everyone! Finally, I'm able to post some new material … this is set after the wedding but before His Last Vow, which I haven't seen (although I know what happens so please disregard the slightly OOC nature of the characters and their interactions in this). I hope you enjoy!
Sherlock was pacing in front of the smiley face wall, his dressing gown billowing behind him. He was thinking about a pending case – it hadn't happened yet but Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of time before it did – but something felt wrong.
"Mrs. Hudson!"
A moment later, the older woman appeared in his door.
"What have you done?" Sherlock demanded.
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a frown.
"The flat. It's different, something is off."
Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow.
"I haven't done anything."
"You must have. Did you move something? Break something?"
"Of course not, you know you never let me touch your things. Why would you ask such a thing?"
Sherlock huffed.
"Because I can't think!" he exploded. "Something is wrong, something's missing."
Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room and saw the map of papers and strings on her wall – she sighed, though she was used to the marks and at this point was thankful that they were just push pins and not bullet holes.
"Ugh!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I can't think, why will this not work?!"
Mrs. Hudson sighed.
"Perhaps you should give John a call."
Sherlock stopped short and slowly turned around to face her.
"What did you say?"
"You should call John?" Mrs. Hudson repeated, asking rather than telling. Sherlock straightened and tilted his head, staring at the wall.
"Of course!" he exclaimed suddenly, making his 'housekeeper' jump. "Mrs. Hudson, when you're not annoying, you're a saint."
"Thank you," Mrs. Hudson answered dryly as Sherlock pulled out his mobile.
[Sent 15:35] Baker Street. Case. SH
[Sent 15:37] Important. SH
[Sent 15:39] REALLY important. SH
[Sent 15:41] John. SH
[Sent 15:43] If you're not going to come, you could at least tell me. SH
Mrs. Hudson had moved into the kitchen to clean up last night's cooking and jumped when Sherlock let out another non-verbal exclamation.
"What is it now?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a sigh.
"John," Sherlock said, pulling on his coat. "He's annoying me."
Sherlock didn't say anything else as he left Baker Street and got a cab to John and Mary's flat. He continued to bombard John's mobile with texts while in the taxi but he knocked on the front door rather than barge right in. One time he'd done that and caught John and Mary in an intimate position – Sherlock didn't really see the problem but John flew off the handle (quite over-reacting, Sherlock thought) – and now John insisted he always knock.
The detective waited impatiently at the door until Mary finally appeared.
"You weren't shagging again, were you?" Sherlock asked dryly, pushing past her.
"Nice to see you, too," Mary replied, closing the door.
"Where's John? He's not answering my texts."
"He's ill."
Sherlock scoffed.
"John, ill? He hasn't been ill the entire time I've known him. You must be mistaken."
He strode through their sitting room, trailed by Mary.
"I'm not," Mary said with an amused smile.
"Must be," Sherlock repeated, pushing the bedroom door open. "John, your wife is telling me the most ridiculous thing, clearly a lie to cover up whatever you and she were doing - "
Sherlock stopped midsentence once he was a few steps into the bedroom. John was in bed, paradoxically simultaneously pale and flushed. He smiled weakly and held up a hand in greeting.
"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock asked bluntly. "I've seen corpses that look better."
Mary, who had followed Sherlock into the room, answered.
"I told you, he's ill."
"You're never ill."
"Apparently not true," John croaked and he flinched as he spoke. Sore throat, Sherlock deduced.
"Clearly." He said shortly, taking off his coat and blazer and tossing them on the chair in the corner. He rolled up his sleeves.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mary asked, a half-eaten bowl of now cold soup in her hands.
"Caring for him, of course," Sherlock said as though this was obvious. "I need his help so I need to get him better."
"What do you think I'm doing?" Mary exclaimed.
"You're clearly not doing a very good job," Sherlock said, going to John's side of the bed and picking up the thermometer on the edge of the bed and putting it into John's mouth.
Mary raised an eyebrow at John, who looked rather uncomfortable by the row. Sherlock had picked up his wrist and was checking John's pulse.
"I was doing just fine," Mary said. "There's not a lot to do for flu to being with."
"Shouldn't you be avoiding him for the sake of the baby?"
"I'm fine."
"He's clearly contagious, you don't want to get sick. You're already considered high risk by the WHO guidelines for influenza."
"I work at a clinic," Mary replied. "I'm exposed to all sorts of things every day."
"Can't be too careful."
Mary merely rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen to deal with the discarded meal.
"I thought she'd never leave," Sherlock said cheerfully, dropping John's wrist. With the thermometer still taking the reading, Sherlock felt John's glands in his neck, which he found to be horribly swollen. The device signalled its end and Sherlock glanced at it.
"You're aware that you have a low grade fever?" Sherlock said and John nodded.
"Yes," he answered with a sigh. "What was it?"
"Thirty eight point six." Sherlock answered.
"Point two degrees higher than this morning."
"Which makes sense," Sherlock replied. "Temperatures normally rise mid to late afternoon. How do you not know that?"
"I didn't say I didn't," John mumbled and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Nauseous?"
"Queasy," John answered. "Not hungry."
"Congestion?"
"Slight."
"Dizziness?"
"Yes. And light-headed."
"Medicine given?"
"Two extra strength cold and flu tablets every three hours."
"Effective?"
"Minimally."
"Hydration?"
"As much as I can," John said with a sigh.
"Resting?"
"Hard to do much else when I can't even get out of bed."
"I'd say it's a touch of flu." Sherlock announced.
"I could have told you that," Mary said, coming in again. "He's been sick for a day and a half now. The most severe symptoms will start to clear up in the next day or two."
She smiled sympathetically at John, who sighed again.
"Why did you not call me?" Sherlock asked, looking down at John.
"Because he has me," Mary said. "I'm a nurse, after all. I think I can handle a simple case of flu."
"Don't be ridiculous. Having you hover over him would annoy John to no end."
"Is that so?" Mary asked, sounding amused.
"Of course it is," Sherlock said. "But he's too nice to say that to your face so I'll say it for him."
Mary frowned slightly, glancing at John who shifted uncomfortably.
"Is that true, John?"
"'Course not," he mumbled, rolling over and closing his eyes as he pressed his face into the cool side of the pillow.
"Don't listen to him," Sherlock immediately said. "It must be the fever, he's delirious."
"No, he's not!" Mary exclaimed. "John, tell him!"
"Yes, John, do tell me that you'd rather your overprotective wife look after you than your best friend."
John coughed weakly.
"Can we not have this conversation?" he asked tiredly.
"Does that mean he's right?" Mary accused.
"Of course it does," Sherlock said coolly.
John squeezed his eyes closed tightly as he felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably.
"Sherlock, Mary, please," he mumbled. "This is not helping."
"Did you hear that?" Sherlock said to Mary. "It's not helping. Go knit or something."
"No!" Mary said indignantly. "You said you have a case, go work on that."
"I said I need his help, I didn't say I had a case," Sherlock corrected.
"Please," John moaned.
"Sherlock, you need to leave. He needs rest."
"I'm not stopping him from resting," Sherlock said.
"You're not helping him rest, either."
John instantly knew he was going to be sick and rather than making it to the toilet – he wouldn't have had time – he rolled over and threw up onto the floor due to the absence of a bin.
"Now look what you've done!" Mary exclaimed as John coughed and threw up again.
"John," Sherlock said fiercely. "Take deep breaths, you're alright."
John gasped for air, sitting up before falling back against his pillow and scrubbing his mouth with his hand. Mary came up next to Sherlock, reaching around him for the bottle of water on the bedside table.
"Here Love," she said sympathetically. John shakily sat up and took the water. He sipped at it, coughing again and Sherlock reached out to take the bottle from him.
"You're alright," he told John before looking at Mary. "Could you clean up the floor?"
Mary gave him an annoyed glance.
"Don't think that I'm agreeing because you're right," she said. "But someone needs to clean the carpet and it won't be you."
"Of course it won't be," Sherlock said, looking back at John. He helped John take another sip and then lay down again.
"At least she's being useful now," Sherlock mentioned, straightening the bed coverings.
"Sherlock," John mumbled with a sigh. "She was doing fine."
"Well, now that I'm here, I'm going to get you up and about in no time flat."
John opened his eyes wearily.
"No experiments."
"Are you sure? I'm working on this compound that's designed to - "
"No." John said firmly as Mary came back with a bucket and cleaning supplies, donning rubber gloves.
"Excuse me," she said to Sherlock.
"I'll be right back," Sherlock said to John, stepping out of the way so Mary could get to the carpet. He left and Mary glanced up at John.
"Sorry about him, Love," she said sympathetically. "I'll do what I can to get rid of him."
John sighed.
"He's just concerned."
"Which is fine," Mary said. "But I'm your wife. Who can take care of you better than me?"
John didn't answer.
"Besides, I'm the one cleaning up your vomit. I don't see him doing that for you."
"Sorry about that," John mumbled.
"It's alright, you couldn't help it." Mary answered. "And I'm used to it."
A moment later, Mary stood up.
"There, all finished. Try to go to sleep."
John closed her eyes as she kissed his forehead and for a brief moment, John was alone in his bedroom. He sighed deeply, hoping he could fall asleep before either one came back.
His head hurt.
So, what do you think? I have this amazing mental picture of Mary and Sherlock arguing over John … I don't think it's particularly realistic but it's cute nonetheless. Please review! Thanks =)