a/n: I'm back! Here is a new story, in two parts. It was inspired by KCS's sentence #23 below, so a big thanks to her for allowing me to adopt some plot bunnies! It's again 221B format because they are so fun, but I promise to have some longer ones soon. Enjoy! And Thank You to VHunter who betaed for me! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Holmes or Watson or Baker Street. It's a sad world.

"Though bitter, good medicine cures illness." Sima Qian

Good Medicine

#23 – Child

Bedtime stories were for children, he insisted weakly, being temporarily invalided by a virulent influenza; but the next morning he was forced to admit there were many less pleasant ways to fall asleep than listening to Watson's naturally calming voice.


My readers would have laughed to see the sight that was before me now. The greatest, and indeed only, consulting detective in all of London, whose advice is heeded from Scotland Yard to the palaces of distance kingdoms, matched by no one in wits or logic, had his thin arms crossing his chest, pouting like a child. My friend was laid abed with a virulent strain of influenza, and was most emphatically not getting up, no matter how much he insisted that he was fine.

"You need to sleep." I said, taking my hand from Holmes' forehead.

"Can you not understand? My mind is racing." Holmes' fingers tapped on the coverlet. "You know how I chafe at boredom, Watson. Bring me a book at least?" I wondered if he could tell how very close his voice was to whining.

"I most definitely will not. It will help neither your fever nor your headache." I looked pointedly at him, and he took his fingers away from the bridge of his nose.

He flopped back and sighed dramatically. I rose, and left the room, not missing how his eyes followed my departure.

I returned, and his face lit at the object I held.

"I knew you would not leave me to my misery, old fellow." He rasped, and reached out for the book.


a/n: Hope you liked it! Tell me what you think! Next part to follow...