AN This is the second chapter; it's longer than the first one and there will be more angst. Thank you very much to everyone who read and to everyone who reviewed. I hope that you still like it. As usual laudations and criticism are both welcome and so are suggestions and request s. Sorry for my mistakes, hope you enjoy!
Falling asleep is usually difficult for him but this night he finds it almost impossible. In the past years he has always been able to avoid doctors and hospitals, taking care of himself on his own and more or less succeeding in self-prescribed treatments and self-administered therapies. Being a patient is something that he just can't stand. He hates being the object of people's attention, he detests being studied and touched and looked at. The sensation of Sarah's hands on his body, the memory of her eyes scanning him still haunts his fevered attempts to sleep.
Falling ill is something that he can't afford. Even though he pretends that he has no human weakness he knows that he is, after all, human, but it doesn't mean that he has desire to let anyone else get the evidence of this regrettable condition.
He has no right to be ill. Being hurt and helpless and needy belongs to normal people, it belongs to people that deserve to be fussed over, to people who deserve care; it does not belongs to abnormal human beings like him. Freaks have no right to be sick. Anytime he has been to a doctor's in his life he has expected someone to say "How do you dare?", and the fact that this has never happened just means that they have pitied him enough to avoid to say it out loud.
Could he choose, he would prefer to stay hidden in his bedroom until it goes away on his own. The problem is that this time he is quite sure that this wouldn't work. Saying that he feels tired is an utter understatement; he feels exhausted all the time, he find excruciating to get up and do everyday-life things such as shower or preparing tea, and working nowadays is almost an heroic venture.
The week before, he almost refused a case, and that scared him more than hell. What if he becomes too sick to work? Working is the only way he knows to make himself feel entitled to... well, to exist. Moreover, his work is the reason for which John is still there after over a year. No cases would mean no John, and he is ready to do anything - anything – to keep the right to be in John's life.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooO
At 8 o'clock in the morning he enters the clinic, his suits perfectly ironed and his hair combed as if he's just wake up from a peaceful night. As soon as he reaches the reception desk he discovers that Sarah is waiting for him.
"Hey." she says "Hi. I'm glad that you are here. I mean, I was wondering if I had been scaring enough."
"Why are you waiting for me? Haven't you got your shifts to attend?" he asks, more bitterly that he intended to.
She frowns.
"Beg you pardon?"
He immediately regrets his tone; he didn't mean to be so harsh.
"I didn't mean to... I mean, there is no need that you come along. I can go to radiology and then I can come to you with the results. Just like one of your patients. No need that you treat me differently from the other ones."
"I'm not... treating you differently. I am concerned." Her tone becomes softer. "There are a few things about the blood tests I performed yesterday that worry me. I want to see the X-ray and I will be performing your ultrasound by myself. And that is exactly the way I do my job, I would do this for any other patient."
He remains silent and nods.
"So" she continues "Shall we go?"
The X-ray is not so bad; even though he has to stand shirtless for the longer five minutes in his entire life, the only thing he is supposed to do is inhale and exhale when he is told to. The ultrasound is an entirely different story. Sarah tells him to take off his trousers too and she helps him down onto the examination table. He feels his pulse become quicker and quicker while she moves the probe along his abdomen and pelvis. As soon as she starts scanning the upper left quadrant he can't stop himself from wincing in pain; immediately her free hand is gently caressing his right arm. He has never reached such a grade of discomfort. Ever. He considers the possibility to simply get up and run away, but this would just result in delaying an even worse confrontation with Sarah. Not a good idea.
Besides, he knows that he needs to stay there. He needs to get better, to find a solution, because he won't be able to hide his condition from John much longer. In the past weeks he has managed to keep John unaware because he has been sleeping at Mary's more often than in Baker Street, coming home just to take quick showers and to grab fresh clothes. Sherlock has spent hours and taken notes to identify the details of John's new "schedule" and, according to that, he is "due" to spend the evening at home every four days; Sherlock is determined not to waste the time he can spend with John laying worn out in his bed. Moreover, he is deeply confident that if John finds out that he is sick, unable to provide him the thrill of the cases, the best he can hope for is an immediate move and maybe a polite greeting card on Christmas.
So he just stays there, Sarah's hand feeling boiling on his stomach, his dark curls pasted with awkward sweat, and he thinks that this is the only way to avoid losing John, a damn good reason to stay.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooO
Sarah still can't believe that she is actually doing this. The man totally took her by surprise yesterday, coming along and asking her to treat him. She cannot imagine a good reason that could led him to refuse asking John for medical help, not to speak about his bizarre decision to keep his friend unaware of the whole situation.
She knows that, since she has changed job and moved to St. Claire Hospital, John has become close to Mary Morstan, one of the surgery's secretary. And she knows for personal experience that John can be extremely "focused" when he is dating. Anyway, how has he possibly failed to notice that? She gazes at Sherlock's still form, his ribs far too prominent, his skin so pale that it seems translucent, his hands shivering slightly. It is glaring that the man is sick; she only hopes that the situation is not as bad as it appears to be at the moment.
The ultrasound is over; now she knows that her physical examination has been quite accurate, she was right about his spleen being dangerously enlarged, no surprise he is in so much pain, and she was right about hepatomegaly too. Sherlock doesn't seem to have noticed that he can get up and dress himself; actually, he looks like he's half asleep. She gently runs her hand over his forehead and she feels the hot rising from his skin. He's still got a temperature and she has the sensation it's a pretty high one.
The physical contact wakes him and he opens his eyes, his glance being foggy and unfocused.
"We're done. I think that we should go back to my surgery to discuss the results and the next steps. Are you alright?" she asks then, noticing that he is still lying down and that he has made no efforts to sit down.
"Alright. Yes. Sure."
"Be careful to get up. You've been lying for a while; your BP must be under the floor."
She doesn't have the time to finish the sentence, everything happens in a flash: one moment she's talking to him, opening the door to leave the room to give him time and space to dress up and collect himself, and one moment later she's kneeling down in the floor next to the unconscious form, asking for help, taking his too weak pulse, lifting his legs so that the blood can reach his precious brain quicker. If he could see himself now, sprawled across the floor just wearing his pants, exposed and helpless, a nurse lifting up his legs while Sarah checks his vitals, he would be ashamed to death.
When he came to he finds himself on a stretcher, wearing a hospital gown and connected to an IV line. A blurred figure is standing next to him. He feels his heart racing. Is it possible...
"John?" he whispers hesitantly.
As soon as he stops talking he realizes that the standing figure has got a pony tail. Damn, he is really pathetic, longing for John so bad.
How can he be so utterly stupid? John would never waste his time with him when he's like that! How does he dare to even imagine that?
"Hey" Sarah says. "How are you feeling?"
"What happened?"
"You passed out. You've been out for almost an hour."
"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you. I didn't intend to."
"You haven't inconvenienced me, Sherlock. At all. I'm a doctor, remember? Your doctor, actually. Moreover you didn't require much efforts; the fever got you dehydrated, that's all. Your temperature is still 38,5, by the way."
"So" he asks "What happens now?"
"Are you sure you're ready to listen to me now? You don't look completely... you yet."
"I'm fine."
"Ok. Right." She sits down and takes a deep breath.
"Your blood test shows that you have pancytopenia. It means that you have low counts of both white and red blood cells and platelets. It isn't a severe case yet but it is really close to, especially concerning your haemoglobin level, which is 7,1. It is extremely low and that explains the fact that you always feel exhausted. That makes you vulnerable to any sort of infection too, and this is the reason for which you currently shows the signs of a mild case of pneumonia, which justifies the fever.
Pancytopenia has a lot of different causes which can be referred to two big groups: either the cells are destroyed somewhere in your body or your bone marrow is unable to function properly. I think the second solution is the most plausible, but we will need to run more tests; your ultrasound also shows that your liver and spleen are enlarged, and we need to discover why. Is it clear?"
He's looking at the white sheet wrapped around him, his usual detached, indifferent mask on his face.
"Yes."
"Fine. Now, you have been inflexible about the possibility of being hospitalized, and, since it is your decision, I agree to treat you as an outpatient as long as it is reasonable and as long as it doesn't compromise your chances to recover, but on the other hand if you still want me to be your doctor there are rules that you will have to comply with."
He stares at her with a questioning look on his face.
"First, you need to be honest to me. I want to know anything concerning your physical condition. Second, I want you to be observant to doctor's orders. Third, you will agree to undergo all the examinations I will consider necessary, even though they require day hospital regimen. Fourth, if I will notice that being an outpatient will become unreasonable, you will let me admit you or you will find another doctor. Do you agree?"
He smirks. "Do I have any choice?"
Sarah smiles. He looks so different from his usual self, although he still has got more dignity than anyone else, wearing the hospital gown and lying down on that little stretcher makes him look so vulnerable and... sad? He should have someone with him. She still fails to comprehend why he doesn't want to tell John the truth.
She starts to explain a lot of different things, talking about antibiotics and iron supplies and proper meals; she instructed him about temperature monitoring and correct hygienic procedures for immunocompromised patients. She told him that he absolutely needs to get plenty of rest. He seems to be dazed.
She still doesn't know what the problem is exactly, but she knows that this is serious. He is seriously ill and will probably get worse soon. The first thing she should tell him is that he needs someone to comfort him, to take care of him, that he can't go through this all alone.
"Sherlock." she starts "This can be serious. This is serious, actually. We need to discover the cause of your condition and then treat that. It will presumably be a long course; it will be difficult and in could be.. Painful. You should really ask someone to ..."
"No". He states.
"But..."
"No."
"Fine." she sighs. "I'm going to book a CT scan and a bone marrow biopsy for you as soon as possible. I will keep in touch." She disconnects him from the IV line. "Do you need a hand to dress up?"
"I'm fine." He sits down and it is clear that he is not. He's having troubles collecting his breath and he's dizzy and shivering and still feverish.
And he's alone, which is what worries Sarah the most.
"Is someone coming to pick you up?"
He doesn't bother to answer.
"May I call you a cab?"
"It would be kind."
Five minutes later she has been thanked again, and again. She stares at his back while he crossed the street, walking slowly, his arms wrapped around his torso. He clambers into the cab without looking back.