Finally after months of waiting I finally got a start date for my job at the National Gallery in London. Very, very excited!
Anyway, thanks to those who took the time out to review the last chapter. Thanks to kissesandcuddles, FallingFree10, ILoveHLaurie, WordsWrittenByHeart, OhTex, everythingchanges, RockChick139, MyPartnerInCrime, insaneradio, Faith Rivens, starbrightnights and Ceville.
I know its a quick update but just wanted to get as many chapters out as I can. Hope you enjoy.
The first time Rebecca realised how much she cared
Rebecca was sick.
She had a cold to be precise.
First Sarah had had it. Then John. Now Rebecca.
And she was certainly feeling sorry for herself.
She had shuffled out of her lonely bedroom, her duvet wrapped around her, looking for some sympathy.
Perhaps from John, and most definitely from...
"Sherlock!" she said loudly as she took in the long, slender form that was draped across the sofa in the corner of the room.
He was lying there, a thick woollen blanket pulled up to his chin and a dozen tissues littered across the floor.
"What's wrong with you?" said Rebecca, though she already knew the answer.
The detective's long nose was red and sore-looking and every few moments he let out a slurpy sniff.
"Cant you guess?" uttered Sherlock in an agonised voice. "I'm dying!"
Rebecca rolled her eyes. "You're not dying," she said unsympathetically. "You've just got a bit of a cold."
"It's pneumonia," he argued indignantly.
"Man-flu," Rebecca smugly corrected him as he shot her a dark look.
"Now come on move over," she said coming over to sit beside him on the sofa.
Sherlock lifted his head for a moment, allowing Rebecca a chance to plop down onto the warm sofa, before he lowered himself down again, his head resting upon her lap.
She gently placed a cool hand to his burning forehead before stroking back his dark hair.
"Hmmm you are hot," she murmured, taking note of his high-temperature.
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at her. "Thanks," he uttered fiendishly.
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "I don't mean like that," she snapped. "Have you taken anything?"
Sherlock frowned up at her suddenly.
"I'm clean," he said in a low voice, gazing up at her with honest eyes.
Rebecca glanced down at him, realising her mistake. "No I didn't mean..." she said, trailing off.
She moved her hand down and stoked his cheek with her fingertips.
"I just meant have you taken anything for your cold...a Lemsip? Some Beechams?" she pressed.
But Sherlock shook his head. "Do we have anything?"
Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. "It's your flat, I guess you'd know if you did," she muttered.
Sherlock glanced up at her suddenly.
"It's your flat too," he said slowly, causing a lump to form in Rebecca's throat.
She gazed down into the detective's blue eyes, but didn't say a word.
It was a moment before Sherlock spoke again. "What else is good for the flu?"
Rebecca grinned. "You've got a cold Sherlock, I don't think it's the flu," she reassured. "Um...maybe chicken soup, do we have any of that?"
"Hmmmm, check the cupboards," commanded the detective.
Rebecca sighed, slowly getting to her feet and shuffling across the room and into the kitchen.
Bending down she examined the contents of a few cupboards.
"Gherkins, sardines, tinned peaches..." she muttered, holding up each peeling label to the light.
Finally after much searching she found it.
One small tin of chicken soup.
This would never feed both of them.
Letting out a long sigh, Rebecca got to work.
Five minutes later, she emerged from the kitchen, a steaming bowl of chicken soup in her hands.
With great care she passed it to Sherlock.
"Careful," she said as he lifted the spoon to his lips. "It very hot."
She watched as Sherlock gently blew on the liquid and placed the spoon into his mouth.
Rebecca's stomach rumbled hungrily as she watched him eat but she let out a soft smile nonetheless.
"Is it okay?" she said perching on the armrest of the chair as Sherlock glanced up towards her.
"Delicious," he said taking another mouthful. "Didn't you want any?"
Rebecca bit her lip, and shook her head. "Not really hungry," she lied, getting to her feet and moving back into the kitchen. "Now where's that spare hot water bottle?"
With a sick Sherlock around Rebecca knew that she had no time to be ill.
She had someone else to take care of.
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