Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Hello, fellow Sherlockians! Happy New Year to you all =) I hope you all had a safe and enjoyable new year's. I have for you the next chapter of the story … it's taken me awhile but I finally got the urge to write it (yay!). There will be one more after this. I would also just like to thank you all again for your wonderful support of the story. Your encouragement means the world to me. Enjoy!
Sherlock slept for almost twelve hours, much to John's relief. Not only was it good for Sherlock but it meant John was able to catch up on some much-needed sleep. The doctor happened to be in Sherlock's room when the detective woke, changing the bag of IV fluids. John was just connecting Sherlock's line to the new bag when Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open.
The first thing that Sherlock saw was John standing by his bed, facing the wall and carefully doing something with gloves on. There was sunlight streaming through the window, which meant it was afternoon. How had it gotten to be afternoon?
"John?" he whispered, his voice scratchy and throat sore from disuse.
John looked down quickly as a smile formed on his lips.
"Good morning," he greeted Sherlock. "How do you feel?"
What a dull question. It seemed that was all John ever asked him anymore. Wasn't his brain worthy of more taxing questions?
"Better," Sherlock said. "A bit."
Because John was a doctor and liked specifics, Sherlock continued.
"The headache is mostly gone, as is the abdominal pain. I think it is safe to say that my fever is on the verge of breaking, which you should find a relief, and while I'm not hungry, I don't feel queasy anymore either."
John raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, slightly amused.
"What?" Sherlock asked. "You asked how I was feeling."
"I know you're starting to feel better when you answer me like that. However, I was going to ask why you think your fever is about to break."
"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked, stretching his legs and cracking his toes. "I'm clearly on the mend and it has to break sometime. Fevers normally break at this point in recovery, don't they?"
Sherlock was right, of course, and John had to agree. Still, it didn't stop him from taking the thermometer from the night stand and inserting it in Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock looked impatient but John was insistent and when he removed the probe, the display indicated the temperature was a few tenths of a degree lower than it had been, which was still rather high.
"Will I know when it breaks?" Sherlock asked. He found the study of his body's temperature and reaction to illness a bit fascinating, especially now that he felt better.
"Oh yeah," John answered. "You'll start sweating profusely and you'll feel very warm."
"As opposed to how cold I feel now? What causes that?"
"When you get sick, your body temperature resets itself to a higher standard temperature to ward off the infection. However, because your body isn't used to the higher standard, the difference between that and your actual temperature makes you feel cold sometimes even though your skin feels warm."
"Interesting."
"Mhmm." John said, a bit amused at Sherlock's level of interest. "Do you think you can drink something?"
Sherlock swallowed experimentally and decided he could and nodded. John left and returned with a glass of juice, which Sherlock drank. He hated to admit it, but he was already feeling tired again. John sensed his exhaustion, as well as saw it, in Sherlock's eyes.
"Why don't you go back to sleep?" John said, taking the cup from him. Sherlock hated the prospect of wasting more time on sleep – his mind was finally clear enough to think about more important things than his transport's necessary, but dull, needs – but he knew John was right. Even if he wanted to work on the methodology for an experiment, he would fall asleep sooner than later anyways.
John switched off the lamp and left the room, leaving Sherlock in the semi-dark. He shivered slightly, mentally telling his body to break the fever, and pulled his blankets even closer. It took him less than five minutes to be asleep again.
John must've put another sedative in the IV, Sherlock realized, when he woke up to sunshine again. Only this time the light wasn't shining directly into the window which meant it was morning again. Sherlock immediately noticed that he, as well as his clothing and bed linens, were drenched in sweat. It was, honestly, the most disgusting feeling Sherlock had ever experienced. He sat up, trying to peel his damp clothes away from his skin.
"John?" Sherlock called, knowing his faithful doctor would be there in a heartbeat. Sure enough, John opened the door a moment later. It took John all of three seconds to realize that the fever broke. Sherlock's curls hung in wet ringlets and he had beads of sweat on his face.
"Your fever broke." John said, gravitating towards the thermometer.
"Very good deduction, John." Sherlock's voice was laced with sarcasm although he opened his mouth obediently.
"Well?" Sherlock demanded when the machine was done its reading.
"You're at about 38 degrees," John said, releasing the protective cover into the waste bin. "Not quite normal but much, much better."
"Good," Sherlock said, swinging his feet out from under the covers. "Now, if you don't mind unhooking me, I'm going to bathe."
John obliged, removing the IV needle from Sherlock's hand.
"I may put it in again later, depending how you're progressing," John warned as Sherlock marched off to the bathroom. Sherlock didn't answer, his mind made up. He was done with the drip.
"Not too hot," John called after him. He couldn't really blame Sherlock for wanting to shower. He had woken up in similar situations before and it really was a horrid feeling, being covered in your own sweat. John heard the shower turn on and he stripped the sheets, noting they were also damp with sweat, and took them down to the laundry. He returned, making up the bed fresh again, before going into the kitchen and putting on the kettle and a pot of soup.
By the time Sherlock finished his shower and found fresh pyjama trousers, the soup was done and John had a steaming bowl sitting at the kitchen table, along with a cup of tea. Sherlock came padding in and sat down without a complaint.
"I see you're hungry now, too," John observed as Sherlock ate.
"Obviously."
Again, John, why the need to state obvious facts? I wouldn't be eating if I wasn't hungry. Sherlock finished the soup and carried his tea cup into the sitting room, leaving John to wash up his dishes. He settled himself onto the sofa, sipping his tea. John followed shortly after and sat across from him.
"Well, now what?" Sherlock asked, looking for a paper or his (or John's) computer. "Have there been any new cases?"
"Whoa, Sherlock." John said, putting a hand up. "You may be feeling better but you are far from being completely better. You've got a bit of a recovery yet."
"Recovery … how boring."
"I'm serious, Sherlock. I don't want you to have a relapse so just take it easy."
Sherlock nodded, simply to please John. He wasn't going to have a relapse. He felt fine, more than fine after his shower.
John, on the other hand, knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking and knew that he would have to be extra careful in the next few days … he already had Sherlock's computer upstairs and he'd have to reset his password, he decided.
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