The next morning was difficult. When Sherlock woke, he was stiff all over. He had to move slowly, working his joints as best he could, one at a time, until he was able to rise. It had taken him ten minutes just to get out of bed and he resented it. He resented everything this morning, everything except John.
After bathing (a long soak in hot water) and managing to get dressed, the detective joined John in the living room. A glass of water, toast and medications were waiting for him by his chair. Resignedly, he sat and made short work of all three. They chatted about mundane things, well mundane to them: the latest mysterious deaths, baffling robberies and one curious case of plague. After some time, the doctor folded his paper and looked meaningfully at the clock. If there were going to make it to the rheumatologist in time, they would need to be leaving soon. Sherlock sighed then tried to stand. He hissed as pain shot through his knees.
"Here," John said as he offered his hands in support. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the necessity, but allowed him to place his hands under his arms and help him to his feet. "Well, at least I'm good for something," John quipped.
"You're good for quite a lot." Sherlock plastered a smile on his face. John deserved a smile, though the detective didn't feel like doing it.
"Yeah, I know. I'm your conductor of light." John helped him on with his coat then held the door to the flat open. It was so very hard not to hover as the detective negotiated the stairs. It was plain that every movement hurt Sherlock. The detective was moving sideways, placing both feet on each step before moving onward. The doctor let out a small sigh of relief when Sherlock reached the foyer. All that was left were the steps leading from the front door down to the pathway.
John opened the door and heard the detective mutter under his breath. A black sedan was waiting by the kerb. Sherlock bent his head, looking at the ground. His shoulders hunched in seeming defeat as he began moving towards the car. It was a measure of the detective's discomfort that he allowed John to open the back door to the car and got into it. Silence was their companion for the duration of the ride.
At the rheumatologist's office, they didn't have to wait long – Mycroft, of course – but while they waited, John helped the detective fill out some forms.
"Just give me a number from 1-5 for how difficult it is to do these things, 1 being easy and 5 being difficult" John ordered taking pen and paper in hand.
Sherlock tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Go ahead."
They made their way through the list:
Dress yourself including shoelaces and buttons – 5
Shampoo your hair – 5
Stand up from a straight chair – 5
Get in and out of bed – 4
"Right, now can you do these things," John said.
Sherlock glanced at the paper and let out a huff. He was losing patience with the whole thing. It was tedious. "John, you know the answers to these. Just," he moved to wave a hand but thought the better of it, "Please."
The doctor sighed then went down the list:
Cut your meat – no
Lift a full glass to your mouth – yes
Open a new milk carton – no
Walk outdoors on flat ground – yes
Climb 5 steps – yes
Go down five steps – yes
Walk on uneven ground – no
Wash and dry your body – yes
Take a tub bath – yes
Get on and off the toilet – yes
Bend down to pick up clothing from the floor – no
Open car doors – no
Open previously opened jars – no
Turn faucets on and off – yes
Are you stiff in the morning – yes
When you wake up in the morning, do you ache – yes
Sherlock leaned over and looked at the form with a frown. It was fairly depressing. He kept reading over the doctor's shoulder.
John flipped through the paperwork and found information on a new medication. The information wouldn't normally be given to a patient ahead of time like this, but John was a doctor and Mycroft was, well Mycroft, so these things happened.
There was a brief explanation of how the medication worked.
"This medication blocks the action of a protein in the body called tumour necrosis factor-alpha (TNF-alpha). TNF-alpha is made by your body's immune system. People with certain diseases have too much TNF-alpha that can cause the immune system to attack normal healthy parts of the body. It can block the damage caused by too much TNF-alpha."
They both kept reading and found that testing for TB would be required prior to starting on the medication. It would be administered through an IV and would talk about 2 hours at 0, 2, and 6 weeks, then every week thereafter. There was an alarming mention of the risk of cancer associated with it, not to mention the other possible side-effects.
John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He didn't like the idea of Sherlock being potentially subjected to any of the side effects, but he liked the idea of him suffering even less and this drug… it offered him a good chance of going into remission.
"Stop thinking, John," Sherlock rumbled tiredly. "I've already made up my mind. It wasn't a very difficult decision to make. If I can't get my life back, what good is it to me? It's worth the risks."
Looking at the detective, John heartily agreed. All that was left was talking to the doctor and arranging to get started.