Summary: Sherlock should have known something was wrong when John stopped having much of an appetite.
Note: We're jumping around the timeline a bit, this is around a week or so after Issues of Work. All of the stories follow each other except for this little time jump. If you want to leave a prompt, just drop by my Tumblr (link is in my profile) since I do read the reviews, but usually forget to reply to them.
Prompt: John gets sick (crime scene, Sherlock experiment, given something) (Suggestions from Realistic_Dreamer at AO3)
Sherlock Holmes never panicked. He was above the baser instincts that other idiots were reduced to when things went out of hand. He sat in the vet's office with John in his lap, the pup panting from a fever. He told himself his hands were not shaking as he ran his fingers through John's fur. The pup whined and turned glassy eyes to Sherlock before weakly pushing his hand away with his head. John licked his muzzle and shifted onto his side as he closed his eyes. Sherlock looked down at John and hoped that he forgave him. Though all the panic was the guilt of John being sick was all his fault.
"Excellent, John! Bring it here." A dirty rag was placed in Sherlock's outstretched hand. He held the rag in the light and saw dried blood on it. John butted Sherlock's leg with a yip, letting the detective scratch his ears.
"Let's go to the Yard and prove that the husband did it."
John yipped again and allowed Sherlock to clip the leash to his harness, their dumpster dive finished.
Sherlock knew that was where the problem most likely stemmed from. He waited for his name to be called and frowned. He rubbed John's ears; he was too hot for his liking. He should have paid attention.
He slid further into the tub, closing his eyes at the heat soaking through his bones. The second bath drawn after their dumpster dive was better. He even opted to put bubbles in, an indulgence he partook in when he had the time. John growled playfully from the other end of the tub. He nipped and splashed the bubbles, making a mess on his side.
"John, come here and stop making a mess."
John's ears swiveled towards Sherlock and he slowly paddled over to him. His tail was almost like a little propeller with the way he moved. Once close enough, Sherlock scooped him to his chest and endured licks to his face. John was warm, but there was steam clouding the air. He was warm himself. He ignored the thought and tried to teach John how to swim properly.
Another sign that he missed. He mentally berated himself. John panted in his lap and pressed his nose into Sherlock's leg. His fur was slicked with his sweat as Sherlock rubbed his stomach.
"Mr. Holmes and John? We're ready for you."
Sherlock gathered John in his arms and followed his nurse to the doctor's office. He usually wasn't one to hope, but he wanted the vet to tell him that had a mild sickness. His grip tightened on John, ignoring the feeble squirming he did. After all, John survived a bullet to the shoulder. Whatever John had would not put him down.
Sherlock walked up to his flat with groceries in his hand. He hated shopping in all sense of the word. Still, he had to go get more food and raw hides for John. He couldn't find the lye that he needed which was annoying and meant that he would have to go back out.
"John? Don't tell me that your sleeping now. We've talked about this." he said as he went to the kitchen.
Sherlock placed the bags by the fridge and didn't hear John come to him. His shoulder must have been hurting him again. He checked his food bowl to see if the pup ate. A frown made its way on his face as he realized it hadn't been touched. Something was very wrong.
"John?"
Sherlock walked to his bedroom and called out for John again. A loud whine had him rushing into the room. John was curled up in his pillow. His fur gave off a faint sheen as he turned on the light, slick with sweat. Sherlock rushed to the bed, worried as John whined at his touch. The pup was abnormally hot and seemed to struggle with every breath.
He gathered John in one arm and his mobile in the other. John was sick and he needed to be treated immediately.
"I have an emergency. My puppy has a high fever and is breathless..."
"Oh poor thing. Looks like you caught a nasty virus huh?"
John nosed the exam table and rested on it. The vet tried to get him to stand, but John seemed to not have the strength. She let him lay out on the table instead.
"A virus? Will he recover?" Sherlock found himself rubbing John behind the ears.
"Oh yes. Most dogs get it by ingesting some bacteria usually around garbage or by other dogs. He'll be listless and won't eat a lot, but that's the recovery. His fever will spike the next few days so make sure to give him cold baths to prevent John from licking himself."
"Also, he'll need lots of water. I'll give you the prescription. It's a pill and he needs to eat it. Just mix it up in his food or make a fruit bowl to mask the scent and he should be fine in two weeks. Any new developments occur, just email me."
Sherlock listened to what the vet said and nodded at the right times. John had no contact with other dogs; the reason for the virus was the dumpster dive earlier in the week. He worked out what he had to buy and a schedule that would work in his favor.
John already looked healthier after the injection the vet gave. She swaddled John in a blanket with a cold compress, handing him over to Sherlock. Sherlock figured that it would last the cabbie ride back to Baker Street.
"Thank you, doctor."
He allowed John to snuggle in the crook of him arm, the pup on his way to sleep. As he strode out the vet's office, he made a promise to himself that he would make sure John stayed healthy.