Chapter One: Sick and Tired

Ernest rubbed his weary eyes with the back of his hand before glancing at the small clock radio.

2:18 A.M., it read.

He knew he needed to sleep, but between homework that was due in less than two days, and his part time job at the detective agency (which no doubt meant doing everything except for the actual mystery solving), he wasn't going to go to bed anytime soon, no matter how much he wanted to. He leaned his head onto his free hand, while trying to read the relevant pages in his textbook.

"Graft chimeras are produced by grafting genetically different parents, different cultivars, or different species. The tissue may be partially fused together..."

He paused long enough to acknowledge his irritated throat, messaging it with his fingertips. It soon became enough of a distraction, that he was forced to take a short break from studying. He got up from his seat, tiredly striding to the medicine chest, where he popped one throat drop into his mouth, and brought back three more back with him to the desk.

"I can't afford to be ill now." He spoke to himself, as he sat back down. "Now then, where was I?"

He didn't remember closing his eyes, or deciding his textbook made for a suitable pillow substitute, but at some point during the night, Ernest had fallen asleep at his desk. He jolted upright as soon as he opened his eyes, but quickly discovered he was somehow even more exhausted than before. His throat was now sore, instead of just irritated, and he ached all over; plus he wasn't sure if it was him, or if the radiator went out during the night, but the air around him was quite chilly! Wondering if he had overslept, he picked up the clock radio to check the time...

5:32 A.M.

Just over three hours of sleep. Despite the discomfort he was experiencing, he rejected the idea of actually going to bed, knowing that if he did, there was a fair chance he really would end up oversleeping. Reluctantly, he chose to go ahead and get today over with, changing out of his bedclothes and into one of his usual outfits, in spite of every fibre of his being begging him to remain comfortable and get under the covers.

He arrived at the detective agency shortly after, where he went straight to work tidying the place up. Since it was the weekend, he didn't have class that day, though that didn't guarantee a slow day, unfortunately. He would be grateful, if this was all he had to do today, but knowing his luck...

The teen managed to keep quiet during his chores in order to avoid waking Sherl the dog, who was still sleeping soundly in his basket bed. Ernest had reminded himself to fill the basset hound's food bowl before he awoke, which ended up being sooner than anticipated, as some flyaway dust tickled his nose, that in spite of his efforts to hold back, prompted a very loud sneeze against his will.

"WHAT IN THE-" Sherl exclaimed, as he jolted awake and nearly jumped up onto his hind legs. He tumbled out of his basket before standing back up on all fours. "A little louder next time, Pinstripes! My heart's still beating."

"Sorry, Sherl." Ernest said to him, following a sniffle. He cringed on the inside when he heard his own voice; he had barely spoken since the day before, yet his voice was already getting raspy. He hoped it would go unnoticed, but even if it didn't, that alone was good enough of a reason to change the subject. "Are you hungry at all?"

"I haven't eaten since yesterday evening. What do you think?" Sherl rhetorically asked.

The teen hopped off of the step-stool he was standing on to dust, following Sherl to the small kitchenette in the back, where the basset hound's food was stored away. As Ernest mixed both wet and dry food into the dog bowl, his throat suddenly started to tickle, and it took every ounce of his self control for him to stifle the oncoming coughs.

It wasn't until after he set the food bowl onto the floor that he finally excused himself and hurried back to the main room, where he allowed himself to let out the coughs that had been straining his throat. The crook of his sleeve was lightly damp by the time he was able to come up for air.

Meanwhile, Sherl had stopped eating long enough to peer over at the teenaged human, concerned. He noticed something was wrong, but decided it may not be worth asking yet, if he knew humans well enough by then, and went back to his food bowl.

It wasn't until he found himself too tired to budge an inch, that Ernest questioned whether he was going to be able to get through the day or not. He had thought about squeezing in a short nap after taking Sherl on his walk; after all, he figured, Miss Layton wouldn't be arriving for a few more hours, and he had already taken care of most of that morning's to-do's, so he certainly could if he wanted to!

He awoke to the door opening, and quickly sat up in spite of the subsequent -though brief- dizziness that followed. When he glanced over again, his suspicions of who had just entered were confirmed; he watched as the ever-attractive Miss Layton admired his hard work.

"You're...Already done?" She asked him, surprised.

Ernest cleared his throat before answering.

"Yes. Well, um...I was able to get a head start today."

But just as he was about to get any amount of acknowledgement for it, the phone began ringing.

"Oh, Ernest, could you get that?" Katrielle requested.

"Why can't you get it? You're closer to it than he is!" Sherl called her out.

Reluctantly, to the surprise of both assistant and dog, she answered the phone, but not without mumbling a distinct and annoyed 'fine'.

Meanwhile, Ernest was simply relieved nobody else had to hear just how hoarse he was getting. At the same time, he knew this meant it was going to be a long day, after all.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be there for Miss Layton and help her out any way he could, but he really did not want to be at this hotel. The lack of any proper amount of sleep was starting to catch up to him now, and his body ached with each step he took. He knew it wouldn't take much for him to really fall apart, and if that had to happen, he would rather not be out in public for it.

Ernest could only wonder how he didn't at least think to bring some aspirin or an antihistamine, unlike previous times where he would find himself taking one while Miss Layton wasn't looking; and his symptoms were worse compared to those previous times! He wanted so badly to sit down, if only for a minute or two, but at the moment, he was still assisting Miss Layton with yet another mystery. So, he had no choice, but to hide his symptoms a little longer, and hope that she could solve this (even he had to admit) ludicrous case sooner than later!

While Katrielle observed a suspicious trail of paint on the wall with her magnifying lens, Ernest stood nearby; he was supposed to be taking notes, but instead found himself gradually staring off into space, while struggling to stifle his coughs, and occasionally rubbing the side of his head as a dull ache crept up around there. He hadn't even noticed right away that a hand was waving in front of his face.

"Ernest, hello?" Katrielle said gently to get his attention. "Are you listening at all?"

That snapped him back to reality.

"Y-yes, of course, Miss!" He stuttered, immediately cringing at hearing his own voice.

She didn't seem to buy it, if that skeptical look on her face was anything to go on.

"I had asked what you thought of the clues so far." She stated, then paused long enough to observe her assistant, who seemed somewhat unwell; his face was rather flushed, especially for him, and the dark circles under his eyes really did not become him, either! "Are you alright? You don't seem like yourself today."

"O-oh, of course. Yes, I'm...I'm fine. Thank you." He stammered out.

That look of skepticism hadn't gone away.

"...Alright." Katrielle shrugged, as she went back to the mystery at hand. "I think we'll need to find that receptionist again, and ask her a few more questions."

Ernest only nodded in agreement, as he then followed behind her. Before they could even reach the reception desk, however, he began to feel rather dizzy. Things that were usually stationary shifted from side to side and up and down. And what were those dots floating about? He swallowed hard, seriously wishing he had at least remembered to take a motion sickness pill. He thought he had heard someone speaking, but wasn't sure who it was, or if he was simply hearing things. His knees grew weaker by the second, and very quickly he found himself on all fours, his nausea worsening, as he struggled to recall whether he had eaten at all so far today.

"...at me." He heard Miss Layton speaking from what he could have sworn was across the room. Each time she spoke again, she sounded closer until he realized she had been in front of him the whole time.

"Ernest, look at me." She repeated, as she lifted his head so that they were facing each other. "Are you alright? Did you trip?"

He had to swallow hard again before he could answer, which didn't go unnoticed by Miss Layton, as she placed her free hand on his forehead, which only then did he realize was slightly damp from sweat.

"...You're hot." She bluntly stated.

"I-I beg your-" he stammered, flustered.

"You have a fever." She clarified, then gently pulled him up with both arms to stand, leading him to one of the many sitting areas, where he wouldn't be disturbed. "Here, try to rest, and I'll come fetch you once I've solved this mystery."

He did exactly what she told him, lying down on the loveseat, and made an attempt to rest. He sighed as he closed his eyes, but opened them again from a combination of both his symptoms not allowing him to rest, and the fact he couldn't be of much help to the lovely Miss Layton.

"And here I thought she'd make you work your tail off 'til you blacked out!" A remark from Sherl came from the floor next to him.

"You mean..." A cough interrupted him. "You mean you knew all along, Sherl?" Ernest asked, turning to face the canine companion.

"You've been more than a little obvious, Pinstripes." Sherl explained.

Ernest only gave a small smile before trying to reach for the basset hound, only to retract his arm for an oncoming sneeze, followed by a short coughing fit. He already hated being sick.