Being Tended

I am not quite sure how I came to manage the stairs. Did Watson carry me? Surely he could not have managed that while his old wounds were hurting him? Why can I not remember? Did I faint?

My friend is tending to me now. I very much doubt that he has left my side for a moment since the deucedly embarrassing fainting spell in the park. He has wrapped me snugly in rugs and is attempting to push something long, smooth and cool into my mouth. A thermometer. Of course.

"Do you think you could slip this under your tongue without biting it now?" the fellow asks. "Your teeth were chattering terribly when I removed your coat."

I turn away quickly before giving a rather explosive sneeze. How I manage to avoid doing so in his face I am not quite sure.

"Bless you. You have caught a cold!"

I do not like that accusatory tone in the slightest. "It is only the cocaine. I am quite all right," I snap with a dismissive wave of my hand and irked glare.

He shrugs and slips the thermometer that he has in his hand beneath my tongue, causing me to glare anew at him. If he believes to have silenced me for two minutes he is sorely mistaken!

The doctor pats my hand and then he positions it beneath the rugs. I must admit that it is rather cold.

"I only wish to make you comfortable old fellow," he retorts in a half-humorous tone. "And to do all that I can for you."

It is true of course. I really should behave myself. I do not want to push my friend away and I hope that the expression with which I address him next tells him as much.

"Are you all right? You look so miserable..."

Perhaps my expressions say more than I would like.

"The time will be up soon old fellow. Just over a minute remaining."

Good! I am beginning to want to sneeze again. Why does the body seem to enjoy choosing the wrong moment?

"Are you all right?"

I do not nod. Instead, I smile whilst keeping my lips firmly pressed together around the wretched thermometer - which is deucedly difficult.

"Are you sure? You seem rather tense... Do you want to pay a visit?"

I do now! Why the deuce did he have to ask me that? I was all right until he mentioned it! Now, as well as trying to keep myself from sneezing I am all too aware of a much more unpleasant and pressing discomfort. I have no choice. Carefully, I pinch my nose just enough to stop the sneeze while I nod, for if I open my mouth now the reading will be wrong.

"Can it wait? You have about half a minute left and then you can use the washroom."

I am not sure. I feel much the way I did yesterday, when I came so very close to disgracing myself. I do not wish to find out whether it will be different this time or not. I tense as much as my unresponsive muscles will allow and try to keep still. Half a minute suddenly feels like an eternity.

"No?"

My expression must say it all, because my companion is rummaging in his bag in an instant while he verifies exactly what it is that I need. Then I have a receptacle in place, the rugs are providing me with all the privacy that can be given to me under such circumstances and I am trying very hard not to think too much.

It only seems a moment later when Watson removes the thermometer from my mouth and studies it. In different circumstances the wait would have been an easy one.

"Your temperature is somewhat lower than it should be," he informs me.

"What does that mean?" I ask as I rub at my irksome nose. Yesterday a fever and today... what-ever it is that the opposite is called. But surely an abnormally low body temperature is not a cause for concern?

"More than likely that you are tired. Exhausted in fact. You could do with a good meal as well."

"Be reasonable, I beg of you! I will eat. When I am hungry and not before."

He frowns back at me. "That could be never! You may not realise it Holmes, but you have been starving yourself. I can see the symptoms clearly enough."

"I have not b-been..." I slam my eyes shut and try to hold my breath. It does not work. It is not possible to avoid giving vent to a sternutation indefinitely.

"Bless you. Are you... Bless you! Are you quite... Oh! Bless you again old fellow. Are you all right?"

I nod breathlessly. That has quite winded me! Perhaps Watson was right when he said that I appear to be a little tired.

"Are you quite sure that you have not caught a cold? Your sneezing would seem to be getting worse."

"I am certain. I simply avoided sneezing until you had removed the thermometer from my mouth, that is all. Under the circumstances, it is little wonder that they became rather more violent. Holding the wretched things back often will have that effect."

"Hum. I suppose so Holmes."

We remain in silence for a moment or two and then I carefully remove the receptacle, tidy myself up and stand, tossing aside the rugs.

"What are you doing?"

I gesture in the direction of the washroom. "Is it not obvious?"

Watson holds out his hand, offering to take the offending object in my hand from me. "You should rest old fellow. Let me take care of that."

"You have had to 'take care', as you put it, of far too much already!" I protest quickly. The chap is not my nursemaid any more than Mrs. Hudson is and I will not have him cleaning up behind me while I still have the use of my legs.

I disappear into the washroom and empty and clean the bottle first and then scrub my hands and face second. My flesh is cold and slimy, as if I have been exploring a (relatively) dry storm drain, and I feel utterly disgusting. How could I possibly still be sweating while I am chilled to the very bone?

"Are you feeling all right?" Watson asks carefully as I return to the settee with a weary sigh.

"Yes."

He frowns at me for a long moment. "In that case, you should eat something. What would you like?"

I am not hungry. I am too tired to want food! Why can Watson not understand that?

"Nothing?" he sounds disappointed and... scared? "Well, I shan't force you old fellow. I do wish that you would at least try a bite of something though. I hope that you shall not mind if I eat something?"

I shake my head and sniff. "Of course not. You must be hungry."

He nods and goes off to ask Mrs. Hudson for some refreshment.

The doctor soon returns to my side and settles himself at my feet on the settee without a word. He is warm and my feet are freezing, so I do not ask him to remove himself to his armchair and instead address him with a grateful smile when he permits me to press them against him without a word of protest.

When the food arrives, it is piled high upon his plate and he protests to Mrs. Hudson that he could not possibly manage to eat all of that.

"I am sorry Doctor," the housekeeper responds, "but I have thrown out quite enough food lately. Just eat what you can sir."

Watson tries a forkfull of something as the sitting room door closes and I gaze up at the fellow. He seems to be enjoying it, at least.

"How is it?"

He swallows the mouthful and smiles at me. "It is delicious Holmes. I have missed Mrs. Hudson's cooking."

"So did I, during my travels. Living as a poor man on Mycroft's handouts was far from desirable and my own cooking is barely edible."

Watson's hand touches my leg. "Would you like to try some?"

Before I know it, I am sitting up beside the fellow, sharing his food from off of his plate. It is good and I am surprised to find that I am hungry. Very hungry.

"Perhaps you will begin to feel a little better now," my friend says hopefully as I finally hand back the spoon with which I have been helping myself. "It is little wonder that you are so tired and weak Holmes; you must eat!"

I nod and rest my head at his shoulder, for I do not want to return to a reclining position when I have just filled my stomach. Not yet.

"You are still so cold!" the chap remarks with concern. "I had hoped that the food would give you the energy to raise your temperature at least a little. Do you think a cup of tea would help?"

Would it stay where I choose to put it? I have had nothing but water since yesterday.

Before I give an answer, Watson shakes his head. "Perhaps tea and coffee should be avoided a little longer. I could ask for a hot honeyed water though, if you would like. It would at least be warming."

It would also have more flavour than plain water. I agree readily and close my eyes. "But not until you have eaten your fill old fellow," I insist as an afterthought. Watson does have to keep his own strength up, after all. Besides, I am not about to die of thirst.

I settle back, close my eyes and at last find myself able to relax somewhat. Perhaps I shall be able to get at least some restful sleep now. I just have enough presence of mind to thank my companion before Morpheus claims me.