Lessons in Friendship 7 – Needing something
Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.
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Chapter 3
Day 2 - Saturday
In the early hours of the morning, John woke up when Sherlock ran to the bathroom. He went to the kitchen to listen and make some tea, but also fetched some items he might need later. If Sherlock's problem was a bug, he needed to be aware not to catch it in order to be a help; if it was something like food poisoning, his flatmate would need some meds and painkillers and they'd need to find out how he got it. He went back to Sherlock's room with the tea when he heard that Sherlock had returned to his bed.
Sherlock followed John's every movement but didn't say anything.
"Mornin'. Brought some tea… I think you should try to tell me how you're feeling… Just try to explain what you're experiencing," John tried.
"Tired, bugging me. Can you print out a sign directing to up, down, right and left… I might need it to tell me where those things are."
"Sherlock, are you delirious?" John sat on the bed; Sherlock was looking through the room kind of disoriented now.
"No… you told me to express my needs."
"I did, but this is somehow… awkward," John reached for Sherlock's brow, feeling the temperature.
"Why?" Sherlock struggled to sit upright again but did not shove him away. This was an improvement.
When John had sat down on Sherlock's bed and could clearly see that Sherlock did not like it, he had decided for the absolute minimum of touch then. Now Sherlock allowed him even this contact without throwing a fit.
Was this progress in being trusted?
"Most people know that stuff you want me to put on a sign," John tried to make him lie back down but he resisted.
"But I'm not most people and I'm kind of confused where up is right now."
"Oh god, you're serious?! You are telling me you have trouble with your equilibrium or a giddy spell?" John asked, finally understanding what the problem was.
"Maybe…?"
"Okay… Just lie back and relax…"
Sherlock shook his head.
"I want to change."
Finally! Good idea. The detective would be much more comfortable in 'home clothes', as he put it.
"Good, what do you want?" John headed for the closet.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing…? You're not planning on participating in changing clothes, aren't you?"
"Yes, actually I will, you can barely stand up and you just asked for a 'this-side-up sign'. Don't tell me you just came to understand the principle of privacy."
"No. But I am not a child."
"So the problem here is accepting help or needing help?"
"I don't need help and I will not accept it."
"Okay, then if you add to your misery by falling and hitting your head, your choice."
He handed Sherlock a fresh set of pyjamas and turned around to give Sherlock privacy.
After waiting for two minutes without Sherlock moving he got that the other man waited for him to leave. He went to the kitchen to make some tea. Sherlock would need to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth and they had better make sure he drank enough.
Five minutes later, he returned to the room. Sherlock was sitting on the bed in the fresh pyjama bottoms and just started to button up the shirt.
"Stop, let me take your BP first." John reached for the shirt to make it slip down Sherlock's arm again.
Sherlock flinched but didn't react in an angry or grumpyway; he just sat there. Changing had exhausted him that much?
John took his BP and frowned, pretty low. He then helped Sherlock button the thing up.
"Lie back and sleep," the doctor ordered gently.
Sherlock lifted his legs over the bed but then frowned and stayed in a half sitting position on his elbows. When Sherlock's eyes closed he decided to see what would happen next and what his flatmate would do.
"I'm gonna watch some telly, drink your tea! You want anything else?"
Sherlock shook his head and reached for the tea.
"Just yell if you need anything, alright?"
When Sherlock nodded once more, John decided to check on him once every twenty minutes and went to the living room.
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Sherlock hurried to the bathroom quite frequently all day. Once or twice he vomited into the toilet. He refused to throw up in a bucket again and preferred to camp on the bathroom floor to prevent it.
He also rejected John's care and sent him away whenever John hovered.
When the doctor knocked at the bathroom door after another attack of nausea, his friend yelled back that he wanted to be left alone. As soon as Sherlock had left, John went in after him and made sure it was all clean and sterilised. The last thing he needed was to get sick, too.
John had called the surgery and told them he wouldn't come in for the next two days. He might be contagious; to catch the thing from Sherlock and then infecting a patient was a no-go.
He napped on the sofa to catch up with the lost night. With one ear he listened to whatever Sherlock did. It was not a lovely task, but since Sherlock seemed not to be able to put his distress into words, this was kind of necessary. The day went on like that.
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A/N:
I'd really love to hear what you think.
Constructive criticism welcome