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.
Thank you so much for your reviews and your support :).
So, here's another product of another sleepless night. Hope you like it.
…
…
Chapter 10
Sunday morning, 6:30
John woke suddenly.
There had been a noise… he listened… keeping his eyes shut to concentrate.
Had Sherlock called for him?
Nothing… no more noises.
He flapped the blanket back and sat up, trying to blink away the sleep. Sherlock needed to drink some more water.
Before he could do anything else there was a noise from his right and John jerked because it was so very near.
Right there, in front of the window to his right was Sherlock, standing with his back towards him.
How had he managed to get up?
"Sherlock?… Shit!" John panted, trying to catch his breath from the surprise.
Sherlock just stood there, like a statue.
John rose and stepped towards him, "Sherlock?"
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing out of bed?"
"I needed to make sure… the living room's'till here…"
John rounded him, he'd never had thought it to be possible that his sick friend would be able to get up, let alone walk into the living room, and what he was saying was complete nonsense.
"How are you doing?"
The doctor managed to bring himself in a position from where he could look into Sherlock's face.
Sherlock didn't look good. His eyes were closed and he was trembling badly, his skin white as a sheet.
John carefully reached out but did not touch him.
"Sherlock?… Are you with me?"
His flatmate opened his eyes and blinked slowly. After some moments his gaze started to wander around and another few seconds later it finally focussed on the former soldier.
"Oh, John… Glad you're still here, too."
John frowned. Why wouldn't he be here?
"Ta… Come on, sit down," he took the sick man's arm and tried to lead him to the sofa he had just vacated.
Was that an utterance of gratitude or affection?
Sherlock moved on wobbly legs but stopped in front of the seat, searching the room for something.
"Where's Mrs Hudson?"
"She's away for the weekend with…"
"Will she come back?" Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes, yes, she will… What is this about?"
"I…" Sherlock stammered, "I was…"
"Sit down."
Sherlock shook his head.
"You need to drink, sit down."
Sherlock frowned and then swayed.
"For god's sake, sit down."
John grabbed him by the upper arms just in time, he didn't need to drag Sherlock, his knees gave way. The doctor barely managed to direct him towards the seating in time. His friend slumped backwards hard and John cursed silently, barely managing to brace his head from colliding with the backrest.
Sherlock's eyes had closed and his breathing was shallow. When John felt his pulse, it was fast and his skin hot.
He patted his cheek, "Sherlock, come on, open your eyes… Sherlock!"
He hurried to the kitchen, dampened a towel and poured some more of that glucose-electrolyte solution into a mug.
When he returned Sherlock hadn't moved, he was still sitting slumped backward on the sofa.
"Sherlock, open your eyes for me," John once more patted his cheek.
"Hmm…"
"That's it, come on, all the way."
It took several moments until the other man finally blinked and managed to look at him, he immediately sat up straighter when he realised the doctor was watching him.
"Here, drink this."
Sherlock looked exhausted and not convinced drinking was a good idea.
But he accepted the mug, though with a haunted expression, then took a careful sip.
John had expected he'd refuse.
Then suddenly, the consultant turned even paler than he already was. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his head hung low, the mug circled by his hands between his knees.
"Are you gonna be sick?"
No reaction.
"You okay?"
John waited no longer, he went for the bucket.
When he came back Sherlock hadn't moved and he placed the red bin between his feet.
The detective made several gulping noises that sounded too much like hard effort for John's liking but shoved the thing away with his feet.
John knelt down in front of him.
"If you need to puke, don't hold it back."
"Drinkin' tha' stuff was too much an effort to… loose it without a fight," Sherlock whispered hoarsely, "Besides the colour pierced my brain with green needles."
His hands were trembling so much John took the mug out of his hands, afraid it would slip out off them. Sherlock was talking nonsense and it was disturbing.
He felt desperation because he didn't know how to help his friend, he was aware something must happen soon, but he was afraid to step over boundaries.
"John… You're a doctor…"
"Yes?" John asked, a bit hesitantly, wondering what would come next.
"I… I need a favour," Sherlock's voice was trembling too, now.
"Yes…?"
"I can't… drink this… any more."
"You're dehydrated… you need liquids."
"Yes… You're a doctor, there are other ways…"
"I don't understand… Are you asking me for...?"
"…intravenous fluids," the detective finished.
This was the last thing John had expected, but the logical and medical choice.
"I…," Sherlock gulped once more, "My chest and throat are… hurting from fighting to keep the liquids down."
John listened carefully, alarms ringing. Sherlock was in fact speaking about how he felt and showing his weakness… and he had just asked for help.
"I…Yes, you really need fluids. I didn't want to invade your privacy like this, unasked…"
"I… am asking for this… Privacy is nothing I'm really concerned about when it comes to you, you wouldn't live 'ere if youwere not included in my… privacy… I thought that was… quite obvious."
"Your definitions are kind of unique - I need to learn some more about them later. I also didn't want to associate negative things to me being here and being a doctor after what I learned about your childhood experiences with doctors," John thought it best to be honest, and despite what he had thought a few moments before the other man seemed to be quite clear in his thought processes.
"Who told you abou' those?" Sherlock lifted his head slightly and peered through his messy hair.
"You did."
"…Really?" Sherlock frowned, his eyes glassy and displaying his distress, "You won't bruise my mind by doing what a doctor does."
John frowned. What does that mean?…. Was he talking about pride or about being hurt in his childhood?
"Do you think you'll be able to tell me when you need to get up, so I can disconnect an IV line? I don't want you to get hurt by ripping it out."
Sherlock nodded.
"Yes… All right I want you to lie back down," John stood up and took Sherlock's shoulders, pushing him sideways. Sherlock followed the movement and lay down, head towards the windows, arduously lifting his legs onto the seat. John fetched the blanket and covered him.
"Try to relax, I'll get the stuff."
He fetched a wet towel and placed it on Sherlock's forehead, then went for the medical equipment.
When he came back a few minutes later with clean hands and the bag Sherlock's eyes were half closed and the towel was on the carpet.
John started the IV line, softly informing Sherlock of every move he made and waiting for signs of distress, but Sherlock was just passive observing every tiny action and movement of the doctor closely.
John hung the bag into the standard lamp with the provided hook, when he had adjusted the flow rate he injected an anti-nausea medication and a painkiller into the line.
The detective's temperature was still the same.
How the hell had Sherlock managed to get up?
The doctor had never ever expected him to be able to walk into the living room, especially not silently… or even thought he would try.
Sherlock had appeared quite lucid when he made the request for intravenous liquids… but before that he seemed out off it. John wondered if the detective would remember that later. Always expect the unexpected.
"I need… something… else," Sherlock whispered, his gaze evading John's.
"What?… What is it?" John asked in a low voice.
"I… don't know…"
John frowned, "How does the need feel?"
"Empty…"
"Where is the emptiness?"
Was this another new territory he was invited to? John wondered.
"Back of my mind…"
John's frown deepened. Great description… he needed more clues.
"You mean in the back of your head?"
"No, could you listen… of my mind!"
"Okay… What is usually there?" John tried carefully.
"I don' know… Something hurts."
"Where exactly?"
"Navel… No… more like solar plexus."
John blew out air, this was quite confusing. His friend was obviously trying to explain a sensation.
"Sherlock, is the pain still…" before he could finish the sentence Sherlock squinted.
"What is it?"
"Hurts."
"I think your body is trying to tell you something… you need to relax, Sherlock. You're stiff as a board, you suffer from cramps and…"
"I don't know how to do that…"
"To do what?"
"Relaxation, the concept isn't really clear t'me…"
"Wait… you're telling me you don't know…"
"…how to do it, yes."
"Blimey…"
No wonder Sherlock didn't sleep well and tried to blend out his pains.
"How do you go to sleep without relaxing?"
"I have a technique…" Sherlock whispered.*
"Then use it now… Sleep," John took the wet towel and wiped his flatmate's face carefully. It was another gentle poking at one of Sherlock's boundaries: touch. He was relieved to see his friend accepted the care and didn't shove him away.
John kept it brief and then went to rinse the cloth with cold water.
When he came back a few minutes later Sherlock was in fact asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even.
Sherlock being sick was an insight in a world different from all patient's and doctor's POVs John had seen before, a surprising perspective and perception. This was a whole new thing, John had never heard of sickness been experienced like this… or being handled like this. And he surely hadn't expected to be asked for an intravenous line.
It was clear that it had been hard on the other man to ask, why the doctor needed to find out later, but Sherlock was as pragmatic as ever.
This might be the right time to try a sip of that Grappa.
.
.
* The technique how Sherlock gets into sleep is explained in more detail in my story 'The mystery of finding sleep'.
.
...
A/N:
Reviews appreciated.