Lessons in Friendship 7 – Needing something
This takes place somewhere after The Blind Banker and before The Great Game/Scandal in Belgravia (so before my story 'Lessons in Friendship 1 – A glimpse at PTSD') when John and Sherlock were living together just for a few months, and the friendship is rather young.
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 11
Sunday afternoon
John felt like he had been dozing for about ten minutes when a chirp from his phone woke him. He had fallen asleep in his armchair.
Where was the phone?
He stumbled over to the table to get it and opened the text message.
'Campylobacter' was the only thing it said.
The doctor stared at the word for more than ten seconds, then managed to look for the sender.
MH.
Okay.
Still half asleep he stood there, not moving for another five seconds.
Not good. Not a simple stomach bug then.
Campylobacter was a bacteria, causing first an infection and later enteritis. Nasty thing, though usually not harmful or life threatening. Even low bacteria concentration could cause an infection; often transmitted from pets or live stock to humans, by faeces or by contaminated food.
Highly contagious, and the treatment was mainly about keeping the patient hydrated and looking for more severe symptoms that might indicate a more dangerous bacteria-stem.
Great, just great!
For the first time John was no longer unsure about using the IV, in fact he was really relieved that he had started it. And that he had cleaned after Sherlock so thoroughly.
He blinked, his flatmate was still resting on the sofa, he hadn't moved since John had started the infusion.
Well, they'd need to find the source, but not now.
John decided not to touch any food in the flat and to nap until Sherlock woke up.
.
A soft voice woke him some time later.
"Sherlock?"
He opened his eyes. Someone stepped into the kitchen.
"Hm?" he muttered.
"John?"
Mrs Hudson's voice.
"Yeah, here."
"Oh, dear, what happened?" she had her hand over her mouth watching a pale and sleeping Sherlock.
"He got sick," John tried in a calm voice.
"Oh god, is it serious?" she stared at the IV bag and stepped closer.
"John? What's wrong?"
"Nonono… Stay there, and let me explain," John stopped her.
Mrs Hudson raised her eyebrows with a questioning look on her face.
The doctor decided it would be best if he kept her in the loop and started explaining what had happened.
About ten minutes later he finished, "So, you might want to be careful, no need to risk infection."
"I'll make do, John… You look like hell, have you been up all night?… He's gonna be okay, he always is. Don't worry!"
She was definitely trying to soothe him.
"Dear… I'll go downstairs and make you… us something to eat," Mrs Hudson broadcasted and headed for the stairs.
.
Half an hour later, John had napped some more, she woke him again.
"John?… Let's go down to my kitchen and have a decent lunch," she suggested in a low voice.
John briefly checked on Sherlock and followed her downstairs.
They sat at her kitchen table but John was not really enthusiastic about eating, he had barely touched his meal.
He asked her how much she knew about Sherlock's childhood, but she had no information at all. While he gave the landlady a brief explanation about what he had learned and how the detective was misunderstood in his past, he realised he had partially made the same mistakes.
"I was an idiot… I totally underestimated the dehydration, although I know he does not take care of his body's needs… I should have known. How could I have been so blind? Especially after I had learned how misunderstood he usually is when trying to communicate his sensations… I thought I'd make it worse by bringing medical equipment here."
"Dear, your choices were the right ones. You tried to evade stressing him, but this is Sherlock. I'm not sure he'd even recognise it as stress. He'd probably blind it out as a slightly annoying sensation, then decide what he wanted to do and go through with that, not matter what the 'transport' needs."
"Oh, he seemed pretty stressed the past three days."
"He probably was. But I'm not sure he'd know or realise that... or admit it."
"Doesn't matter, I should have not been this careful. Sherlock doesn't need kid gloves, this is now clearer to me than ever… Maybe I was over-careful because of my own issues with traumatic events… Well, it was the wrong thing to do nevertheless and not only because I underestimated the dehydration from the start. I was waiting for typical patient reactions, you know, the normally behaviour - exactly what happened to Sherlock as a child: signals suppressed and language misunderstood. Partially he got worse because of that… and I knew… but was not able to get over my…"
"John, that's okay. Now you know, and you'll observe different in the future. That is what he needs, someone who is willing to tune into his version of communication. He knows he has to wait for people to understand, and he's not a patient person. Just guessing here… but I think it must be pretty hard on him. I'm not even sure he sorts things into easy and hard… and he trusts you… You know that, don't you?"
"Yes… Maybe I didn't dare to believe that until this morning… but I surely do now."
"I think I have never before heard him ask for help this clearly. You can definitely believe it."
"Well, he in fact, asked for a favour… God, I need to sleep," he added when he started to feel dizzy.
"I'll make a cuppa, go get some rest. I'll look after him."
"Okay, make sure you wash your hands regularly," John rubbed his eyes.
"I will."
"And don't throw any food away yet, we might need to find out where he caught it… and wake me if he needs to get up."
"I will," she repeated and patted his arm.
On his way to his bedroom the doctor checked on Sherlock once more and fell asleep fully dressed on his own bed, only moments after lying down.
.
Sherlock woke about two hours later while Mrs Hudson washed the dishes. She hurried to his side as soon as he made a soft moaning noise, drying her hands in a tea cloth.
"How are you doing?" she addressed the man on the sofa.
Sherlock blinked, disoriented.
"How did I get here?"
"I guess you walked, dear," she answered in a light and maybe over-kind voice.
"What happened?" he eyed the IV line.
"You asked John for that because you needed fluids."
"Say that again."
"You don't believe me?"
"No…"
"It's okay if you don't remember, John said that's not unusual, you were pretty sick."
"With what?" Sherlock still sounded very sick.
"Some nasty food poisoning or something, can't remember the name."
"I don't get sick."
"There's a first time for everything… Haven't you been sick as a child?… No, don't get up…"
Sherlock actually listened to her and sank back into the cushions, quite spend by the minute movements.
"You want some tea?"
"Not really."
"What did your mother do when you were sick?"
"Nothing she didn't do when I was not sick. What is this about?"
"Just curious. I thought I could do you something good she did when you were little."
"Why do you think that would do me any good?"
"Oh, forget I asked. I was just interested in how you are."
"… and asking about my childhood sicknesses?"
"Maybe."
"Don't do that. It's annoying," Sherlock was getting unnerved.
"Do what."
"Getting… psychological on me… or mother-henning me, whatever this is."
"I'm just asking some stuff, trying to be nice," she was slightly offended by his grumpy replies.
"It won't work."
"Why not? Everybody needs some care now and then."
"Because you think you do it for me, but the truth is, it'll make us both frustrated and then the opposite off what you aimed for will happen… your subconscious motive is most likely that you want to have the feeling that you're doing something. Which might help you, but not me."
"Sherlock, I want to help. Why should this make us broth frustrated?" she put a mug with tea on the coffee table but he ignored it.
"Because, I'll find out what you want me to do and how you want me to react… and I don't work or think the expected way… and if I do it, I do it with the intension to conform with society, your expectations, or to get what I need to solve a case. The result is an artificial reaction to an artificial task you created to make me feel better. It's a social malady. You put energy in creating it and I put energy in responding, and none of that is doing anyone any good; it's just sucking away energy… So we both loose and we both gain nothing. If you want to do such thinks for yourself please don't involve me, and don't live in the illusion you're helping me. That's the opposite of any form of balance… Do us both a favour and don't do this."
"Okay… the point is Sherlock, you're still suffering from those things… don't interrupt!" Mrs Hudson interfered when Sherlock took breath, "…and for your health's sake you need to trust John with it," she bit her lip. "The thing is, we don't like to watch you suffer. But this doesn't mean we do this for our own sake. You are dear to us, but when you don't tell us what you need we need to guess. And the results are not what you need. So you better tell us, easier for all of us."
"I…"
"Do you understand this kind of logic?"
"Partially, though it has the outer appearance of sentiment."
"It might have."
"I'm not sure I can do that."
"But that's my point, dear… All I'm saying is you need to try, nothing more."
"I don't need assistance."
"Yes, yes you do… You sometimes need somebody who translates for you what your body needs and just listen. As dull as it is, it's not that hard, you know."
"I don't need to listen, it's getting me nowhere."
"John had some really bad days, too. I think he didn't sleep for more than two hours any time since Wednesday night. First chasing criminals with you and then taking care of you… He spent his time cleaning and playing nurse. Looked like death warmed over when I came home," she turned away and slowly headed back towards the kitchen.
"Your mother-henning him, too?"
"Of course, he deserves a bit of that sometimes, too, doesn't he?"
"Deserves? What has he done wrong?"
"Uh, Sherlock! Nothing!… It was meant as in 'doing him good' and… outweigh for a hard week… Don't get up, John needs to unhook you," she stated when Sherlock showed signs he was about to get up.
.
John woke in the late afternoon.
"John? Sherlock wants to get up," Mrs Hudson yelled up the stairwell, John had left his door open and sat up.
"I can do this alone," Sherlock informed her, not really friendly.
"Leave that alone! He'll be here in a minute."
John listened to them while walking down the stairs, still half asleep.
A light slapping noise could be heard.
"Did you just slap my hand?"
"Yes, and I'll do it again if you don't behave."
John felt the need to suppress a giggle, there was no one in the world except Mrs Hudson who would dare to slap Sherlock Holmes' hand… and probably no one who'd get away with it.
John entered the living room.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked Sherlock.
"Bathroom," his flatmate looked unnerved now.
"Alright," John took the plug and sealed the IV line properly after disconnecting the line, "No showers, yet!"
"What? Why not?" Sherlock's face clearly showed disgust.
"Not yet! Not with the cannula, and not as long as you aren't well enough to stand, maybe you can have a bath later."
"I'm not an invalid… And since we just… What was in that IV?"
"Electrolyte solution, vitamins, anti-emetics."
"I wasn't that sick."
"Believe it, you were… And we need to find out how you caught it. So feel free to make some deductions."
Sherlock frowned and shoved the blanket away.
"Sit up slowly," the doctor warned.
Sherlock ignored him and sat up, John saw his face pale a moment later.
"God! I said do it slow!… You have been sick for days, you can't do as if everything is fine."
"Everything is fine."
It was no use in giving him advice, John decided he'd stop now, no need for further frustration on both sides.
"What happened?" Sherlock gulped, "When did you put that in?"
"Early this morning. You asked for it, you must have realised you were pretty dehydrated yourself… You don't remember?"
"No."
"What do you remember from the past days?"
Sherlock's eyes wandered through the room for several seconds.
"I think I might have puked, in the bathroom…"
"Well, overall I think you did that more than a dozen times… What else?"
The consultant looked slightly dumbfounded about that information.
"Ehm… the violin was at my bedside."
John raised his eyebrows, of all the things that had happened he remembered that?
"That was last night. You were in bed since Friday night. Campylobacter infection. You vomited all night and the whole Saturday until it receded. The runs started sometime on Saturday, not sure, you threw me out. You remember nothing of that?"
"No. It'll come back later. What day is it?" Sherlock sounded exhausted.
"Sunday evening. You want to get up?"
"Yes."
"Be careful and please tell me if you feel faint."
"I never feel faint."
"Sherlock… Just tell me! You already got some bruises by falling on Saturday night, so don't deny it, it is possible."
"Oh."
"Check your shin if you have doubts."
"Where?"
"Where you fell? I don't know, I wasn't there, must have happened in your room."
Sherlock stood up, more careful now, he took the blanket up with him. The doctor was ready to help him, but it wasn't necessary.
The detective looked much better than the night before and scuffled towards the bathroom, ignoring his company.
"So, what do we do now?" Mrs Hudson asked in a hushed voice.
"Nothing, wait for him to get better. He'll probably feel bad for at least another four to five days. Will be fun keeping him in here for the next days," John answered with a hint of sarcasm.
"Is that really necessary?"
"There are rules for this kind of thing, though I have to look them up to find out what they exactly are… and we need to find out how he got it."
...
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A/N:
Feedback appreciated.