I had been working into the night, eliminating more illnesses that didn't match with Sherlock's mysterious aliment. It was about ten forty-five wen I heard a noise that I had never heard in the flat before. It was sharp, raspy and high pitched . I eliminated all mechanical noises and deduced that it could only be a man made noise.
I walked over to Sherlock and listened to him breathe, for I could easily distinguish that it was coming from the common room.
"Sherlock...Sherlock." I said, shaking him awake.
"What is it, John?" Sherlock whispered weakly.
"On a scale of one to five, five being that there is an elephant sitting on your chest, how hard is it for you to breath right now?"
Sherlock weakly held up a two on his hand.
"Okay." I whispered to myself before rummaging through the medical crates. "Sherlock, I'm putting an oxygen mask on you." I said as I approached the couch again.
I carefully slid the mask over his face and allowed him to fall back asleep. Sherlock's temperature had risen again, as well as his heart rate and blood pressure. As I walked back into the kitchen to log his vitals, I saw blood sample sitting on the table. I had taken this blood sample earlier this morning. I placed an older sample of blood under the microscope and studied it. With the symptom of difficulty breathing, I could easily narrow down the list of infections to three. I felt a sense of excitement because I was getting close to finding a cure.
I spent half an hour studying the first sample of blood. There was nothing there. I placed the latest blood sample under the microscope and took about the same amount of time to study it. When I saw nothing there as well, I ripped the slide out from under the microscope and violently threw it against the wall. The slide exploded to dust as it impacted the wall. I was irate. There was something wrong with Sherlock and I could not figure out what it was.
"John." I heard Sherlock call.
I poked my head into the living room after I took a calming breath.
"Is everything okay, John?" He questioned, lifting the oxygen mask off of his face.
"Everything is fine, Sherlock. Put the oxygen mask back on and go back to sleep." I replied.
"John, come here. Just sit more a moment. I know that things are not okay."
I don't know why I listened to Sherlock, but I pulled my chair up to the side of the couch and took a seat there.
"Please, tell me what is wrong?" Sherlock pleaded.
I didn't know what made me tell Sherlock. It went against every fiber of my being.
"You've been sick and I'm trying to figure out what is wrong with you. I can't though and it enrages me."
Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position, with his back against the pillows, before speaking.
"You will find out what is wrong with me. I know you will." He said, his voice sounding raspy from his difficultly breathing.
"I don't see why you won't let me take you to the hospital. They have the ability to find out what is wrong with you." I argued.
"John." Sherlock whispered as he sat upright, swinging his legs off the couch. "If I didn't have faith in you, I would be in a hospital. I'm also suppose to be dead as well, so I can't go to a hospital."
"But what if I can't?"
"You will."
What happened next caught me off guard. Sherlock had leaned forward and grabbed me gently by the shoulders. He pulled me over to the couch and turned to him.
"What are you..."
But I was cut off by him lips. At first, I couldn't understand what was happening. Sherlock was kissing me. It , strangely, took me time to get over my shock, relax and kiss back. It was exhilarating, feeling Sherlock's lips on mine, to feel his heart beat as my hands ran across this back, to hear his heart rate increase on the monitor just as mine did, to feel his hand comb through my hair, to know that is was me that he wanted.
As the exhilaration deepened, I felt Sherlock pull me closer. To aid him, I carefully pushed him into the couch. We laid like that for awhile, just kissing. When we broke apart to breathe, it was like reality had returned to us.
"Sherlock, um...what was that...that thing we just did?"
"You didn't enjoy it?" He asked, almost disappointed.
"No, I enjoyed it. I just want to know why."
"Because I love you." He answered in a whisper, shifting so that I was laying on my side next to him instead of on top of him. "And because I have faith in you. I know that you will find out what is wrong."
"Which reminds me..." I said, my mind getting back on topic, as I tried to get up. Sherlock kept his arms wrapped around me.
"John, it can wait. You've been up for the past three nights searching. Just take a break, I'll still be here when you wake up."
"But..." I attempted to argue.
"Just rest for me." He said, pulling me closer to him. "I'll still be here, I promise."
It was in that moment that everything hit me like the tube. I didn't realize how tired and stressed I had been till that moment. I didn't want to fall asleep, but I was glad that Sherlock had his arms around me when I did.
I woke up as the heart monitor went berserk. I stood up the moment I saw that Sherlock's heart beat had jumped to three hundred and sixty beats per minute. Something was wrong.
"Sherlock!" I shouted as I put the oxygen mask back on his face.
"Sherlock." I called again, shaking him.
He was unconscious. I turned to look at his other vitals. His blood pressure had remained the same, his temperature jumped a little. It was only his heart rate that had jumped. So, I needed to get an unconscious man to calm down. I quickly raced to the window, picked up Sherlock's violin and began to play it. I only knew a few pieces of music and I continued to cycle through them.
I had learned to play the violin a few months after Sherlock had fallen. I don't really know why I had decided to take lessons, but I enjoyed it the minute I picked up a bow. I only ever played the violin when I knew that Mrs. Hudson was not home. It was just something for me. It allowed me to feel closer to Sherlock when he was gone. There were times when I swear I could hear Sherlock playing along with me.
I took a seat in the chair and played the violin for a tense fifteen minutes. This calmed me down when I had dreams about Sherlock, so I figured it might calm him down too. I watched as Sherlock's heart rate dropped back to normal over those fifteen minutes. I put the violin back and, for the next few hours, I watched Sherlock's condition degrade in a rapid fashion.
I first had covered him up with a blanket, for he had been shivering, but an hour later he was sweating, his temperature reaching 102.9 degrees. Another hour and a half later, Sherlock began to twitch and mumble incoherently in his sleep. His temperature was 103.2. He kept calling for me in his sleep as I tried to lower his temperature.
"I'm right here, Sherlock." I whispered every time he called me
It was just about 5:30 in the morning when I couldn't handle it any longer. I grabbed my phone and made one phone call.
"Carlyle." The man answered on the other side.
"I need you to get antibiotics." I ordered.
"John? What's wrong?"
"He's come down with an infection and is getting worse. There are no antibiotics in the crates and I need some now." I informed
"Give me ten minutes." And Carlyle hung up the phone.
I set my phone down on the table and turned to Sherlock.
"I know you can here me, Sherlock. I need you to keep fighting because help is on the way. Just hold on a little longer."
Those ten minutes seemed to last ten hours. There were times that I thought I was going to lose Sherlock again. That terrified me, the idea of losing him again. I couldn't focus on those feelings at that moment, so I buried them in the back of my mind.
I heard the door fly open after those ten minutes were of. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Carlyle in the doorway. In his hand, he held a small pack. I knew that inside the pack was the antibiotics I needed to heal Sherlock with. I stood up and took them from him.
"Thank you." I said, ripping the package open.
"He looks terrible." Carlyle stated as I turned my back to him.
"I know." I replied, unwrapping the syringe from its package. "He's had this infection for three days, but I thought I could figure out what is was. I couldn't, but this should help."
I grabbed Sherlock's arm and injected the antibiotics into his arm. I was about to patch the injection sight when I heard a click and felt metal pushing against the back of my head.
"I would stop right there, Doctor Watson." Carlyle ordered as he held a silenced gun to my head.