Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Hi, everyone! Such a great response for the last chapter – thank you all, so much! Your reviews were the first thing I read this morning and they made me smile. I hope you enjoy the next chapter as much!
"Jenn?" John called in a very weak voice three mornings later. Jenn hurried in and helped John sit up, placing a bin on his lap before he was sick into it … not that he brought up much more than bile. The vomiting had started two days ago and was consistently occurring every two to three hours.
"Done?" Jenn asked and John swallowed painfully and nodded.
"Thanks," he croaked; there wasn't much left to his voice now, not between the throwing up and the coughing and the sore throat.
Jenn didn't say anything in response but took the bin to the bathroom to clean it out before returning. John had physically fallen back into the bed – he was quite weak now, hence why Jenn had needed to help him sit up and ensure he didn't choke on his own vomit. Jenn returned with the bin and a fresh face cloth. She set the bin down before planting herself on the edge of the bed, gently wiping down John's face and neck, which were gleaning with sweat.
"I think I should go to hospital," John mumbled. This was the fourth time he had suggested it and, like the previous times, Jenn shook her head.
"It's just a bad bout of flu, John. It'll start to clear up soon. You don't want to sit around in an A&E for hours like this, do you?"
John didn't say anything, although he was thinking that, given his appearance, he probably wouldn't have to do much waiting at all.
"Wait a few more hours." Jenn added. "We'll take your temperature now and if the fever hasn't broken by six tonight, we'll go in. Okay?"
John nodded and wordlessly accepted the thermometer under his tongue. He closed his eyes, not bothering to open them when Jenn removed the device. He knew she would look worried at the high reading and he knew just how high it probably was. Instead, he just fell asleep.
Sherlock was bored.
He had solved his latest case – the one that he had been texting John about when he first found out John was ill – and had nothing to do. No experiments and he'd used up all the fresh fruit, anyways. He couldn't be bothered to do the shopping even though Baker Street's fridge was the definition of bare.
Sherlock was also – although he'd never admit it – a bit lonely. John had been gone three days now. Presumably he was still ill. Which meant Sherlock was also the tiniest bit worried.
Okay, maybe he was more than a tiny bit worried.
Especially now that he didn't have anything to do but worry … and this annoyed Sherlock to no end. He knew John was a grown man and could take care of himself with relative ease, not to mention … what was her name? Joan? Jasmine? Whatever her name was was taking care of him. How bad off could he be? There was nothing to be gained for anyone but worry. Even so, Sherlock couldn't help but sense that something was wrong.
By late afternoon, he was convinced John was in some sort of trouble. The doctor would have texted him by now, told Sherlock how he was doing, obviously thinking Sherlock would care. He hadn't answered any of Sherlock's texts or phone calls, either. Tired of flopping around onto various pieces of furniture, Sherlock went to his room and dressed in his customary suit and pulled his coat on, mobile to his ear.
"Mycroft? I need a favour."
John was slightly jarred from his sleep when the buzzer sounded. He was aware, at least, of Jenn walking to door and opening it before dozing off again.
"May I help you?" Jenn asked the tall man standing in her doorway.
"No," Sherlock said, brushing past her.
"Do I know you?" She asked, eyeing Sherlock as he entered her flat.
"No," Sherlock repeated. "Where's John?"
"Who are you?"
"Didn't John tell you?" Sherlock asked, feigning innocence and an air of offence. "He's my … well, I probably shouldn't tell you. If he didn't tell you, he wouldn't want me to. He's very private about that sort of thing. Where is he?"
Sherlock enjoyed watching the look of horror cross Jenn's face despite the circumstances.
"He's … he's in the bedroom. He's ill."
"I'm aware."
Sherlock trailed down the hallway and found the bedroom with relative ease.
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed from the doorway.
At first, John thought he was dreaming, or maybe hallucinating. Why would Sherlock be here?
"John, wake up."
Someone was shaking his shoulder.
John forced his eyes open to see Sherlock standing over him.
"Sherlock?" John mumbled. "What are you doing here?"
"I think the better question is why are you not in hospital?"
"We were going to go in if his temperature didn't drop by six," Jenn said from the doorway. Sherlock checked his watch.
"It's quarter after seven," he said, an eyebrow raised.
"I didn't want to wake him."
Sherlock promptly decided that this woman wasn't worthy of his time so he set to ignoring her.
"Why didn't you text me and tell me you were this ill?" he asked John.
"It's just a bout of flu," John said feebly.
"An awfully bad bout of flu," Sherlock corrected. "Come on, I'm taking you to hospital."
"No." Jenn stepped up next to Sherlock. "He doesn't need to go to hospital; it'll clear up on its own."
"How do you know?" Sherlock challenged. "It could be pneumonia or a bacterial infection. He could need antibiotics and he'll certainly need a drip. He's dehydrated."
"No, he's not. I've made sure he keeps drinking."
"Have you seen the sweat pouring off of him?" Sherlock exclaimed. "Between that and the vomiting, he's getting rid of anything you put in."
Sherlock turned back to John.
"Can you walk?"
"No, he can't." Jenn answered. "He can't even get a bin for himself."
Sherlock ignored Jenn.
"Come on, you can lean on me … or maybe I should just call for an ambulance."
"No." Jenn said and even the suggestion had made John open his eyes and shake his head. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, then you have to try and work with me here, John."
John nodded and tried to push himself up, only barely managing. Sherlock pushed back the blankets and helped John swing his feet over the edge of the bed.
"He's going to throw up," Jenn said from the door.
"Shut up." Sherlock said, barely even paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He glanced at John.
"Alright?"
John nodded and Sherlock helped him to his feet and quickly had one of John's arms around his neck before the doctor could crumple to the ground.
"Find his coat and shoes," he instructed Jenn but she didn't move.
"You shouldn't be taking him to hospital," Jenn said firmly. "He'll be fine."
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Yes, because you're doing such a wonderful job at taking care of him."
Jenn huffed.
"At least I was doing something."
"But you're not helping when it matters," Sherlock said, noting that John had gone very pale. "John? Do you need to stop for a moment?"
They had slowly been making their way away from the bed and towards the door. John shook his head knowing that if he stopped, it'd just be harder to start.
"Do you just want to go back to bed?" Jenn asked him gently and John semi-glared at her.
"Of course he doesn't," Sherlock spoke up. "He wants to get medical help. Find his shoes."
Jenn still didn't move and Sherlock looked at her.
"Idiot," he said. "Either find his shoes or get out of my way."
Jenn finally went and found John's shoes, tossing them before Sherlock. She did not, however, offer to put them on John's feet. Sherlock was annoyed but he didn't grace Jenn with a response, which was probably a good thing as any sort of response would have been incredibly rude.
"Alright, John," Sherlock said. "We're almost to the sitting room and then we'll take a break on the sofa. Then I'll get your shoes and coat on."
John swallowed and nodded. The sofa seemed like a long ways off still but given that Sherlock was there, John knew he wouldn't fall. Still, by the time he got to the sofa, he was literally soaked with sweat and out of breath. He fell back against the cushions and let Sherlock retrieve his shoes and put them on his feet. His coat was draped around his shoulders and John felt Sherlock lifting him back off the sofa. This time, however, John's shoes made his feet too heavy to lift and John, already exhausted, simply crumpled in Sherlock's arms and blacked out.
"Now look what you've done," Jenn said smugly. Sherlock glared at her.
"What I've done? You're the moron who hasn't brought him to hospital yet. I would have been here sooner if it wasn't for Scotland Yard's stupid chain of custody rule."
"Scotland Yard? Are you a Cop?"
"Consulting Detective." Sherlock grunted as he lifted John's dead weight. "Get the door."
Jenn didn't move.
"Before I drop him and give him a concussion would be nice," Sherlock said. "He really likes you but I'm not sure he'd appreciate hearing how you just stood by and watched me lug him to hospital."
Jenn sighed.
"Fine, but tell him not to bother calling me again."
She opened the door for Sherlock and then closed it as soon as he was through the door. Sherlock was left with John in the empty corridor. He sighed, glancing at John's face.
"This is why I don't date." He muttered, shifting John's weight.
Yes, many of you have said something odd is going on. How right you are. More to come soon! Reviews, as always, welcome and appreciated.