Chapter Five

An hour later, Sherlock had not shown up. It was now just after 6 o'clock, and John expected him to walk through the door any second. At 7o'clock he realised that he might not have misheard that old lady. His phone was still silent, no sign of life from Sherlock, but if that old woman had actually spoken to him, he was around, somewhere. She had delivered a message, and that message was intended for him to calm him down and stay out of whatever was going on. He got the message.

Just as he dialled Lestrade's number to inform him of the news, his phone rang. For one second he prayed that it would be Sherlock, but very soon he realised that is was Sarah calling. "Fuck." He grunted at the phone. She had promised to come over with soup, and he hadn't even bothered calling her back to tell her how he was.

"Sarah." He said, trying to sound somewhat surprised by her call.

"Hello John. Why aren't you at home?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm here, and your landlady just came back from her trip and she let me in, but nobody's home."

And here we go, he thought. "Sarah, I apologise. I wasn't feeling very well today and..."

"Yes, so I've been told, but where are you? Are you at the doctor's? I could have taken a look at you."

"No, no, I don't want to be your patient."

"Really now, you wouldn't be my patient. I thought that's what girlfriends do, you know. They care for their sick boyfriends and if they happen to be doctors, they might make use of their knowledge to help their...boyfriend."

John smiled, despite feeling guilty. "You almost said patient," he pointed out.

"I might have. Are you on your way home?"

"Yes, I'm taking a cab, I'll be down in twenty minutes." He would be faster if he walked, but the ride would give him time to think.

"Good, see you then."

"Bye Sarah."

"Bye John."

He felt awful for not telling her the truth, but she had offered him the easy way out and he was glad to take it. A part of his mind told him that it was unfair to her and not exactly boyfriend behaviour, but he had been on edge and worried for the past few hours he didn't want to think about what was moralistic and what wasn't.

He walked back north, passing the plaque again. Looking up at it he wondered if Sherlock would ever get one for his service to mankind. Grinning, he remembered him refusing his brother's suggestion of a knighthood adamantly.

Sherlock seemed to think in similar patterns as Darwin had, always wanting to know more, always inquiring further, burying himself in his cases until neither sleep nor food would be acceptable before they were solved. And there had been the issue with music, a half-hearted justification for his violin playing in the middle of the night "Do you know what Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at."

Taking a left towards Tottenham Court Road he thought of an ailment that would justify a doctor's appointment, but that wouldn't be identified as false by Sarah.

As he stopped a taxi he found the perfect explanation. He had been to Harley Street, seeing a physiotherapist for his shoulder. Sarah knew that his limping had only been psychosomatic, but his shoulder, now that was a real scar, and scars hurt sometimes and caused headaches and general indisposition. Perfect!

When he arrived home, he hoped that Sherlock might be sitting on the couch, regarding Sarah with a look that let her know that he knew everything about her, but was civil enough not to say anything. He knew she wasn't particularly fond of him, especially since he happened to accidentally show up at their dates on a disturbingly regular basis.

But it was her sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand and a wide smile on her face. "Finally! I thought they had kidnapped you or that Mr Holmes had forced you to help him with one of his strange adventures. Well, it would be a kind of kidnapping anyway, I suppose."

He chuckled. "It's only kidnapping if you leave a ransom note, right?"

"Come here, John." She pulled him down on the sofa, looking at him, checking for obvious signs of illness. "Where does it hurt?" she asked, clearly speaking to her patient, and not her boyfriend.

"I felt awful last night, and then all morning and I just slept for a really long time and when I couldn't lie down anymore, I decided to see the physiotherapist."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yes. I mean, a bit, but I think I want to go and lie down again. He gave me a shot in the shoulder and I feel really sleepy now."

She smiled. "Well, I'll warm up the soup and then tuck you in, okay?"

He nodded, and as soon as she had stood up he walked over to his armchair and shook up the Union Jack pillow, but instead of sitting on it, he wrapped his arms around it like he had when he was a child. It comforted him, and he wondered why he needed comfort when his girlfriend was here to deliver exactly that. He hadn't even felt like kissing her. It was almost as if by pretending to feel unwell, he was really beginning to feel unwell.

Sarah came back, raising an eyebrow at him, but not saying anything. She handed him a cup of tea and then shook her head. "You should take off tomorrow as well, you do look like you could use a break."

"Can you manage?"

She smiled. "Well, I hate not to have you there to chat me up in between patients, but I think I can, yes."

"Thank you, Sarah."

He sounded sad, even to his own ears. He couldn't quite explain why, but he had the distinct feeling that he did not deserve her love and attention.

"Are you okay, John?"

He shrugged, not knowing what to answer her. Thankfully, the soup started to boil and she hurried back into the kitchen to stir it. Eventually she brought him a bowl and a spoon, after having encountered several dead cockroaches in a jar right next to the soup bowls. Her gasp told him that even she had gotten used to these things, having screamed and dropped three dinner plates on her first introduction to the ingredients of their cupboard.

"Thanks." He said, starting to eat slowly.

"Do you want me to leave you, so you can get some rest?" She sounded like she knew the answer already.

"Oh, I don't mind." Perfectly safe. He wouldn't be the one suggesting for her to leave and she could do what she wanted. Again, he knew that he was being unfair, but he was supposedly ill, so she wouldn't take it personally, she was, after all, a doctor familiar with stubborn patients. But why was he planning his answers strategically. With her, of all people, he should not have to be careful.

"Right." She looked at him in a way that made it clear that she wasn't satisfied with his answer, but she did not ask again. "I will tell Mrs Hudson that you're up here, so she can check up on you." She put on her coat. "Oh, and from doctor to patient, you should get more sleep. Don't get too involved in his work, you have your own job and your own life, you don't need to split yourself into two. That's not healthy."

He tried to smile, but wasn't sure whether he succeeded. Things were definitely not the way they had been two days ago.

"Good bye, John, get better soon."

"Thanks love."

He breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her.