AN: Credit goes to Blueskies23 and Tempus Rose for this chapter. Thank you for your suggestions!
Sherlock sits on the couch in Lestrade's office, his long legs have been brought close to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, his head is resting against his legs, refusing to let his back touch the couch, his eyes are closed, and his breathing controlled as he waits for the older man to return. He tries hard not to think about the reason he's sitting there, but the constant pounding of his head serves to be a reminder.
Sherlock never likes going to the bank on a Saturday. It's noisy, overcrowded, takes far longer than it's worth, and their lights are always horribly bright. The only reason he visited one today is because he has no intention of being evicted.
"You are to pay me the rent by five o'clock today, Mr. Holmes, or you will find yourself sleeping in the streets before today ends."
Sherlock had only nodded and grumbled. His landlord wouldn't listen to him when he asked for more time, he was feeling the starts of a migraine (brought on by stress of the recent case), going to the bank, and on a Saturday, was going to be horrendous. It then proved to be torturous, two women had a baby with them, two men had their three year old child with them, and one other woman had decided to bring her three misbehaving children with her. Why must parents always insist on taking their children with them to the bank? It is only a horrible idea, their screams and mischievous laughter and constant whining only made his head feel worse.
It didn't stop there either. One man had decided he had waited long enough, pulled a gun out and forced everyone to the ground. While, lying down did help Sherlock stop feeling so nauseous, it didn't help the situation at all. People started to scream and panic, the bank alarms were screeching in his ears for seven minutes until they were finally turned off, and he had to resist the urge to cry out in pain when the gun was fired at the ceiling. Of course. The migraine, the lights, the screaming, the hostage situation, of course that was going to happen the day Sherlock needs to pay the rent.
It's because of this that Sherlock now sits curled up on Lestrade's couch at five fifty-seven, desperately trying hard not to show his pain. He's not doing too well though; he grimaces in pain and shifts about slightly. His eyes are burning as he fights to keep the tears at bay, he's down at Scotland Yard, he isn't going to show his pain, he isn't going to cry, he isn't going to do anything like that at all. He doesn't want anyone to see how weak he is and how he can't handle a simple little headache. He bites down on his lip as the feeling of nausea builds up on him. Nope, he isn't going to vomit, not again, he's already done so once today and it was on the criminals at the bank (he got a harsh backhand slap for that); he isn't going to vomit again.
Sergeant Donovan sits at her desk writing up the report about the bank situation, it isn't their case, but as they were at the scene first, they still need to write their reports about the situation. She looks up from her computer and sees Detective Inspector Lestrade quickly come over.
"Sergeant Donovan," he says, "I need to see the Superintendent, I've got Sherlock in my office, can I just ask you to keep an eye on him. Only to make sure that he doesn't get up to anything. Not that he could in his condition." He mumbles to himself. "But just keep a close eye on him and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. Also, try not to touch him. And if a man in an expensive suit, carrying an umbrella comes in, do not antagonise him."
Donovan nods but frowns not understanding why he wants her to babysit the man.
"Thank you." Lestrade says before quickly dashing off.
Donovan frowns as she walks away from her desk. She doesn't understand why her boss wants her to babysit the man, he's a full grown adult that should be able to take care of himself, she shouldn't be asked to babysit him. She isn't going to question his orders though, Detective Inspector Lestrade can terminate the transfer and send her back to the hell hole that was her previous job, and she certainly doesn't want that to happen.
She opens the door, turning the light on when she realises how dark it is. Why are the lights off anyway? A pained moan takes her by surprise and she jumps slightly.
"Turn the lights off." Sherlock grumbles.
Donovan looks over at the lump on the couch and ignores him.
"If I have to babysit you, Holmes, then I would prefer having the lights on." She replies in contempt, "As much as I'd rather not, I will at least be able to see what you're doing."
Donovan walks through the office, looking around for a while as she sits down on one of the chairs opposite Lestrade's desk.
"So Lestrade has you babysitting me?" Sherlock mumbles, "I don't see why, it's not like I'm going to do anything."
Donovan watches Sherlock carefully, there is something not right with him, she can tell. He's trembling, but it isn't cold in the office, and there's no way he can be cold with that big coat of his. He hasn't opened his eyes to look at her; he almost appears to be huddled in on himself – sitting forward on his seat with his legs brought close to his body and his chin sitting on his knees. She frowns slightly, Sherlock doesn't seem well but she isn't about to voice her concern.
"Where is Lestrade anyway?" Sherlock asks.
"He's with the Superintendent, probably talking about the bank robbery and how we weren't supposed to be there." She finishes accusingly.
"If I hadn't called him, then it would likely to still be happening with a few dead or injured hostages." Sherlock replies condescendingly.
"You should have called the police. Robberies have nothing to do with us." She replies.
"Lestrade is and was quicker than them."
"We are homicide detectives, we don't handle robberies." Donovan points out.
"Yet he still came." Sherlock replies. "Will you just turn the lights off?!" He almost shouts.
Donovan jerks back a bit in surprise but quickly recovers. "I don't see why you want them off. I'd rather-"
Sherlock interrupts her, "Just turn them off, Donovan!"
Donovan rolls her eyes at him and goes to turn them off. The darkness doesn't make much difference and she can still see where everything is. She's about to voice an insult but stops when Sherlock dramatically throws himself forward to vomit in the bin beside the couch. She stands there in shock as she watches him throw up into the bin. He isn't exactly vomiting, more dry heaving. Donovan winces at the force of them as she stands there feeling awkwardly. Normally, if this were a witness who was vomiting because of something they'd seen, she would reassure them, let them know that everything's going to be okay, but this is Holmes. Holmes isn't normal, he shouldn't be dry heaving into some waste bin, he shouldn't be acting this way, and more importantly, she shouldn't be babysitting him!
"Are you okay?" She asks once he finishes.
"I'm fine, just fine." He replies, his voice hoarse.
Donovan's eyes widen at his response. He just vomited into a bin and is claiming to be fine? "Go home, Holmes. Nobody wants your illness." She says. Goodness knows she doesn't, she's recently had a bad case of flu, she certainly doesn't want to catch whatever Holmes has got.
Sherlock ignores her and asks something else, "When will Lestrade return?"
"I don't know. Why do you need to know?" she replies, watching as he tries to stand.
Sherlock wavers unsteadily on his feet and slowly walks towards the door. Donovan goes to block his way.
"You're not going out there." She says sternly, crossing her arms as she does so.
"Why not?" Sherlock asks sounding somewhat annoyed, stopping a few steps in front of her.
"For one, the Inspector wants you to stay in here. You're sick too; nobody wants to fall ill because of you. And I'm not letting you leave." Now that he's close to her she can really look at him. His eyes aren't open properly – they're half-closed, almost as if he's falling asleep – there's sweat on his forehead, and she can definitely see the tremble in his shoulders. "Why are you here anyway? You're clearly ill."
"Ask Lestrade," Sherlock grumbles, "he seems determined to stop me from leaving."
Donovan frowns; she doesn't understand why the Inspector would stop Holmes from going home especially as he's ill. She's seen the two together, he would have sent Sherlock home long before now if he'd arrived at a crime scene ill. She sees Sherlock sway on his feet, and on instinct, Donovan reaches her hands out to stop him from falling. There's a strangled cry of pain, then her hands are being shoved away. It's at that point she remembers what Lestrade had told her.
"Try not to touch him."
"What is wrong with you?" She cries angrily, annoyed that her attempts to help have been disregarded.
"Nothing you need to know about." Sherlock replies, breathing heavily with his eyes closed tightly.
The door behind her opens unexpectedly, Donovan takes a step forward but keeps her eyes trained on Holmes. He's holding an arm up to shield his eyes from the onset of light; she can see he's in pain and that the trembling has definitely gotten worse.
"Sally, what's going on?"
"Oh, Anderson, what are you doing here?" Sherlock moans.
Donovan frowns at Sherlock, his voice sounds a lot stronger now than it did before, is he faking it?
"I work here," Anderson replies offended, "unlike some people."
"If you were any good at your job then Lestrade wouldn't need to call me." Sherlock retorts.
Donovan looks at Sherlock closely, there's definitely something wrong with him, but she can see he's trying to hide it; he's in control of his body.
"Oh, please, Lestrade doesn't call you for the help."
"Stop it! Shut up, you two!" Donovan shouts, watching Sherlock try his best to hide the obvious flinch. "Holmes, you are going to sit back down and wait for the Inspector to return before you can leave!" Donovan orders, when Sherlock doesn't move she tries again, "Now!"
Donovan watches satisfied as Sherlock grumbles and walks back over to the settee to sit down. Then she turns to Anderson.
"If you're just going to cause arguments then you can leave."
"He started it." Anderson grumbles not once moving from his spot in the doorway.
Donovan glares at him, she doesn't wait for him to leave, she wanders over to Sherlock who's decided to curl up again on it, and crouches down beside him.
"What is wrong with you?" She asks, trying to get a good look at his face through his arms.
"Why do you care?" Sherlock asks, failing to hide the slight tremble in his voce.
"I don't." Donovan says, because she really doesn't, "I just want to know what is wrong with you and if it's contagious." They can't have the whole Yard falling ill because Holmes decided to spread his germs.
"He's got flu. Just leave him alone, Sally." Anderson grumbles, "I'm sure you don't want to catch it again."
Donovan ignores him, he may have flu, but she wants to hear it from the man himself.
"It's not flu." Sherlock forces out, "It's also not contagious."
Donovan watches him, he's losing control of his body – the tremble in his shoulders, the tightness of his voice, the tightly clenched hands as he slowly loses control – this isn't flu.
"Are you going to tell me what it is?" She almost feels as if she's trying to talk a victim out of their shell.
There's a pause before a reply, "Why should I? You can't do anything to help."
"Just leave him alone, Sally." Anderson says loudly.
Sally ignores him, her attention remaining on the clearly ill man in front of her.
"If you weren't such an idiot, Anderson, you will know she is only trying to do her job!" Sherlock shouts removing his head from his arms and quickly jumping up to stand. "I can't possibly understand why because I am fully capable of taking care of myself!"
Donovan stands up, unconsciously stamping her foot in anger. "You think I want to watch you?" She shouts, "I'm only here because Inspector Lestrade asked me to!"
"Then leave!" Sherlock shouts, sweat trickling down the side of his face, "Nobody here is stopping you! I don't want you here."
"Don't talk to Sally that way!" Anderson growls out, quickly moving to stand by Donovan's side.
"Why are you still here, Anderson?" Sherlock grinds out through clenched teeth, "I believe you have a job to do, a job you're not good at, but you still have one or are you really that stupid you don't remember?"
"At least I have an actual job, I'm not some freak like you who's only here because he gets off on dead bodies."
Donovan's mouth drops as she looks at Anderson, she looks back at Sherlock, about to say something when someone else interrupts them.
"What's going on in here? Anderson, why aren't you down in forensics?"
Anderson shuffles side to side on his feet before quickly leaving the room.
"I told you I don't need a babysitter, Lestrade!" Sherlock moans almost childishly.
Lestrade walks towards them, "If I had just left you on your own where would you be right now?" Lestrade doesn't wait for a response before he continues, "You'd likely be passed out in some filthy alley. At least with Sergeant Donovan here you couldn't leave."
"I almost did." Sherlock mumbles, swaying on his feet slightly.
Lestrade frowns, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist to lower him back down on the settee. Donovan feels as if she's intruding in a private moment between the pair.
"But Sergeant Donovan stopped you."
Sherlock scoffs, "If my transport wasn't as weak as it is now then she'd never have succeeded."
"A migraine doesn't make you weak, Sherlock."
Donovan contemplates what she just heard. A migraine? Sherlock Holmes brought down by a migraine? A bit dramatic for a migraine, that's for sure.
Donovan chooses that moment to leave, so she walks away slowly and quietly hoping neither man notices her disappearance. As soon as she closes the door behind her, she's stopped by a man in an expensive suit while carrying an umbrella.
"Sergeant Donovan," he says, "I trust this is Detective Inspector Lestrade's office."
"Yes it is." Donovan replies, now acting her proper professional self, "May I ask why you're here?"
The man smiles tightly, "The Inspector called me in to pick up my little brother. Not that he needed to, I was going to arrive regardless of what either man had said." The man then lowers his voice and the tight smile vanishes, "If I ever find out you intentionally harmed Sherlock, even in his condition, then I shall ensure that you will have trouble finding a job in England."
Donovan's mouth opens in shock, "Are you threatening me?"
"Do not make me act upon it." He says before stepping around her to enter Lestrade's office.
AN: This chapter took forever because I struggled so much with this it is unbelievable and I'm still not satisfied with it.
I keep receiving comments about the whole "Sunshine" thing that Lestrade calls Sherlock in Chapter three, so allow me to explain it: being a Sherstrade fan and a Paternal!Lestrade fan, I believe that Lestrade would call Sherlock "Sunshine" at certain points in his life. In chapter three it was mostly written in as encouragement and reassurance. I've seen "Sunshine" being written into many Sherstrade and Paternal!Lestrade fics, I simply decided to write it into mine. If you really wish it, then the next chapter will be the explanation chapter or I can remove it from chapter three and upcoming chapters. Your choice.
I hope you enjoyed this! Have a nice day!
~Steffii