Just What the Doctor Ordered

The cry of seagulls echoed off the rocks, mingling with the crashing waves. A sandy beach sprawled beneath his feet. As his eyes traveled upward, the sand turned to majestic cliffs and then to grass. This place was desolate, with nothing around save a few white cottages dotting the green hillside. Sherlock took a deep breath, almost tasting the salty air.

Was he dead?

No, he was in Cornwall. Poldhu Bay, to be exact.

"I still don't see why you had to drag me all the way out here. Seems like a bit of a long trip to get me to sit down and drink my tea, don't you think?" he asked John, who was standing next to him, hands in his pockets.

"You need to rest and let your 'transport' recover, and that means no cases," explained John as they continued strolling down the shoreline.

"Stupid rule," Sherlock muttered.

"…and as you proved by your 'episode' in London-"

"Don't call it an 'episode;' that makes me sound like a primary school kid who soiled their trousers!"

"It's not my fault that you were acting like a primary school kid!" He threw his hands in the air.

"But I didn't soil my trousers!"

"Mrs. Hudson and I had to carry you up the stairs because you passed out. I think that's a bit worse."

"Depends on your priorities."

John rolled his eyes. "The point is, you obviously can't say 'no' to an interesting case. Here, you can't possibly say 'yes.' There's no Lestrade, no NSY, no murders."

"So, your idea of recovery is boring me to death? At least that would be a novel method of murder…"

"It's not that boring here! I picked a place you'd like. Plenty of ancient civilizations and shipwrecks to keep you occupied."

"I admit that it's not the worst place in the world. It's close to worst, but-"

"Oh, shut up!" John laughed and Sherlock followed suit, but his deep chuckle turned into several harsh coughs.

John patted his friend on the back. "Well, I think you've had enough fresh air for now. Let's head back to the cottage. After all, Mycroft was kind enough to commandeer it for us." They walked up to where their rental car was parked.

"Kind?" scoffed Sherlock. "You know as well as I do that he just likes commandeering things!"

"Is it really that hard to believe that your brother cares about you?"

"It is not only hard, but it would be stupid to believe that, because he doesn't."

John was unconvinced, but let the matter drop. Climbing into the car, they rode the short distance to the little white cottage.

JWJWJW

"Drink your tea."

"I am." Sherlock rolled his eyes, bringing the steaming mug to his mouth. He was sitting on an overstuffed armchair in front of the telly. The news was on, creating a gentle murmur in the background. "Why is it that when anyone else says the words, 'drink your tea,' they sound motherly, but when you say them, they sound threatening?"

"The combination of being in the army and having to live with a stubborn flat mate." He commented from the other room. He bustled around the small kitchen, searching through the shelves for something for dinner. Mycroft had been nice enough to make sure the kitchen was stocked. "Does pasta sound good?"

Sherlock gave a noncommittal grunt.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes, John, that sounds lovely!'" He threw a box of pasta into a pot of boiling water on the stove. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 2000 hours. Getting late, then.

As the pasta bubbled merrily, he looked out the window at the blackness, too dark to see any of the bay. Suddenly, the moon sliced through the clouds, illuminating the inky waters. By this eerie light, John could see a figure walking along the other side of the bay.

"Who could that be?" he wondered aloud. Just as suddenly as it had come, the moonlight was snuffed out by clouds again, and the landscape was shrouded in darkness.

The timer for the pasta rang, bringing John's mind back to the warm kitchen. Rummaging around in drawer after drawer, he found a big spoon and dished out the noodles onto two plates.

Carefully, he carried them into the homey living room. The news was still on, but obviously unheard by the man in the armchair. Sherlock was slumped in the chair, snoring quietly.

John smiled. Setting down the steaming plates, he placed a hand on his friend's forehead. Still warmer than he'd like, but much better than that morning. Yes, this trip was just what Sherlock needed. Plenty of rest, plenty of food, and, above all, no cases.

Just what the doctor ordered.

JWJWJW

First of all, I want to say a HUGE thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews for this story! You guys are amazing!

Also, sorry that this chapter's a bit slow, but the action should pick up soon! I'm not sure when the next chapter will come (exams are coming up), but I will try my very best to get it done soon. Thanks again for all your support!

~JillianWatson1058