As Kitty dozed softly in the armchair Joan resumed checking Sherlock's fever. Even after four hours the thermometer continued to read '102.1'. Although his fever hadn't increased in degree she was worried that it wasn't decreasing either; a fever remaining static confirmed her suspicion of infection. Gently Joan put her hand on his chest to feel how labored his breaths were becoming.

She sighed quietly and removed the now warm compresses from Sherlock's body, they would need to be frozen again.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text message. She checked the device as she placed the compresses back into the freezer for future use. It was a message from Detective Marcus Bell. 'Are you busy? I have a case I'd like you to take a look at.'

Although she'd love to work on solving a case and not babysitting a stubborn man-child, she had to decline the offer. 'Busy today. I'll take a look tomorrow.'

Kitty walked into the kitchen, her eye shadow that had been applied yesterday was wearing thin and smudged down her pale face. "You rest now, I'll keep an eye on Sherlock."

"Are you sure? If you still need to sleep I can-"

"I'm fine." She put her hand up to stop Joan's sentence. "It's your turn to rest."

Joan forced a smile and accepted Kitty's answer. She walked into the study and curled herself up in the orange chair to rest, leaving her phone on the small table next to the chair. As she closed her eyes she could hear Kitty walking back into the room and smelled the cup of warm tea that Kitty had brewed. Within a few minutes Joan had managed to drift off to a light and much desired slumber.

Two hours had passed before Joan was startled awake by Kitty's frantic urging. "Joan! Wake up!"

Joan bolted upright in the chair and focused on Kitty. She saw the small woman trying to keep Sherlock's arms restrained as he began lashing out at the vivid nightmare that was plaguing his sleep. "Get back! Don't!" His voice was full of fear; an emotional reaction neither Joan or Kitty had ever seen him exhibit.

Worried that Sherlock might be having a seizure Joan assisted Kitty in holding Sherlock down on the sofa. "Sherlock! Sherlock?" Joan struggled to gain his attention.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly opened and his fit ended. He was panting quickly trying to catch his breath as he looked through his bloodshot, glassy hazel eyes to focus on Joan and Kitty's faces. "Watson? Kitty? What has happened?"

Kitty answered flatly. "You were having a nightmare and tried to fight off the boogeyman in your sleep."

Joan put her hand to his forehead again. "You're burning up! Let us take you-"

"No! No please, I beg of you." Sherlock closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves. "I do not want to be placed under the microscope of overeager interns, or doctors seeking grants, or burned out nurses who secretly resent their patients and fantasize over their potential demise."

"Okay, okay." Joan could see in his eyes that Sherlock wasn't being stubborn, he just didn't want to go a place that resembled rehab. "You can stay here, but you have to let us help you."

"Thank you Watson. Kitty."

"Come on, you need to sit in an ice bath." Joan tried to pull Sherlock up from the sofa but he was too heavy to move by herself. Kitty leaned down and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, while Joan did the same with his other arm.

The two women were able to half carry, half drag Sherlock's weak body out of the study, up the stairs and into the bathroom. "Okay, almost there." Joan proceeded to draw the cool bathwater as Kitty helped him sit on the floor and lean against the wall. "Strip down and sit in the tub for at least an hour."

"Strip?" Sherlock gave her an odd look. "Might it be too much to ask for some privacy?"

"Fine." Joan obliged while she and Kitty walked out of the bathroom. "But don't lock the door!"

"Very well." Alone in the bathroom Sherlock managed to walk over to the tub and sit on the edge. He slowly removed his clothes with a grimace, he hated the cold.

Joan and Kitty walked into the hallway and stood outside the closed bathroom door. Kitty gave Joan a look of absolute of exhaustion. "Tell me, are things always this interesting and fun with Sherlock?"

"Not always."

"How fortunate." Kitty crossed her arms as she studied Joan's face.

"Look, if he ever asks you to patch him up after a stab wound or, I don't know, pull a bullet out of his shoulder; call me."

"I take it from your tone that you are speaking from past experience?"

"Yeah. I once found him bleeding in the study and he talked me into stitching him up after he'd been shot."

"No hospital?"

"No."

"I see a pattern of behavior emerging. I'm not too keen on this idea."

...to be continued...