Sherlock slowly stumbled out of the bathroom, bracing himself with his arm against the doorframe to keep himself from falling face first onto the floor. He managed to redress himself from the waist down, he was too tried to put on his sweat stained shirt, much to Joan's relief. She watched him standing in the doorway for a few seconds before speaking up.

"Do you need some help?"

"Not at all Watson." His voice was low and without emotion. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his arm. "I'm merely pacing myself."

"Pacing? To walk down the hall?"

"One does not simply walk down a hall Watson, one travels from end of the brownstone to the opposite."

"Uh-huh." She was far from convinced. "Come on, let's go." She took his free arm and wrapped it around her shoulder as she guided him in small steps from the bathroom doorway to his bedroom. As his friend she wanted to see him get well, as a doctor she wanted to see him getting medical treatment. His pale face and clumsy movements convinced her the probable lung infection was in fact severe.

Walking into Sherlock's bedroom she released his arm from her shoulder and allowed him to walk the rest of the short distance to his (messy) bed. He placed his left hand on the mattress while his right hand covered his eyes. The headache had returned with a vengeance and caused intense pain that focused itself in the center of his forehead.

"Sherlock?" Joan took immediate notice of sudden discomfort.

"It's fine Watson. Only a headache." He lied through his gritted teeth as he attempted to deny his own excruciating ordeal.

"Do you want some aspirin?"

"No. I just require rest." He leaned down and rolled his body onto the bed and pulled the covers up and over his head, shielding his eyes from offending light that seeped in through the window.

"Okay." She accepted his answer out of respect but she was still worried that he could be much sicker than he was letting on. "I'm going back to my apartment, but you can always text me if you need anything."

Sherlock didn't answer. He slowed his breathing in attempt to soothe the throbbing pain in his head that was synchronized with his heartbeat. Although he didn't want Joan to go, he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stay.

Kitty was sitting in the study mindlessly thumbing through a cold case file and sipping at her cooled tea as Joan walked down the staircase. She eyed her predecessor curiously as Joan reached for the doorknob of the large doorway.

"Is he alright?" Kitty asked gently, not wanting to unintentionally stir up trouble.

"Yeah, he's sleeping. He still looks pale and has a headache, but he hasn't been coughing too much lately, so I think he'll rest through the night pretty well."

"You won't be staying?"

"No." Joan gave Kitty puzzled look. "Why do you ask?"

"You're a doctor. Doctor's tend to stay with the ill, not leave them prey to their own vices."

"He won't be left alone, he has you."

Kitty closed the case file and stared at Joan. "You have got to be kidding."

"No." Joan double-checked her phone before looking back to Kitty. "You have the same instincts as Sherlock, and since you're still healthy you'll know if he gets worse before he does."

"He won't listen."

"No, probably not. But I will." On that last note Joan left the brownstone leaving Kitty alone to tend to Sherlock.

...to be continued...

Author's Note: Short chapter, sorry. Next one should be longer and eventful. Thanks for reading!