For Mam'zelleCombeferre, who "hinted" awhile back at a sick fic. My most heartfelt thanks to you for your support and friendship! You're so encouraging to me!! :D

Hope it's what you wanted, but if not, don't be afraid to say so and I'll gladly do another…I never get tired of writing Sherlock Holmes! *grin*

BTW, Zelle…Lonan and Adam say hello. I'm peculiar, I know. *wink*

Fever

Part One

I fell back into my chair as I tried to rise from my desk, wincing as it jarred my horribly aching head.

As I waited for the room to cease its spinning, I rested my clammy forehead in my hand.

With a sigh, I realized that I should have to tell Holmes that I could not go with him on his latest case to Sussex. Even if it was uneventful and lacked danger (such things rarely are and do with Sherlock Holmes), I still would not be able to stay vertical long enough to make it down the seventeen steps to the cab, much less all the way to Sussex and feel well to assist in the solving of a case.

He would not be pleased, of this I was certain. For three days, he'd been planning this journey, and now this dreadful virus would be the undoing of it - at least, as far as my involvement was concerned.

Just as my abnormally slow brain was trying to formulate a way to break the news without wounding his feelings, the door to our shared sitting room swung open and in burst the detective himself.

"I say, Watson," he said in his booming tone that was, at present, saturated with feverish energy, "we must hurry if we are to catch the train to-night! I have the details of our case here" - he tossed a file of papers onto the settee - "and so we shall undoubtedly have all the information we need. Well, come along, my dear fellow! The train leaves in exactly twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds, according to the mantle clock. Judging the distance and speed of the hansom, we should be there in just enough time. Good heavens, man - haven't you even brought your bags down yet?"

He strode into his room to retrieve his own luggage.

"You know, Holmes," said I with some crossness as he tossed a large, quite heavy suitcase aimlessly into the sitting room, wincing at the pain it caused my head when it collided with the floor, "perhaps if you'd been back before now we would have been able to catch an earlier train, or at least not have to rush for this one."

"I needed to meet with the client to get the particulars of the case, Watson," he responded matter-of-factly, his mood too pleasant for him to truly get annoyed at my comment.

I merely sighed, too exhaustedly ill to reply, and shut my eyes against my palm, irritated when my hand began trembling.

When Holmes reentered the room, I heard rather than saw him as he cried, "Watson! You're not even dressed yet!"

"Holmes, I…"

"I told you the time by which you were supposed to be prepared!"

"Holmes, I didn't…:"

"Why the blazes are you still sitting at your desk? We haven't time for delay!"

"Holmes, I am not going!" I shouted, lurching from the chair in an effort to break through his tirade.

My swift rise from my seat, however, was apparently not my grandest plan, for I then had to grope for the desk as a wave of dizziness assaulted me; without warning, I felt my knees suddenly buckle, and when the gray fog at last faded, I found myself sitting in my chair by the fire, staring up into two excited, gray orbs.

"Watson! For heaven's sake, man, answer me!"

"Holmes," I groaned, shutting my eyes against the pain, "please do stop shouting. My head is pounding enough already, without your encouraging it."

He sighed, his tensed, thin shoulders relaxing. When he spoke again, his voice was the cool, hard monotone of usual: "Good Lord, Watson. I can feel the heat radiating off of you. Why did you not tell me you were unwell?"

"Perhaps I would have, if you had let me get a word in edgewise," I told him only half-seriously, irritated at the scratchy hoarseness in my throat.

He winced. "I'm dreadfully sorry, old fellow. Had I realized…"

"You're forgiven, old friend," I smiled shakily at him.

"What is your diagnosis, Doctor?" In one swift movement, he had pulled the afghan from the back of the settee and spread it over me lightly.

"It is the virus I have been treating for a week now, I'm sure," I answered through a sigh as I rubbed my eyes - the talking was making my head ache worse. "I knew I was bound to get it eventually. I thought that if I took a bit of medicine I might be able to accompany you to Sussex, but I don't feel it is possible. I'm terribly sorry, old fellow," I added sincerely, turning my head to meet his eyes.

I truly was, for I knew if I did not accompany him, he would be forced to take the train alone. Sherlock Holmes detests being away from his familiar environment, kept from his books and his chemicals. I always wish to escort him when a case took him abroad, for I knew my presence could be at least a small bit of cheer until his return to Baker Street.

He sighed deeply. "It is a most inopportune predicament," he agreed solemnly, then he gave me a small, kind smile. "Nonetheless, I shall manage, if I must. How high is your temperature, Watson? You look quite flushed, I must say."

"I'm not sure," I admitted, shifting uncomfortably as a wave of vertigo suddenly washed over me.

Holmes' brow furrowed as a shameful groan escaped my lips. The tips of his cool fingers suddenly appeared on my forehead and I heard him suck in a sharp breath.

"Watson, you are quite ill."

"Striking…bit of deduction, Holmes," I murmured weakly, a chill going through me mid-sentence.

I did not even realize Holmes had moved to fetch my medical bag until I felt him place the thermometer beneath my tongue. (1)

"102, Watson," he murmured gravely. "I may not be a medical man such as yourself, but I do not believe that is a good sign at all."

"There is no danger," I mumbled, "until it reaches 105, at the least, Holmes."

At that moment, the mantle clock announced with three tolls the arrival of a new hour.

I started with alarm. "Holmes, you must hurry or you'll miss the train!" I had barely spoken aloud the entire sentence before a sudden fit of deep, painful coughing erupted from my chest, startling even myself.

"Easy, Watson," he soothed, pushing my shoulders back against the cushioned chair. "Are you certain you'll be all right alone? With Mrs. Hudson gone to visit relatives…"

"I shall be fine, Holmes," I answered. In truth I felt quite loathing of the next two to three days of illness spent alone, but I was in no way willing to request his staying. This was firstly for his own good; he would be quite miserable over the giving up of a case to remain with a sick man. It was also for mine, however, for I knew the disappointment was sure to bring about a depression and I would surely not be able to bear a fortnight or longer of Black Fit, illness or no illness.

"Are you certain?" he pressed doubtfully as he rose to his feet.

I nodded reassuringly, immediately regretting it when my entire skull protested loudly. "Go on, old man. Enjoy your puzzles and mind games. I shall be all right for a few days."

He inhaled a deep breath and his voice returned to its previous briskness, "Very well, then. Goodbye, my dear friend, and I shall see you in exactly two and a half days, if I have calculated this case correctly. I hope that by then you are back to yourself, my dear Watson."

"I'm confident I will be, Holmes," I answered, my voice barely managing croak out the words.

He lifted his bags and just one short moment later, I heard him hailing a cab from the street.

Wearily, I settled back, nestling beneath the afghan, and tried to rest despite the aching of every muscle.

TBC…


I know, it's not Simple Gifts, *grin*, but did anyone like the first part? More to come soon!

(1) That is how they did it back then, too, right?? That's probably a silly question, but I just want to be sure. :)