Sherlock Age: 24
Mycroft paces back and forth. Why does he always show up when I least want him to? Because he's a git, that's why. I lean back in my chair and run my bow over the violin strings. The noise produced makes him flinch. I smile slyly.
"Sherlock. I really do need your help."
"How cliché Mycroft. When do you ever not need my help." He frowns at me,
"When I don't."
"Very nice." He sighs.
"Are you going to listen or not?"
"I'm going to say, NO, but you're going to tell me anyway I suspect."
"Glad we have an understanding."
"Is it?"
"Now listen-" I cut him off with more horrible noises from the violin on my shoulder. Mycroft frowns again, "As I was saying-"
"Don't bother."
"What?" I get up, I'm not feeling good. I don't want to do anything today. I think I might have overworked myself. Maybe a nice nap. Yeah. That sounds... Horrible actually. What's wrong with you Sherlock? I head to the kitchen of my small flat,
"Don't bother telling me anything. I don't want to leave the flat today. I'm just going to stay here, with a blanket, and shout at the telly." I mumble mostly to myself before putting the kettle on. Something is off. Really off. Maybe it's my lungs. They don't feel fine at all. I start coughing. Stop it Sherlock. You can't get bloody sick! You're Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft puts his hand on my shoulder and I shrug him off, I don't need this.
"Sherlock, it's ninety degrees in here." I sit down on the floor,
"It feels like it's freezing." It's cold on the floor. I'm not feeling good at all. I can't breathe now. I cough, mucus. My head hurts so bad. I can't breathe. My lungs. Oh God. I think I might be dying. I look up at Mycroft who puts a hand on my shoulder,
"Are you okay?" I put my head in my hands, I don't feel fine, say it though Sherlock,
"I'm fine, just feeling a bit off. Leave now?" He sighs and starts for the door. The kettle whistles and I stand up. He turns to look at me,
"Call me if anything happens?" I snort, as if. I don't need him. I head for the kitchen, feeling the Earth tilt. I stumble. What the Hell? What's happening? The floor comes up to greet me, and before I know what's happening, Mycroft is leaning over me, looking concerned. I can't say anything. My ears are pounding and I can't feel anything. He places a hand over my forehead, looks scared and then calls an ambulance. Great. Just what I need right now. My eyes start to close, I try to keep them open, it doesn't work so well, and suddenly I'm drifting further and further away, into a blackness.
Mycroft
Oh Hell. What's he done now? Poisoned himself? Unlikely, he cares about himself too much for that kind of nonsense. Did he catch something then? More then likely. His temperature is over one hundred. I study his pale face, which seems to be paler, if that is even possible. Something had seemed off, from the moment I step foot in the flat. Something is going around, but Sherlock never leaves the flat, how could he catch something like that. Maybe it was the case he was on, but still.
"Is he going to be okay?" I ask the nurse next to me, she smiles, as if trying to assure me everything is okay. It's not. I can tell. The smile's a fake, it doesn't fill her smile lines at all. It's tight lipped and anxious.
"He'll be okay, once we get the vaccine in him, he should be alright."
"Do you know what he has?"
"It looks like a mild case of pneumonia."
"Mild?"
"He hasn't died yet has he? It's good you called when you did." I rub my face with my hands, just my luck. I'm going to have to pay the bill aren't I? Cheeky bugger.
Sherlock
I wake slowly, like when you come out of the pool. The pressures change, and the light gets brighter and then your face breaks the surface. And suddenly you can breathe again. I take a deep breath before opening my eyes. Someone has my hand. Mycroft no doubt. He dropped it as soon as I took that breath.
"Feeling any better princess?" He asks mockingly, "Cause you sure don't look it." I smack at him, but my movements are slow and miscalculated. They sedated me. WHY! "You've been sedated, genius."
"Why?" I croak. My throat hurts, I still can't breathe very well.
"Because I know you, and you won't do as they say, you won't get better."
"I'm sick?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"What have I got?" He pauses, unsure of whether or not he should tell me. Finally he gives in,
"Pneumonia. They said it's a mild case though, so you should be out in a week or two." I sigh. This isn't good. I was on a case! Why does this have to happen to me now? That's so boring!
"What am I bloody going to do for a whole week?" He smiles,
"You're in a hospital. Think of something." He gets up to leave, "And don't look at the nurses too hard. Don't want you to magically get sick again do we?" I shake my head. "You're lucky I was there."
"Thanks Mycroft."
"Welcome."
"I still hate you though."
"I know." I sit back again as my brother pulls the door to my ward shut. Bored. What did he say about observing the nurses?