CHAPTER 34. DOCTOR's
"John?" Lestrade was sitting on his couch a collection of used tissue around his feet, John took a look around it was dim, the curtains were drawn closed and several take away boxes from god knows when were scatted throughout the kitchen, dinning room and bleeding into the living room where Lestrade was now sitting up coughing, and the smell of sick would have turned anyone's stomach but John a war hardened soldier had experienced worse out in the field.
"What's wrong? What's he done now?" John held back a laugh disguising this as a cough, usually that was his line when it came to Sherlock.
"Nothing's wrong. I was just in the area thought I'd pop by. Sherlock said you were sick he asked if I'd check on you." It wasn't exactly a lie.
"He did, did he?" John could see Lestrade doubted this but thankfully a fit of coughing distracted him from any further questioning. John put the bag of supplies he'd picked up at the shop down on the messy counter in the kitchen.
"Here. Put this under your tongue." John handed the man a thermometer. Lestrade frowned eyeing it skeptically. "It's sanitary promise. Come on now say ah." John directed removing his black jacket.
"You just happened to have that on you?"
"Don't you know they issue you one as soon as you start medschool, if you are caught without a thermometer and a pocket of Paracetamol they pull your liscense." Lestrade shot him a confused look, John could see the DI was trying to work out whether he had been joking or not.
After a few seconds the thermometer he'd picked up at the shop just in case he would need it, beeped the good Doctor shook his head glancing down at the number. "Not so bad. But it's a fever nonetheless. Have you been taking anything for it?" Lestrade pointed to an empty bottle of Paracetamol on the table. "When?"
"Uh, yesterday I think."
"Yesterday?"
"Well, I took the last two and haven't exactly felt like shopping." This earned the DI a chastising look.
"Right. Any nausea, vomiting or diarrhea?"
"What?"
"Don't be shy. Reasonable questions. Now just answer them, like I said I am a Doctor."
"All of the above."
"Alright." John eyed the bucket near the couch the source of the foul odor clinging to everything in the room.
"When's the last time-"
"Just thirty minutes ago, I don't think I have anything left to-"
"Here drink this." John produced bottled water with electrolytes Lestrade frowned at the bottle hesitating, " Drink it. You're bit dehydrated mate." John made a quick call on his mobile, Lestrade didn't hear him at all, to busy trying to keep down the water and now the Paracetamol the Doctor was putting into his hands.
"I picked some up at the store."
"Thanks. Sorry if I'm not so social." Greg's voice sounded rough, the Paracetamol was dulling his headache, he started to shiver uncontrollably, what a miserable couple of days. He fought the urge to feel sorry for himself, his wife having packed up and left days ago, on top of this flu made it very difficult.
"It's alright, Detective Inspector. You forget who I live with."
"Call me Greg. Just Greg, might as well. Oh, I bet Sherlock is a little ray of sunshine." John genuinely laughed now.
"Just lay back. Do you have any allergies to antibiotics or medications?"
"No-" Greg felt so tired someone was putting something soft under his head and something else was being laid on his shivering body, a blanket? He drifted into a fevered sleep, unaware of the hard knock at the front door an hour later.
"Here you go Doctor Watson. Sarah said you would need these STAT called in an order to the pharmacy."
"Please thank her for me."
"Yeah. She's taken a sick day. You alright that's quite the bruise on your head."
"Fell, had one to many. You know."
"Oh, yes I know. Been there and done all that. Nice to meet you Doctor Watson, Sarah tells me you might be coming to work with us soon." The male nurse had introduced himself as Flynn when John had turned in his application a week ago reminded John of one of the old army medics he used to pal around with before his injury.
"Yes. Well if she hires me."
"I wouldn't worry about that. Well I best be off. My shift is over. Good luck with your friend. Hope he gets to feeling better. That flu is going around."
John took out an anti nausea patch and applied it to the DI's forearm the man didn't even stir. He glanced around well better get to work the place was a mess the least he could do was pick up a bit and get rid of the smell of sick hovering about the place.
John found the garbage bags, and pulling the nitrile gloves he'd started carrying in his back pocket since the first crime scene he'd visited with Sherlock, John started with clearing out the empty food containers, then the bucket of sick. He was sure to us a lot of bleach and hot water on everything, when he came to the small dinning room table he put the old newspapers in the recycle bin, sure of Lestrade wanted the papers he could pull them out himself. He noticed several files there on the table, probably case files, he should pile them up neatly, knowing how Sherlock was particular about these types of things he thought it best to not mess the order they were in.
The kettle in the kitchen he'd started before his cleaning venture started to boil drawing his attention away from the table, but something kept him there, sticking out from under one of the smaller case files, he didn't know why the letter's peaking out held his curiosity, he could see OHN, H. all caps in bold black letters. He pushed aside the photographs of a pill bottle belonging to one of the other files uncovering the words WATSON, JOHN H.