Lestrade was particularly testy after two hours in a car with Sherlock who quickly found his Buck's Fizz disk and spent the entire time making insulting quips about his taste in music. Insults that only increased when Mary insisted that they listen to the entire album as she had never heard them before.
He sighed in relief when they entered the brightly decorated hotel which was hosting the last day of a medical conference. Sherlock asked them to wait while he walked up to the desk and asked to leave a message for Dr. John Watson. He returned a few minutes later and led them up the elevator to room 307 which he opened with a card.
"Where did you get that card?" Lestrade asked.
"From the pocket of the concierge when he bumped into me. Come on." They turned on the light and looked around the room.
"Sherlock, do we even know if this is John Watson's room we are trespassing in?"
"Oh its his room alright. Look at the way that bed is made. Military corners."
"John makes his bed when he's in a hotel?"
"Yes," Mary said. " 'Old habit's die hard.' That's what my dad always said." She opened the closet. "There's no luggage."
"Of course not, when did he have time to pack? He walked out with only the clothes that he had on."
"Then he would have had to buy new clothes. The blokes down here don't seem the type to go around in jeans and a t-shirt."
"And here is more proof," Sherlock said lifting a tea bag out of the trash.
"It's tea, Sherlock. How does that prove anythin'? Who doesn't drink tea?"
"John's favorite brand?" Sherlock said raising an eyebrow.
"The hotel probably has it in all of the rooms."
"No, Sherlock is right." Mary said moving their bags to the far side of the door out of sight. "That's the kind of tea John likes. He says that hotel tea doesn't agree with him, so he always brings his own tea bags with him on trips."
"Alright, so John was here. What do we do now? Look through the conference for him."
"The simplest strategy would be to wait for him here," Sherlock said.
"You can't just wait in someone else's room."
"My husband's room," Mary said. "I don't know about you, but I could use a nap after everything we've gone through today. So if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit." Mary kicked off her shoes and pulled open one side of John's bed before climbing in and turning away from them."
"Excellent idea Mrs Watson." Sherlock said jumping on to the other bed and crossing his ankles as he lay back, hands under his head.
Lestrade stared at Sherlock with his mouth hanging open. "Are you just going to lie there?"
"The room is already paid for. When they come back, we'll have found them. Very clever of John staying here. It would have been a way to have a place to stay without any new charges going on his accounts. As long as he didn't charge any new fees like room service, no one but the hotel staff would know that he had been here. And even if he didn't return the keycard, these hotels re-key the room with each new guest. I'm impressed. I'll tell him so when he arrives."
"Sherlock, you aren't going to sleep here?"
"John is a man of regular habits. He likes to sleep in the evenings. If he is still at the conference somewhere, he will come back to this room. If he does not, he will find somewhere else to stay. Either way there is nothing to do until morning."
"But Sherlock!"
"I'm sorry, Lestrade. There are only two beds. You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep. And make sure that they don't see you leave the building." Sherlock reached out then, and turned off the desk lamp. Lestrade shook his head then and left closing the door softly behind him.
In the dark of the evening, Sherlock Holmes rose from his bed and walked over to his luggage which was still by the door. He carefully opened the zipper and took out his shoes before going into the bathroom.
He was shaking with the pain by then, pain that kept crowding out his thoughts. He knew that under normal circumstances he would have found John Watson by now, but his body was betraying him. It wasn't working the way it should, and despite his denials that the body was only transport, he realized that when the transport wasn't working, it was difficult for the brain to reach the correct destination.
He placed the brown leather oxfords on the counter and closed the bathroom door. Then he removed the rolled up pair of socks and pulled out what he had stashed there. He placed the bottle on the counter along with the syringe, the needle, and and elastic strap. Then he turned on the water and washed his face.
He had been beginning to gain back a bit of his weight when John had been there, but now he was getting thinner. His cheeks had a sunken look that showed he was still in poor health. When had he last eaten? He couldn't remember. John would have told him. John took care of him, or at least he had...before her.
A spasm of pain brought him back to himself. He reached down and picked up the bottle checking it for impurities. Then he removed the needle from the package, and screwed it on the syringe. Holding the bottle upside down, he stuck the needle in, carefully filling it. When the syringe was full, he placed the bottle on its side and balanced the syringe on top of it to keep the tip clean while he tied a strap around his left arm. Then he lifted the needle squeezing slightly so that a single drop of clear liquid came out. He stretched out his arm, and turned his head to search for his vein, only then noticing the shocked eyes of Mary Watson who stood with one hand on the door frame.