John had just gone out to grab a few things at the shop when he got the text message.
He was examining the selection of various flu meds when he felt the buzz in his pocket, and absently dug out his mobile to check it.
1 new message:
'John. Question. Very important.' -SH
Balancing the basket on one arm, John sighed and awkwardly managed to tap out a reply.
'Yes?' -JW
On to check out the chicken broth...
'As a doctor, how do you feel about assisted suicide?' -SH
'What? Sherlock what kind of question is that? Why?' -JW
'Inexplicably miserable. Answer my question.' -SH
'I'm against them, if you're the one asking.' -JW
'Remove me from the equation, then. Consider that I'm miserable.' -SH
'You have the flu.' -JW
'Everything hurts.' -SH
'Yes. Flu. Don't scare me like that-it wasn't funny.' -JW
'Not trying to be funny... I'm suffering...' -SH
John drew in a deep, calming breath and let it out in a long sigh, pausing to lean subtly against a shelf of tinned tomatoes to write out a proper response.
'I'm at the shop. Maybe I can get you something that would help?' -JW
'Nothing you'd like me to say.' -SH
'What is that supposed to mean?' -JW
'Nothing at Sainsbury's is inherently lethal.' -SH
That man...
'For the last time, nobody is assisting anybody's suicide. It's just the flu. You'll feel awful for a few days, and then you'll be fine.' -JW
There was silence from the phone for several minutes, and John found himself checking back to it several times, just to be sure.
Sherlock Holmes was a drama queen.
But that hadn't been funny.
Not in the least.
John let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding when at last another text came in.
'Bring me tea. And something for nausea.' -SH
Okay...
'Have you eaten anything in the last day?' -JW
'I've felt ill for nearly two. Come to your own conclusions.' -SH
That would be part of it...
'I'm making chicken soup, then. Be home in twenty.' -JW
'I don't want any soup.' -SH
'I know, but trust me. It helps.' -JW
Trust me.