A/N: As this is my own virus, it follows that it should be named after me. Thank you, but I decline. -csf
II.
'We could play cards. Or extend the cluedo board again – and, no, Sherlock, they can't all be in on it.'
'Clearly you forget that case in the coal pit, Lestrade.'
'It's a board game! The rules are written down by the manufacturer.'
I smirk, watching raptly Greg's common sense being derailed by my eccentric friend's antics.
Sherlock rolls his eyes in his customary manner. 'Boring! I should write the company a complaint. Maybe even redefine the game altogether for them. Clearly their development team is incapable of doing it themselves.'
'Do that, sunshine. Sit tight and write up a board game anew. You are looking a bit peaky to go about rearranging the furniture.'
The younger detective gestures impatiently, still dragging the overturned desk to the right-hand side window. Where the shutters never closed properly again after the "gas pipe leak" explosion across the street. At the time all the glass panes were shattered and Sherlock was very lucky being in that evening. It was some time around that Reichenbach falls case and we just found ourselves too busy to repair the shutters properly, up until we've noticed the problem again just now.
The left-hand side window is shut and the Damascus curtains are drawn, revealing a few places were moths had a meal out of them. The other window now has a desk top snuggly against the pane and the Damascus fabric drapes droopy on each side.
Sherlock finally explains, with his gaze stuck on the wooden surface of the table's underside: 'Extreme sensitivity to light. It will soon be upon us. As will fever, chills, muscle pains and in severe cases hallucinations. Nothing to worry about, just the bugs in question, and we shouldn't be worried. All is predicted and will go down according to plan. Which brings me back to photosensitivity. Maybe it would have started manifesting already if we weren't bathed in this eerie glow stick orange light. I guess even Mycroft has his uses on occasion.'
I look on over to the kitchen window we have covered with the stretched tarpaulin of a body bag. Turns out Sherlock has ordered himself a few online, for fun. He'd been drunk online shopping again, apparently, or so he has led me to believe, when pressed to provide justification.
The bathroom window is covered by a towel and Sherlock's bedroom window by lord knows what.
I look around the room to my friends' haggard faces and determine: 'Time for a check-up. Vitals, temperature and such. It's mandatory, so no whining, Sherlock!'
He assumes a falsely accused persona. 'Wouldn't think of denying my doctor', he defends himself, in that awkward "I'll keep you guessing if there is subtext here" way of his.
No wonder the Yard's pool is still very much alive.
Sherlock does this to aggravate me, you know?
So I make him sit on the sofa first, whilst I dump my extended first aid kit and my backside on the coffee table, ahead of the skinny detective.
'Go on', I pull up my stethoscope, 'take off your shirt for me.'
A blush spreads slightly over his cheeks.
I hope he's not getting a fever already.
.
'I need Donovan to cover my shift at work. There are details on ongoing investigations, and three suspects in custody to interrogate, not to mention reports to the prosecution lawyers and a gazillion of other things to do. I need – this phone – to work!'
Greg's blood pressure is steadily rising, as is demonstrated quite straightforwardly by the BP cuff. I exhale slowly and ask again:
'Think happy thoughts, Greg, so I can get an accurate reading.'
Nearby Sherlock takes the opportunity for a little payback: 'Won't you need to quarantine the inspector if his blood pressure is that high?'
Lestrade snaps: 'We already are quarantined, thanks to your meddling big brother! Or what do you reckon this is? Mandatory time out on the naughty corner?'
Sherlock turns to me, as if he had heard nothing. 'The lock on my bedroom door is quite sturdy. We can share the food and the drink, some reading material, and you said yourself the bed is comfortable.'
I glance darkly at my dark haired mate's humour. 'We're in this together, Sherlock. And so far we're doing fine, no pronounced symptoms yet. So tell me more about where you got this modern plague from, Sherlock.'
'Why should I?'
He acts aloof, with an undertone of "tell me it's the right thing to do and I'll do it". I know my Sherlock.
'I may be able to help.'
'You're a GP, John. Even in your multitasking days in the war, virology was never your expertise.'
'Neither is yours, or you wouldn't be interested in studying new deadly viruses to improve your knowledge. You certainly would know better than to keep them in unlabelled vials on cluttered desks.'
He huffs, clearly displeased. 'It was unlabelled at the lab I infiltrated to retrieve it. Or do you think rogue government agents just label up their vials with "deadly disease inside, please refrain from stealing, always make sure to wash your hands after dealing with contaminated samples?" John, if you must know, at any given time there are evil forces out there trying to bring our civilised world to chaos. There was one man I was trying to prevent from succeeding in such endeavours.'
'Alright, I get that. You did what you did for a greater good. That's... good.'
'Thank you, John.'
'But why not bring all the vials and take away that evil scientist's means to harm the world?'
'I wasn't sure the vials weren't vitamins.'
'Sherlock.'
'Fine. I didn't want to trigger him just yet, by exposing my hand. I'm not entirely sure this mutated strain of virus is the only weapon up his sleeve. If I provoked him openly and he retaliated with another—'
'Won't he find one vial missing? Wait, Sherlock, how many virus vials did you find in that lab?' I open my eyes wide. Too many. He sustains my shock with a grave demeanour. I gulp drily.
We both look away.
Greg clears his throat loudly, startling us. We almost forgot him. Somehow the friendly inspector insists on being a cheerful element to our trio.
'Well, sunshine, whatever tests you were planning on doing to that vial, you better start them now, because we are not going anywhere. We may as document all you can about it. John, you should keep notes on how this has affected us. Airborne transmission, isn't that what it's called? And how long to the first symptoms, and how severe.'
'And you?'
'I'll just make you both a cup of tea and watch you work, shall I?' our friend tells us, in an upbeat display.
.
TBC
