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“Sherlock dear, are you okay?” Mrs Hudson asked Sherlock in a worried tone.
Sherlock had been awfully pale for the past few days and in addition to that, he was coughing all the time. Mrs Hudson was worried out of her mind trying to get Sherlock to see John.
Sherlock knew John would be okay with it, he wasn’t mad anymore, but he’d be greatly inconvenienced by having to take care of a man-child and an actual one. He’d also be too worried to do anything right, skipping work and missing out on sleep worrying out of his mind.
So Sherlock unintelligently decided not to say a word. He didn’t want John getting angry at him again right after he’d settled down.
Turns out that wasn’t the best decision, because instead of just giving up and going to see John when it got worse, Sherlock decided he’d figure it out himself by drinking more tea and eating more biscuits apparently. Mrs Hudson was too soft to refuse helping sick Sherlock find comfort in her service.
But Sherlock didn’t get better. Instead he got worse, coughing more and vomiting every now and then, not being able to stand up without getting dizzy and falling back down again. Mrs Hudson was worried out of her mind seeing Sherlock every day not being able to function properly without help. Despite Sherlock’s protests against it, Mrs Hudson still called John.
“John? Oh John, please come back! Sherlock’s been sick, he hasn’t even able to move or talk, he’s always vomiting and it’s starting to get serious! Please come check on him you’re a doctor! He doesn’t want to go to a hospital and you’re the next best thing I can think of. Please John!”
John sighed over the phone. How many times had he told Sherlock to say something if something was wrong? He wasn’t mad at him anymore and he cared , not having heard of him these few days made him worried something had happened. And now he was sick. God he couldn’t catch a break .
“Don’t worry Mrs Hudson, I’ll be there soon. Please tell Sherlock to stop being an idiot and get himself washed up,” John replied anxiously, hanging up the phone then grabbing a wailing Rosie in his arms and squeezing his phone between his face and his shoulder.
Although it wasn’t easy to manage to get a crying baby to go back to sleep, John managed it and put Rosie in the baby seat of his car. Internally questioning his life decisions, he drove off to Molly’s to drop Rosie off before speeding away to 221B in panic.
John checked his phone screen every two seconds in case there was an update on Sherlock’s health from Mrs Hudson. God he really needed to calm down. Surely it wasn’t that bad?
Staring at the pitch black screen made his heart race for no reason. It was sort of calming that Mrs Hudson hadn’t said anything alarming, but that could also mean she was too busy keeping Sherlock alive to text John. Or maybe she just didn’t know how to text. Either way, it stressed him out.
“why does he never say anything?” He thought, internally rolling his eyes and scolding Sherlock for being an idiot.
Pulling up to the side of the road, he got out of the car and rushed to the door, knocking it rapidly. “Mrs Hudson?” he shouted, still knocking worriedly. “ It’s funny how I’m the one screaming Mrs Hudson’s name and not Sherlock now” he thought, chuckling internally.
Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a flustered and panicked Mrs Hudson. “Oh John, please check on him, he’s been sick for days and I’m worried! He didn’t want to call you because he was scared you’d be angry even though I told him you wouldn’t be! He’s being an idiot John!” She said, voice rising with panic.
John couldn’t imagine why Sherlock would think he would be angry. Really, how could someone so intelligent be so stupid.
He patted Mrs Hudson’s shoulder and reassured her Sherlock would be alright if she’d just let him in. Nodding, Mrs Hudson moved aside and watched John race up the creaky stairs with a worried and tired look etched on her face.
“Sherlock? What’s going on with you? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” He scolded Sherlock upon opening the door. Sherlock was lying on the floor, eyes closed, a pile tissues and vomit beside him. Gagging a little, he rushed up to Sherlock and shook him, calling his name repeatedly.
When Sherlock finally woke up, he looked around tiredly to find the source of the sudden pressure. When Sherlock’s eyes met his, John finally got a good look at Sherlock. He looked deathly pale, dark eye bags under his eyes, pieces of food and vomit adorning his face. He almost seemed dissociated, not focused and eyes empty, like he had nothing to live for anymore.
John’s heart took a stab when he saw the state his best friend was in. Gulping worriedly, John took Sherlock’s arm and helped him up slowly. Sherlock swayed when he stood up, his legs wobbling underneath the weight of his body. He didn’t talk at all as John helped him wash up. He didn’t do much, just wiped his face of the dirt and grime, helped him comb his hair. He left Sherlock in the bathroom hesitantly to do his own thing.
When Sherlock finally emerged from the bathroom, he looked better. Seeing him cleaner and shaved seemed like a relief to John. Now he just had to clean up the mess Sherlock made. So, as John cleaned up, Sherlock sat on the sofa, knees to his face watching John do all the work. John would’ve complained if he wasn’t so worried.
After about an hour, the room looked sort of cleaned up. At least better than before. Sherlock was still in the same position he was in before, except nodding of to sleep now and then. John sighed, sitting down next to Sherlock and hugging him.
“Thank you,” John heard Sherlock whisper into his ear hoarsely. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, John. I just didn’t want you to worry again,”
John smiled. “It’s alright Sherlock, I forgive you. Just please tell me when you’re in pain. I don’t want to come back to find you almost dead again,” he chuckled lightly.
Sherlock grunted in response and closed his eyes, drifting off into deep sleep. John smiled softly as he held his best friend, patting him on the back in comfort.