Sherlock: Testing, Testing
Title: Testing, Testing
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Discussion of safe sex, drug use and STIs, including HIV
Summary: John's relationship with Sherlock comes with all sorts of baggage.
Note: the National Blood Service actually still defers MSM for life; I just took some poetic license to make the plot work out, such as it is. Don't want to get anyone's hopes up.
Testing
by Mad Maudlin
"Blood drive today," Dononvan called to them, with the faintest suggestion that she'd be collecting personally with a razor if they didn't come quietly.
"Should never have made her help organize it," Lestrade muttered; John could see the fluorescent bandage through his shirt sleeve where the fabric was wearing thin. "She's terrorized most of the department into going down there just to shut her up. Anderson fainted."
"Why am I not surprised?" Sherlock murmured.
Donovan closed in on them and sized up Sherlock, and then John. "How about it, Dr. Watson? Save three lives today?" she asked crisply
"Sorry," he said. "National Blood Service doesn't want me."
She hesitated for a moment, and then said haltingly. "You know they dropped the rule about, er, men."
"One would have to be living under a rock not to," Sherlock said.
Donovan glared at him again. "No need to ask you," she said haughtily. "God only knows what you're carrying."
"We've both had surgery requiring blood transfusions, Sergeant," John said hotly. "Not that it's any of your business, of course, but until they change *that** rule, we're deferred for life."
Her lips thinned for a moment. "Sorry to have bothered you," she said, very carefully *not** looking at Sherlock, and then disappeared back to wherever she'd come from.
"I'll have a word with her," Lestrade said tightly, with the air of a man used to breaking up playground squabbles.
"Don't bother," Sherlock said. "She's hardly worth the time or effort. Now, the photographs, if you please."
-\-\-\-
Later, he thought over a couple of different ways to broach the subject with Sherlock, before remembering he was *Sherlock.** The next time they were in Bart's, he asked, "D'you mind if I take a sample of your blood?"
Sherlock, without looking up from the microscope, extended his left arm at John. "Do be quick about it, I'm almost done here."
John had never been the best phlebotomist-that was why they *had** phlebotomists--but Sherlock was so thin that his veins stuck out like rubber bands with just a little pressure. There was just one small scar in the crease of his elbow, a divot, a dot: for all John knew, it was from chicken pox, or an oddly-placed pimple. He drew the blood quickly and held the pressure on the stick while Sherlock texted something one-handed; he'd barely got the plaster on before Sherlock was tugging down his sleeve. "Finish whatever you're doing with that and come on; it's someone with the cleaning service, I'm sure of it."
-\-\-\-
The results came in the post a week later. John knew what they'd be: negative, negative, negative. It wasn't like he'd actually doubted it.
"You doubted me," Sherlock said from his funerary repose on the couch. "Just a little. Or you'd have never taken that blood sample."
"Does that bother you?" John asked, rather than try to deny it.
Sherlock cracked one eyelid. "Just a little," he admitted.
John sat down on the edge of the couch, nudging Sherlock's legs back enough to make room. "You don't exactly take good care of yourself."
"I do attempt to take slightly better care of you," Sherlock said quietly. His eyes were shut again. "Besides, I've been properly clean for three years, I was never foolish enough to share needed even when I was using, and I have had many, many other tests in the interim. For my blood to suddenly come up HIV-positive now would be a perverse aberration."
"I got myself tested, too," John said. It suddenly seemed important to tell him. "Just in case."
That merited Sherlock opening both eyes. "You haven't done anything to put yourself at risk."
"Well, there was that transfusion back in Afghanistan..."
"You've been monogamous, and we have never once not used protection," Sherlock continued, ignoring the interruption. "You would've notified me if you'd been exposed to anything from a patient or medical waste. You certainly haven't been exposed to anything working with me."
"I just...wanted to do it, all right?" John threw the letter down and leaned back, not caring that he was pinning Sherlock's legs. "Just to be sure. It seemed like something we ought to do."
"Oh." Sherlock seemed to consider this. "Do couples often get routine medical tests together?"
John chuckled. "Something like that."
Sherlock cocked his head. "Then we are, in fact, a couple?"
John pulled one of Sherlock's arms out of its prepared-for-burial position so he could squeeze his hand. "Seems that way, doesn't it?" Sherlock nodded, and went back to whatever deep thoughts had dragged him under.
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Discussion of safe sex, drug use and STIs, including HIV
Summary: John's relationship with Sherlock comes with all sorts of baggage.
Note: the National Blood Service actually still defers MSM for life; I just took some poetic license to make the plot work out, such as it is. Don't want to get anyone's hopes up.
Testing
by Mad Maudlin
"Blood drive today," Dononvan called to them, with the faintest suggestion that she'd be collecting personally with a razor if they didn't come quietly.
"Should never have made her help organize it," Lestrade muttered; John could see the fluorescent bandage through his shirt sleeve where the fabric was wearing thin. "She's terrorized most of the department into going down there just to shut her up. Anderson fainted."
"Why am I not surprised?" Sherlock murmured.
Donovan closed in on them and sized up Sherlock, and then John. "How about it, Dr. Watson? Save three lives today?" she asked crisply
"Sorry," he said. "National Blood Service doesn't want me."
She hesitated for a moment, and then said haltingly. "You know they dropped the rule about, er, men."
"One would have to be living under a rock not to," Sherlock said.
Donovan glared at him again. "No need to ask you," she said haughtily. "God only knows what you're carrying."
"We've both had surgery requiring blood transfusions, Sergeant," John said hotly. "Not that it's any of your business, of course, but until they change *that** rule, we're deferred for life."
Her lips thinned for a moment. "Sorry to have bothered you," she said, very carefully *not** looking at Sherlock, and then disappeared back to wherever she'd come from.
"I'll have a word with her," Lestrade said tightly, with the air of a man used to breaking up playground squabbles.
"Don't bother," Sherlock said. "She's hardly worth the time or effort. Now, the photographs, if you please."
-\-\-\-
Later, he thought over a couple of different ways to broach the subject with Sherlock, before remembering he was *Sherlock.** The next time they were in Bart's, he asked, "D'you mind if I take a sample of your blood?"
Sherlock, without looking up from the microscope, extended his left arm at John. "Do be quick about it, I'm almost done here."
John had never been the best phlebotomist-that was why they *had** phlebotomists--but Sherlock was so thin that his veins stuck out like rubber bands with just a little pressure. There was just one small scar in the crease of his elbow, a divot, a dot: for all John knew, it was from chicken pox, or an oddly-placed pimple. He drew the blood quickly and held the pressure on the stick while Sherlock texted something one-handed; he'd barely got the plaster on before Sherlock was tugging down his sleeve. "Finish whatever you're doing with that and come on; it's someone with the cleaning service, I'm sure of it."
-\-\-\-
The results came in the post a week later. John knew what they'd be: negative, negative, negative. It wasn't like he'd actually doubted it.
"You doubted me," Sherlock said from his funerary repose on the couch. "Just a little. Or you'd have never taken that blood sample."
"Does that bother you?" John asked, rather than try to deny it.
Sherlock cracked one eyelid. "Just a little," he admitted.
John sat down on the edge of the couch, nudging Sherlock's legs back enough to make room. "You don't exactly take good care of yourself."
"I do attempt to take slightly better care of you," Sherlock said quietly. His eyes were shut again. "Besides, I've been properly clean for three years, I was never foolish enough to share needed even when I was using, and I have had many, many other tests in the interim. For my blood to suddenly come up HIV-positive now would be a perverse aberration."
"I got myself tested, too," John said. It suddenly seemed important to tell him. "Just in case."
That merited Sherlock opening both eyes. "You haven't done anything to put yourself at risk."
"Well, there was that transfusion back in Afghanistan..."
"You've been monogamous, and we have never once not used protection," Sherlock continued, ignoring the interruption. "You would've notified me if you'd been exposed to anything from a patient or medical waste. You certainly haven't been exposed to anything working with me."
"I just...wanted to do it, all right?" John threw the letter down and leaned back, not caring that he was pinning Sherlock's legs. "Just to be sure. It seemed like something we ought to do."
"Oh." Sherlock seemed to consider this. "Do couples often get routine medical tests together?"
John chuckled. "Something like that."
Sherlock cocked his head. "Then we are, in fact, a couple?"
John pulled one of Sherlock's arms out of its prepared-for-burial position so he could squeeze his hand. "Seems that way, doesn't it?" Sherlock nodded, and went back to whatever deep thoughts had dragged him under.