#3 Sweltering/Sherlock100 #21 Friends
Title: His Heart
Author: marill_chan
Prompt: #3 Sweltering for
25deductions and #21 Friends for
sherlock100
Summary: Sherlock has a very high fever, and is attended by John. (see full summary inside)
Warnings: Illness, flashbacks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Series 2
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock.
My table: 25 Deductions Table
My other table: Sherlock 100 Table
Summary: Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock has a very high fever, so John must put him in a cold bath. And it scares John, because of course high fevers are dangerous, but also because it reminds John of seeing Sherlock when he was 'dead'.
"No hospital, Jhhhn," Sherlock slurred. "You promised."
John wrung out the cloth he'd used to bathe Sherlock's face and chest. Sherlock was glowing with fever. He'd been hovering on the edge of an emergency for two days. John could handle it, though. No doctor would know where to begin with Sherlock at any rate.
"No hospital if you can hold this in your mouth until it beeps," said John, starting the thermometer.
Sherlock smiled crookedly, nearly failing the task John had given him. “No prublmm.”
John left briefly to rinse out the bowl of tepid water and refill it with clean, cool water. He got a new flannel from the drawer in the bathroom and brought it all back to Sherlock’s bedside, just in time to hear the thermometer beeping.
Sherlock presented the device to John, albeit with a lack of coordination. John set down the water on the bedside table before taking the thermometer. He read the numbers and frowned. “Sherlock, we’re going to have to go to hospital right now.” The fever had gotten too high. Alarm bells in John’s mind went off, shouting about infection and dehydration. He immediately stood up and began searching for Sherlock’s necessities. Coat, wallet, phone, gown.
“No!” Sherlock wailed. He flung his arm out and managed to knock over the bowl of water. He thrashed and tried throwing off his bed covers without success. “You promised, you promised! I don’t want to!”
John put Sherlock’s things into a small satchel, setting the coat aside. “I’m sorry. There is no other choice. You could actually die, Sherlock. Now help me get you up and to a taxi, or I’ll be forced to call for an ambulance.
“No, no, hate hospitals, too many people, can’t think can’t think!” Sherlock grabbed his head, fitfully. “Please, John, anything else. You can do anything else, just don’t send me to hospital, please please…”
John sat on the bed beside him, chewing his lip. He knew he was about to give in to Sherlock again, when the man clearly needed a hospital. But, what good would it do to get Sherlock even more upset when John’s purpose was to help him? John lowered his head momentarily, as Sherlock’s frantic movement died down. “The only alternative I can offer you is a cool bath. It won’t be comfortable by any means, but it’s the only way we can avoid a hospital tonight,” said John. Immediately after saying so, he wondered why he was trying to explain the notion to Sherlock’s clearly addled brain.
But Sherlock nodded gratefully, nonetheless, followed by what seemed to be a very painful sneeze. “Yes,” he sniffed. “Yes, thank you, John. So good to me. Take care of me, thank you.”
“Don’t move,” said John, going off to prepare the bath. He made it as warm as he reasonably could, knowing that it would have to be cool enough to bring the fever down. Sherlock kept up a string of dialogue from the other room, sometimes asking questions, given the inflection at the end, but none of it could John make out.
After he was satisfied that everything was in place in the bathroom, John returned to help Sherlock to it. “Here, Sherlock, I need you to try to stand up. Put your arm round me…there. You…you sort of have it. It’s fine, it’s fine.” Ultimately, they did make it to the bathroom. John sat Sherlock on the toilet as he peeled away layers of clothing soaked with sweat. Sherlock swayed, as if at any moment he might fall off his seat. John steadied him with one hand, while the other fiddled with his buttons and pyjama bottoms.
“Any help you can give me…would be appreciated,” said John, dryly.
“Oh…m’sorry, Jhhnn,” Sherlock muttered. He was at least able to pull his arms out of his shirt while John coordinated it for him.
“There, good soldier,” said John. He ran his hand across the top of the water. It was cold, even to his world-worn fingers. He decided there was no better way to do it than to just dip Sherlock in. Giving warning would likely just cause another fuss. “Here we go,” he said, as he lifted Sherlock into a bridal carry. He set Sherlock into the water in one swift move, getting his sleeves soaking wet.
Sherlock cringed, his eyes squeezed shut. He shook his head and started shivering. John soothed him with quiet words, trying to encourage him to ride out the discomfort. John used a sponge to put water over Sherlock’s shoulders and chest. Sherlock’s teeth chattered and his fingers groped the sides of the bath.
“It’s okay,” said John. “You’re fine.” He held Sherlock’s closest hand, offering him that bit of warmth and familiarity.
Sherlock finally stopped shivering as his body adjusted to the temperature of the water. His face was pale from illness and he looked…
Blood dripping down Sherlock’s face as John just tried to get past the human barrier. “He’s my friend. Please, he’s my friend…” Just to touch those fingers, trying to get his pulse from the wrist. Please…
“Sherlock!” John suddenly cried, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. Sherlock’s eyes opened wide, startled. “Get up, wake up! Please! Please, don’t be dead!” John clung to him, in horror. The images weren’t real, and Sherlock would be fine. He would be fine. He wasn’t dead.
“John…John, m’awake, John,” Sherlock murmured, clearly struggling with John’s intense emotions and his own fatigue and illness.
John stopped shaking him, locking eyes with his friend. “Sherlock…the next time I tell you we are going to the hospital, we are going! Understood?”
Sherlock nodded, automatically. “I’m fine, though John. Not dead,” he added.
John’s breathing slowly came back under control. “Yes, I know. I just forgot for a minute.”
Sherlock coughed. Then, he took John’s hand and placed it on his own chest. “Still beating. It never stopped.”
John closed his eyes, feeling his friend’s strong heart, indulging for a long time. Once he’d gotten his fill, John pulled his hand away to get the thermometer. This time, with Sherlock’s fever reduced to a safer level, John relaxed. Nothing would rip Sherlock’s heart away from him again--not a gun, or a knife, or a fall, and certainly not a bloody fever.
Author: marill_chan
Prompt: #3 Sweltering for
25deductions and #21 Friends for
sherlock100
Summary: Sherlock has a very high fever, and is attended by John. (see full summary inside)
Warnings: Illness, flashbacks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Series 2
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock.
My table: 25 Deductions Table
My other table: Sherlock 100 Table
Summary: Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock has a very high fever, so John must put him in a cold bath. And it scares John, because of course high fevers are dangerous, but also because it reminds John of seeing Sherlock when he was 'dead'.
"No hospital, Jhhhn," Sherlock slurred. "You promised."
John wrung out the cloth he'd used to bathe Sherlock's face and chest. Sherlock was glowing with fever. He'd been hovering on the edge of an emergency for two days. John could handle it, though. No doctor would know where to begin with Sherlock at any rate.
"No hospital if you can hold this in your mouth until it beeps," said John, starting the thermometer.
Sherlock smiled crookedly, nearly failing the task John had given him. “No prublmm.”
John left briefly to rinse out the bowl of tepid water and refill it with clean, cool water. He got a new flannel from the drawer in the bathroom and brought it all back to Sherlock’s bedside, just in time to hear the thermometer beeping.
Sherlock presented the device to John, albeit with a lack of coordination. John set down the water on the bedside table before taking the thermometer. He read the numbers and frowned. “Sherlock, we’re going to have to go to hospital right now.” The fever had gotten too high. Alarm bells in John’s mind went off, shouting about infection and dehydration. He immediately stood up and began searching for Sherlock’s necessities. Coat, wallet, phone, gown.
“No!” Sherlock wailed. He flung his arm out and managed to knock over the bowl of water. He thrashed and tried throwing off his bed covers without success. “You promised, you promised! I don’t want to!”
John put Sherlock’s things into a small satchel, setting the coat aside. “I’m sorry. There is no other choice. You could actually die, Sherlock. Now help me get you up and to a taxi, or I’ll be forced to call for an ambulance.
“No, no, hate hospitals, too many people, can’t think can’t think!” Sherlock grabbed his head, fitfully. “Please, John, anything else. You can do anything else, just don’t send me to hospital, please please…”
John sat on the bed beside him, chewing his lip. He knew he was about to give in to Sherlock again, when the man clearly needed a hospital. But, what good would it do to get Sherlock even more upset when John’s purpose was to help him? John lowered his head momentarily, as Sherlock’s frantic movement died down. “The only alternative I can offer you is a cool bath. It won’t be comfortable by any means, but it’s the only way we can avoid a hospital tonight,” said John. Immediately after saying so, he wondered why he was trying to explain the notion to Sherlock’s clearly addled brain.
But Sherlock nodded gratefully, nonetheless, followed by what seemed to be a very painful sneeze. “Yes,” he sniffed. “Yes, thank you, John. So good to me. Take care of me, thank you.”
“Don’t move,” said John, going off to prepare the bath. He made it as warm as he reasonably could, knowing that it would have to be cool enough to bring the fever down. Sherlock kept up a string of dialogue from the other room, sometimes asking questions, given the inflection at the end, but none of it could John make out.
After he was satisfied that everything was in place in the bathroom, John returned to help Sherlock to it. “Here, Sherlock, I need you to try to stand up. Put your arm round me…there. You…you sort of have it. It’s fine, it’s fine.” Ultimately, they did make it to the bathroom. John sat Sherlock on the toilet as he peeled away layers of clothing soaked with sweat. Sherlock swayed, as if at any moment he might fall off his seat. John steadied him with one hand, while the other fiddled with his buttons and pyjama bottoms.
“Any help you can give me…would be appreciated,” said John, dryly.
“Oh…m’sorry, Jhhnn,” Sherlock muttered. He was at least able to pull his arms out of his shirt while John coordinated it for him.
“There, good soldier,” said John. He ran his hand across the top of the water. It was cold, even to his world-worn fingers. He decided there was no better way to do it than to just dip Sherlock in. Giving warning would likely just cause another fuss. “Here we go,” he said, as he lifted Sherlock into a bridal carry. He set Sherlock into the water in one swift move, getting his sleeves soaking wet.
Sherlock cringed, his eyes squeezed shut. He shook his head and started shivering. John soothed him with quiet words, trying to encourage him to ride out the discomfort. John used a sponge to put water over Sherlock’s shoulders and chest. Sherlock’s teeth chattered and his fingers groped the sides of the bath.
“It’s okay,” said John. “You’re fine.” He held Sherlock’s closest hand, offering him that bit of warmth and familiarity.
Sherlock finally stopped shivering as his body adjusted to the temperature of the water. His face was pale from illness and he looked…
Blood dripping down Sherlock’s face as John just tried to get past the human barrier. “He’s my friend. Please, he’s my friend…” Just to touch those fingers, trying to get his pulse from the wrist. Please…
“Sherlock!” John suddenly cried, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. Sherlock’s eyes opened wide, startled. “Get up, wake up! Please! Please, don’t be dead!” John clung to him, in horror. The images weren’t real, and Sherlock would be fine. He would be fine. He wasn’t dead.
“John…John, m’awake, John,” Sherlock murmured, clearly struggling with John’s intense emotions and his own fatigue and illness.
John stopped shaking him, locking eyes with his friend. “Sherlock…the next time I tell you we are going to the hospital, we are going! Understood?”
Sherlock nodded, automatically. “I’m fine, though John. Not dead,” he added.
John’s breathing slowly came back under control. “Yes, I know. I just forgot for a minute.”
Sherlock coughed. Then, he took John’s hand and placed it on his own chest. “Still beating. It never stopped.”
John closed his eyes, feeling his friend’s strong heart, indulging for a long time. Once he’d gotten his fill, John pulled his hand away to get the thermometer. This time, with Sherlock’s fever reduced to a safer level, John relaxed. Nothing would rip Sherlock’s heart away from him again--not a gun, or a knife, or a fall, and certainly not a bloody fever.