Still Sherlock (4/?)
Title: Still Sherlock chapter four
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock fusion with the novel Still Alice
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Wordcount: 1313 (this chapter)
Warnings: Choosing not to warn
Read from the beginning on AO3 // Chapter four on AO3
The cab turned into Harley Street and Sherlock leapt out and paid the driver, watching the cab turn around and drive off again. Sherlock stood where he was for a few minutes clutching his coat tightly around his body to ground himself. He looked at the gold plaque on the outside of one of the almost identical looking buildings in the street; Oasis Medical Practice it read and Sherlock scanned the list of names until he found that of his doctor. Dr Clare West MBBS (Oxon), FRCP. Sherlock took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door.
After Sherlock had declared himself to the prim looking receptionist, Sherlock sank down onto one of the sofas until it was his turn to see the doctor. Sherlock had seen Dr West ever since he moved to London all those years ago and he felt safe under her care. He had seen her almost daily during the worst of his cocaine addiction in his twenties; Mycroft had threatened to send him somewhere ghastly for rehab and so Sherlock decided to see Dr West to prove he was actively involved in his recovery.
“Mr Holmes?” Dr West’s voice broke through Sherlock’s reverie. He stood up quickly and shook her hand, taking in her smart but sophisticated appearance. She was, by now, far past the retirement age and so only worked a couple of half days a week. She led Sherlock into her spacious office and motioned for him to sit down in an armchair by the window.
“Mr Holmes, what can I do for you today?”
“Call me Sherlock, please Dr West.”
Dr West smiled fondly at Sherlock.
“Only if you call me Clare. God knows we’ve known each other for long enough!”
Sherlock smiled briefly before smoothing out his expression and taking a deep breath.
“I’ve been forgetting things. It started about two months ago. John, my partner, thought that it was probably down to stress I was experiencing in regards to some presentations at the Royal Society I have been giving.”
Clare wrote quickly on a pad she was balancing on her knees. Sherlock decided he did not want to attempt to read what she was writing, it was painful enough sitting here without John as it was.
“What sorts of things have you been forgetting?” Dr West smiled at Sherlock, encouraging him to continue.
“The odd word here and there, usually in the middle of a presentation or speech, my phone.”
Clare did not look concerned. She was writing more slowly now on her notepad and Sherlock felt as if he were wasting everyone’s time by being there. He should have listened to John, he was just stressed out, and there was no need for a doctor.
“Is there anything else you have been experiencing? Any other times you have encountered problems with your memory? Any disorientation?”
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Yes. I went for a walk to clear my head, taking one of my favourite routes from Baker Street to Embankment. Once I reached Waterloo Bridge I was unable to figure out how to get back home. It was as if I no longer recognised where I was and could not use landmarks to jog my memory. It lasted for about five minutes and then it all came back to me and I was able to get home.”
Dr West had stopped writing and was looking straight at Sherlock with a concerned expression on her face.
“During that occasion did you experience any tightness in your chest, numbness in your fingers, blurred vision or headaches?”
Sherlock shook his head.
“No. My heart did start to race as I panicked, though.”
Dr West nodded.
“That is understandable. How is your sleep at the moment?”
“Better than it used to be, you remember that I used to survive on two hours a night for years. I’m sleeping about five hours a night, so it’s the best it has ever been.”
Sherlock found that he enjoyed getting in to bed with John like nothing else. He loved the feeling of John pressed against him so that the warmth seeped into Sherlock. John would press his face to the back of Sherlock’s neck and rest his arm gently over Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock felt safe and loved, and would go to bed faithfully with John most nights even if he did not always fall asleep when John did.
“That’s good to hear, Sherlock. And your appetite?”
Sherlock tried to think back. John had not nagged him any more than usual to eat and he had not even resorted to buying full fat milk and double cream as he was wont to do in a bid to get some more calories into Sherlock.
“My appetite is normal.”
Dr West tapped her pen briefly on the edge of her notepad, which had rapidly filled up with her spidery handwriting. Sherlock still refused to look.
“Sherlock, as you know you’re at an age where we have to think about your risk of cancer. Bowel cancer can go undetected for a long time because people don’t typically attribute a change in bowel habits with cancer, especially if they have been experiencing stress as you have. Has there been any change in your bowel habits recently, like going to the toilet more or less frequently than usual? Any blood in your stool?”
“No, nothing has changed.”
Sherlock would have thought that Dr West would be relieved by this information, that they could rule bowel cancer out. Instead she frowned and caught Sherlock’s eyes. Before she could speak Sherlock looked away.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time, Dr West. I am simply experiencing low levels of stress, I apologise.”
Sherlock started to rise from the armchair when Dr West raised a hand to stop him.
“No, Sherlock, I do not believe you are experiencing stress. Or, indeed, if you are, it is very low level and is not causing your memory disturbances.” Dr West softened her voice, “I want to send you to the Royal London Hospital for an MRI.”
The Royal London. Sherlock took a deep, shaking breath. They had a large cancer unit.
Cancer.
“You think I have a brain tumour?”
“We need to rule it out. I’ll fax over an urgent referral, you should be offered an appointment for next week.”
Sherlock felt like someone had punctured him, letting all of the air out of his body. He felt nauseous with worry and more than anything wanted the solid reassurance of John next to him.
~*~*~
Sherlock walked home from Harley Street. It would have taken him about twenty minutes, only he became disorientated again on Marylebone Road and found himself squatting in the bottom of a telephone box, his head in his hands, crying.
When he finally made it through the door of 221B, he walked straight over to John and embraced him silently. He did not let go of John for ten solid minutes, the two of them standing together in the middle of the sitting room, swaying slightly.
“I love you, John. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Sherlock repeated it over and over until the words bled into one another. John had to understand how much he was loved; Sherlock was frightened of dying but even more scared of dying without John knowing how much he meant to Sherlock.
~*~*~
Two weeks later and Sherlock was once again sitting in Dr West’s office. She had a smile on her face and was explaining to Sherlock how the MRI was clear- no brain tumour.
Sherlock allowed her to finish speaking, her voice becoming background noise. He could not celebrate. He knew his symptoms were neurological, and that if he did not have a brain tumour then the likelihood was Alzheimer’s. Sherlock felt numb.
“I want to see a neurologist.”
Notes:
I really hope I got the qualifications for Dr Clare West right. The MBBS is the Bacherlor of Medicine, Bachelor of Surgery that doctors in the UK achieve once they graduate from their medical degree. The (Oxon) means she graduated from Oxford. The FRCP means I made her a fellow of the Royal College of Physicians. I wanted her to be highly qualified.
CHAPTER FIVE
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock fusion with the novel Still Alice
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Wordcount: 1313 (this chapter)
Warnings: Choosing not to warn
Read from the beginning on AO3 // Chapter four on AO3
The cab turned into Harley Street and Sherlock leapt out and paid the driver, watching the cab turn around and drive off again. Sherlock stood where he was for a few minutes clutching his coat tightly around his body to ground himself. He looked at the gold plaque on the outside of one of the almost identical looking buildings in the street; Oasis Medical Practice it read and Sherlock scanned the list of names until he found that of his doctor. Dr Clare West MBBS (Oxon), FRCP. Sherlock took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door.
After Sherlock had declared himself to the prim looking receptionist, Sherlock sank down onto one of the sofas until it was his turn to see the doctor. Sherlock had seen Dr West ever since he moved to London all those years ago and he felt safe under her care. He had seen her almost daily during the worst of his cocaine addiction in his twenties; Mycroft had threatened to send him somewhere ghastly for rehab and so Sherlock decided to see Dr West to prove he was actively involved in his recovery.
“Mr Holmes?” Dr West’s voice broke through Sherlock’s reverie. He stood up quickly and shook her hand, taking in her smart but sophisticated appearance. She was, by now, far past the retirement age and so only worked a couple of half days a week. She led Sherlock into her spacious office and motioned for him to sit down in an armchair by the window.
“Mr Holmes, what can I do for you today?”
“Call me Sherlock, please Dr West.”
Dr West smiled fondly at Sherlock.
“Only if you call me Clare. God knows we’ve known each other for long enough!”
Sherlock smiled briefly before smoothing out his expression and taking a deep breath.
“I’ve been forgetting things. It started about two months ago. John, my partner, thought that it was probably down to stress I was experiencing in regards to some presentations at the Royal Society I have been giving.”
Clare wrote quickly on a pad she was balancing on her knees. Sherlock decided he did not want to attempt to read what she was writing, it was painful enough sitting here without John as it was.
“What sorts of things have you been forgetting?” Dr West smiled at Sherlock, encouraging him to continue.
“The odd word here and there, usually in the middle of a presentation or speech, my phone.”
Clare did not look concerned. She was writing more slowly now on her notepad and Sherlock felt as if he were wasting everyone’s time by being there. He should have listened to John, he was just stressed out, and there was no need for a doctor.
“Is there anything else you have been experiencing? Any other times you have encountered problems with your memory? Any disorientation?”
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Yes. I went for a walk to clear my head, taking one of my favourite routes from Baker Street to Embankment. Once I reached Waterloo Bridge I was unable to figure out how to get back home. It was as if I no longer recognised where I was and could not use landmarks to jog my memory. It lasted for about five minutes and then it all came back to me and I was able to get home.”
Dr West had stopped writing and was looking straight at Sherlock with a concerned expression on her face.
“During that occasion did you experience any tightness in your chest, numbness in your fingers, blurred vision or headaches?”
Sherlock shook his head.
“No. My heart did start to race as I panicked, though.”
Dr West nodded.
“That is understandable. How is your sleep at the moment?”
“Better than it used to be, you remember that I used to survive on two hours a night for years. I’m sleeping about five hours a night, so it’s the best it has ever been.”
Sherlock found that he enjoyed getting in to bed with John like nothing else. He loved the feeling of John pressed against him so that the warmth seeped into Sherlock. John would press his face to the back of Sherlock’s neck and rest his arm gently over Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock felt safe and loved, and would go to bed faithfully with John most nights even if he did not always fall asleep when John did.
“That’s good to hear, Sherlock. And your appetite?”
Sherlock tried to think back. John had not nagged him any more than usual to eat and he had not even resorted to buying full fat milk and double cream as he was wont to do in a bid to get some more calories into Sherlock.
“My appetite is normal.”
Dr West tapped her pen briefly on the edge of her notepad, which had rapidly filled up with her spidery handwriting. Sherlock still refused to look.
“Sherlock, as you know you’re at an age where we have to think about your risk of cancer. Bowel cancer can go undetected for a long time because people don’t typically attribute a change in bowel habits with cancer, especially if they have been experiencing stress as you have. Has there been any change in your bowel habits recently, like going to the toilet more or less frequently than usual? Any blood in your stool?”
“No, nothing has changed.”
Sherlock would have thought that Dr West would be relieved by this information, that they could rule bowel cancer out. Instead she frowned and caught Sherlock’s eyes. Before she could speak Sherlock looked away.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time, Dr West. I am simply experiencing low levels of stress, I apologise.”
Sherlock started to rise from the armchair when Dr West raised a hand to stop him.
“No, Sherlock, I do not believe you are experiencing stress. Or, indeed, if you are, it is very low level and is not causing your memory disturbances.” Dr West softened her voice, “I want to send you to the Royal London Hospital for an MRI.”
The Royal London. Sherlock took a deep, shaking breath. They had a large cancer unit.
Cancer.
“You think I have a brain tumour?”
“We need to rule it out. I’ll fax over an urgent referral, you should be offered an appointment for next week.”
Sherlock felt like someone had punctured him, letting all of the air out of his body. He felt nauseous with worry and more than anything wanted the solid reassurance of John next to him.
~*~*~
Sherlock walked home from Harley Street. It would have taken him about twenty minutes, only he became disorientated again on Marylebone Road and found himself squatting in the bottom of a telephone box, his head in his hands, crying.
When he finally made it through the door of 221B, he walked straight over to John and embraced him silently. He did not let go of John for ten solid minutes, the two of them standing together in the middle of the sitting room, swaying slightly.
“I love you, John. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Sherlock repeated it over and over until the words bled into one another. John had to understand how much he was loved; Sherlock was frightened of dying but even more scared of dying without John knowing how much he meant to Sherlock.
~*~*~
Two weeks later and Sherlock was once again sitting in Dr West’s office. She had a smile on her face and was explaining to Sherlock how the MRI was clear- no brain tumour.
Sherlock allowed her to finish speaking, her voice becoming background noise. He could not celebrate. He knew his symptoms were neurological, and that if he did not have a brain tumour then the likelihood was Alzheimer’s. Sherlock felt numb.
“I want to see a neurologist.”
Notes:
I really hope I got the qualifications for Dr Clare West right. The MBBS is the Bacherlor of Medicine, Bachelor of Surgery that doctors in the UK achieve once they graduate from their medical degree. The (Oxon) means she graduated from Oxford. The FRCP means I made her a fellow of the Royal College of Physicians. I wanted her to be highly qualified.
CHAPTER FIVE