Fic: Still Sherlock 7/?
Title: Still Sherlock- chapter seven
Author: ununpentium
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes / John Watson
Wordcount: 1203 (this chapter)
Warnings: Angst, Alzheimer's Disease
Read on AO3 // Chapter index on AO3
Sherlock took a cab home from The Brain Centre- he didn’t want to risk walking and getting lost again. He arrived home to find John was out, but he couldn’t remember if John had a shift at the surgery or not. Sherlock lingered in the doorway to the flat for a while, feeling a little unsettled and unsure of his surroundings.
Right. He had to do something.
A memory test. He might have forgotten the address that Dr Matthews gave him, but that was a made up address that meant nothing to him. He could test himself using information that was relevant to his life and that would yield more accurate results.
Sherlock walked over to the table in the living room and yanked open the drawer, pulling out a pad and a pen. He wrote down Lithium, Hydrogen, Ununpentium, Gold and Zirconium. He studied the list of words for thirty seconds and then pulled his phone out of his pocket and set the timer for five minutes, turned the piece of paper over so that the words were not visible, and then he busied himself with tidying some of his chemistry journals until the timer went off. Sherlock immediately recited the elements in his head- Lithium, Hydrogen, Ununpentium, Gold and Zirconium.
There. Everything was fine.
Sherlock decided to repeat the experiment with delayed intervals increasing by ten minutes each time, using different words that he associated with his interests. By the time John returned home, Sherlock had a pounding headache from the constant recital in his head.
He decided to test himself one last time and remember the original list of elements he’d first written down, which by this point had been three hours previously.
John was clattering about in the kitchen, from the sounds of it trying to find something suitable for dinner.
Lithium.
Good. And the next word?
“Sherlock, where did all of the beans go? I only bought some the day before yesterday. Don’t tell me you’ve experimented on them or something.”
It was getting hard to concentrate. Lithium… Lithium… ah, Hydrogen.
“Sherlock?”
“Busy.”
Hydrogen, Ununpentium.
What was next?
“You don’t look busy, Sherlock. You’re just lying on the sofa. I could use a hand with dinner.”
He couldn’t think with the racket John was making.
Silver? Was it Silver?
He felt the tendrils of panic starting to slither across his chest.
He couldn’t remember.
John walked over and stood directly in front of Sherlock, one hand on his hip and the other brandishing a saucepan.
“What’s got in to you? I’ve had a shit day and could use a little help in the kitchen. It wouldn’t kill you.”
Sherlock blinked. When did John get home? He sat up, dazed, and wordlessly walked into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
~*~*~
Sherlock sat in the large armchair once again facing Dr Matthews’ desk. The doctor did not look impressed.
“Mr Holmes, I see that you are once again here alone.”
Sherlock stared at his shoes.
“Indeed.”
“After I insisted that you bring someone with you to these appointments? Mr Holmes, I will only say this one more time and if you do not comply with my instructions I cannot continue to treat you. It is imperative that you are accompanied to your appointments and I trust that you will bring someone with you next time.”
Next time. So, he’d found something wrong. With Sherlock’s brain.
“Okay. I’ve got the results of the tests that we carried out, Sherlock. Your MRI was clean, nothing of concern there. Your bloods were fine and your lumbar puncture was negative. I tested for everything that could conceivably cause memory disturbance, and so you’re clear for HIV, cancer, vitamin deficiency and mitochondrial disease.”
Sherlock felt there was a but coming. Sherlock just nodded, unable to speak.
“You’re in the ninety ninth percentile with your abstract reasoning, spatial skills, language fluency and so on. You’re intelligent as I’m sure you’re no doubt aware, but we cannot get away from the fact that you have a memory impairment that does not fit with your age and is declining sharply, from your own admission and I myself witnessed your inability to remember the address I gave to you last time.”
The doctor drew in a deep breath.
Here it comes.
“Sherlock, you fit the criteria for Alzheimer’s Disease.”
Sherlock knew that Alzheimer’s could only absolutely beconfirmed post mortem or using a brain biopsy, and that nothing would show on his MRI until he was in advanced stages.
He started to tremble.
“I’m only fifty,” he managed. His throat tasted like ash. “What now?”
“I want to start you on Donepezil right away. 5mg before bed to start with. It will help with cognitive functioning, though I have to point out it’s not a cure, Mr Holmes. It just buys more time.”
How much time do I have left?
“You also need to take Vitamins E and C twice daily, aspirin and a statin. What’s good for the heart is good for the brain. I’ll write this all down for you, don’t worry. Does anyone know you’re here, Sherlock?”
“No.”
Not even Mycroft, who had become rather lax in his old age.
Dr Matthews peered at Sherlock over the top of his glasses.
“I know I’m repeating myself, but you need to tell someone about this. Do you have a partner?”
Sherlock nodded, his mouth so dry he could barely speak.
“John. My partner’s name is John.”
“You need to go home and tell John, Mr Holmes. And you need to bring him to all subsequent appointments. Can you do that?”
Sherlock nodded again.
“I’ll get my receptionist to print you off some information about Donepezil and she’ll also give you a couple of questionnaires to fill out. Get this prescription to the pharmacy right away and I’ll see you and John in six months. Make sure you contact me in the meantime if anything happens.”
Sherlock stood up and shook the doctors’ hand. He wanted to say thank you, but it felt too strange to thank the doctor that had just informed you that you have a degenerative brain disease.
He collected the questionnaires and information from the receptionist in a daze. He went straight to the nearest chemist to get his prescription, and when he handed it over to the pharmacist he felt like saying these aren’t for me.
Sherlock spent the cab journey back to Baker Street hoping fervently that John would be home when he got in.
He was.
Sherlock opened the front door, saw John sitting on the sofa, pecking away at his laptop, and he had an overwhelming urge to throw up.
“Sherlock? What’s happened?” John immediately pushed his laptop to the side and stood up, making his way over to Sherlock. He pressed his hand against Sherlock’s forehead.
“You’re white as a sheet. Are you coming down with something?”
Sherlock had started to tremble again.
“I’ve just come back from seeing the doctor.”
“And? I hope you haven’t got that nasty flu that’s going around.”
Sherlock clutched onto John’s hand, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“John, it’s not good news. I- I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.”
NEXT CHAPTER
Author: ununpentium
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes / John Watson
Wordcount: 1203 (this chapter)
Warnings: Angst, Alzheimer's Disease
Read on AO3 // Chapter index on AO3
Sherlock took a cab home from The Brain Centre- he didn’t want to risk walking and getting lost again. He arrived home to find John was out, but he couldn’t remember if John had a shift at the surgery or not. Sherlock lingered in the doorway to the flat for a while, feeling a little unsettled and unsure of his surroundings.
Right. He had to do something.
A memory test. He might have forgotten the address that Dr Matthews gave him, but that was a made up address that meant nothing to him. He could test himself using information that was relevant to his life and that would yield more accurate results.
Sherlock walked over to the table in the living room and yanked open the drawer, pulling out a pad and a pen. He wrote down Lithium, Hydrogen, Ununpentium, Gold and Zirconium. He studied the list of words for thirty seconds and then pulled his phone out of his pocket and set the timer for five minutes, turned the piece of paper over so that the words were not visible, and then he busied himself with tidying some of his chemistry journals until the timer went off. Sherlock immediately recited the elements in his head- Lithium, Hydrogen, Ununpentium, Gold and Zirconium.
There. Everything was fine.
Sherlock decided to repeat the experiment with delayed intervals increasing by ten minutes each time, using different words that he associated with his interests. By the time John returned home, Sherlock had a pounding headache from the constant recital in his head.
He decided to test himself one last time and remember the original list of elements he’d first written down, which by this point had been three hours previously.
John was clattering about in the kitchen, from the sounds of it trying to find something suitable for dinner.
Lithium.
Good. And the next word?
“Sherlock, where did all of the beans go? I only bought some the day before yesterday. Don’t tell me you’ve experimented on them or something.”
It was getting hard to concentrate. Lithium… Lithium… ah, Hydrogen.
“Sherlock?”
“Busy.”
Hydrogen, Ununpentium.
What was next?
“You don’t look busy, Sherlock. You’re just lying on the sofa. I could use a hand with dinner.”
He couldn’t think with the racket John was making.
Silver? Was it Silver?
He felt the tendrils of panic starting to slither across his chest.
He couldn’t remember.
John walked over and stood directly in front of Sherlock, one hand on his hip and the other brandishing a saucepan.
“What’s got in to you? I’ve had a shit day and could use a little help in the kitchen. It wouldn’t kill you.”
Sherlock blinked. When did John get home? He sat up, dazed, and wordlessly walked into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
~*~*~
Sherlock sat in the large armchair once again facing Dr Matthews’ desk. The doctor did not look impressed.
“Mr Holmes, I see that you are once again here alone.”
Sherlock stared at his shoes.
“Indeed.”
“After I insisted that you bring someone with you to these appointments? Mr Holmes, I will only say this one more time and if you do not comply with my instructions I cannot continue to treat you. It is imperative that you are accompanied to your appointments and I trust that you will bring someone with you next time.”
Next time. So, he’d found something wrong. With Sherlock’s brain.
“Okay. I’ve got the results of the tests that we carried out, Sherlock. Your MRI was clean, nothing of concern there. Your bloods were fine and your lumbar puncture was negative. I tested for everything that could conceivably cause memory disturbance, and so you’re clear for HIV, cancer, vitamin deficiency and mitochondrial disease.”
Sherlock felt there was a but coming. Sherlock just nodded, unable to speak.
“You’re in the ninety ninth percentile with your abstract reasoning, spatial skills, language fluency and so on. You’re intelligent as I’m sure you’re no doubt aware, but we cannot get away from the fact that you have a memory impairment that does not fit with your age and is declining sharply, from your own admission and I myself witnessed your inability to remember the address I gave to you last time.”
The doctor drew in a deep breath.
Here it comes.
“Sherlock, you fit the criteria for Alzheimer’s Disease.”
Sherlock knew that Alzheimer’s could only absolutely beconfirmed post mortem or using a brain biopsy, and that nothing would show on his MRI until he was in advanced stages.
He started to tremble.
“I’m only fifty,” he managed. His throat tasted like ash. “What now?”
“I want to start you on Donepezil right away. 5mg before bed to start with. It will help with cognitive functioning, though I have to point out it’s not a cure, Mr Holmes. It just buys more time.”
How much time do I have left?
“You also need to take Vitamins E and C twice daily, aspirin and a statin. What’s good for the heart is good for the brain. I’ll write this all down for you, don’t worry. Does anyone know you’re here, Sherlock?”
“No.”
Not even Mycroft, who had become rather lax in his old age.
Dr Matthews peered at Sherlock over the top of his glasses.
“I know I’m repeating myself, but you need to tell someone about this. Do you have a partner?”
Sherlock nodded, his mouth so dry he could barely speak.
“John. My partner’s name is John.”
“You need to go home and tell John, Mr Holmes. And you need to bring him to all subsequent appointments. Can you do that?”
Sherlock nodded again.
“I’ll get my receptionist to print you off some information about Donepezil and she’ll also give you a couple of questionnaires to fill out. Get this prescription to the pharmacy right away and I’ll see you and John in six months. Make sure you contact me in the meantime if anything happens.”
Sherlock stood up and shook the doctors’ hand. He wanted to say thank you, but it felt too strange to thank the doctor that had just informed you that you have a degenerative brain disease.
He collected the questionnaires and information from the receptionist in a daze. He went straight to the nearest chemist to get his prescription, and when he handed it over to the pharmacist he felt like saying these aren’t for me.
Sherlock spent the cab journey back to Baker Street hoping fervently that John would be home when he got in.
He was.
Sherlock opened the front door, saw John sitting on the sofa, pecking away at his laptop, and he had an overwhelming urge to throw up.
“Sherlock? What’s happened?” John immediately pushed his laptop to the side and stood up, making his way over to Sherlock. He pressed his hand against Sherlock’s forehead.
“You’re white as a sheet. Are you coming down with something?”
Sherlock had started to tremble again.
“I’ve just come back from seeing the doctor.”
“And? I hope you haven’t got that nasty flu that’s going around.”
Sherlock clutched onto John’s hand, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“John, it’s not good news. I- I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.”
NEXT CHAPTER