I Never Get Sick

Chapter 1

The cab pulled up to the curb outside 221 Baker Street at 11:55 pm to let Dr. John Watson out of the vehicle. He had just returned from visiting his sister Harry whom had just announced her and Clara's engagement. Yay. It shocked John that those two got back together after the- well, let's just say predicament they had.

The good doctor grabbed his bag, paid the cabbie, then got out and watched as the car sped away. He stood there for a moment taking in the peacefulness before going inside and explaining to Sherlock that, "I've been gone! How the hell was I supposed to know you wanted a pen!"

John took a deep breath then walked up the steps to the door and unlocked it. Upon entering, Ms. Hudson ran out of her flat in her night gown with a steak tenderizer in hand. John looked at her startled as a small smile played at his lips.

"John! Oh good Lord, you scared the living daylights out of me!" She exclaimed as she brought the tenderizer back down at her side. "It is way to late for you to be sneaking in!"

"Sorry, Ms. Hudson." John apologized as the land lady embraced John in a tight hug.

"So," she held John out at arms length. "How's your sister?!"

"She's uh," John cleared his throat, "fine. She's amazing actually. Got engaged last week."

"That's wonderful! Who's the lucky man?"

"Ummm Clara."

Ms. Hudson mouth went 'o' shaped as she winked at me then began giggling.

"Well I assume there's a mess in the flat?" John asked with a smile.

Ms. Hudson's smile dropped, as did her happy demeanor. "No, the flat is spotless. Just as you left it. Some of the food in the fridge was missing though."

"Is Sherlock here?"

"I haven't seen him for a few days but I haven't heard anyone leave the flat all week. No visitors either."

Johns face grew concerned as he gripped his bag tight, bid his landlady goodnight, then bounded up the steps. He hesitated slightly not really wanting to see his flat mate in a bad condition but opened the door anyway.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly as he opened the door wider and stepped in. All the lights were off causing an eerie glow to emanate from a flickering lamp in the kitchen. He flipped the light switch and the light turned on. With a sigh, he walked into the kitchen to see it nearly spotless. No experiments were scattered across the table or on the floor. There were two bowls half filled with food in the sink.

Watson went to the bathroom door, creaking it open. Empty. He walked over to Sherlock's room. Empty.

"Where the hell could he be?" John asked himself as he carried his bag up the stairs to his room. After he walked into his room, he spotted a lump in his disheveled blankets. "Sherlock?"

All he got in response was a slight groan. John moved over to him and slowly looked for his face. Eventually, he found it at the foot of the bed and moved the blanket to his shoulders.

Sherlock's face was pale and drenched in sweat. John put a hand on his forehead but quickly drew in back. He was burning up.

"Sherlock? Wake up." He shook the fragile man until his eyes cracked open.

"John?" He croaked quietly. "Where have you been? I asked for water ages ago."

"How long have you been like this?"

"It's all a bit of a blur. Maybe a few days."

"And you didn't go to the doctor? Sherlock you look horrible!"

"Why thank you for boosting my confidence."

John walked to his medical bag, grabbed it, then walked back over to Sherlock. "Sit up. I'm going to check you over."

"Jaaaaawn but-"

"No buts now sit up."

Sherlock grumbled under his breath as he unsteadily lifted himself into a sitting position causing a wave of nausea to hit. He fell back over clutching his stomach.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" John asked worriedly as he put his hand in his friends back.

"John, bathroom, now." Was all Sherlock said before John hauled him to his feet and rushed him down to the bathroom. The detective bent over and retched into the loo while John bent down beside him, rubbing his back soothingly.

The doctor said things like "shhhhhh it's ok. Let it all out." "You'll feel better afterwards." Which was a total lie. When Sherlock finished he rested his head on the edge of the tub, panting.
John flushed the loo then stood to wet a wash cloth to cool him off.

John knelt down beside Sherlock and began to rub the cloth on his forehead. "You're sick, Sherlock."

The detective scoffed. "I never get sick." With that, Sherlock moved his head back over to the loo and retched again.

Yup. John thought to himself. Definitely sick.