Mortar & Stone: an Elementary fanfiction

Chapter 10

Turning Tables- Adele

Joan walked through the door of the brownstone. She felt heavy; dragging her feet up the stairs to her room and collapsing on the bed fully dressed; barely able to remove her shoes before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The first thing she noticed as she opened her hot, stinging eyes the next morning was how heavy her lids were. Her throat felt scratchy and swollen, and her shirt was damp with sweat.

She gave a small groan and rolled over, to see Sherlock sitting on the chair beside the window. He was watching her, his fingers forming a triangle at his lips. The light spilling in through the crack in the curtain cradled his stubbled cheek and she wondered how long he'd been there.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked.

"Like my throat is on fire," Joan swallowed with a grimace. It looked like it was almost midday.

"What time is it?"

"10 am. I took your temperature while you were sleeping," Joan gave him a questioning look. "You looked clammy. And my suspicions were right: you have a fever." He stood, opening the curtains. Joan squinted as the sunlight assaulted her eyes. "I've taken the liberty of calling the GP. He's on his way."

She was about to thank him, tell him there was no need, but then she remembered that she was annoyed at him; that he had sowed baseless accusations in her mind and allowed them to germinate.

"You were wrong about Tom," she said, staring out the window, "you purposefully made me doubt him, and now he's not speaking to me."

"I've got some liquorice root brewing downstairs for your throat -" he continued, ignoring her.

She sat up. "Are you even listening to me, Sherlock?"

He spun around. "It is considered it a mark of a good friend to worry after each other's well-being, is it not?" He spat.

"Not when it turns to you causing your so-called-friend heartache, Sherlock." She could not believe his audacity. "Are you really that thoughtless?" He didn't answer, only stared with an incredulous look, as if he couldn't believe she wasn't thanking him for his input. It was the last straw. "From now on, my relationship with Tom is off-limits in any conversation between us, do you understand?"

He straightened, took a deep breath, and walked toward the door.

"You know Joan," he said in a deceptively soft voice, turning, "when someone goes out of their way to find you a doctor who does house calls in New York, a 'thank you' is the customary response."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I don't need a home visit, the clinic is only a few blocks away."

"Nonsense. You're not well enough to get out of bed," he said, standing.

"We're in the middle of a murder case..."

He studied her for a moment with a conflicted look, as if he were warring over something within himself, before snapping his eyes away.

"I can handle things on my own for a few days. I did it before you, and I can manage again."

Well, Joan thought as he walked out, if that wasn't a clear message she didn't know what was.

___________________________________________

The doctor confirmed what Joan had suspected, a nasty case of strep-throat. He prescribed antibiotics, salt-water gargles and plenty of rest.