Chapter Text
“Alright mate, every day, I wake up, and that cough of yours has gotten like, five times worse. It is late evening now, and I have been sitting here, watching the process of how that happens throughout the day. I also know, based on your late-night wanderings around the flat and violin hacking duets, that you have barely slept during that period. For the last bloody time, go to bed.”
Sherlock sat, legs crisscrossed on the couch, rifling through various maps of London, The U.K, and for some reason, Singapore. “Not now.”
“Yes, now. It’s been a really long time since I’ve heard someone cough like that, and I’m a doctor.”
“Formally, a doctor, Wats-” It started up again, deep, barking noises vibrating from his throat and lungs. It lasted a good forty seconds during which time, Sherlock was only able to get a few shaky breaths in, between leaning over, a hand over his mouth.
John sat down beside him and rubbed his back, his other arm clutching Sherlock’s shoulder by the front, keeping him upright. “Okay, yep. Hack it up Sherls. Jesus, you’re warm.”
The coughs stopped, and Sherlock gasped quickly.
John took a near empty tea mug that Sherlock had been drinking from a few minutes ago from across the coffee table and placed it under his mouth. “Alright, clear your throat, and spit to get some phlegm out of you, then I want to hear some deep, slow breathing.”
Sherlock glared, but did as he was told, spitting into the mug and leaning his head back on the couch cushions.
“Yep, in and out, real slow. That’s it. I’m going to get you some water, keep at it.” He removed his grasp on Sherlock, and speed walked to the kitchen.
By the time John got back a few moments later, Sherlock had returned to breathing normally, at least for a few moments, before a shorter, but just as violent fit broke out, leaving him leaning against the back of the couch, head listlessly facing the ceiling.
“Here, your throat has got to hurt, and that can’t taste good.” Sherlock sat up and gulped it down. “Slower mate. Yep, like that.” John took the glass from him once it was mostly empty, and helped him up, an arm around his shaky frame. “Okay, bedtime now.”
“Watson?”
“Are you about to tell me that’s not necessary?”
Sherlock closed his mouth.
“That’s what I thought. Off we go. Let’s get you into pajamas.”
-
When Watson stepped out of Sherlock’s bedroom, Marianna was leaning beside the front door. “How is he?”
“Oh, uh. High fever. It’s 39.2 actually, I just checked.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah, well, the good news is that he’s still being stubborn, or trying to, at least, he’s pretty weak and shaky, so I’m not too concerned that he’ll try to climb out of bed. Did you hear him coughing from downstairs?”
“Uh huh. Honestly, I have been all day.”
As though she had summoned it, from the bedroom, there was another, short round of coughing.
“Well for now,” John tried to ignore how wet and rattling it sounded, although his eyes still wandered to the closed bedroom door, “I’m pretty sure it’s bronchitis. I was actually coming out to see about scheduling a doctor’s appointment. It’s developing into pneumonia pretty quickly, and I want to see if he needs antibiotics. Until then, I’m giving the cliched answer of rest and fluids.”
It was evening, so John answered the phone well aware that he would not be able to get an appointment anytime sooner than the next morning. He then returned to Sherlock’s bedroom, and sat down on his leaf green quilt, which Sherlock lay curled under.
“Hey mate,” he kept his voice low. “I booked you a doctor’s appointment at ten tomorrow. I want to get some antibiotics in you as soon as possible if we need to.”
“Thank you Watson,” Sherlock said hoarsely, eyes still closed.
That alone was enough to show John that they were in for a rough night. “Okay then,” he squeezed Sherlock’s burning shoulder, and stood. “I’ll get you some tea and cool cloth to help you feel a little better, then I’ll let you get some sleep. Marianna’s here. She came upstairs worrying about you. We’ll see what we can do to help before tomorrow.”
He shuffled out of the room, and into the kitchen to set the kettle on, glancing at Marianna, who sat straight on the couch. “He’s really, really out of it.”
“Just how out of it are we talking?”
“I told him that I set up a doctor’s appointment and he thanked me.”
“Oh, yep. That will do it.”
“I know. Would you mind sticking around tonight? I think we should keep an eye on him.”
Marianna nodded. “Absolutely.”
-
“John, could you come in here?”
John speed walked into the room, and saw Sherlock gasping and whimpering, curled up on his side. “Okay, okay.” He sat down next to Marianna on the bed. ‘What’s up mate?”
“Head,” Sherlock whispered, and broke into a coughing fit.
“Yep, yep. We can manage that.”
He continued to cough.
“Alright, I’m sitting you up. Let’s try and get some gunk out of your lungs.”
“Hurts. Sitting would make me feel faint”
“I know, but your breathing takes priority. Up you go.” He leaned Sherlock against him and angled him into a sitting position, rubbing his back and encouraging deep breaths. “Marianna, could you get some Tylenol and more water?”
“Should we take him to A and E?”
“We’ll see in a second.”
Marianna returned with the items, and Sherlock swallowed the pills gratefully, although broke into another coughing fit immediately afterwards, leaning into John as his eyes fell closed. John felt his forehead and gritted his teeth, before placing the cloth on his forehead.
“Sherlock, I’m taking your temperature again.”
Sherlock’s mouth opened, and John inserted the thermometer, which had sat throughout the night on Sherlock’s bedside table. He closed his eyes, giving John a moment to realize that Sherlock was never this obedient, especially when it came to things like staying in bed and resting.
When John removed it, his eyes widened. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“40.1.”
Marianna did not speak for a moment. “I’ll call a cab.”
“Please. We’re going to A and E. Sherlock; can you tell me if your neck feels stiff?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then. We’ll let you know when the cab gets here and help you down. For now, try to relax. I don’t want you out in this cold longer than you have to be.
-
“Have you ever noticed how much time we spend in here?” John asked. Sherlock laid on one of the hospital's waiting room benches, his brown wool coat laid over him like a blanket and his head in John’s lap.
“I have,” Marianna tapped her foot against the floor.
“Hey, at least it’s for something normal this time.”
She glared. “Wow John.”
“Yeah, bad taste joke. I figured that right after it came out of my mouth.”
A nurse stepped into the waiting room. “Sherlock Holmes?”
“Yep, give us a second.” John helped Sherlock upright, putting the coat around him. “Alright mate, that’s you. Up we go.” The wait had been concerningly short considering there were eight or nine other patients in the room with them.
Sherlock leaned against his side and burst out coughing.
“Does he need a wheelchair?” The nurse approached the three of them, all huddled together as Sherlock hacked and shivered between them.
“Yeah, sorry, could you? Just don’t touch him unless you have to. He’s a little particular about that.”
The nurse nodded, and they sat Sherlock down in it when she returned a moment later, bringing them behind a curtain of the A and E while he focused on keeping his head up. John and Marianna then helped him lie on a gurney, the top half leaned upright so he could cough more effectively. The nurse wasted no time in trying to check his pulse, oxygen levels, blood pressure and temperature.
She began by taking his hand to place on the oxygen monitor, and Sherlock tried to bat her away.
“Sorry about that. Sherlock, you’ve done this before, just let it happen. Everyone here just wants you to feel better.”
As he spoke, Sherlock glanced at her waiting gaze and seemed to understand on his own what was exactly happening. He let her do whatever she wished after that. In the meantime, John focused intensely on the statistics, with Marianna listening to the doctor confirming what he already knew. His oxygen saturation was a little low, blood pressure normal, pulse quick, and his temperature had raised to 40.3, causing Marianna to wrinkle her nose.
Her facial expressions did not become any less pained when the nurse took some blood, inserting an IV in the process, as she explained that the doctor had thought it might be necessary later. The process made Sherlock open his eyes and squint a little but not move. Sherlock and John had gotten their flu and COVID shots together, during which he learned that Sherlock never had a problem with needles.
The nurse placed the tools aside and sat down beside the gurney. “I’ll get a doctor now to discuss any further diagnostic procedures.”
For seemingly the millionth time that day, everyone was silent, save for the general noises of the hospital, and, more worryingly, Sherlock.
“I can hear him breathe,” Marianna said.
John nodded. “He’s definitely got pneumonia now. I’m fairly certain they’ll be able to nip it in the bud.”
“You sure?”
“It may not look it, but his case is fairly mild right now.”
He knew Marianna well enough to see that she didn’t fully believe him. She trusted him logically, he knew that well enough, but emotions will do their own thing. “Okay.”
Sherlock turned to them, and for a moment, John felt like crap for talking like Sherlock could not hear them. Before he could say anything however, he started hacking again, which meant more guided breathing, back rubbing, and encouragement.
A doctor came in a few minutes later and sat on a stool in the corner of their curtained section. “Alright, Mr. Holmes, your friends here tell me that you have a stiff neck, is that correct?”
“Yes.” Sherlock seemed peeved that he had to answer the same question again.
“Any pain in that area?”
“A little.”
“Okay, well it definitely sounds like he has pneumonia, but the neck pain indicates meningitis. We would like to perform a chest X-Ray and a CT scan on his head, then we’ll give some medicine for the fever. Depending on the results, he will also likely be given something to loosen his chest congestion and IV antibiotics every few hours.
“Does that mean he’ll have to be admitted?” Marianna asked.
“If the IV is needed, then yes, at least overnight.”
A different nurse came in then and set the gurney off its breaks. “We’ll do those now.”
Sherlock smiled at them weakly, and he was taken off, not noticeably reacting to the motion.
“How are you doing?” Marianna looked down.
“Eh, okay.” John didn’t blame her; he was doing the same.
“You said it’s probably better than it looks.”
He sighed. “Yeah. The pneumonia part, at least.”
“What?”
“God, I shouldn’t have put it like that. Marianna, I didn’t want to say this, because he is genuinely doing really well for someone with this kind of illness, but it’s pretty common for bacterial meningitis to come with a respiratory infection, and… bacterial meningitis can sometimes,” he stressed that last word, “be pretty dangerous, at least compared to other brands of it.”
They took turns with deep, shaky breaths.
-
When Sherlock was wheeled back into their section of the A and E, he was wearing a hospital gown, his clothes beside him on the gurney in a plastic bag. His eyes were closed, his legs against his chest like he often did when he was overstimulated.
“Sherlock? How are you?” Marianna hovered a hand over Sherlock’s arm, and he shook his head when he saw it.
“They grabbed him I’m guessing.” John turned to the nurse, frowning, despite his best efforts. “Yeah, he’s on the autism spectrum. I would’ve told him what was going on before you touched him.” John hated having to tell people Sherlock’s diagnosis for them to treat him in a way that should be common sense, even though Sherlock had given him permission to do so several times.
“An autism diagnosis was on his chart.” The nurse then walked away.
“Wow, she’s rude.” John didn’t even try to quiet his voice so she wouldn’t hear.
“Dealt with worse.” Sherlock coughed a few times.
“Not an excuse mate. We know that, and it sucks.”
“Wait.” Marianna held a hand up. “Sherlock, please tell me that you were given some kind of privacy to change.”
“Managed,” he gasped. “Sat in restroom. They didn’t like it.”
“Okay, thank God.”
“I’m impressed though,” John said, “I mean, I probably should be upset you did that, but in your condition, changing by yourself took some perseverance. Nice.”
He was shaking now that his coat was off, and John opened the bag to retrieve it. “I probably shouldn’t give you this with your fever this high, but you’re dealing with enough right now.” He laid the wool coat over Sherlock, it still held a small amount of his body heat, relaxing him immediately.