Work Text:
Popsicles and Ice Cream
30th, May 2018
“John? Would you mind having a look at my throat?” They’re sitting in their chairs in the sitting room.
“You need to ask? That’s literally one of my favorite parts of your body.” John sits forward a bit and waggles his eyebrows.
“I don’t mean like that. I’m having a bit of trouble swallowing my tea.”
John quirked his head. His doctor instincts tingled.
“Sure, c’mere. Let me get out my mobile and turn on the torch app.” John finagled with his phone and tapped on the light. Sherlock stepped into John’s view and sat down on the floor at John’s feet so he could see. A light now shining in Sherlock’s mouth, John’s face took on a look of concern.
“Are you having any pain? Any trouble just swallowing saliva?”
“No. No pain. Just swallowing the tea at the moment.”
John tossed his mobile and brought both hands to Sherlock’s neck. He pressed his thumbs around Sherlock’s throat. He squinted as he felt around.
“I don’t like the feeling of your lymph nodes. They’re a bit larger than they should be. Your tonsils are also very large. How would you feel about meeting an old friend of mine from med school? An ENT, Doctor Lane.”
“Sure, John. If you think that’s best.” A tinge of worry in Sherlock’s voice.
“I just want you to get looked at by a specialist, is all. I’d feel better if someone with a bit more expertise had a look at you, okay?” John put his hands around Sherlock's face, cradling it like he’d come to do during their last year together. It was a gesture used to calm, and soothe. A gesticulation Sherlock has come to understand as John’s way of communicating so many different things. All of them underlined with affection and love.
Sherlock placed his hands over John’s and he smiled and said, “I trust you.”
Four days later, a tonsillectomy was scheduled for the following week. Sherlock’s tonsils’ size were graded at 3.5. The highest number on the scale is a 4.
The pair were walking around Tesco’s doing a little pre-surgery shopping. Time for ice cream and popsicles.
“Why would I want these?”
“You mean, why would I want these delicious, icy cold and very sweet treats? You’re not going to be able to eat solid food for a few weeks.”
“I rarely eat solid food anyway.” Sherlock interrupted.
“I know, idiot. I know you like sweeter types of food. You won’t be able to eat any of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits or sweets. Ice cream and popsicles will help soothe your throat. And the ice cream will give you some extra calories. The average person loses 10-15 pounds after a tonsillectomy. You do not have the weight to spare, Sherlock. You’re going to need to have some calories and ice cream is the best way to get them for your situation. Doctor Lane told you that you could be down for 2-4 weeks. This surgery takes a harder toll on adults. You’re going to have to lay about for a bit, too. No case work out of the flat the first week. The chance of you opening up the cauterization or the scabs could result in significant blood loss. That’s the main danger for adults in your situation.”
As John spoke, Sherlock hung his head: He reluctantly placed a few cartons of ice cream in their trolley and began to peruse the popsicles as they made their way down the frozen food aisle.
“A week without leaving the flat?”
“Sherlock, you can’t risk opening up the scabs. We can ask Greg if he’d like to drop off some old case files for you?” John slung an arm around Sherlock's shoulders.
“You’ll be fine once you get on the other side of it! I’ll wait on you hand and foot. Just like always.” He gave Sherlock's shoulders a squeeze.
“Oh! We need to stop in the stationary aisle and pick up a dry erase board and a marker for it.”
“Whatever for?”
“Sherlock. You’re not going to be able to speak for the first few days.”
“Christ! How am I going to survive this?!”
Other shoppers turned to look at the outburst. John pulled Sherlock's head so his ear was by John’s lips. In a low voice. “I’ll spoon feed you ice cream. Or you could even lick it off of me if you let me doctor you up.”
Sherlock grinned as he pressed his head against John’s lips.
“I think I can see a silver lining surrounding this looming Hellscape.”
“There’s my boy.” John drawled.
As promised, John fussed over Sherlock. As did Mrs. Hudson. Rosie was confused as to why she wasn’t able to play with her Sh’lock. As Sherlock laid on the sofa, she toddled around him, always in his orbit, tapping her small hands on his cheeks and forehead and hair and planting wet kisses to his face. She had no idea what was wrong with him, but she knew there was something off. She wanted to do her part to make him feel better. And he loved her all the more for it.
He laid around for the first five or six days. When he was actually awake, he either took to using the dry erase board, texting, or trying desperately to make sound come out of his mouth.
“Stop that! Use the board, you imbecile! You’re going to hurt yourself. And you’ve done enough of that to last my entire lifetime. Here!” John (aggressively) tossed the marker and eraser at Sherlock. “Tell me what you want. Your wish is my command!”
In his customary huffy behavior, he began to write. It was taking forever.
“A novel, perhaps? I thought I was the writer in this flat.”
Sherlock pulled a face as he continued to write. Once finished, he tossed the board to John where he sat opposite on the sofa. John looked down at the board:
I’d really like you to get me some mint chocolate chip ice cream and have some with me while we lie on the sofa. And then, I’d like to take a nap with you.
John’s expression softened. This last year with Sherlock has shown him so many different sides to his love’s personality. This softer side of him had been a revelation.
“That can definitely be arranged, love. Budge over so I can fit, while I go get the ice cream.”
As John walked towards the kitchen, his mobile pinged.
‘We only need one spoon.’
John laughed as his eyes rose to the ceiling.