Chapter Text
Walking into the hospital, he had to admit he was almost impressed. Very sunny and welcoming. The sort of place he was certain someone had thought would be a grand comfort to people who were likely to die. Because even if they did die in the hospital, at least they would die in comfort.
Frowning, he stood near the elevator, trying his best to look approachably perplexed. After all, he knew where it was the doctor he was after worked, but that wasn’t the same as knowing exactly where he was. And sooner or later someone would notice him and say something.
“Are you ok?”
Turning to look toward the voice, Sherlock looked over the brunette and the small Asian girl, both of whom looked mildly worried. It tended to help get attention in a hospital when you showed up bleeding a bit as well, he figured.
“Uh… I’m just looking for a Dr. House?”
“Look, if you want him to look over a file, he’s probably going to say no. He doesn’t take many cases,” the brunette said, trying her best to sound stern and sympathetic.
“And you are so far from having something wrong with you,” the Asian one added. And after a surprised look from her co-worker, she said, “Not that I was coming onto you. You’re hot, but I just meant that a few bruises don’t make much of a case for House.”
“Oh. Thank you. But I’m not actually here for my health. It’s… a personal matter.”
“He deals with those even less.”
“I’m sorry. What’s your name?”
“I’m Dr. Adams and this is Dr. Park. And if you really need to see House, I’d suggest waiting until after he gets off, mister...”
Shaking his head, he said, “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes and I can’t do that. If you really don’t know where he is though, I can ask someone else.”
Sharing a look with Dr. Park, Adams frowned, clearly not wanting to give up their boss’s location for some reason. Though, from what he had learned of the man, it was probably best not to let random strangers know where the brilliant doctor was for his own safety. Still, Adams eventually rolled her eyes as she clutched her clipboard closer to her chest.
“He’s in the clinic. You might be able to catch him there if he’s actually dealing with people,” Park offered.
“Thank you. Which way is that?”
When they pointed the way, Sherlock nodded at them both before heading to the clinic. There seemed much more like a hospital. People suffering from varying degrees of unwell sitting about while the nurses ran back and forth from their station. It made his stomach tighten into knots as he thought of all the time he spent in St. Bart’s.
Sitting down next to a child that kept using his hand to wipe his nose, only to then wipe said hand on the chair, Sherlock hoped that things would go quickly enough.
It wasn’t long before a man was leaving the exam room with his wife, both clearly in a huff over something before the man Sherlock was after finally appeared, eyes focused intently on his clipboard as he limped his way in plain view of those he was set to deal with.
“Alright. Mrs. Mitschke? You’re next.”
When he noticed the little old woman getting up as Dr. House made his way back into the room, Sherlock stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I need to take your place.”
“But I’m next. I have a rash on my hand and it’s spreading,” the little old woman complained.
Looking her over, Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You recently switched your detergent, yes?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“It’s on your hands, arms and where the edge of your shirt brushes against you neck and nowhere else. You’re likely allergic to whatever new product you’re using, so I suggest you find a new one when you go home. Now.”
With that he took a deep breath and made his way into the room. Standing by the bed, he stared at the man, who was busy filling out something on the chart. When Dr. House turned around in his swivel chair, Sherlock couldn’t help but take in every detail about him immediately.
“Well, for a 68 year old woman with a rash, you look damn good, if a bit mannish,” the doctor remarked snidely.
“I’ve come here to see you.”
House rolled his eyes. “Are you dying of anything interesting?”
“No,” Sherlock said before pausing. “Well, technically I’m already dead.”
The doctor narrowed his eyes at him, but Sherlock only remained impassive under the critical gaze. But whatever it was that House was looking for, he obviously found as he smirked and leaned back against the wall.
“Impressive, a lie, but impressive. So what is it you want from me? To be reanimated?”
“I wanted to meet you.”
“You don’t strike me as the groupie type,” House said with a shrug.
Nodding, Sherlock looked him over again before deciding that it was best he get to the point sooner rather than later.
“You’re supposed to be a brilliant mind. A medical genius in a self created field to solve the greatest medical mysteries.”
“Point?”
Sherlock merely stared at him.
Turning in his chair, House dug through a draw before pulling out a bandage and holding it out to him. “I figure that’s the most you’re gonna really need. Apply it directly to that cut on your cheek and try not to come here again.
When Sherlock didn’t take it, he placed it on the medical bed and stood up. Making his way to the door, he held it open and stared at him, obviously wanting their brief encounter to be over with as soon as possible.
Going up to him, Sherlock stared him down and said, “I’ve every reason to believe you’re my father.”
“You see, me opening the door means, you can leave now.”
“When you were younger you had an affair in England with a woman. She was older than you, married, had a son but likely never told you that, not that you cared. It was merely a tryst for you and you probably never thought about it again.”
“Done yet? Because I kind of have lives to save, you know, being a doctor and all.”
“You also know that I may very well be right.”
House scoffed. “Why? Because you did some fancy math in your head to calculate the time line? Trust me, those things never account for anyone else you mom might have slept with.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s more than that. We have the same eye color, jaw structure and build, not that I’m relying on such facts, it’s just that it makes a rather damnable case, wouldn’t you agree?” Sherlock asked smugly.
Of course, House didn’t seem to be willing to budge. Looking over at the patients and staff, staring at him, he shook his head. “I have a birthmark that matches my mom’s new hubbie but that still didn’t make him my dad, plus—“
“I don’t have your brows? Lips? Ears? No, I had to get something from mummy, didn’t I?”
“As an annoying friend once told me, just because you don’t like you dad doesn’t make some other guy your father.”
Sherlock chuckled at that, the hard glint to the other man’s eyes making him seem so familiar. He was almost certain that the doctor was making one of the face’s that John used to always complain about him making.
“Trust me, I don’t look anything like my father, that’d be my brother. I look vaguely like my mother, but since I doubt she had me on her own, it’s more logical to assume it was the man she had an affair with about nine months before my birth.”
“You know what they say about assuming.”
“I don’t think I could make you seem like more of an ass than you already appear to be.”
“House?”
Both of them turned to look at Dr. Park, who seemed a bit nervous to interrupt as she held out a patient’s file.
“Dr. Foreman wants you to take this case.”
“Awesome. I’ll take it,” House said quickly making his way over to the girl. Taking the file, he looked it over before looking back at Sherlock with an overdramatic pout. “Aww man. I have work to get to. You can show yourself out, right?”
“This isn’t over,” Sherlock said seriously.
“I’m pretty sure it is. Come on, Park. We have a patient to heal.”
Watching the two doctors leave, Sherlock smiled to himself. This really was a most interesting development that he hadn’t actually accounted for. Putting his hands in his coat pockets, he began to make his way back to the elevators to see who he could convince to tell him more about the doctor.