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Today Sherlock was more agitated than usual. A new case had been handed to him, and the man was bursting with excitement. I didn't quite understand what the case was about, but superficially, I believe it's about a woman who supposedly committed suicide, but two different men claim to have murdered her. Strange, isn't it? Well, yes. I'm not involved in it, so maybe I'll never know how it unfolds. Or maybe I will. Maybe Holmes will tell me. You ask me why I'm not on the case, and I'll tell you. I'm sick. A fever that won't go away, body aches, and I'm very cold, even though the weather is mild. However, I have to take care of myself because my dear roommate simply hasn't noticed that I'm not well. He's probably talking to a balloon, believing it to be me. I don't blame him, because that "murder" seems very interesting, indeed. So that's why I haven't left my room much, not wanting to bother him with something as trivial as my health. Not that he would care, actually.
At that moment, I found myself standing, walking to the kitchen to get a drink of water and change the cloth I had placed on my forehead. Everything was very quiet. I took a deep breath (as deep as I could, because it hurt) and raised my arm to get a glass from the cupboard, again feeling that pain in the folds of my body. I drank some water quickly and went to look for a new cloth. The one that one was already too wet. But before I could even open a drawer, a large silhouette approached me from behind. I was a little startled for a moment. After all, Holmes shouldn't be home at this hour. He should be with Lestrade at the crime scene.
"You're sick, aren't you? I noticed your insistence on not letting me notice. But it was useless." I turned to look at the man who had a neutral expression, but I could see something in his eyes change as he observed my face. Perhaps concern? I'm not quite sure.
"You have to stop scaring people, Sherlock. One of these days Mrs. Hudson is going to have a heart attack because of you." — I started by trying to change the subject, or at least soften it. But I saw that he wouldn't let that happen, so I just continued. — I didn't insist. I just didn't bother you. You're on an important case, and I'm not doing so badly. I'm doing very well, actually.
— If you're "doing very well"... Tell me, John, why does your facial expression contain so much pain? Why did your body become more rigid when you picked up that glass? Besides, just look at yourself in a mirror, I beg you. — He looked me up and down, something that made me blush somewhat. — You have a face similar to the dead people Molly takes care of.
I rolled my eyes at the insult. Suddenly I felt a great dizziness, an incessant pain in my head, and then my vision went black. I fainted. I felt thin arms hold me and a voice say something like: "I'll take care of you now."
I woke up with my head still throbbing, but the pillows helped me feel some comfort in it. I had a cloth on my forehead. I immediately thought my roommate had helped me. And that was confirmed when he entered the room with a yellow pot in his hands.
"I figured you'd be awake, John." Sherlock had an almost gentle expression on his face. What an unusual day. But I wasn't going to complain at all.
"How long did I sleep?" It wasn't the question I wanted to ask. But it was what came out of my throat.
"Approximately eight hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-six seconds. But you still look tired. Don't you want to keep sleeping? I can continue your count from where it left off." He smiled slightly. I just let out a light laugh.
"What's that in your hand?" Again, it wasn't the question I wanted to ask. But I did.
Holmes looked at what he had in his own hands before walking closer to where I was and carefully handing me the pot. It was soup.
"Mrs. Hudson made it for you. I asked her to. She didn't know you were sick either." "Do you plan to die alone too, Dr. Watson?" He teased, and I sighed.
"Sorry. I should have warned you, I know very well." The taller man simply nodded in response. That was enough. I started eating the soup while he stared at me; we stayed like that for almost two minutes, until Holmes moved a little closer and placed his hand on my forehead, removing the cloth to check my temperature. It was a little disconcerting, as my friend was too close and I could feel his breath on my skin. Without moving away, he withdrew his hand.
"You still have a fever. But it's gone down." Now he moved away, but remained close to where I was lying/sitting. "Ask. You want to, don't you?"
I scoffed because I'd been found out again. I always am. There aren't many secrets when you live with Sherlock Holmes.
"You... gave me a bath?"
"Yes, John. You were semi-conscious, you said you'd allow it. Don't you remember, then?"
— I don't remember. But... Thank you. I think that's all I could say at the moment. — I cleared my throat and looked away for a moment. The man in front of me smiled slightly, letting out a light laugh.
— What are you laughing at? — I ask, curious and at the same time a little frustrated. Don't laugh at me, you petty thing.
— John... You have this habit of clearing your throat when a situation is embarrassing or when you feel awkward. But there's something I don't understand... Why do I hear you do this in my presence so many times, hm? — I frowned, thinking for a moment before massaging my temple, letting out an indignant laugh.
— Shut up, you conceited fool. I'm sure you know the answer to all the questions you ask me. So don't come at me with that. — I look at Holmes again, he has a little smile on his face. Somewhat adorable, I'd say. But quite irritating.
— Indeed, my dear John. — He pats my shoulder (the one without the gunshot scar) and leaves.
Suddenly I understand. Like a shock. He saw. He saw ME. He saw my scars and... What I tried to do to myself. Damn it. Why wasn't I fully conscious at that moment? I wouldn't let that happen, I wouldn't... Shit. Who am I trying to fool? Sherlock Holmes is who I'm talking about. He already knew. He always knew, from the moment he first saw me. But he never mentioned it. Well... I imagine it's not a very pleasant subject, especially for someone like him who hates sentimental conversations. Maybe I... No. If he didn't come to say anything, it means he doesn't want to. I doubt he cares, either.
I got up, hoping to be well enough to get to the bathroom alone. And I was. But soon after doing my business and being on my way back to the room, I was intercepted by my roommate.
— Jesus, Sherlock! I told you not to scare people! — Recovering from the shock, I see that my friend's face wasn't very happy. — Sherl... — Before I could finish my train of thought, the taller man's long arms pulled me into what felt like a hug. But... Why would Sherlock Holmes hug me? Was he just testing something? For an experiment?
— I'm sorry, John. I should have done this sooner, but I didn't imagine it was this bad. That's why I didn't think about it properly. That's why I never thought about it deeply. It was a mistake. I'm sorry. — I feel a little dizzy with all this information. He pulls us away just a little so he can look at my face. — I didn't realize that the fact that you always wear long-sleeved shirts could mean something. And also...
— Sherlock. Stop. — He stopped, his miserable face making me feel so sorry for him. I think he wanted to say that when he gave me the soup, but he didn't have the courage. — Don't apologize. It's not your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame the war and my wretched life after it. You're not to blame at all. You were the person who made my life better, Sherlock. You changed my life in every imaginable way. — I maintained a serious expression, but a small smile appeared. — I just have to thank you for that. And seriously. Stop apologizing, it's quite strange to see Sherlock Holmes apologizing and saying he was wrong. — My smile widens as I see that Sherlock also smiled.
— You really are the best person I've ever met, John Hamish Watson.
— Thank you, but there was no need to use "Hamish".
We both exchanged a few laughs before Sherlock pulled me into one last affectionate hug and whispered some promises in my ear.
I would keep them all.