Chapter Text
John looked up from his paper to find Sherlock missing.
If he’s gone to the bathroom again that’s going to be his fourth time in 2 hours, John thought. Yes, it might be a bit unusual to track your flat-mate’s bathroom habits, but that’s one of the curses of being a doctor. You’re aware of every cough and wince from every friend, family member, or acquaintance, constantly seeing life threatening illnesses in even the most mundane of sneezes. He heard the familiar sound of Sherlock’s toilet flushing, confirming his thoughts. Hundreds of different diseases and infections that affect the excretory system flashed through his mind causing a bout of anxiety to surge through him. Sherlock had been using the bathroom excessively over the past few days. John had blown it off, thinking it was all the tea he had been drinking. Now it was starting to worry him. What if Sherlock actually had something wrong with him? What if something happened to him? He was a doctor for God’s sake; he couldn’t ignore his friend’s health.
Relax, he thought to himself, maybe he just has Prostatitis. Prostate swelling is common and easily treated with antibiotics. It was true and a huge possibility; he couldn’t even imagine Sherlock having a prostate exam. He looked back down at his paper, finally calm again.
Before he could even read the second line of the article he started, Sherlock stepped the sitting room looking exhausted. His face was pinched, making his cheeks look even more hollow than usual.
“You alright, mate?” John asked wearily.
Sherlock grunted a confirmation before throwing himself back onto the couch and pulling the robe tight around himself. John almost asked the date of his last prostate exam but decided against it. It was none of his business. Sherlock could take care of himself for once.
At around six am the next morning, John shuffled into his bathroom for his morning ritual. He had started taking up shifts at a clinic just south of their flat. The extra money served him well, and he was still close enough to home that he could walk without having to fork over hundreds a month for cabs.
Just as he reached for his toothbrush, he remembered he was out of toothpaste. He struggled fruitlessly with the tube, trying to squeeze a bit out. Cursing himself for not purchasing it when he was getting low, he decided to trudge downstairs and borrow some of Sherlock’s.
He knocked on Sherlock’s bedroom door. When he received no answer, he peaked inside. The soft light creeping in around the blinds revealed Sherlock stretched across his bed, sound asleep. Deciding he didn’t want to wake the detective, he quietly clicked the door closed and slipped into the door next to Sherlock’s. He decided Sherlock wouldn’t mind if he borrowed it. Besides, he used John’s computer without asking all the time.
He was only two steps into the bathroom before he was hit with the strong odor of human urine. He crinkled his nose and snatched the toothpaste, quickly retreating.
It wasn’t until he already had his toothbrush in his mouth that he gave it any thought. He suddenly remembered Sherlock’s bathroom habits from last night. People with Prostatitis didn’t usually have a problem with odorous urine. What would it be then? Maybe Sherlock doesn’t flush his toilet throughout the night. But still, it wouldn’t smell that bad, I mean it smelled like something di—Oh. Sherlock had a Urinary Tract Infection. Some of the most common symptoms were frequent urination, burning during and/or after urination, and strong smelling urine. Sherlock was at least two for three.
When he went to return Sherlock’s toothpaste he looked into the toilet for curiosity’s sake.
Cloudy Urine: Another common symptom of a UTI.
He considered waking Sherlock up and asking if he had any other symptoms but decided to confront him when he got home from work. If Sherlock really had such a bad infection (as the odor suggested), he would probably be in a lot of pain and in need of a good night’s rest.
Working through the day, he slowly forgot about Sherlock, his concentration centered on the patients. It wasn’t until lunch time when he started worrying about his flatmate again. He sat slumped over a medical textbook from his college days, rereading the paragraphs about UTIs in men, while eating a sandwich he had packed himself that morning. When he reached the paragraph explaining the high risk of kidney infection and eventual renal failure from UTIs he decided he was going to take Sherlock to see a doctor whether he agreed to it or not. Who could he take Sherlock too though? He would be a hard patient, definitely. He could always treat Sherlock himself but there was something unappealing about giving his best friend a prostate exam. Should he take him to a specialist or a general physician? He turned on the old desktop computer on his desk and spent the rest of his lunch break phoning local urology offices.