SS for LuckyLeprechaun - Leave this one to Lestrade (Sherlock)

[Melody]

Merry Christmas @luckyleprechaun! I hope a Sherlock fic was okay I wasn't too familiar with the other fandoms! It's been a while since I watched Sherlock so I do apologize if they are a bit out of character! I tried my best though  This will probably be a three or four part story so there will be more parts along the way! Enjoy!

 

***

 

John Watson knew that Sherlock Holmes was exceptional at many things, but listening to the advice of a doctor, was certainly not one of them. It was a cold drizzly December morning, not at all unusual for England, and the state of the weather pretty much depicted the detective’s mood. John and Sherlock had received an early call from Lestrade, who requested Sherlock’s immediate presence on the scene of a particularly gruesome homicide.

 

John knew Sherlock would rather be flogged than admit it, but the detective didn’t look like himself that morning. He kept rubbing at his temples as if there was pressure behind his eyes, and he did look rather pale. Well, Sherlock always looked pale but John thought his ghoulish complexion was worse than usual.

 

Sherlock had been observing the scene for a whole twenty minutes now, and was uncharacteristically quiet. John stood with Lestrade on the sidelines, watching the detective hunch over the body, no doubt trying to give the impression he was actually doing something.

 

The poor woman Sherlock was studying had been killed no more than a few days ago, and the killer had obviously tampered with her body. The Jane Doe was left in a white sleeveless dress and strange unrecognizable symbols, adorned her bare arms and legs. An array of flowers scattered the outline of her petite frame and a large chunk of her hair was strangely missing.

 

“Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, taking a step closer to the detective. “It’s been twenty minutes. What’ve you got?”

 

“One poorly dressed dead girl, one useless cop and someone who’s in desperate need of a shave,” Sherlock said distractedly rubbing his temples again.

 

“Someone’s in a mood,” Lestrade said coyly stepping around to the left side of the girl’s body. He knelt to the wet ground looking up at Sherlock, shaking his head.

 

“We’re dealing with a careful but experienced killer,” Sherlock said finally. “The body’s wiped clean of prints or any other biological evidence. The killer obviously felt confident enough to toy with the victim.”

 

“What do you make of the markings?” Lestrade asked blinking up at the detective. “Sherlock?”

 

“Hm?” Sherlock blinked, suddenly refocusing on the very confused cop.

 

“The markings. What do you make of the markings?” Lestrade was looking up at him expectantly and even John had picked up that something was off about his friend. Too much time had passed for Sherlock to not reach a conclusion.

 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said after a moment’s silence.

 

“Did you just say you don’t know?” John asked, not meaning to sound as shocked as he felt. “I never thought those words could come out of your mouth.”

 

Sherlock didn’t retort with a witty response like he always did and for some strange reason that made John very concerned. Lestrade didn’t seem to pick up on his aloof mannerisms and muttered something to Sherlock before heading back to his squad car.

 

“Sherlock,” John said curiously stepping closer to his friend. “Are you alright?”

 

Upon closer inspection John noticed dark bags had settled under his normally alert eyes. Not that Sherlock slept much on normal days attributing to the fact that sleep was boring. But even still, the exhausted look in his eyes was concerning.

 

“Yes of course,” Sherlock muttered distractedly still staring down at the girl’s markings. “I am on the verge of decoding these markings.”

 

For some strange reason, John had a feeling that wasn’t necessarily the case.

 

“Well,” John said quickly pulling his scarf tighter around him. “Can you think back in the flat? It’s freezing out here.”

 

“Yes, I suppose that’s a good idea,” Sherlock mumbled ducking under the police tape. John followed, as Sherlock said something to Lestrade before hailing down a cab.

 

Once in the quietness of the cab John tried not to notice the slight shivers that seemed to rack the detectives bony frame. Ten minutes later he detected a quiet but audible sniff and out of the corner of his eye, watched his friend rub at his long nose.

 

They were just pulling up to Baker Street when John heard a sharp inhale next to him. He looked at his friend curiously, watching his chest rise and fall with deep hitching breaths and finally a desperate sounding hah’EHGtSHu!

 

The detective’s eyes were still squeezed shut, and his nose was noticeably reddening around the edges. It flared viscerally and Sherlock shot forward catching another EHGTCh! between his long fingers.

 

Sherlock sniffed, rubbed his nose again, and gave a small but audible noise of discomfort. John was so shocked at the suddenly display of well, humanity, that he forgot to say bless you. Quite frankly, John had to often remind himself that Sherlock was human.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” John asked, breaking the silence.

 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Sherlock muttered as their cab pulled up on Baker Street.

 

“I don’t know,” John narrowed his eyes, “you just seem a little off today, that’s all.”

 

“I’m fine John,” Sherlock said in his usual dismissive tone.

 

“Well you do seem a bit ill –”

 

“How would you know?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

 

“I don’t know Sherlock maybe because I’m a doctor?”

 

“Yes, yes, that’s what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night.”

 

“Fine. Whatever.” It really was a miracle John dealt with him so well. He reckoned he deserved an award.  

 

“I’m fine John. I’ve got a case to and this one is a fun one. I love when killers leave messages.” And just like that, the detective gave his signature smirk, bolted out of the cab and up the stairs to their flat.

 

“Odd chap isn’t he?” The taxi driver commented, as John handed him a few pounds.

 

“Trust me,” John sighed pulling up his coat. “You have absolutely, no idea.”

 

***

After they arrived back at their flat, Sherlock rushed out again no more than thirty minutes later, yelling something as he raced down the stairs. John would’ve liked to keep a closer eye on his friend because it seemed like he was getting sick or something, but he gave up on that a long time ago. Sherlock listened to no one and did what he pleased.

 

It was seven o’clock at night when John finally heard the door slam. Ten seconds later a drenched Sherlock trudged through the doorway. John was so shocked at the sight of him that he nearly dropped his teacup.

 

Sherlock was deathly pale, except for the scarlet in his high cheekbones. His long aquiline nose was rimmed red and he was shivering so hard that his chattering teeth were the only sound that filled the room. 

 

“Where in the hell have you been?” John asked, trying not to sound too relieved.

 

“Following a lead,” Sherlock mumbled distractedly, rubbing the underside of his nose.

 

“Did that lead include a trek across England?” The detective’s clothes were absolutely filthy, and his shoes were covered in mud.

 

Sherlock didn’t answer; it was as if he didn’t even hear John, he just stared at the floor.

 

“Sherlock?” John raised an eyebrow stepping closer to his friend. “Why don’t you sit down?”

 

His friend’s eyes were glassy but bright with fever, which made his stare more unnerving than it usually was. When Sherlock actually let John lead him to his armchair, he knew something was seriously wrong. Sherlock seemed under the weather when he left the flat this morning, but he definitely was not this bad.

 

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock finally mumbled. His voice sounded oddly congested, which John didn’t remember hearing from the latter. Ever.

 

“You don’t understand what?” John asked, handing him a cup of tea.

 

“I don’t understand, why I don’t understand,” Sherlock muttered before his voice cracked, and he shot forward with a harsh cough into cupped hands.

 

 Now John understood. He didn’t figure out the markings yet.

 

“Well,” he said dropping in the seat across from him. “Maybe it’s because you’re sick.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” he still had the strength to roll his eyes, which John took as a good sign.

 

“Everyone gets sick Sherlock,” John said taking a sip of his tea.

 

“Yes normal people,” he said with an absent sniff.

 

Before John could fire back another witty retort, another violent coughing fit shook the detective, leaving him wheezing for breath.  The cough sounded wet and congested, like it was deep in his chest, and John winced.

 

“Seriously Sherlock,” he said quietly. “You really don’t look too good. Maybe you should take a rain check on the case.”

 

“Then we’ll have a killer on the l-loose – uhh – hah’EHGtSHu! “ihh'GY’EHSSCHt!!”

 

“Bless –”

 

“Hh’IiSHh’U! EHGTCh! ..! hah’EHGtSHu!”

 

“Bless you!” John said shocked at the force of his friend’s sneezes. It practically bent him over at the waist and left him gasping for breath. That one shallow wheeze was enough to force John to his feet, hovering over his friend, feeling oddly protective.

 

“I think that’s enough for one night,” John said after a moment of watching Sherlock stare into space. The detective was drumming his fingers together, clearly deep in thought in his mind palace, trying to decode the case.

 

“Sherlock,” John tried again, his brow furrowing with concern. “Seriously. You should go to bed.”

 

“Sleeping is boring,” Sherlock mumbled, rising from his chair. “I just need to think.”

 

“Yeah, try thinking with a fever,” John could practically feel the heat rolling off of him. Sherlock’s movements were slower then they usually were, and he could tell his alertness was fading.

 

Sherlock was never this slow with solving a case.

 

“The mind is stronger than the body,” Sherlock said, rubbing his nose.

           “You do know you’re human right?”

 

“Hardly,” Sherlock absently touched his temples, a clear indication of the headache John suspected he had that morning.

 

“Sherlock, do I need to drag you to your room?”

 

“No,” Sherlock smothered a cough into his fist. “I suppose I’ll go to bed I’ll have the case solved by morning anyway.”

 

          “Right,” John said watching a sudden violent shiver wrack the detective’s frame. “Whatever you say.”

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Edited December 26, 2016 by Melody

[cally]

This was really well done.  I look forward to seeing what happens.  Hopefully, John will be able to get Sherlock to come to his senses! 

[Shamaël]

12 hours ago, Melody said:

John Watson knew that Sherlock Holmes was exceptional at many things, but listening to the advice of a doctor, was certainly not one of them.

This is a great beginning! And the whole part is great as well. Lots of humour, Sherlock and John completely in character... I hope you will continue this because it's really good!

[Melody]

Thank you so much you two! I'm always wary with fanfics because I want to get the characters right! Hopefully i will get the next few parts out soon!  

[luckyleprechaun]

OH MY GOODNESS

ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL

THERE'S DENIAL AND EVERYTHING IS AMAZING

YOU ROCK

I'M NOT COHERENT RN

I ANXIOUSLY AWAIT MORE

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

On December 25, 2016 at 11:51 PM, Melody said:

“No,” Sherlock smothered a cough into his fist. “I suppose I’ll go to bed I’ll have the case solved by morning anyway.”

 

          “Right,” John said watching a sudden violent shiver wrack the detective’s frame. “Whatever you say.”

Oh classic Sherlock arrogance. 

This looks to be a fun story. I think you are keeping in character quite well. I will look forward to up dates.  

[AngelEyes]

Oh Sherlock, denial is futile.