doctor, doctor, gimme the news

[mustbethetruth]

It's been four days since the criminal responsible for the theft of a lady's necklace -- by means of disguise, distraction, and a stuffed dodo bird -- and Holmes hasn't moved from his chair except to obtain more tobacco (and then he moved his Persian slipper nearer to him, and he wouldn't have gotten up at all except it was four in the morning and Watson was asleep). He hasn't eaten anything of consequence, nor had he a few days leading up to the utter failure that was the end of that case.

The criminal had gotten away. The fact that he'd stabbed Holmes in the thigh during the fight doesn't really even mean anything to Holmes; the bleeding's stopped, he bandaged the wound, and he doesn't really feel it -- not over the feelings of loss and defeat, anyway. He hasn't mentioned it to Watson, but honestly the thought hasn't even crossed his mind. His mind is too dark a place, at present, to entertain such thoughts about what his lover would like to know, or what his doctor might like to know.

When Holmes starts to turn ill, he barely notices. It's only when he starts to shiver does he notice that he's broken into a sweat; even still, he barely pays it any mind. The dizziness is almost welcome. He leans into his fever and leans his head back against his chair, letting his eyes fall shut.

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[lightconductor]

It was somewhat irriating to think that his life was being orchestrated to a certain extent by Holmes's brother in this way, although if this were true, it wasn't a bad thing.

"Well," he said, feeling a bit at sea about this development, not sure whether he ought to feel happier about it. "I suppose that's... promising. I hope you're right. She did suggest the couch, although admitted it would be 'rubbish to sleep on.'" He raised an eyebrow, but took a mouthful of soup himself. He could not deny it was good, though his appetite was still rather scanty.

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes raises an eyebrow and has another bite of soup. He isn't sure he's quite eager to thank his brother for setting him up with a permissive housekeeper; of course this is ideal, but it is a bit odd. And a bit... perfect. Not to have to worry overmuch about hiding from their housekeeper, beyond keeping up propriety?

"I believe that was her giving you permission to sleep in here," he points out. "My dear Watson, I believe our housekeeper suspects that we're homosexuals."

[lightconductor]

"Wonderful," Watson said with a roll of his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope you're right, and that she doesn't mind. Good Lord." He laughed a little, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm saying that I hope someone does know about us, but there you go."

He reached over to test Holmes's fever with a few fingers on his forehead, and returned his attention to his soup. "I'm not sure I needed the permission to sleep in here, either. I would never think so, seeing the two of you together, but... your brother really does care for you, doesn't he?"