thoughtformed | 010 | Kudou Shinichi | Audio | forward-dated to the morning

I'll call you in.

Do you need me to have a look, Shinichi?

I guess so.

[ He sounds absolutely miserable ]

But it's probably just a cold.

I might not be able to fix a cold, but I can at least make you somewhat less miserable, let you sleep at least.

If you can hold out for lunchtime, I'll bring you some decongestant and maybe some soup. Would you like that?

[ He has every intention of sleeping until lunch ]

Yes, please.

If I feel worse I'll call you.

[ worried? she's not worried. ok, maybe she's a little worried. but showing it would be far too sentimental for her. ]

I'm coming over. Make sure someone lets me in.

[ Whaaat? But that means he has to get up because there's no guarantee that Holmes will hear the door or even answer it if he does. ]

Mm.

[ Oh well. He'll just relocate to the couch. ]

[ good, even better for her to keep an eye on him. ]

When did you start feeling ill?

[ Can't you ask questions later? He wants to sleep his cold off )8 ]

This morning? Mt throat hurt yesterday though.

[ she tuts under her breath, already beginning to gather her purse and coat. ]

I'll be over soon enough. If no one answers the door, I'm quite capable of finding a way in.

[ read: i'll break in through the window, go back to sleep. ]

Mm.

[ mutters quietly, curling farther into the couch and not bothering to shut the phone off. If she breaks a window getting in then that's hardly his concern. ]

[ in through the window it is! he's lucky she decided at the last moment not to knock. when he wakes up (if he's fallen asleep), he'll hear rummaging around the kitchen and then irene will poke her head through the door to check on him.

sometime later, she'll sit on the edge of the couch and tch- at him under her breath. ]

This won't do. You ought to be in bed.

[ Shinichi is curled up and made himself as small as he could possibly manage under his blankets. The cup of green tea that someone had prepared for him before her arrival sits untouched on the end table by the couch. He hasn't moved much at all since their earlier half-coherent conversation and the phone he'd been using is tucked under his hand. ]

[ He feels extra weight on the other end of the sofa and lifts his head just enough to peer blearily over at her. ]

I don't wanna move.

[ just watching him draws a frown to her face and she leans in a bit closer to slide her arms underneath him and pull him into her lap, and then her arms as she rises. he's heavier than she thought, but nothing too horrible. ]

Come now. Time to go to bed.

[ see, she fixed it so he doesn't have to move. ]

[ He's not usually very fond of being picked up, in his experience it's usually not for a good reason. He'll make a special exception for today though as this way he doesn't have to move at all. ]

But Holmes made tea and I haven't had any yet.

[ he makes an extremely weak attempt at protesting. ]

[ she might have rolled her eyes, if it was a more dignified reaction. as it was, she huffed a laugh, carefully adjusting him so she had a better grip. it would likely hurt him more if she dropped him. ]

I'm almost certain that he won't notice, but if it means so much to you, I'll bring it in for you once you're settled.

[ come now, no argument. she weaves around furniture and through the house until she's in shinichi's room, pulling back the covers and settling him against the pillows, tucking him in with all due care. ]

[ deposited by the couch: a cup of hot green tea. ]

[ His resolve to sleep this stupid cold off isn't working nearly as well as he'd like it too, he can't stay asleep as he's far too congested, his head hurts and if he didn't know any better, he'd say his throat might actually be on fire. ]

[ He blinks blearily at the steaming mug and wonders briefly who put it there, but the only other person in the house and the cat and dog. It definitely wasn't either the cat or the dog which left only one possible solution: Sherlock Holmes had made it and left it here. Had he been feeling even slightly more energetic he might have tried to get up and say thank you but instead collapses back on his pillow and curls back up, making a mental note to say thank you later. ]

[ after tucking shinichi in to bed, situating him with water in reach and a teddybear she's found tucked under his arm - irene leaves his bedroom, shutting the door silently behind her and sighing, hand still on the door. he was very sick; and she didn't have any experience with ill children. or children in general.

she, for once, didn't hear anyone come up behind her. ]

[ admittedly, Sherlock doesn't intend to sneak up on her -- he had no idea she was even in the building. the tentative silence with which he emerges from the other bedroom is entirely a deference to the ill child -- no need to go clattering about and waking him into a cranky fit, after all.

he waits a moment, then observes quietly: ]

Never any younger siblings to care for, then.

[ she doesn't bother hiding her surprise - she starts and then turns, hair falling in her face. it was natural for him to be here; it was his house. on the contrary, it was strange for her to be here. at least he wasn't angry that she'd come in through the window.

twirling a curl around her finger, she crossed one arm across her chest almost protectively. ]

No.

[ and when she was sick, there was no one to take care of her. ]

He looks very bad. Did you make him tea, earlier?

John will be back soon. If his fever gets worse, I'm to call him.

[ if pressed, Sherlock might have admitted he was in fact decidedly amused by her talent for and habit of breaking in to his flat. either way, he doesn't comment on it, noting her apparent moment of vulnerability.

he shrugs carelessly in answer. ]

I was making myself tea anyway.

[ considering all pretense of her not caring was gone, she worried at her lower lip, casting a glance at the door behind her. his fever was high enough for her to be concerned, though she'd tried to get shinichi to take some medicine and just sleep it off. and he was so small... ]

Yes, Doctor Watson would know best.. [ did he specialize in pediatrics? was there anyone on this island who did?

it's almost touching that sherlock would care so much to even make tea, regardless of his claim that he was making it for himself. ]

I'm sure he really appreciated it. Or he will, once he's himself again. He does look up to you.

Well, between the three of us, he's got the medical degree.

[ he says it flippantly, but he's watching her with care. interesting. he would not have pegged her for the nurturing type, not really, but she seems so fond of the boy.

he has in fact noticed Shinichi's idolization, though -- he'd have to be blind not to. to some degree it's flattering, particularly because he is actually a fairly clever boy, but it also reminds him of himself as a child, and his boyish conviction that his older brother was the pinnacle of humanity. Sherlock has no use for being anyone's hero, that kind of responsibility is beyond his handling. ]

Yes, well. He'll get over that.

[ it's almost .. uncomfortable - not because she hadn't been expecting him. she was perfectly capable to adapt to any situation. but with shinichi so sick, she didn't have time to squabble about sentiment and semantics with him. and she wasn't the nurturing type; she didn't know the first thing about raising a child, caring for one, and she certainly didn't believe there was some sort of innate quality as a female that made her capable to do so.

it was uncomfortable to be seen this way. to be watched. ]

Oh? I would have thought you would encourage it.

[ she certainly has been trying to point out his flaws, though not maliciously. ]

[ Sherlock has been made aware, repeatedly and with wildly varying degrees of civility, of how unsettling it can feel to be the focus of his scrutiny, and he recognizes the reaction beginning in her. he blinks and looks away, softening his expression before walking out of the hall and towards the kitchen -- it is, essentially, an offer for her to come and sit down rather than hover awkwardly, but he's hardly going to spell it out, is he? ]

He's not as annoying as he could be about it, I'll give him that much.

[ she follows him without really thinking about it, her mind still in the bedroom with shinichi. no one had ever taken care of her when she was sick - she was fiercely independent, even as a child, and was more likely to pretend that she wasn't even ill. what would he like? should she make porridge? that seemed like a .. maternal thing to do. intellectually, she knew he'd likely recover with rest and lots of fluids, but ..

irene seats herself at the table. ]

No, he's not. But in his eyes, you could do no wrong. Be sure you don't let him down.

Everyone lets everyone down. I wasn't much older than him when I picked that up, so I'm sure he'll figure it out himself. He's very clever.

[ after a moment, he sets a cup of coffee on the table in front of her, eyebrows raised as if daring her to comment on his hospitality. he was making himself coffee anyway.

having been coddled through childhood illnesses in the distant and clinical way expected of wealthy families -- with nannies and nurses and personal doctors, because that was how things were done, not because anyone cared -- the expression of genuine care seems almost foreign to Sherlock. he's used to fuss from John, who sort of has "fuss" written into him, but in her, it's interesting because it's unexpected. a beat, then: ]

Studies have shown alternating treatment with paracetamol and ibuprofen increases comfort in children.

[ another beat. that probably was unclear. ]

I believe he last took some ibuprofen a few hours ago.

You're not everyone.

[ he doesn't have to let shinichi down, not if he tries hard. there is no hiding the parts of his personality that make him not perfect, but they don't have to be seen as flaws that affect shinichi. they could just be quirks. noting that he was studying her, she accepts the coffee with a grateful sigh, clasping her hands around it and taking a sip.

she'll keep whatever comments about his hospitality to herself, for now. ]

I don't suppose you have any Panadol, do you?

[ yeah, she's a big girl, she takes her own generic medicine and everything. and so does shinichi, when she's around. ]

[ guess whose turn it is to grump around the house in dirty pajamas and a frown?? well, Sherlock does that a lot anyway, but this time he's also got a rib-cracking cough, a blanket around his shoulders, and a drippy nose. THE WORLD IS HATEFUL, THIS IS THE SECOND TIME HE'S BEEN SICK ALL YEAR, what a disaster, he hasn't felt this poorly since his final detox. he doesn't even have the energy to move from the couch, preferring to curl up under it like a dragon in a mountain and peek through the folds to glare hazily at the outside world.

eventually, he croaks: ] Tea?

[ and then coughs again. god, that didn't even sound like a language. of course, whether anyone is even home to hear him or not is beyond his compromised ability to notice or care. ]

[ you know, she was really only in the house to see to shinichi - she wanted to make sure that he was still recovering and hadn't relapsed with an even worse fever (which she would have called john for, regardless of her pride). just when she was leaving his bedroom, shutting the door quietly so as to not wake the other inhabitants of the house..

was that a cough? and some attempt at speaking?

she might have smiled at the sight of the larger man on the couch, had he not looked absolutely dreadful. instead she sighed, leaning in the doorway. ]

Someone hasn't been drinking their orange juice. [ she remarked, a picture of health. ] I'll put a kettle on, shall I?

[ Sherlock's head emerges from his bundle with a bleary, squinty blink visible from above the folds of his blanket and below his limp fringe. oh. he hadn't even noticed her come in -- which really says a lot about how hard a blow this has been. of course, he's not so unobservant that he can't note how she's still disgustingly healthy. ugh, she and john are probably completely immune to everything. the whole world is conspiring against him.

he can't even muster the energy required to be flippant and sarcastic, simply grunting indelicately, then flopping out one hand, palm up, from his blanket. tea will show up eventually.

though, after a moment: ]

Suppose you have.

[ orange juice. drinking it. the conversation makes sense to him. ]

[ he looks absolutely miserable and ridiculously morose about the entire ordeal, and she has to bite back a laugh. what a child! everyone was ill now and then, it was part of being human. naturally he would wish to deny that, of course. bustling into the kitchen in a manner very mrs. hudson-esque, she returned a few minutes later with a mug, a teabag floating in it. it smells citrusy and she places it in his hand as she settles herself on the couch near his midriff, careful not to sit on him.

it takes her a moment to realize what he must be speaking of, and then she smiles. ]

Naturally. I would never forgo my necessary vitamin C.

[ she can keep up with you! even when you don't make sense. ]

Now. Have you taken anything?

[ ugh, vitamins.

bringing the cup closer to his face, he inhales deeply, but as the steam opens his sinuses his expression creases into one of muzzy suspicion. he has, of course, conducted several studies on the identification of dozens of brands of tea -- but at the moment, all he has access to is smells different. ]

... Paracetamol.

[ she notes what he's doing and offers a smile. of course, when it became clear that shinichi would not recover over night, she'd brought her own tea. it was nothing like moving in and she'd hid it in the back of a cupboard for fear that it's presence be misunderstood ~~and because she didn't want to share~~. ]

I hope you won't object to black tea with a hint of orange. I prefer it, when I'm ill.

[ see. she's not poisoning you. she's being nice. now drink it, you butt. ]

And how long ago was that?

Mm. Not bad.

[ he scoots around gingerly until he's propped up half on one elbow and half against the arm of the sofa so he can drink the tea without dribbling it all down his face, consequently curling slightly around where Irene is sitting like a clammy, stuffed-up comma. when the cup is a quarter of the way gone and he's feeling somewhat less staticky between the ears, it occurs to him that he hasn't answered her question. to be fair, he isn't entirely sure. ]

Er -- Time s'it?

[ brought down so low, to the level of mortals. ]

[ her lips curve into a smile, and she settles herself next to him, careful not to stare over much. he was sick, wasn't he? now wasn't exactly the time to be studying him. ]

Around four. How long have you been here?

[ the couch, while arguable comfortable, wasn't the best place for a sick man, after all. that was the same argument she'd used when moving shinichi. ]

... Yesterday evening. [ he lay down to think and just... didn't want to get up again. at some point he hazily recalls a hand on his forehead and the drape of blankets over his chest, then the occasional infliction of pills and warm water. ]

Last dose was, er. [ god, his brain is in such a fog right now. he has enough awareness to be frustrated with it, but not enough energy to work through it no matter how irritating it gets. ] Before John went to work.

[ irene tuts at him disapprovingly, reaching over to twitch the blankets that someone had laid over him into a more comfortable position. what a child! had he really not been able to take care of himself while he was left alone? tch. now there were two sick children in the house. ]

After you finish your tea, we'll move you to the bedroom. [ her tone brooks no argument. ] And you'll need more medicine, of course. I'll get that now and a cold compress for your head.

[ not one word about her supposed maternal instincts. or she might leave you to die on that couch. ]

[ if the look on his face is anything to go by, he's actually more likely to make a crack about finally getting him in the bedroom, particularly considering her tone of voice, but fortunately for both her dignity and his health, he's overtaken by a bout of coughing that dislodges the thought from his mind entirely.

not that it'll stop him from grumbling hoarsely in general. ]

What's the point? I'll be laying down anyway.

[ however, of note is the fact that he obediently continues to sip at his tea. ]

[ she snorts, not at his weakness but at his implication that the couch was JUST as comfortable as a bed. sex couldn't be further from her mind right now; he'd likely sneeze on her. though, the joke may have made her feel better; he looked dreadful and while she was capable of feeding people tea and generally staying out of the line of fire, she wasn't a doctor.

luckily, she knew where to find one if need be. ]

I don't suppose you'll see the benefit in being able to stretch out without your feet hanging off the end, then?

[ she notes his sipping of her tea with a smile, trailing a hand over his hip in what was meant to be a comforting way (she'd deny it later, don't bother telling john), and standing to move over to the kitchen. she returns in a few minutes with a few pills in her hand, and a cold compress in the other. ]

Take these.

Nnh. [ the grunt is short for I hardly see the benefit of sleeping in the first place. curling up in a ball on his chair is a regular habit of his -- but of course, now his muscles are stiff and aching, and there may be something to be said about being able to lay himself out fully without cramping. so he amends his answer with a slightly more agreeable: ] ... Mm.

[ fortunately, among many things Sherlock was blessed with, a hardy immune system only somewhat dented by his addiction is one of them. rest, liquids, and fever reducers are the bulk of what he needs, and while he's in no position to handle two thirds of those himself, it does make him a comparatively easy patient. he's a fussy child with no filter, but at least he's not likely to die if given even the most minor of supervision.

he swallows the pills dry, chases them with a larger gulp of tea than strictly recommended for its temperature, and holds out his hand for the compress. ]

[ she stares at him as though he's gone mad - because he has, hasn't he? no complete sentences? honestly, either he was about to die or he was being a huge child about being sick. still, being on the couch wasn't the most comfortable, so she couldn't blame him for being quite miserable at the moment. ]

Don't. [ irene swats at his hand with hers, giving him a fierce look. ] As much as I'd love to see you smack yourself in the face with it, it doesn't do any good there. Besides, I need to feel for your temperature.

[ come on, straight face, girl. no cracks or he's likely to never let you near him again. reaching for his forehead, she smooths slightly sweaty hair out of his face, pressing her hand against his forehead and feeling for a moment, tsking under her breath. finally she presses the cold compress against his skin, to cool him down, before surveying him for a few moments. ]

Finish your tea.

[ at the smack, Sherlock snatches his hand back, looking dramatically, comically wounded. such undeserved cruelty 8( he's an innocent victim 8(

regardless, he relaxes almost reflexively under her hand, cool compared to his own skin even without the compress. were they always so cool? he doesn't even remember if they had been that first time she touched his own hands. is that important? does that say something? it would normally say poor circulation -- is that important? he's not firing on all cylinders, and of course his points of data are all skewed, so no, it's not important because it's not even accurate, but even impaired, he can't help his mind always trying to function and analyze. sweat mingles with condensation from the cold pack and drips down his face, feeling a lot nicer than it has any business doing.

with nothing to do but drink the tea, Sherlock finishes it off before it can reach an unpleasant room temperature. ]

... Suppose I shouldn't be surprised, how well you take care of others.

Edited 2014-01-15 22:35 (UTC)

[ she blinks, hiding her surprise behind a carefully placed mask of slight exasperation. luckily, she came prepared for the perspiration, wiping off his cheeks with a tea towel, with surprising gentleness. at some point, he'd need to take a shower; it'd make him feel better, most likely - but she wasn't broaching that as of yet. she'd use that for later, when she needed to pull out the big guns to get him to cooperate. ]

I'm certain I don't know what you mean.

[ tread carefully, sherlock holmes. she could dump this ice water on you and leave you right now. ]

Come on, now. Bed. Do you need help standing?

[ his filter having long since fallen by the wayside, Sherlock is ignorant of the eggshells he ought to be treading on even if he has no ill intentions, and he clarifies in a mumble: ] Knowing how to take care of someone... Part of the job, wasn't it? John treated bullet holes and you treat... something else.

[ again, it makes sense to him. if she doesn't react poorly, he'll do his best to hobble up on unsteady legs at her prompting. ]

[ her eyebrows raised, irene settles back for a moment to consider; he's right, in a way. if he was more coherent, perhaps he could articulate it better, but she did take care of people -- just the needs that they couldn't express to the general public. ]

And I suppose your next argument is that Doctor Watson is far more necessary than whatever services I provide.

[ she offers, neutrally, surveying him on his unsteady legs before jumping in and slinging one of his long arms around her shoulders. she's surprisingly strong for her relative size, and she didn't have any wish to see him collapse before making it to the bedroom. ]

[ managing not to weigh too heavily on her support, Sherlock makes it to the bedroom without any fuss, shoving aside the covers and sitting down heavily on what is obviously 'his' side of the bed, judging from the almost military-precise arrangement of the other half. he scrubs one hand over his fever-flushed face as if that could put it to rights, looking as if he'd ran clear across London. ]

Who's arguing? Simply making an observation. I'm a detective, it's allowed.

[ of course, he knows her response is not exactly unwarranted, considering his quip long ago about her taking her clothes off for money... ]

[ her frown deepens but she doesn't say anything; inwardly, she considers calling john -- but the explanation, why she was in the house, what she'd done to help - it just struck her as awkward. if he wasn't taking good care of himself, he would only improve once someone was. settling him in the bed, she pulls up the sheet well over his chest and fluffs the pillows, almost absently. ]

More than allowed. You may even be correct; but I would never argue that what I do is of life and death importance.

[ she presses the cold compress back on his head, guiding his hand over it firmly; at least she was trusting him to hold his own at this point. ]

You'll have to change out of those clothes, you know. No doubt you've sweated through them multiple times.

[ irene will leave it up to him if he orders her out of the room or wants her assistance. ]

[ Shinichi's been reading in his room all day just as he usually does. He prefers to stay out of the way in a corner where he can bury his nose in books-mostly mystery and nonfiction but it's not unusual to see science fiction novel in his pile of books-though if asked he'd deny it and say they're there by accident. His cold has significantly slowed down his reading though he keeps having to pause to cough or sleep off a headache to the best of his ability and sometimes even leave his room for a cup of water. ]

[ He checks the time on the clock and rolls out of bed, Watson's probably not back yet but he's starting to get hungry. Very quietly, incase Holmes is sleeping, he slips out of his room and over to the kitchen. He can't even begin to cook on his own, he's pretty sure the oven will catch on fire if he even thinks about trying to cook so he's limited to whatever is in the fridge. He takes an orange out and peels it carefully before splitting it in half and moving carefully over to where Holmes is, if he's awake he'll wordlessly offer his idol half of the orange, if he's asleep he'll get a bowl and set it on the table by the couch. ]

010 | Kudou Shinichi | Audio | forward-dated to the morning

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HIJACKS POST FOR SICK DETECTIVE ACTION x2, VER. TALL AND BELSTAFFY

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action. | sometime after Irene's left | nevermind that I am literally over a month late >>