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pompey_01Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Warnings: MAJOR spoilers for “The Speckled Blonde” (the July 13 entry on the BBC’s John Watson blog)
Word count: 766
Summary: John appears to have the same symptoms of poisoning as the Stoner sisters.
Prompt: #2 – summer in the city
“Sherlock.”
The detective kept his attention fixed on John’s laptop. Just because John’s blog had at least 1,895 hits (likely more, given that it had been stuck on that number for ages now) and his own had less than a hundred was no reason not to update. Surely someone out there – besides himself – needed help differentiating the footprints created by Prada heels versus those created by Chinese fakes.
“Sherlock, I’d like my laptop back. You have your own. Use it.”
The words were typical for John given the circumstances but the tone sounded somewhat off. Besides which, it was already mid-morning and these were the first words John had uttered. Sherlock glanced up from his work and commenced observations.
Still clad in a tee and pajamas despite the time – fatigue, malaise
One hand bracing against the wall –fatigue again, possible dizziness
Swaying slightly – ditto
Eyes heavy-lidded, dark bags – more fatigue, possible photosensitivity
Face slightly flushed – fever?
Sweat at the hairline – fever, or just summer heat?
Unease bloomed. It had been just a few since the case of Roylott’s poisoned bubble bath, which had claimed the life of Julia Stoner (whom John had dubbed “The Speckled Blonde”) and nearly that of her sister Helen as well, until they had intervened. The symptoms of the poisonings had started with fatigue and progressed to red speckles all over the body followed immediately by death.
John hadn’t touched the bubble bath. At least, Sherlock didn’t think he had. And even if he had, the symptoms wouldn’t have appeared so quickly after just a brief contact. Would they? Sherlock frowned, heel prints forgotten.
“Sherlock,” John said again, less patiently. “Laptop.” He stepped closer.
Sherlock’s gaze zoomed in on the small red bumps around the base and sides of John’s neck. He shot out of his chair. “How much touched you? And how long were you in contact with it?”
John stared at him, alarmed. “What?”
“The bubble bath, John! How much of it touched you, and for how long? Are you having any other symptoms? When did these start?”
John continued to stare although the alarm was fading. “I never touched Roylott’s bubble bath, not even the bottle. I’m not poisoned. I’m just getting a cold. Oy, stop it!”
That last interjection was in response to Sherlock pulling at the neck of his t-shirt, trying to see how far the red dots extended across John’s skin. “You have the same speckling that Julia Stoner had.”
“It’s just a little prickly heat. Get off!” John snapped, swatting Sherlock’s hands away. “I was sweating last night. It is July, after all.”
The detective folded his arms and tried to glare down his stubborn flatmate. “It probably is just a virus and the rash is probably just prickly heat, as you said, but since we just investigated a case where a woman with the same symptoms died of poisoning, it would be stupid not to take precautions.”
“Now you’re being paranoid,” John said, folding his own arms. “I am a doctor; you didn’t delete that fact, yeah? Then trust me -- I know a cold when I feel it coming on. I am tired but I’m also getting congested and my throat is starting to hurt. As for the rash . . . ” John obligingly tilted his head and lightly pulled at his shirt to give Sherlock a better view. “See how it’s made of papules –bumps, that is – with inflammation of the skin around them? Julia Stone’s body was covered in flat red dots called petechia. Totally different.”
The cold knot of fear in his gut loosened. John was right. They were completely different.
“All right, Sherlock?” asked John.
“Yes.” He sat back down and turned back to his monograph in progress. He was not all right, though. Why hadn’t he seen the differences in the rashes for himself right away? Why had he allowed his emotional response to completely overtake his reason? The answer was simple: fear for John had caused him to lose all perspective. This was precisely why he tried so hard to maintain a logical outlook at all times. Best to try to lose himself in work as soon as possible, to regain a little equilibrium and at least pretend to himself that this blunder had never happened.
“Sherlock.”
He looked up once again from the screen. “What?”
John gave him a look very much like the one he wore during the Great Astronomy Discussion. “My laptop, Sherlock,” he said as though speaking to someone exceptionally dim. “You are still using it. I would like it back now.”
