The Courtesan (Johnlock-Historical)

Chapter 16

"Come, John." Sherlock stood at the door, a dark shadow. His tone was tired, but authoritative.

John looked at his patient on the bed. "But she..."

"She is resting easier now. We have arranged for a rotation of staff to sit with her. Come, you are exhausted and no use to anyone like this." The firm tone was that of Mr. Holmes, the owner of the house. The man who had built this business up from nothing.

He moved aside as Vanessa entered, and walked to John. She waited until he stood up before settling on his chair. "Go, Doctor. We will let you know if she gets worse." Her eyes were steady and sincere.

Nodding, John shuffled out of the room. He was bone tired, and his leg was acting up enough for him to wish he had his cane.

For over twenty-four hours, he hadn't left Mrs. Hudson's side. Her fever had been high, and she was barely conscious for most of it. He did what he could, and it had been a relief when the fever finally broke and she slept normally.

Sherlock stepped close, wrapping a supportive arm around his waist for John to lean into him.

John noticed when they left the staff wing. "But my room..." He looked back in confusion.

"It belongs to the new doctor now, John. Hush, we will get you a comfortable spot to rest." His tone was softer, now that it was just the two of them.

Nodding, John kind of faded out, letting Sherlock guide them.

---

"John, there's a hot bath ready for you, and some clean pajamas. Do you need help?" Sherlock lifted his hands to the top button of John's shirt.

Shaking his head, John pushed his hands away. "No, I'll manage."

Sherlock looked down at him with a fond look. "OK, but I will be back in ten minutes to check on you. If you aren't done by then, I'll be helping you." He shut the door behind him as he left.

It was a relief to strip off his old, dirty clothes, and sink into the hot water. It revived him somewhat, scrubbing hard with a soapy sponge and washing his hair. He didn't linger once he was clean, for fear he would fall asleep in the tub and Sherlock would find him like that.

Coming out of the bathroom, John walked over to the fire. Sherlock jumped up, waving for John to sit down on the big sofa. It felt strange to be back in Sherlock's wing, but it was also familiar. Safe and familiar.

"There is some beef barley soup here for you. Please eat some before you go to sleep." Sherlock said as he sat in the armchair. He had changed too, pajamas also showing below his robe.

John knew it wasn't worth a fight. He wasn't hungry, but knew he hadn't eaten all day. His energy would be better if he ate a little.

Soon after, he snuggled back onto the sofa, thick blankets keeping him warm, the fire banked and glowing softly. He said goodnight to Sherlock as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

The tall man watched him for a while in the dim firelight, from his armchair. Sighing, he got up and made sure the blankets were still covering him well, before leaning down to kiss him lightly on his temple. He walked upstairs slowly.

---

Sherlock put down the newspaper when John re-entered the wing. "Good timing, John. Breakfast just came." He waved him to the table with him.

Sitting down, John helped himself to a good breakfast. He felt quite hungry today.

Sherlock watched with a small smile. "So, she is doing well?"