Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rain softly pattered against the roof as John slipped out of bed, trying his best to make as little noise as possible. He made his way to the corner of the room and was surprised to find Sherlock’s clothes scattered on the floor instead of their usual place folded up on the chair next to his own. He concluded that he must have already been sound asleep by the time Holmes retired to bed the previous evening and the other man must have been exceedingly exhausted. With this discovery in mind, John proceeded to be all the more silent, so as to not wake Holmes from his much-needed rest. He folded the discarded clothes and pulled on his own shirt and trousers. 

A damp chill greeted him as he stepped into the living room of their small cottage, and his bones instantly longed to retreat back into the warm comfort of the bed. Alas, the bed would only remain warm for so long if he did not get a fire going, so he began to arrange the kindling and logs inside the small wood stove. As he placed the last piece of wood a searing pain shot through his left shoulder. He lit a match and tried his best to ignore the pain, as he was accustomed to doing when his old war wound acted up on days like these. Once the fire was going strong he closed the door, and after another few minutes, he adjusted the air inlet to halfway. 

After that, John filled up a kettle with water in the kitchen and set it on the stove to boil. While he waited he put on his Wellington boots and his waxed Mackinaw coat. A thick fog had set in overnight and combined with the rain John could scarcely see more than a few feet away as he walked up the long driveway to collect the morning paper. By the time he returned, the kettle had boiled, and as he poured the water into the teapot he couldn't help but smile at the simple domestic act. Holmes would tease him, but he had settled into this quiet country life of theirs. Being able to be themselves, far away from prying eyes, was a luxury John would never stop appreciating. He poured the tea into two mugs, slipped the paper under his arm, and re-entered the bedroom. 

As predicted Holmes had begun to stir in Watson's absence and made a sound in greeting. He was lying on his side, facing away from the door. 

“I made us tea.” 

“mmmmm” grunted Holmes in acknowledgment. He did not move to take the mug.

Sensing something was wrong John placed both mugs and the paper on his bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed placing his hand on Holmes’s side “Is everything all right dear fellow?” 

Holmes inhaled deeply, and his exhale came out in small bursts. His face was twisted with pain. When he spoke his voice was without its usual lustre “I have barely slept.”

“Oh, my love.” John gave Holmes's side a comforting rub “Is it another attack of rheumatism?”

“It started last night.” 

“My shoulder is acting up too, it must be the weather,” John said, moving his hand up Holmes’s side and into his hair. “How would you rate the pain?” 

“Nine” 

The moment Holmes uddered the word John knew this had to be the worst bout yet. For as Holmes did suffer from rheumatism and did occasionally have crippling attacks, he had a high pain tolerance. The usual number for a day spent unmoving in bed was five. On very rare occasions it had been a six or seven. For Holmes to rate his pain at a nine was no small matter. 

John pressed a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. “I am going to go get you a hot water bottle and some willow bark.”

This was their usual routine for such attacks, although John suspected it may not be enough this time. Once again he boiled some water, except this time using the new gas stove top in the kitchen in the hopes it would be quicker. He filled up the hot water bottle and added a few spoonfuls of crushed willow bark to the pot. After Holmes had started getting these attacks John read a few books and consulted some medical friends on what is best used to relieve pain for such things. Holmes was opposed, with good reason, to using strong pain relievers that John was accustomed to prescribing for such matters, so he was left with willow bark. It had been used as a pain reliever for a long time before the more modern medicines came into use, and although may not be quite as effective as morphine, it seemed to help Holmes. So John made sure that they always had a good supply on hand. After a few minutes, the water had turned a dark burgundy, and John poured it through some cheesecloth and into a mug. He grabbed both items and returned to Holmes.

“Are you able to sit up?” 

“With some assistance,” responded Holmes.

John moved closer and was able to help Sherlock into an upright position on the bed. He placed the hot water bottle under the covers and handed Sherlock the mug. “Drink this please”

With shaky hands, Sherlock was able to grasp the mug and take a few sips. 

“Would you lie down?” asked Sherlock between sips “You are a furnace under the covers and the bed feels so cold without you.”

“Oh alright,” said John, more than happy to lie back down. He took off his trousers, for Holmes hates the scratch of tweed against his skin and slipped into bed. 

Holmes downed the rest of his willow bark tea, and handed the mug to John. Then he very slowly, grimacing the whole time, adjusted himself in bed so that his head may lay on John's chest.  He sighed. John's hand moved up to run his fingers through his lover's hair. 

John wasn't sure how long they lay there, for a short time later he drifted into sleep. He was only awakened by shuffling next to him. 

“Is the willow bark working love?” asked John yawning. 

“I did manage to sleep for a moment, although now I feel much the same.” 

John grew more concerned, for this treatment was usually good enough to get Holmes through the day. “Perhaps we might try something else?” he suggested “I hate seeing you in this much pain.”

“I am open to suggestions.”

“I know that you are against it, and I too do not like the thought, but perhaps just this once I ought to give you some morphine. It will all but eliminate your pain.” It felt awful offering Holmes his greatest vice, but in that moment John could see no better solution. 

There was a long pause.

“John, you know I can’t. And it is quite difficult for me to say this as I know all too well the way it would make me feel. But therein lies the problem. You know how long it took us to get me off the stuff. I fear that one more time would just reignite that flame.”

“I know the dangers. But it isn't on the market anymore. You would need a script to get a hold of it and I certainly won't give you one.”  

“My dear I know you mean well but you underestimate the abilities of a man looking for a fix. If I got it in my head to take morphine or cocaine, I would stop and nothing until I had it.” 

John took Sherlock's hand under the covers. “I shant press the subject further.”

“Thank you.” 

Sherlock squirmed a bit. 

“I hate to be a bother John but I have the small inconvenience of bodily functions. I am afraid that I rather have to relieve myself.” 

“That's no bother. I’ll go fetch a bedpan.” Sherlock has been able to get to the toilet on these occasions but as the pain is worse today John wanted to eliminate as much moving as possible. 

“Oh please don't.”

“Really it's no bother.” 

“It's unseemly.”

“My love you seem to forget that I am a doctor. I have assisted in this way hundreds of times. It won’t phase me.”

“You have as of yet, as I recall, never assisted in that way for me.” 

“As I recall, I am intimately familiar with that part of you already,” John smirked.

“While that may be true,” Sherlock said smiling, “This is quite a different matter.” 

“The only difference between the two is something going out instead of something going in .”   

“Thank you for putting that striking image into my head with your flawless medical vocabulary Watson.” Sherlock giggled “But it is rather beside the point. Because as true as all of that may be, it does not change the fact that I do not wish to shit in my own bed.” 

“So you wish to walk to the lav?”

“I do.” 

“And you feel you are fit to do this?” 

“Needs must when the devil drives”

“As your doctor, I would strongly urge you against it, but as your lover, I will help in whichever way you see fit.”

“Then we better get a move on dear, for the time we have spent chatting has made the matter all the more urgent.”

In a flourish, John whisked the cover off of them and moved to stand on Sherlock’s side of the bed. 

“My god! are you wearing nothing under that dressing gown and only now have I noticed?” John helped Sherlock sit up.

“Your skills of observation are improving,” Holmes said in a strained voice as he struggled to stand. “After the pain set in last night, I was hardly able to undress never mind put on anything new.”

He was so unstable on his feet that the moment he stood upon them, his knees gave way. John wrapped an arm around his waist to stop Sherlock from falling. 

“Put your arm around my shoulders and use me to bear your weight” instructed John. 

“But your shoulder…” 

“Will be fine. Just do it.” 

Holmes did as he was told and together they made it into the connecting room. John helped lower Sherlock onto the toilet. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I won't lie. It feels like there is a knife in every joint.” 

“Well now that we've made it this far, how about I draw you a warm bath?” 

“That might do the trick.”

John left Sherlock to do his business and begin the arduous task of heating water for the tub. When they had moved here Sherlock paid a great deal of money to get all the latest in home technology, and John was so thankful. It was highly unusual to have electricity, a gas stove, an indoor toilet, and running water in most of the country never mind a small cottage in Sussex, but Sherlock had made it happen. He wanted only the best in retirement, especially if they were to be living without any outside help. John had now grown so accustomed to living with these new amenities that he could hardly fathom how he had ever survived without their convenience. They did have warm running water, but only to the kitchen sink, and it would neither last long enough nor get warm enough for use in a bath. And so John began for the third time that day, to boil water.

He put one pot on the gas stove, and another on top of the wood stove. Once the water was sufficiently hot he carefully carried it to the bathroom where he poured it into the clawfoot tub. He added some cold water to both add volume and make it a more acceptable temperature. Once the bath was ready he turned to Holmes on the toilet.

“Are you finished?”

“Quite. I have just been waiting for you.”

John helped him transfer to the edge of the tub. He removed Sherlock's dressing gown. 

“I think I probably could have undressed myself,” Sherlock said with fake disdain. 

“I enjoy doing it no matter the circumstances.” 

“Not everyone gets to hear their doctor say that.”

“It's only true for you.”

“Well far be it for me to interfere.” 

John helped lower Sherlock into the tub. 

“How do you manage to always get the water to the perfect temperature?” 

“I know how you like it.” 

“Follow-up question: why do you insist on being so flirtatious the one day I cannot do anything about it.” 

“This is how we normally talk, you foolish sod. Also, I like taking care of you…. Also, I like teasing you.”

“Follow-up, follow-up question: will you join me?”

“Join you?”

“In the bath”

“I can’t.”

“We both know you can fit”

“I am aware. But this is also your doctor speaking and I have prescribed this bath as pain management” 

“Your shoulder hurts!”

“Yes but not as much as your… everything.” 

“What's that matter? Isn't getting my mind off the pain also an effective strategy?” 

“That may be true, but… I don't want to hurt you.” 

Sherlock threw his head back with a dramatic sigh and immediately recoiled from the pain of the action. 

“My case in point.” 

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, gently leaning back into the tub. John got up, kissed the top of his head, and left to go make some soup for lunch.

Once there was nothing to do but wait, John grabbed the old warming pan from the closet and put some coals from the fire inside. He went into the bedroom and placed it under the sheets. He heard a crash coming from the adjoining room and rushed over to check on Sherlock.

John found him in exactly the same position but with the addition of a single tear rolling down his face and a glass bottle of shampoo smashed across the floor. 

“Oh my love.” John said, “It's alright. let me get this cleaned up.”

He grabbed the broom and dustpan and made quick work of sweeping up the glass and wiping down the floor.

Still clad in his pants, John sank to his knees on the cool tile beside the tub and wiped the tear from Sherlock's face. “Can I wash your hair? I know you don’t like my shampoo as much but it should do the trick.” 

Sherlock gave a tiny nod, eyes still closed. As John carefully applied the shampoo and messaged it into Sherlock's greying hair more tears began streaming down the other man's face. 

“Remember the first time I had an attack?” Said Sherlock breaking the silence. 

“I do. In Scotland was it not?”

“Yes during that kidnapping case. I had of course had pains before that. I had all but stopped playing the violin, but something changed that night. It was the first time I would get a taste of what is now a rather regular occurrence.”

“I remember you turning to me in the middle of the night and saying ‘Watson, I am on fire.’” 

“I still got up and finished the case that day though.” 

“Yes you did, but the pained expression on your face all day broke my heart.”   

“Did you know that as soon as we got home I took my seven percent solution?” 

“Yes.” 

“How?”

“I always know.”

“I was scared. It was the beginning of something. Soon enough I had to start sending you out on cases alone, then I had to start turning them down… and now…. now I can't even wash my own hair.” 

“Hey, hey, you can. This is just an attack.”

“And what happens if this becomes more frequent? Or the severity worsens? Or this becomes the new normal? I am not the same man I used to be.”

“Look at me,” John said gently tilting Sherlock's chin up. “You are the same man whom I love. And I will be here no matter what.”

“I do not doubt that you are telling the truth, for I have scarcely seen a man with such honesty in his eyes.” 

“Good. And don't you go forgetting it,” John pressed a gentle kiss onto Sherlock's lips. “The water is getting cold. I think it's time for you to get out of the bath. We have soup waiting.”

“Sounds delicious.”

John pulled the plug and helped Sherlock out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around him and helped dry him off before putting his dressing robe back on. They slowly made their way back to the bedroom where John removed the bed heater and Sherlock slid into bed.

“My god it's warm!” exclaimed Sherlock.

“Not too hot is it?”

“It's perfect. I feel very cozy. Thank you, John.”

“You’re welcome love.” 

John went back to the kitchen and returned with two bowls of soup and two trays. He settled himself into bed next to Sherlock as they both began to eat.

“I dare say, you have become quite the chef.”

“I don't know about that.” 

“If you hadn't moved here with me I would not have eaten a single thing today.”

“Wel, it's a good thing that my coming here was never in doubt.”

Sherlock smiled. “Did I see you bring the paper in earlier?” 

“Yes it's just here,” said John, grabbing it from his bedside table.

“Would you read it aloud? Holding this spoon is almost more than I can manage at the moment.”

“Of course. Any particular section?”

“Whatever interests you, my dear.”

John flipped through the paper “Oh they arrested someone for that art theft.”

“Oh? Please tell me it was the butler's father-in-law. He is obviously guilty.”

“I didn't know you had taken an interest in the case.”

“Just fleetingly. I have read all the same articles as you on the matter.”

“Do you ever wish you were still consulted?”

“No.” 

There was a pause. 

“Sometimes I do miss the puzzle. But as for the life, I am happy with where I am. The world of crime and the business of solving it was spinning long before I was born, and it will continue to do so when I am gone. I have given enough of myself, and now it is time to take something in return. I choose to spend my days with the person I love instead of those whose company I abhor. And to be frank, it was debilitating knowing that all I gave to the law would matter nought if my true self and the nature of our companionship ever came to light. Out here I don’t feel the ever-looming threat of cuffs around my wrist. And that my dear, is worth immeasurably more than the thrill of the chase. Now would you please tell me who they arrested?” 

John read the article out loud, and Holmes was happy to hear that they caught the right man. He flipped through the paper some more.

“They have discovered the mechanism of insect-borne disease transmission!” announced John “Why I hope that this shall lead to some development towards helping those poor people with malaria.”

“How exciting,” said Sherlock. “John, I have finished my soup. Would you mind terribly moving this tray so that I may lie down?”

“Of course.” John collected the trays and brought them into the kitchen, where he washed the dishes and left them to dry. He came back into the bedroom. Sherlock had his eyes closed and John hoped he may have managed to fall asleep. 

But before he could turn around to leave Sherlock said “I am not asleep. Just merely focusing on breathing.” 

John sat on the end of the bed. 

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I fear that both the effects of the willow bark and bath have worn off by now, for when you were gone a new wave of pain washed over me.”

“Oh dear. Is there anything I can do?”

Sherlock opened his eyes to look at John “You have done everything that can be done.” 

“I am not going to give up that easily. I do have one more idea.”

“Then why haven't you mentioned it?”

“I fear you won't like it.”

“I am not taking any drugs.” 

“Just hear me out. Please. This is something you have not tried before.”

Holmes sighed. 

“I was recently reading up on this new pain medication that's being developed in Germany - acetylsalicylic acid. The studies showed that it can help people with your condition. It's not a cure but it should temporarily reduce inflammation in your joints and relieve pain. It is available here now, but only through a doctor. Apparently it is on track to be released over the counter within the next few years.”

“John.”

“I think it might be worth a shot.”

“What are th…”

“There are a handful of known side effects, the most notable being an upset stomach in some patients. There is no indication that it causes an altered mental state.”

“Is it…”

“There are no signs that show it creates addictive tendencies or dependence.” 

“You know they once said all those same things about morphine and cocaine.”

“Yes, I know they did. But just look how far the medical field has come since then! Leaps and bounds have been made and I do think that we have progressed enough to be able to tell these things for certain now.”

“For certain?” 

“Well, there is always risk. But I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think it would be worth it.”

“You are biased towards trusting the latest drugs.”

“And you are biased towards not trusting them. We both have good reason.” 

“Then it appears we have come to a crossroads.”

“Sherlock, you know chemistry. Acetylsalicylic acid is what can be found in willow bark. You are already taking the substance. This is just a refined version. I believe it is available to be taken orally if that is part of your concern.”

Holmes closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them. “You really want me to take this don't you?”

“I do.”

“And are you prepared to deal with the consequences should I become dependent?”

“I do not believe it will come to that, but I have helped you through it before and I will do it again. I can hide the tablets so you will only have access through me.” 

“Very well.”

“Really? You actually want to do this?”

“I don't want to. But I trust you. And at this very moment, even my jaw is overwhelmingly painful.”

“Alright, I am going to write you a script and head over to the chemist.”

“Now?”

“Yes now. I don't have any on hand!”

“Will they let you pick it up in my place?”

“I don't see why they wouldn't.” 

“You forget that officially, you are not my next of kin.”

“A point that weighs heavy on my mind. But seeing as I am the doctor who wrote the prescription, and most people in this town, never mind England, know who we are, I shall be very surprised if they do not let me pick up the pills.” 

John got up and began getting dressed. He could feel Holmes' gaze boring into him as he did this. 

“Are you watching me get dressed?” he turned around.

“Of course. Would you not do the same in my position?” 

“I no doubt would.”

“Do a little spin.” 

John obliged.

“The tweed suits you. You look right at home in the country.”

“You have done this to me, you know.”

“I merely brought you here, you choose to dress the part. Are you going to drive?” 

“Yes. I was hardly going to walk. It is raining, you know.”

“Come back here once you have put your coat on. I want to see the completed look.”

“You have seen it before.”

“Doesn't make it less pleasurable on repeat viewings.” 

“Oh all right.”

Once John had his shirt waistcoat, jacket, and trousers on he left the bedroom to get the rest. He returned a few minutes later sporting his boots, leather gaiters reaching just below his knees, small leather driving gloves, his waxed mackinaw coat, driving goggles resting around his neck, and a tweed cap. 

“You look the fetching image of a modern chauffeur,” teased Holmes.

“I do not!”

“A handsome one,” he added.

“I will admit I do enjoy dressing the part.”

“I enjoy the view.”

“I was skeptical at first but I am glad we purchased a motorcar. 15 years ago we never would have imagined we could own such a thing!”

“First time in my life I have lived without hired hands. When I was young my family had a butler, a chauffeur, a maid, and kitchen staff, amongst others. It's relaxing not having anyone else around.”

“And it means I can do this without looking over my shoulder.” 

John leaned across the bed, placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's head, and pressed his lips to the other mans. They stayed like that for a long moment but when John tried to pull away Sherlock raised his head keeping their lips locked and deepening the kiss. John lowered his head so that Sherlock’s would again rest on his pillow. John could feel his body temperature rising, and with all the layers it would soon become uncomfortably warm, yet the allure of his lover's passionate lips was too strong and he could not find the will to pull apart. Holmes, who would usually have his hands in Watson's hair or roaming down his back by now, remained uncharacteristically still. John felt a pang of pain from putting too much of his weight on his shoulder and shifted slightly. He ever so lightly ran his hand along Sherlock’s arm through the blankets causing him to flinch with pain. John immediately pulled away. 

“Oh my love, I am so sorry,” said John. 

“It was nothing. Please resume,” said Sherlock looking rather annoyed at himself.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't.” 

“I am overheating in all these clothes.”

“Then take them off.”

“Sherlock, I just put them on! Besides, I want to catch the chemist before they close.”

“Fine, but be quick. I fear I might go mad if I have to continue looking at this room in silence.” 

“I will be as fast as I can be. No stopping to chat. Try and get some sleep.”

With that John exited the room, gently closing the door behind him. He went into the extra bedroom, made up to look like his in case of visitors, and retrieved his prescription pad from his medical bag. He wrote the prescription and pocketed it. John then left the house, got into the car and drove into the town. While on the road he was glad for all the layers as the wind and what had now turned into sideways rainfall was quite strong in the motorcar with its open top. After the short drive, he parked outside the chemists and was relieved to see that they had not yet closed for the day as they were prone to do when business was slow.  

“Afternoon.” he greeted the shopkeeper, a friendly man in his 30s.  

“Afternoon Doctor Watson” he replied, “how's the weather out there?”

“Dreadful. Which is rather part of the reason I am here.”

“Oh? How can I help you today?”

John retrieved the script from his pocket and presented it to the shopkeeper. 

“Holmes is suffering from another attack of rheumatism, and I have decided to prescribe him some of this new Aspirin stuff. Do tell me you have it in.”

“Yes, I believe we do. I’ll go check.” he took the script and headed into the back room. 

A few minutes later he returned with a small vial of liquid. “Here's the stuff.”

“Ah, I was rather hoping you would have the tablets.” 

“We are out of stock but I can get them in if you would like.” 

“How long would they take? Only it's rather urgent.”

“Probably by next week.”

“Alright, well let's place the order so he can have them on hand, but I'll take the bottle for now.” 

The shopkeeper placed the bottle in a small paper bag along with an informational flyer about the drug. “One shilling please.” 

John handed the man the coin, bid him farewell and took the paper bag. He drove back home. 

Once inside John removed his coat, boots, and gaiters, he retrieved his medical bag and quietly opened the bedroom door. 

“Was your mission successful?” questioned Holmes. 

“Yes. but not in the preferred way.” John pulled a chair up to Sherlock's bedside and sat down. He was going to treat this in the way of a professional doctor. 

“They didn't have the tablets in, I have placed an order and they should arrive next week. In the meantime I got some to be taken intravenously.” 

Sherlock sighed. 

“I know this is not the ideal method, and if you wish not to take it then you don't have to.” John pulled the leaflet out of the bag. “But perhaps you should take a look at this. It has information about dosage and side effects.” 

Sherlock took the leaflet and began reading. The room was quiet.

“It says here the tablets can be taken orally or rectally” Sherlock smirked, breaking the silence.

“As can most things,” John replied, attempting to remain professional. “It can have a faster onset and reduce nausea compared to the oral route, amongst other things. I don't tend to recommend it to patients though.” 

“I can't imagine why.”

“It's not pleasurable.” 

“Wel, I think…”

“Your point is mute as we don't have any tablets,” John interrupted “Please just think about the intravenous method for now.” 

“Will you administer it?” 

“Yes. If you want me to.”

“I would like you to.” said Sherlock “no matter which way it is taken,” he added.

“Do you speak like this with all medical professionals?” John teased.

“Only the live-in ones.” 

“So shall I administer it then?”

“Very well.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, doctor Watson.” Holmes smiled.

John took the leaflet and read up on the correct dose before proceeding. He opened his medical bag and poured a small amount of disinfecting liquid onto a cloth. Sherlock stuck his left arm out and turned his head in the other direction. John was met with the familiar sight of a decade's worth of puncture scars. Of course, he was familiar with Holmes's arms but greeted with the scars as he was about to perform the very action that caused them rose a pang of sadness and guilt in his chest. Gently, to both comfort himself and Holmes, John traced his fingers down his lover's arm. After a moment John rubbed the cloth over the area, then got out his syringe and filled it with the correct dose from the ville. He located a vein and injected the medication. He wiped the area again with the cloth and leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the spot. 

“Is it standard practice to kiss your patient better doctor?” Sherlock questioned amused. 

“Only the live-in ones.” 

John gathered everything up and took it into the kitchen to be disinfected later. He checked the cupboards to see what they could have for dinner before returning to the bedroom, lying down on the top of the covers next to Sherlock.

“How are you feeling? Has it taken effect?” he asked.

Sherlock sat up in bed. 

“I say John, the pain seems to be numbing considerably!” 

“Why that's wonderful!” 

“I think in a few minutes I may even be able to get out of this room.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here” 

“How about to the sofa?” 

“I think I can permit that, as long as you are confident.”

Sherlock rolled onto his side to face John in bed, took a hold of his head and pulled him into a kiss. After a second and before John could react Sherlock had rolled again pulling all the covers with him so that he lay on top of John with the covers in between them. 

“Wow you are certainly feeling better my love!” said John giggling. 

“Thank you,” said Sherlock sincerely, before pulling John into another long kiss.