I got a call from Sherlock's school today. (I wonder how many entries are going to start like this.) It was not about tennis or kiwis, and I was momentarily relieved, until his teacher transfered me to the school nurse's office and a tiny, sad voice came on the line to say: "John I don't feel good wanna come home now."
It's not serious, but it's enough to make him feel miserable. When I went to get him, he was curled up in a small ball of misery and blankets on the floor. The blankets had to stay at school (and probably get disinfected), so I wrapped him up in my coat and carried him out to the taxi. He'll be too big for carrying soon. I think I'll miss it.
He slept most of the way home - or rather to Tesco. I needed essential supplies. There's no drug that works better than hot lemonade for lessening virus-induced misery as far as I'm concerned, so, honey and lemons. (My usual recipe also contains a small amount of whiskey, and my mum did give it to me when I was Sherlock's age, but I felt his mother and possibly Lestrade might have something to say about that.)
Mrs Hudson had the chicken soup well under way when we got home, but Sherlock was up for nothing but jammies, bath, hot lemon, and bed. I left him with Mrs Hudson to pick up Mycroft from his maths tutor and had an interesting conversation on the way home.
"He doesn't get sick," Mycroft said.
"What do you mean? Never?"
"Never." He frowned. "I don't remember him ever being ill, not since he could walk."
I suppose that explains the utter misery and general air that the world had betrayed him. I do wonder if Mycroft's misremembering, but I admit it seems unlikely. They were awfully isolated out there, so it's just about possible. And now Sherlock's been plunged into the teeming germ-pool that is the average primary school and brought home leftovers to share. I won't get it; I never do. I'd better stock up on the lemons and honey for everyone else though.
It's not serious, but it's enough to make him feel miserable. When I went to get him, he was curled up in a small ball of misery and blankets on the floor. The blankets had to stay at school (and probably get disinfected), so I wrapped him up in my coat and carried him out to the taxi. He'll be too big for carrying soon. I think I'll miss it.
He slept most of the way home - or rather to Tesco. I needed essential supplies. There's no drug that works better than hot lemonade for lessening virus-induced misery as far as I'm concerned, so, honey and lemons. (My usual recipe also contains a small amount of whiskey, and my mum did give it to me when I was Sherlock's age, but I felt his mother and possibly Lestrade might have something to say about that.)
Mrs Hudson had the chicken soup well under way when we got home, but Sherlock was up for nothing but jammies, bath, hot lemon, and bed. I left him with Mrs Hudson to pick up Mycroft from his maths tutor and had an interesting conversation on the way home.
"He doesn't get sick," Mycroft said.
"What do you mean? Never?"
"Never." He frowned. "I don't remember him ever being ill, not since he could walk."
I suppose that explains the utter misery and general air that the world had betrayed him. I do wonder if Mycroft's misremembering, but I admit it seems unlikely. They were awfully isolated out there, so it's just about possible. And now Sherlock's been plunged into the teeming germ-pool that is the average primary school and brought home leftovers to share. I won't get it; I never do. I'd better stock up on the lemons and honey for everyone else though.
12 comments:
Oh no, you have cursed yourself by saying you wont get it! Poor Sherlock, sick kids pull at my heartstrings =[ Good luck
Thanks, it's hard seeing him so unhappy. But I think the part to truly dread is when he's still ill but well enough to be bored. I may have to lock up the chemistry set.
Don't worry about me - it's not that I don't get ill; I just don't get ill when I'm looking after other people. Sounds unlikely, I know, but 100% accurate in my life so far. There have been times during flu season when I wished I would, just for a rest.
(There, now I've really jinxed myself.)
Poor Sherlock. D8 I do hope he gets better soon. It's never any fun to be sick.
Never say never John. Schoolyard germ are well known to bring down the mightiest of immune systems.
I've no time to be ill! Sounds an odd thing to say, considering I've only got the two of them to look after, but there you are. A disaster it would be, second only to Mrs Hudson catching it (god forbid).
Knock on wood or something =] as long as we're talking about superstitions
Blargh, hot toddies. Sans whiskey, that is one of the best things when clogged up, that and mustard.
Granted, the only time that I've actually had a HT it had about three shots of whiskey in it (still drank it because you just don't let that go to waste but- blargh).
I hope Sherlock gets well soon (and that the infection doesn't spread throughout the household).
My cure has always been gallons and gallons of apple juice; I suppose it's the sugar.
Best wishes for Sherlock to get better soon! Also, of course, for everyone else not to get sick if possible. Speaking from the experience of having two much younger brothers in grade school...well, good luck!
I'm sure if you do get sick Lestrade will be more than happy to come over and nurse you back to health... ;)
Trista - the whiskey is the best part! It "clears the pipes" as my grandmother put it. Useful technical terminology I completely missed out on at medical school.
Jessica - thanks! I'm fully expecting Mycroft to get it. I'm just hoping Mrs Hudson (and now Mrs Holmes as well) will be spared. Adults generally make far worse patients than children.
Anon - Heh. I wouldn't want to presume.
Idiot. Of course I would. And probably will, Mr I Don't Get Ill Ever. That's just asking for it.
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