smallhobbit | You Can Have Any Colour You Want, As Long As It's Red

Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters: John Watson/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,110
Prompt: Playing in another sandbox. We all have those crucial stories we've always loved and which shaped our perceptions of characters, those ones we read over and over and love just as much the hundredth time through as we did the first time.
Notes: Written for the seventh of the amnesty prompts for JWP on

watsons_woes

My favourite story is one by

thirdbird_fic The Night Sherlock Broke All The Numbers . I cannot write anything as well as she does, but here is my follow on to her story. In her fic Greg had the flu, a few days later and John's about to go down with it.

It was a few days later. Lestrade was well on the way to recovery and Sherlock had failed to succumb to the flu despite John’s expectations. John himself was continuing to work long hours at the surgery, so when he came in one evening and announced he was having a bath no-one was surprised.

After half an hour Lestrade called out “I’m doing baked potatoes, do you want one?”

When he had no reply he banged on the door. “John, have you fallen asleep in there?”

Still no response. “Sherlock, John’s gone very quiet. Do you think he’s okay?”

Sherlock looked up from where he was studying a report and sighed. He got up, walked upstairs and gave a firm knock on the bathroom door. They heard the lock drop open and they went in. John was fast asleep.

Lestrade shook his shoulder. “Wake up, your bath’s getting cold.”

“Not time to get up yet,” John said and tried to turn over. Lestrade grabbed him and pushed him back into a sitting position.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, who pulled the plug out. “What? It’ll stop him drowning.”

“Yes, okay. You may need to help me get him out. Pass me a towel.”

The two of them manhandled John out of the bath and onto the toilet seat lid. Lestrade held onto him to prevent him falling off and they both watched to see if John would dry himself.

When he made no effort to do so Lestrade sighed and said to Sherlock. “Go and get some pyjamas. I’ll do what I can to get him dry. Oh, and throw me another towel.”

Sherlock brought the pyjamas and gave them to Lestrade, before returning to his report. John continued to be unresponsive so Lestrade inserted one of his arms in the pyjama jacket, took it round his back ready to put his other arm in, only to discover that John had removed the first arm from the sleeve.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade called, “come here and hold John’s hand so I can get him dressed.”

Sherlock held first one hand and then both as Lestrade put John into the pyjama jacket and did it up. They then put his feet into his pyjama trousers and whilst Lestrade hauled John unto his feet Sherlock pulled the trousers up.

“Right, let’s get him into bed,” Lestrade said.

With a bit of an effort they managed to encourage John to stumble into the bedroom. Once he was in bed they exchanged looks; it was clear to both of them that John was the next victim of the current flu epidemic. Lestrade fetched some paracetamol and a glass of water, which he persuaded John to take. Then he went downstairs.

“He’s fallen asleep again. Hopefully, he’ll sleep through the worst of it; he’s been exhausted all week.”

A few hours later they heard the sound of creaking from the upstairs bedroom. Lestrade got up and went to see if there was anything John needed. On entering the bedroom he found John sitting up with the pyjama jacket half off.

“You need to keep that on and keep warm,” Lestrade said.

“It’s the wrong one. I want my red pyjamas.”

“Okay,” Lestrade had a quick look at the time. “Take a couple more of these and have another drink of water and then I’ll find your other pyjamas.”

“These are blue. I want the red ones.”

“Yes, so you said. But I’m not getting them until you’ve had your tablets.”

John opened his mouth so Lestrade put the tablets in his mouth and helped him to drink the water. Then John toppled over so Lestrade pulled the cover back up and went to find the other pyjamas.

Then he went back to the bedside. “John, you’ve got blue pyjamas and grey pyjamas, which ones do you want?”

“Red ones.”

“Okay,” Lestrade paused. “They must be downstairs.”

He ran back down the stairs. “Sherlock, John wants red pyjamas and he hasn’t got any. Do something!”

“Shall I phone Mycroft and tell him to get Harrods to open up so he can buy some?”

“Can you? .... No, sorry, stupid idea. But John’s getting very upset and I hate seeing him like it. It can’t be doing him any good.”

“You’ll find there’s an old red t-shirt in the bottom drawer of his dressing table. I expect that will be sufficient for the top half. I’ll see what else I can find.”

Lestrade went back upstairs and hunted through the drawer, throwing various faded t-shirts onto the floor until he found the red one. Triumphantly he held it up for John to see.

“Yes, those. Thank you.”

He took it over to him and John got changed.

Sherlock joined them.

“What have you got in your hand?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s a rabbit,” Sherlock said.

“It looks like a sock and some elastic bands.”

“No, it’s a rabbit. Look.” Sherlock made the sock rabbit waggle first one ear and then the other at John, who watched intently. Then it waved a paw and a second paw, after which it waggled its ears again. Slowly John settled back down into the bed, still watching the rabbit. Then he closed his eyes and Sherlock and Lestrade made to leave the bedroom, but John stuck one hand out of the bedclothes. Sherlock put the rabbit into his hand, which disappeared rapidly under the covers.

“What was that about?” Lestrade asked when they were once again downstairs.

“Diversionary tactics. We didn’t have any red pyjama bottoms, so I kept his mind occupied until the latest medication took effect and he fell asleep again. It was rather successful I thought.”

The following morning, when Lestrade woke up he found John looking at him.

“How are you feeling?” Lestrade asked.

“Achy and drained.”

“Stay in bed. I’ll phone the surgery for you.”

“I don’t remember coming to bed last night. Did you have to help me?”

“Yes and Sherlock gave a hand too. You were totally out of it.”

“That figures. But why am I wearing this t-shirt. Surely you could have found my pyjamas.”

“I did. But you insisted that you wanted red pyjamas. This was the best we could do.”

“Oh. When I was a kid I had some red pyjamas. I always used to wear them when I wasn’t well, ‘cos my mum called them my ‘get well soon’ pyjamas. Then Harry sent me this t-shirt when I came back from Afghanistan as a ‘get well’ present.”

John paused and rummaged round in the bed. “And what about this?” he said, holding up the sock rabbit.

“That you will have to ask Sherlock about.”