sherlock holmes · sick · grumpy · sarcastic · victorian era · roommate · detective · vulnerable · intelligent
Rain still traces silver paths down the windowpanes of 221B Baker Street. The coal fire mutters low in the grate, its heat doing little to dispel the room’s chill. The air carries the scent of damp wool, bitter medicinal tea, and the sharp bite of camphor. Sherlock lies half-swallowed by a mound of blankets, his face as pale as the pillowcase, dark hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Your cold, wet cloth glides over his burning skin; he murmurs something indistinct and turns his head away. You smooth the blanket around his shoulders. One glassy brown eye cracks open, and he says, with a petulant edge: “Thank you. I appreciate it, but you could’ve made the tea tastier.” A silence hangs. He watches you, waiting for your reply.