John, pass me my laptop. {The Blogger, The Consulting Detective}

John was tucking into his lunch at work; hummus and celery with some apples. He had just recieved a text, he smiled. For such an intelligent man - he could be very un-observant.

Sherlock, I am still at work. It's on the desk. - JW

Fingers stretched together against his lips, he sat in his armchair, thinking. He was on a very interesting case, which was very difficult to solve. But now he figured out a lead to follow. He only had to go out to investigate. He had forgotten that he had texted John to fetch his laptop, so 44 minutes later, he saw John's reply.

Never mind. I have to investigate the riverside near Sand's end.Come with me. -SH

John was about to finish work, he said goodbye to Sarah and the others in the practice. When he heard his phone go, he smiled. He walked out of the door was about to look for a cab and realised it was easier to walk. He tapped out a quick message.

On my way to Sand's End. 10min out - JW

He had gotten out of his chair to grab his coat and was just adjusting his scarf when he heard the text-alert of his Iphone.

You know it's rainy. See you there. -SH

Rainy was an understatement, so he hailed a cab to Sand's End.

John smirked, he was already approaching Sand's End. The rain was drenching his coat and mentally reprimanded himself for not choosing a better coat.

He just arrived, and noticed the young detective getting out of a cab. John was still unsure of cabs and he would always be. John shouted over; "Sherlock, what is so important to the case that we are here in the sodding rain?"

He searched for the familiar voice of his companion and found him through the raindrops. He smiled at the sight of him.

"I thought you were planning on going to the pub with Sarah after your shift." he remarked. "Oh this. I need to look for evidence in the riverbanks. The murderer made the mistake of leaving something important behind and we have to find it. I thought it'd be fun."

John shivered and pulled his hood up. He looked at Sherlock through the raindrops - he shook his head. "Sarah cancelled, and I would rather stand in here in the rain." John said sarcastically.

"So what are we looking for exactly?" asked John inquisitively.

Sherlock ignored John's remark and pointed at the alleyway ending in the street they just left.

"The murderer committed the murder there in that alley. A very simple murder, poison and a shot through the head. Not very interesting, but:" He pointed his index finger up before John's face and pointed at the muddy riverbank. "I inspected the body and found the poison. Though, I don't know what it is." he said, a pinch of annoyance edging his voice. "All I know is that it is very rare and pricey. Yesterday, I followed his track and figured out that the murderer had stopped here. The dry ground was flat of Doc. Martens' footprints." He pointed at the ground. "Because it is very rare, he must have wanted to keep it somewhere safe, but not on his own body or in the alley. He hid it here." He crouched to the floor and looked up to John with narrowed eyes. The rain fell on his face. With a gloved hand he wiped his wet curls from his eyes.
He realised how heavy his coat felt on his shoulders. The wool was so soaked that the collar didn't even stayed up anymore.


((That doesn't make any sense xD Ah, well...))

John listened attentively to Sherlock's account of the murder and the circumstances why they were here. Sherlock's deductions were always amazing in John's eyes.

"So, we are looking for a container. Was it injected or taken orally?"

John then retrieved a pair of gloves and slipped them on; and crouched down next to Sherlock.

"Normally, we are looking for a container. But please John, use your eyes and brain. Do you see here a container? No." Sherlock rolled with his eyes. Normally, it was a right deduction, but as the rain was pouring on their heads like waterfalls and there weren't any skips in sight, his deduction was wrong.

"It was forced down the victim's throat. The murderer should have known it was going to rain, so..." Sherlock looked from the ground underneath their feet to John. "we'll have to dig."

John shook his head; Sherlock was on fine form despite the weather. John threw a pair of gloves to Sherlock and began to dig the area carefully.

John was beginning to feel very cold and damp; which was making his shoulder sore. He could see the signs of exhaustion in Sherlock also. The quicker they got this over with the better.

Sherlock caught the pair of gloves and gloved his hands. He let his hands swiftly over the ground. When he found the sign that he was looking for, 8 inches away from John, he took a sample of the ground and milled it between his index finger and thumb. He retrieved his little magnifying glass from his left pocket and studied the soil.

He was unaware of the cold rain for a few moments. His curly hair hung flat down the sides of his head, dripping annoyingly in his eyes. He shook his head to get his hair out of the way and brought the soil to his mouth. He pressed it against his tongue to taste it.

John carefully ran his hand through the soil, checking for any abnormalities. All he could find was mud, dog faeces and litter. He moaned under his breath.

He then saw Sherlock lick the soil and shook his head in disbelief - he shuffled along to assess the next area.

"Do you have anything Sherlock?"

John could see Sherlock was getting cold and damp on to of the sheer exhaustion he was trying to hide.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he tasted it. They didn't want to open again, so he had to press them on each other, which caused black spots appearing in his sight for a moment.
He felt a spark of pain hitting his tongue, so he spit it out, to return his gaze at the soil in his hand, shaking his head to drive away the black spots. He knew what the spots meant, but didn't want to think about it now something else was so delightfully interesting.

"Yes, I have."

He shoved away the new coat of mud covering the gap he just had dug and clasped his hand around a little vial, covered in mud.
With a quick movement, he got up and stood straight in no time. He felt his coat hanging heavily on his shoulders, his feet flushed with blood that should have been in his head. He felt a little lightheaded He pressed his eyelids again and grimaced. The black spots were bigger now, clouding his sight.

John turned to Sherlock and noticed Sherlock was looking very pale and his eyes were glazed. John stood and walked over in an instant; he held Sherlock's arm - John was aware that Sherlock may have just had an orthostatic episode or he was experiencing vertigo.]

"Sherlock, are you okay?" he asked in a more clinical tone than needed.

"Yes, of course I am okay." He said ruder than necessary and put he bottle in his left pocket.

"I'm done here. There's nothing of inte-" Sherlock spun around to walk back to the streets, but he had been a bit too fast in this movement. He felt his knees weaken and faltered to his right, where John was not standing. His eyelids felt heavy and he pressed his eyelids together again. God, he really hated when his sight failed him.

John noticed the rude tone, and shook his head. John was aware that Sherlock was "under the weather" per se and he noticed the interruption in his friend's words, John turned and helped Sherlock to the floor.

"I know it's wet, but it's better than falling in the rain. Sit down."

He automatically took his pulse, and watched his friend with caution. His medical mind went through the primary survey - then secondary survey; cataloguing possible issues.

"Sherlock, what symptoms are you having?"

Sherlock grimaced when he was sat down on the mud, but did not complain. He had suspected that he had reached beyond his borders, but he had not been able to stop himself. It was the perfect weather to go out and dig up a vial. The spots in his sight finally grew smaller, but did not go away. The dizziness was fading now he sat down.

Sherlock sighed as John took his pulse and knew what he was going to ask next, so he had his answer ready.
"Black spots in sight, chills, problems with breathing, dizziness causing unbalance. Just a mere cold really. Don't worry. I can't stop right now, John. I have to investigate the poison in the lab at Bart's. I'm in control." He finished with a sneeze. Very convincing. he thought bitterly.

John shook his head in disbelief; Sherlock was grating on his nerves. He was never a good patient, even when he had the last winter's flu - Sherlock kept wanting to be kept busy.

"Sherlock, you need to rest. You have not eaten properly for three days and I suspect a viral infection. You are going home. You can investigate the poison at home as a compromise. You. Are. Unwell." he raised his voice at the staccato.

"I. Am. Fine. John." To prove his point he got up and closed his eyes and pressed a muddy hand on his head of pain. Bloody headache. He breathed shallowly and swayed a little on his feet. He noticed this and corrected himself by planting his feet firmly on the ground and removing his hand from his head. He just had decided he would pretend nothing was wrong, when the black spots returned. He held a hand out before his eyes, but couldn't see his pink. It was all covered with blackness. The blackness increased and it increased fearfully fast.

John watched Sherlock like a hawk, and was a little shocked by his outburst. He saw the young detective hold his head and was slightly concerned.

John moved fast as he saw Sherlock sway - he then checked his friends pulse and pupil responses. He shook his head; fever - how did Sherlock hide a bloody fever.

"Sherlock, I am going to get you home." he then called Lestrade who requested that he assist - they then got Sherlock back into Baker Street into Sherlock's bedroom where John could take Sherlock's blood pressure and check for any possible drug use. He then knelt down; holding his hand.

"But, no you can't!" Sherlock sighed, but didn't resist because he wasn't physically able to anymore. The lightheaded-ness took over his sight and when they sat in the car, he leaned against the window like he was a potato-bag.

He fell in bed without taking his coat off and murmured while John was taking care of him: "How could this have happened? Normally, even under alike circumstances I am absolutely fine!"

The headache worsened and formed an irritating ball of pain behind his eyes. Gosh he hated this more than anything.

John was concerned by the response that Sherlock was giving, he then gently moved a lock of hair from Sherlock's eyes before getting up.

"Sherlock, I am going to get you something for the pain. Then you can tell me what is going on." he spoke in authority, but with slight concern. He went to retrieve some water and analgesia then returned closing the curtain. He assisted Sherlock to take the tablets.

"Has this happened before? I am happy it is not serious, but you need to tell me." he spoke in a soft voice.

Sherlock blinked at John's hand moving his hair so tenderly. The pleasant feeling it caused, surprised him. He didn't want John to stop, though it was distracting him from the case. It was a better distraction than his fever for sure.

Sherlock hummed to ward of a proper answer, but also because he was swallowing the tablets. When he laid down again, he avoided John's gaze.
"I know my boundaries now." His gaze stayed stern when he noticed John's expression. "I had to test my boundaries to gain the knowledge of how far I could push."