—-Sherlock had been sick for nearly two weeks straight.
Each morning, without fail, he had violently emptied the sparse contents of his stomach into the nearest toilet. Nausea plagued him constantly. Finally, fed up with his adamant stance that he was fine and his ever more selective diet, John had forced him to go to a doctor.
Which led him to his current predicament.
Nearly, the original cause was nearly a month ago, and had certainly been a great deal more enjoyable than this.
Repetition, dull— but he wasn’t certain that he had actually heard the doctor correctly, the overwhelming wave of nausea curling in his gut drowning out the noise. No. That couldn’t be, he had to be wrong.
"I know that this is very exciting for you-"
"No it isn’t." Sherlock cut off his doctor. The young Omega blinked— what Omega didn’t want children, didn’t crave the security of a family?
"Right. Well. Um. I can fetch your Alpha for-"
"John isn’t my Alpha." Really, this man was awful at deductions. “I want information on my options.”
A half hour later he was walking out, pockets lined with pamphlets and business cards for reputable professionals. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge John the entire way home, keeping his coat on and immediately going to his room, locking the door after himself.
They had been so careful. Damnit, Jim.
He had not seen Sherlock in quite a while; unfortunately his business had kept him occupied most days and night and apparently whenever he tried to spend the little spare time they had left him with the Omega, said one wasn't feeling well. Quite a long time to be sick. Jim would have started wondering about the cause if work had not been so preoccupying. It was worrisome after all – in one way or another, considering what you were expecting. Then again John was hardly a contestant when it came to Sherlock. Sherlock was his, and he would be – always. Jim would make it sure of that. If only not for his damn work. Those people, always demanding, always pushing, all with their requests and all so so boring. A sigh escaped his lips. Jim flopped down onto Sherlock's couch. He had found the hidden key ages ago, if not that he would have simply picked the lock.
The last days had been hard, even for someone like him – used to little sleep or none at all. The last were the reason why he was here now though. He'd worked to diminish the pile of work on his desk to the point where he could let things slide. Officially he was having a very important meeting right now. He smirked to himself. Considering that Sherlock was very important to him it wasn't an entirely lie either... A small sigh. A deep breath. His vision blurred and his eyes fell shut, Jim fell into a soft doze. After some time he heard the door open – ah, he was back. He should get up, greet him, state the reason for his visit. The latter being concern of course. He had been wondering... was something wrong. Or had it been merely a coincidence. Sherlock's steps passed the living room, headed towards the bedroom and when the door closed Jim stirred. Where was John. He blinked hard, forcing his eyes to stay open, though the opposite still seemed much more inviting.
Whatever, maybe he was just... Oh, of course. Kitchen. Thankfully. John would yell at him for more or less breaking in here.
Quietly Jim made his way towards the bedroom. He opened and closed the door, almost inaudibly. Of course Sherlock would notice, then again he would hardly be able to tell who it was when he wasn't looking. “Sherlock?” Jim tilted his head. His voice low, quiet, questioning like his whole posture. He really didn't want John to notice. Not yet. – Momentarily he was even feeling better again, less tired... though he knew lying down would not help right now. He'd probably just fall asleep within seconds. “You alright?” Jim walked around the bed, crouched down so he could look into Sherlock's eyes.
This sickness of his had been going on for a while now. Quite frankly it was worrisome when somebody felt sick for about two weeks straight. Even to someone like Jim. He didn't of the most obvious. He never did. Sherlock didn't look that alright. Neither physically, nor mentally judging by the lines on his face. Something was whizzing around his head. Jim could see the gears turning.
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