“Can you explain to me why I’m not only letting your son stay with me, but also buying you both lunch?” Wilson asked as he sat down at their table.
Smiling, House held out his hand to Sherlock, who only rolled his eyes and handed over the five dollar bill. After all, they both knew that Wilson wasn’t going to tolerate both of them mooching off him forever, but narrowing down the exact point when his limits would be reached made it worth it. And even though it wasn’t a fair bet considering how well House knew the other man, Sherlock had still taken it and nearly won. Thankfully Wilson had been called away from their breakfast date that morning before he could complain about their behavior.
Taking a fry from Wilson’s plate, he quickly shoved it in his mouth just to bother the guy even more. “He can’t stay with me. I have Dominika there.”
“Well, she did say I could sleep with her,” Sherlock offered before going back to his food.
“Generally it’s frowned upon to sleep with your stepmother.”
“It would be purely platonic, I assure you.”
Which had to be the best lie House had ever heard. Sherlock didn’t even show any sign of being anything less than serious. Of course, House had the benefit of not being blind or an idiot. Dominika was hot and Sherlock had the benefit of looking like him a few decades ago, which was hardly fair. So he focused his attention back on Wilson rather than dwell on the feelings Sherlock’s age tended to bring up since finding out that they really were related.
“For the sake of my fake marriage, you have to watch the baby,” he said, throwing in his best look of false patheticness.
Wilson shook his head a bit angrily. “Yeah well your baby boy is a nuisance and stop that,” he said, hitting House’s hand as he tried to grab another fry. Guarding his food a bit more carefully, he added “And it’s like living with you all over again. Except instead of guitar and that organ, it’s a very annoying violin.”
“He also doesn’t care for my singing,” Sherlock pointed out casually.
Patting him on the back, House said, “Didn’t care for mine either.”
“I actually like to sleep at night. Not… Listen to someone sing bad eighties tunes or opera songs.”
“I have the voice for opera,” Sherlock said in a mocking defense of his music choice.
House would’ve laughed, but Wilson seemed like he might truly be approaching his wits end and he couldn’t have that. Sipping his drink, he held up a hand to silence his friend before the man could make any sort of comment.
“Oh come on. I feel better having him with you. Plus, it’s not exactly like dead guys have a large amount of disposable income. We’re counting on your kindness.”
A low blow, since Wilson couldn’t resist the mating call of someone in need, but House actually found himself meaning parts of it. After all, if he didn’t trust the guy, he wouldn’t have asked him to let Sherlock stay with him in. But, as it was, Wilson’s was a home away from home and a great runner up for having Sherlock actually stay at his own home. And judging by the way Wilson glared at them both, more a half hearted attempt to save face more than anything else, the matter was solved for the moment.
“He needs to play his violin at a decent hour. And get a shirt that fits,” Wilson said angrily.
“Alright,” House agreed.
Sherlock looked himself over before looking at the two of them. “My shirt fits perfectly fine.”
“It’s clearly too small. It’s buckling,” Wilson said, gesturing at one of the gaps with a ketchup covered fry.
Taking the fry away from him and eating it out of nothing more than spite, it was obvious to everyone in the cafeteria that Sherlock did not agree in the slightest. “You sound like my brother. Honestly, I can button it—“
“And I like it. Why should I get a new one?”
“Because it’s too small? Unless, of course, you’re trying to attract attention to the fact that you really are a very tall, thin man,” Wilson shot back.
“Perhaps you should spend less time focusing on my slender frame?”
Snickering, House leaned back in his seat to watch the argument play out. “I think he just implied you’re gay,” he threw in, just to make sure Sherlock’s posh accent didn’t cover up any insult he might make.
Wilson glared at him. “I got that. And it it’s hard not to notice a grown man wearing clothes that are far too small for him. Because I find it hard to believe that someone didn’t teach you how to shop for proper dress clothes over the years.”
“My god how Mycroft would adore you.”
“His brother,” House stated. When it caused Sherlock to look at him curiously, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Hey, Wilson is here insulting your choice to wear clothes for teenage boys, you going to let him do that?”
“My clothes fit me just fine.”
“No,” Wilson interrupted. “Your pants fit you. The shirt and jacket don’t fit you at all.”
“House, your team is looking for you,” Foreman said as he walked over.
House waved his hand dismissively at Foreman. His team could easily wait for him, unlike the tiff that Sherlock and Wilson were having. Hell, with the way it was rapidly dissolving, House was certain it wouldn’t be long before the really clever insults started coming out.
But Foreman just couldn’t take a hint. Instead of attempting to catch House’s attention, he turned his focus on Wilson and said, “Wilson, do you two think you could take this elsewhere? Dr. House has a job he needs to get back to.”
Getting up, Wilson nodded. “Course. And this isn’t done. You’re getting fitting clothes,” he declared to Sherlock, managing to make it seem almost threatening.
Sherlock only scoffed as he focused his attention back on his food, obviously not about to budge on the matter of whether or not he should wear clothes that didn’t gap awkwardly. Which left House without his previous source of entertainment and a very stern looking dean of medicine.
Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and stared down Foreman. “Thanks for ruining the family bonding moment.”
“Family bonding?” he questioned as it was practically written all over his face that he suspected House was just saying that to mess with him.
So, resting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, House nodded proudly. “He’s my kid. Found out about a week ago. Sherlock, this is Eric Foreman, Dean of Medicine. He’s the pain in the ass I never wanted.”
Wiping his mouth, Sherlock rose slightly to shake Foreman’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Foreman shook his hand with a small smile. Counting down in his head, House was pleased as he could be when Foreman’s looked between the two of them, eyes widening slightly in the process.
“Wait, you’re serious? He’s your son? You… have a kid?”
“Well, I have a son. He’s a bit old to be called a kid, I think.”
“But ho… No. I don’t want to know. Just go to your and find a case,” Foreman said before walking off shaking his head.
Yet another person nowhere near ready for the reality that he had a son. Glancing over at Sherlock, who seemed to be devoting as much of his eating time to taking in every detail of the person working the register, House sighed.
“Meet me in my office when you’re done,” he said before walking away.
Not that he was all that sure that Sherlock had heard him, since House had realized fairly early on that when that man got lost in his own thoughts nothing else mattered. Very much like his own behavior, only kicked up to eleven since even he couldn’t go hours on end thinking to himself. It was almost kind of disturbing in an admirable way. Still, he knew his son would likely piece it all together in the long run, regardless, though.
Walking into his office, his team already bickering about what case seemed like the best one to go after, House sat down at the head of the table, making grabby hands at them. “Alright. Give me the best one.”
Adams was the first to speak up, handing over the file in front of her to him. “There’s a twelve year old boy downstairs presenting with severe chest pain and—“
“Boring,” House said as he looked through it. “Anyone else actually know the definition of best?”
Chase went to offer one, but Park cut in saying, “A woman came in with abdominal pain and vomiting from a… What do you call a place that a dominatrix works in?”
“And we have a winner,” House said as he took the chart. Looking it over, it didn’t seem like much, but it wasn’t as though he took it for how the woman was dying anyways. Judging by the upset look on Adams’ face, it was clear that she seemed to understand that as well.
“So, our patient came in with severe abdominal pain after collapsing and vomiting during a whipping session. Hot,” House said as he rose from his seat.
“Aren’t you going to ask what we think it might be?” Chase asked.
“Yeah, like severe cramping and nothing else?” Adams threw in.
House shook his head. “No way. I’m going to go meet the patient.”
“Who might not even have anything,” Adams pointed out as though they didn’t realize her point already.
“She’s in a hospital, clearly she needs a doctor.”
“House,” Chase said, his warning tone coming out loud and clear.
Sitting back down, he rolled his eyes before sitting back down. “Fine. Go ahead .”
“Thank you,” Adams said crisply. “She could easily have eaten bad food.”
“Or she could have had a stroke,” Park offered.
“She was seeing a dominatrix. Maybe her last session didn’t go as well as she might have thought?” Chase casually suggested.
Something that caught Adams’ off guard more than anything since she, apparently, didn’t know about how much of a choir boy the choir boy really wasn’t.
“Severe pain can manifest in vomiting. Wouldn’t notice until she was already in the wrong kind of pain,” Taub said, clearly favoring Chase’s idea.
And it wasn’t as though Chase had a bad idea either. It was what House had originally assumed when he took the case from Park. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Adams, he would’ve went to see her, gotten his joys and then moved on to a case that was actually interesting.
“Alright. Let’s go meet the patient. Unless, of course, Adams has anything else to say?”
Her only response was to roll her eyes. So House rose from his seat and made his way out of the room, feeling a bit eager to meet his new patient.
Upon entering the room, House almost wised she turned out to have something more interesting than internal bleeding. A shallow feeling, but she was a bit more than attractive and he was never one to claim he cared about anything more than looks from time to time. And judging by the looks on Taub and Chase, they weren’t above it either.
“Miss Aquila? We’re going to be your doctors,” Adams said, taking charge of the situation given the fact that no one else seemed ready to. “We work with Dr. House.”
“Wonderful. Though you just want to tell me I’m being a delicate flower and that everything is fine,” the patient all but purred, eyes narrowed dangerously in Adams’ direction.
A cat fight House wouldn’t usually mind seeing if not for the fact that he had a job to do. Well, a job to observe while his team did most of the actual leg work.
“So, you were visiting a dominatrix?” House questioned as Adams set about checking the patient. “Kinky.”
“I wasn’t visiting. I was being visited.”
Taub’s eyes widened slightly. “So you’re…”
“Yes. Why? Do you need to be put in your place?”
“This may be a bit cold,” Adams said.
Watching the small intake of breath Adams applied the gel for the ultra sound, House nearly prayed that this was something more interesting than a simple internal bleed. Anything but a simple internal bleed. And some nonexistent God clearly saw fit to side with him judging by the frown on Adams’ face as she finished the ultrasound.
“I really was fine. Felt a bit dizzy and then I’m on my knees for a change, vomiting.”
“Any other symptoms I should know about?” House asked, hoping for something truly interesting.
But the no she was going to say was clearly poised on her lips. It just never came. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head and rubbed at her eyes before saying, “I think I’m hallucinating.”
“What makes you say that?” Park questioned, ready to help.
Before Ms. Aquila could answer, Sherlock walked into the room and said to his father, “You disappeared from the cafeteria.”
“Patient needed me.”
“Uh… Ms. Aquila, this is Sherlock Holmes. He’s… here. Sherlock, this is Iria Aquila.”
Looking at the woman, Sherlock shook his head. “No it isn’t.”
“So I’m not hallucinating,” the woman purred as she pulled her knees up to her chest with a smirk. “ And that is my name, actually.”
“Yes, but you’re hardly from Galician descent or Italian for that matter. Your name is nothing but German, Miss Adler.”
“Oh this is the best doctor’s visit I’ve ever had.”
Looking between the two, House frowned. “You know her?”
“Irene Adler, dominatrix. At least until she died in Karachi .”
“It would seem as though you know better than anyone how temporary death can be.”
Letting out an impressed snort, House smiled at his team and said, “Oh, there is no way I’m not taking this case.”