John woke covered in a cold sweat. It was so cold and he was shivering, the sheets were wet from his perspiration. It was still dark and he could see the glow of the street lights through his curtain. He wrapped his duvet around himself tightly and turned to look at his alarm clock. It was 5.30AM. He shivered, he had turned on to a cold spot of the bed.
Looking up at the ceiling he wondered if Sherlock had turned the heating off again. He really didn’t need that right now. He wanted to be warm, drugged up with paracetamol with a bottle of lucozade next to his bed.
The cool morning air made him feel physically sick as he unwrapped himself from the duvet, and put on his stripy towelling dressing gown. He really should have bought himself one of those fleece ones. Turn the fire on and make a nice cup of tea he thought to himself. Then maybe a nice steamy bath. He stood up, his legs wobbled as he tried to maintain his stance. As he fell he saw the bedside table coming towards him in slow motion. Oh no, another head injury he thought to himself. Then everything went black.
Gladstone was asleep on the end of the bed when his dad woke up. He didn’t look right, he was shaking a bit. He put on the funny furry thing. Gladstone yawned closing his eyes. There was a big bang, and when he opened them his dad was on the floor. He jumped off the bed and nudged his dad with his nose. Nothing happened. There was a bit of red on dad’s head he sniffed it. The red stuff didn’t seem good. He licked his dads face but again nothing happened. Gladstone whimpered. His dad was too still.
Gladstone walked out of the room to the stairs, he didn’t want to leave his dad but uncle Sherlock would help. Uncle Sherlock liked to fix things, he’d fixed his ball when it went flat, he could fix dad too. The stairs were very steep and Gladstone wasn’t very tall. Dad usually carried him down in the morning.
It took him ages to jump down each of the 13 steps but he made it. He almost wagged his tail when he got to the bottom but he remembered his dad.
There was scratching at his door Sherlock put his pillow over his head. Gladstone was trying to get in. The dog didn’t understand the concept of sleep.
‘John!’ There was no reply and the scratching continued. Gladstone must have escaped again. He looked at the clock, 5.45AM. John must still be in bed, asleep. Then Gladstone howled, the most pitiful sad noise Sherlock had ever heard. He jumped up quickly and opened the door. Gladstone looked up at him and walked into the front room. Apparently Gladstone didn’t want his breakfast. Sherlock scratched himself, yawned and followed him. Gladstone was slowly making his way up the stairs by the time he caught up.
‘John, are you awake?’ Sherlock didn’t hear anything. He caught up to Gladstone, scooped him up in his arms and continued walking up the stairs.
The door to John’s room was ajar Sherlock could see John lying on the floor on his side, a trickle of blood running down from his temple onto the floor.
‘John!’ He rushed into the bedroom dropping Gladstone on the bed. He took a quick inventory. John on floor, sheets damp, must be running a fever, side table has a spot of blood on it. John must have hit his head while trying to out of bed. Possible head injury, check pulse, call ambulance and do not move patient unless not breathing.
Sherlock kneeled down next to John, he took his pulse. It was strong and steady. The rise and fall of John’s chest reassured him. He grabbed John’s phone off the top of the chest of draws and called for an ambulance. Gladstone jumped off the bed and snuggled into John’s Tummy. Sherlock looked down at him as he phoned Mrs Hudson. He was a very good dog.
John opened his eyes it was too bright and his head hurt. Of course he remembered he’d had a fall. He heard someone move in a chair nearby. He slowly opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed, and Sherlock was sat opposite him in his Pyjamas’ and coat. John cleared his throat.
‘You must have cold feet Sherlock.’ John said looking down at Sherlock’s wriggling toes. Sherlock smiled.
‘I was in a rush John. My blogger managed to give himself a head injury while getting out of bed.’ John yawned and stretched. The clean sheets were nice and his fever had definitely broken. John looked around the room, it was private. Mycroft must have had something to do with that. There were definitely some good points knowing him.
‘Lestrade turned up as soon as he heard and gave us a police escort to the hospital.’
‘Oh, god I’m never going to live this down am I. What’s the time now?’ Sherlock clicked his neck and sighed.
‘9.30AM. You were very lucky Gladstone came to get me. I may not have noticed otherwise.’ John looked worried.
‘Gladstone? He went down the stairs on his own. Is he ok? He didn’t hurt himself? He’s so little.’ Sherlock placed his hand over John’s.
‘Gladstone is fine John. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.’ John sighed in relief.
‘Where is Gladstone?’ Sherlock grinned.
‘He was with Mrs Hudson, but apparently he was inconsolable. Wouldn’t stop howling. So she got a taxi and sneaked him in.’ John looked down the bed to his feet, Gladstone was curled up into a ball asleep beside his left foot. John smiled.
‘Long day.’ Sherlock said as he squeezed John’s hand.