Sherlock glares again when John holds out medication to him after checking him over. "You're going to take these," John tells him, "and then we'll see what we can do about getting you home."
He takes the pills with only minimal fussing and then, "You do realise that getting me home isn't a viable consideration, right? That's the thing about being homeless, you don't have a home."
"I meant home with me," John clarifies, even though he's certain Sherlock knows what he meant and just wants to be a nuisance. "You can't stay here. You won't get better if you do. You'll probably end up catching pneumonia instead."
"And you just assume I'll go home with you?" Sherlock's voice is fading now and his eyes are closed.
"Doctor's orders," says John, working his way to his feet. "Can you stand?"
Sherlock just grumbles and turns his face into the mattress. John cringes internally and heads for the stairs to see if Billy's still around. He certainly can't carry Sherlock himself, especially if he's going to be uncooperative.
Luckily, Billy's still around and willing to face Sherlock's ire to help him. Between the two of them (but mostly Billy) they get Sherlock down the stairs and outside. They have to walk a ways up the road before they can get a taxi but they make it and get one almost immediately. Billy basically dumps Sherlock across the seat and closes the door with a nod at John. "Take care of him, yea?"
John nods back and gives the driver his address. Sherlock doesn't say anything -- John supposes he's too tired to be insulting now -- just let's out a mighty sigh and settles into the seat. John watches him as they drive through the streets of London. Don't worry, he thinks, we'll get you back to your normal caustic self in no time.
[Fill] 1d/? Homeless!Sherlock
He takes the pills with only minimal fussing and then, "You do realise that getting me home isn't a viable consideration, right? That's the thing about being homeless, you don't have a home."
"I meant home with me," John clarifies, even though he's certain Sherlock knows what he meant and just wants to be a nuisance. "You can't stay here. You won't get better if you do. You'll probably end up catching pneumonia instead."
"And you just assume I'll go home with you?" Sherlock's voice is fading now and his eyes are closed.
"Doctor's orders," says John, working his way to his feet. "Can you stand?"
Sherlock just grumbles and turns his face into the mattress. John cringes internally and heads for the stairs to see if Billy's still around. He certainly can't carry Sherlock himself, especially if he's going to be uncooperative.
Luckily, Billy's still around and willing to face Sherlock's ire to help him. Between the two of them (but mostly Billy) they get Sherlock down the stairs and outside. They have to walk a ways up the road before they can get a taxi but they make it and get one almost immediately. Billy basically dumps Sherlock across the seat and closes the door with a nod at John. "Take care of him, yea?"
John nods back and gives the driver his address. Sherlock doesn't say anything -- John supposes he's too tired to be insulting now -- just let's out a mighty sigh and settles into the seat. John watches him as they drive through the streets of London. Don't worry, he thinks, we'll get you back to your normal caustic self in no time.