Fandom Town Emergency Clinic

Class was over and done and settled, thank God, and that meant that John was making arrangements. Graduation would be soon, and after that, he and Sherlock would be free to make a trip back to London for a bit.

Time away from the city still didn't sit right by him.

So today? John was humming behind his laptop as he ordered Portalocity tickets and emailed Mrs. Hudson. They were going to go back home, at least for a few days, and it was good.

Even the nurses were a little surprised by his disposition today.

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John wandered into the office late that morning - he'd overslept, after Sherlock had dragged him through the Baltimore sewers-- er, nevermind about that. Anyway, he was there, after taking about four showers.

He spent his lunch break buying air fresheners, too.

And the nurses? Not getting anywhere near his station. They might have even been disapprovingly muttering about hygiene.

"Look," John wound up muttering, "If you'd like to light me on fire and decontaminate me, then go make one."

Sigh.

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This was the second Parents' Weekend John had had to cope with, and so far, the second time that he'd been succesful in keeping Harry from visiting him here. Not that he didn't think she couldn't handle it, but for a start he was still angry at her (and she seemed to be intent on drinking and sleeping her way through half the London gay scene at the moment - though he might have ben exaggerating about that) and for a second thing--

Well, the mockery, mostly.

So John would be manning his post at the clinic fairly contently. He had a feeling that if this Parents' Weekend would be anywhere near similar to the last one, it wouldn't be long before Sherlock would be trying to swim to the mainland.

He'd cross that bit of drama when he got to it.

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John had had about a week to get over the Kasei thing. And he had-- or at least he wasn't actively grousing about it anymore. Instead, he was spending his time seated behind his desk, attempting to put the whole incident into words without a) seeming like he'd lost his mind and b) encouraging Harry to make any more insinuations.

It was enough to drive any man mad, which would explain why he was suffering from writer's block on a massive scale.

Maybe he should try writing about Lacey instead. Lacey was nice, and uncomplicated, and not quite as liable to make him want to chunk his laptop through the clinic window like he was currently sorely tempted to do.

One of the nurses passed him by. "The cord won't go far enough to reach the window, dear."

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The flu was obviously back out in full force this week, or at least it certainly felt that way, with at least three different people showing up asking for cough medicine. It said something, John reflected, that that made this in essence a busy day at the Fandom office.

Good on the general health side of things, sure.

But he was getting bored.

And so John, whilst shilling his fourth portion of cough medicine, was browsing the newspaper for hints of a murder. Or a maiming. Even a maiming would do.

... he was turning into Sherlock, God help him.

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The clinic was out of toilet paper. John couldn't even begin to fathom what had led to that dire situation, but his awkward attempts at hailing the nurses hadn't exactly brought relief. He sighed, hanging forward over his laptop.

Maybe there was an online company somewhere who delivered...?

Whatever the case, he was fairly sure he was spending his lunch break back at the hotel, where at least generally the manager would let you know if something had just gone impressively pear-shaped.

He was also fairly sure that this wasn't going on his blog.

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Well, at least John wasn't asleep at the clinic this week, nor had anyone gotten horribly injured over the past week. That was the upside of it all.

The downside was John's sandwich. He wasn't entirely sure it hadn't strayed towards one of Sherlock's more esoteric experiments in the refridgerator, and, well. That kind of thing could get a man killed.

He lifted it. He put it back down. He lifted it again. He put it back down.

Finally he threw his hands up and called in for pizza. Maybe not the healthiest of foods for a doctor, but he was hungry.

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The hat was ... floppy. And irritating.

John kept having to push it away from his face because it would dangle in front of his eyes as he attempted to do the crossword, like an incredibly red instrument of chaos. It ... dangled, it swung, it flopped, it drooped, it...

Was being yanked off his head and tossed at the small pile of santa hats on the other end of the room. "Thanks," John said, to the nurse, "Very much thanks, but you do know it's--" Plop! "--useless, right?"

The nurse shrugged and swayed away.

The hat flopped again.

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All right, so John was a bit late to work today. It wasn't his fault he'd gotten distracted; the island was being... ornery.

When he finally did get in, he might have snagged a medical almanac or two to read. Something about hormones, pheromones, the stimulation thereof... Neuroscience was not really his field, but he was suddenly driven to figure out exactly what was going on there.

It had the additional benefit of keeping him busy, and at least allowed him to make an attempt not to flirt with the nurses.

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John was busy. Not with medical work, mind - there was precious little going on - but with his blog. He was typing up an entry labeled The Gift of the Cardboard Box, featuring last week's rather gruesome adventure in Baltimore. If nothing else, it gave him something to write about, although he could already anticipate the many, many comments he would get from Harry, on the topic of his continued association of Sherlock and the implications thereof.

Relatives.

The nurses mostly ignored him, which was probably a good thing, because flirting with them tended to end in disaster.

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