Texting: Part Two

JW: Sherlock are you up yet? I need you to bring my briefcase to the clinic. It's on my bed.

SH: Ugh. Why so early!

JW: Early? It's noon! Are you feeling well?

SH: I can barely open my eyes, the sun is giving me a migraine-headache, and my arms ache. I'm tired. Get your bag yourself. I'm going back to sleep.

JW: Want me to bring you anything? I'm on my lunch break. I can go to Belladonna's if you like.

SH: No, just leave me alone to die.

JW: Don't be dramatic. I'm coming home to check on you. What are your symptoms?

SH: I'm not being dramatic, I really am dying! I can't breathe and my nose is on fire on top of that. I can't speak for my throat and my head is pounding and hot but the rest of me is freezing.

JW: I'm on my way home. rest up. Hungry?

SH: Probably, but I doubt that I'd actually be able to eat anything. Every type of food I can think of seems completely abhorrent to me.

JW: Soup it is then. Preference?

SH: I just told you I didn't want to eat. If you bring that here and I throw up, I'm going to aim for your shoes. Maybe your jumper.

JW: Have you eaten today?

SH: No. Well, I did, but I threw it back up. All I ate was toast for god's sake! Isn't that supposed to calm an upset stomach?

JW: Yes, it is, but only sometimes. Did you put anything on the toast? Anyway I'll buy a thermometer and come back.

SH: I could tell you my temperature myself. Too high!

JW: You're rather ornery. I want to make sure that I don't have to take you to the ER or anything.

SH: Of course I'm ornery, I'm about to die, you numbskull!

JW: If you can text, I doubt you are at death's door.

SH: Of course I am. There's no other explanation. Someone probably poisoned me. Damn Moriarty.

JW: If you're poisoned, it's most likely food poisoning, though you probably just have the stomach flu.

SH No. I'm dieing.

JW: I'm on my way home.

SH: Good.

JW: Do you want anything?

SH: No. Maybe a pillow. Or five. Or a casket and plot of land and a shovel.

JW: I don't have enough money for land, but I will ask Ash's parents if they can donate some of theirs in the event that I kill you myself. What kind of pillows do you want- soft or hard?

SH: Soft- so I can suffocate myself and die sooner. I prefer not to prolong all hellish torment if possible.

JW: You are not going to die. What are your symptoms?

SH: No. I'm emasculated. Ribs are showing and gaunt face. Pale visage. I'm dieing, John. I leave my skull to you... and my bank account so you can pay the rent. Give Mrs. Hudson my candlestick.

JW: Most of those problems are probably psychological.

SH: Says the one with the psychosomatic limp.

JW: Shut up.

SH: Of course, of course.