FANFIC: distance
14 November 2021 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyanoscarletWord count: 1,637
cardiorenal syndrome and other stories: a self-indulgent yuumori AU
Part 1: cardiorenal syndrome
Part 2: all the small things
Part 3: like fine wine
Extra Story: distance (a COVID-19 time AU) - this one
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The past few days had truly been harrowing, even for Sherlock.
As if the hospital filling to over-capacity hadn’t been enough, the sudden lockdown had also pretty much driven everyone mad, what with all the panic-buying and incidents of looting all around. John hadn’t taken kindly to the impatient jerk in the waiting area who likened the current events to a warzone, but hadn’t really disagreed, either. Patients were still patients, after all, no matter how badly a doctor felt about them.
Liam only chuckled in amusement when Sherlock ranted about the incident over the phone later that evening. “Dr. Watson was a former army medic, after all,” he reminded gently, before being consumed once more by a fit of coughing. He was definitely getting worse, but still insisted that he could take care of himself alone in their flat somehow. As much as Sherlock would have liked to get him admitted to the hospital, he couldn’t go home at the moment, either, having taken over Liam’s shifts instead.
“Fine, I get it,” Sherlock conceded as soon as Liam finally quieted down, his ragged breathing over the speaker filling the dead air in the darkened call room. It would certainly have driven anyone else mad with worry, but not them— not now, not yet. “I’ll keep calm and carry on. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Sherlock was lying about being calm, of course, and Liam knew it. “I will.”
.
Zoom wasn’t exactly to blame, but Sherlock hated not being able to read Louis like a book.
The Moriartys’ video glitched once more, and Louis turned the camera off with a grumble. Albert’s warm baritone still carried over despite the spotty audio quality, and Liam brightened considerably at the mention of a care package on its way from London. “There’s also a pack of toiletries in there for Mr. Holmes, should he need them.”
“Only the bare minimum, of course,” Louis added with contempt. He still hated the idea of his brother getting together with Sherlock for the longest time, but it wasn’t as if he could chase them all the way up to Durham right now. In hindsight, maybe he should have taken the time to know the younger Moriarty better then before all this happened. “That’s okay,” Sherlock answered, overlapping with Liam’s “It’s all right, I’ll just add more from our supplies here at home.”
Sherlock couldn’t tell from the awkward gasp that followed if Louis was still being hostile. He evidently wanted to say more in protest, but just then the free plan’s forty minutes were up, and the call cut off by itself. Technology, for all its advancements, still had many frustrating limitations, and the steadily increasing mortality census on the ER boards were proof of that.
.
Miss Hudson, on the other hand, was a lot easier to calm down, though still evidently frustrated at being the only one in their friend group left behind in London. “You guys should seriously take care of yourselves! I’ve seen it on the news; more and more people are getting sick!”
John only laughed nervously from his FaceTime screen, exchanging a worried glance with Mary beside him. Despite the sharp drop in elective surgeries the past few days, the couple still remained busy as ever, answering the call for redeployment to the overburdened and understaffed hospital frontlines. To their credit, both were adequately experienced and competent as general practitioners, making Sherlock’s work easier by leaps and bounds.
They were both literally in the adjacent call room right now, making Sherlock wonder if Miss Hudson was actually jealous of that, too. He, for one, was petulantly so, having not gone home to Liam for a week and a half now— not that he would admit to that, though.
He was starting to hate all of this, to be honest. Consecutive shifts, lockdown, quarantine, Liam getting sick—
“Hey. Are you even listening, Sherlock?” Miss Hudson was frowning at him through her screen, while three sharp knocks were made on his door. John’s eyebrows were likewise furrowed even through the safety goggles he had hastily put on, and Sherlock did not want to figure out what expression he must have beneath that N95 mask. “You really should go home, Sherlock. Mary went to HR to get your forms.”
The very insinuation of rest sapped away at the little remaining energy Sherlock so desperately tried to hold on to, and he staggered forward into John’s waiting arms. “It’s complicated,” he muttered weakly before passing out.
.
Sherlock barely registered the short drive home, his mind preoccupied with worry over Liam’s condition. The worst of it was fortunately already over, but he still wasn’t well enough to return to work.
He had been working the ICU shift when Liam had called in sick over a fever and moderately productive cough that had developed overnight. Sherlock had immediately feared the worst, recalling the patient with critical pneumonia who had expired a few days earlier; it was Liam who had intubated her at the ER.
The test came out positive; of course it would. “A necessary hazard, really.” It did not reassure Sherlock one bit.
In hindsight, the arrangement they had decided on was reckless and irresponsible, with Liam isolating himself in their flat and Sherlock living in the hospital, taking on Liam’s shifts as well to make himself useful. He had never cursed the lack of mobile phone signal there as much as he had the past few days, only being able to call Liam by the window at the call room for a few minutes every night.
John called Sherlock out on it when he found out. It was a good thing Albert and Louis didn’t find out even after all those Zoom calls. God forbid Mycroft even hears a word of it.
Liam met them at the front door when they arrived, a little more color now returned to his face compared to last week. “He’s just exhausted,” John assured, helping tuck Sherlock into the newly-made bed. The rest of their room had been cleaned up, too; Liam had been taking care of himself better than he’d feared, after all.
As soon as John saw himself out, Sherlock felt a weak slap to his forehead, followed by long, thin fingers brushing his bangs out of his face. “Still a handful, as always, Sherly.” Liam was nothing but affectionate beneath his admonishing tone, and he was definitely smirking behind the mask he wore.
“Go back to bed,” Sherlock mumbled, unwilling to move any part of his body at the moment. As much as they both wanted to take care of each other right now, neither of them were well enough for it yet. Between them both, at least Liam could now carry on with the house chores and outside affairs, so that’s one less worry off his mind.
He felt Liam’s damp face mask softly touch his forehead in a kiss, which was immediately wiped away and replaced with a cooling pad. “I will, dear. Text if you need anything; I’ll be outside.”
Sherlock lifted his blanket over his face to hide a rising blush, despite the mask he was already wearing. Awfully sneaky of Liam; he really is doing better.
.
“Remind me how we got together again,” Sherlock murmured over the phone, looking out the bedroom window. There was a nice, cool breeze, and the stars were especially beautiful. The street below was eerily empty, with the sidewalk lamps turned on to the lowest setting. It made for an overall quiet night unusual in this day and age, and he found that he liked the silence more than he thought.
To his left, Liam sat on the kitchen balcony, phone also in hand, a thin shawl draped over his nightshirt and pyjamas. “I don’t believe there was an exact moment, if you ask me,” he answered fondly, warm red eyes flitting over to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “It simply just happened.”
It wasn’t really much of an answer, but Sherlock did not disagree at all. Theirs had always been a subtle friendship, so it came as no surprise to them the moment everything clicked and fell into place. But none of that mattered to them, in the end. They both just knew, and it was enough.
Sherlock settled for a satisfied hum, cradling his phone between his neck and shoulder as he watched Liam do the same. “I was scared to death,” he confessed, eyebrows furrowing mournfully once more. “It was hard, always fearing the worst everyday. Overworking myself helped take my mind off things. Kind of.” He laughed to himself, stretching a hand out the window to touch the balcony ledge. “And now I’m relieved. A little ill, but relieved nonetheless.”
Liam moved closer, as well, taking Sherlock’s outstretched hand and threading their fingers together. “It was the same for me, Sherly. It may just have been a week in isolation, but everyone’s calls kept me from falling into utter despair. I was most worried that you’d also catch it while working, and that you would…”
Oh, how he wished he could kiss Liam right there and then. The current state of world affairs didn’t allow for it, however. Not in the next few weeks, it seemed.
So they quietly stayed that way for a few more moments, not letting go despite the growing soreness in both their arms. They will have to rethink their work schedule by tomorrow morning. There will be more compromises, more risks, more looming crises. More grief and pain and loss all around. “It will be difficult.”
A rueful smile, the first of many to come. “Such is the life we chose.”
For now, though, they have this night to cherish, and to look back on in the coming days. It will have to be enough.
