Hi 👋 I was wondering if you could do a Sherlock x fem reader from Moriarty the patriot (or multiple characters what ever u would Like to do) but the reader is really sick (like with scarlets fever or something because that was one of the main sickness in late 19th century) and Sherlock (or whoever) gets really worried and stuff like that, lol sorry it’s not more descriptive 😅 anyways I hope u have a great rest of your day
SEALED VOWS - SHERLOCK HOLMES X READER
Warnings : this is set pre-timeskip, general mentions of illness, implied death, reader uses she/her pronouns!
Genre : fluff but also pretty angsty
Word count : 0.7K words
Additional notes : Thank you so much for requesting! Since scenarios take up so much time, I usually write one character per piece, and multiple in headcanons only. Sherlock was a great choice, seeing as how he dabbles in chemistry. Don’t worry, you were perfectly descriptive! Too many details intimidate me tbh so you’re good 🥰 Hope you enjoy this, and hope you have a wonderful day! 💗
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Masterlist
“Don’t fiddle with the bandages,” Sherlock’s voice was firm as he tightened the white wraps around her midsection, “You’ll only end up scratching yourself.”
She looked like she wanted to moan out that they itched so bad, but with her current state could do little more than weakly glare at him.
Her lover arched his eyebrow. “If you’ve got any complaints to make about my bedside care, there’s a notepad and ink to your right.”
With all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself up in bed and began to scribble onto the paper, as Sherlock took the wet cotton from her forehead, quick to replace it with another cooler one in hopes of bringing down her fever. By the time she was done, he was already seated in his chair, stirring an ominous-looking beaker of… something.
When she flipped the paper back to him, he set the beaker down and leaned in to read.
You’d make a terrible nurse. You would get sued for client dissatisfaction, and misconduct.
He snorted. “Now I don’t remember any misconduct from my end.”
You ripped my shirt open. That’s assault.
“Because you were using the bloody thing to scratch at your rash,” he grumbled, picking up the beaker with the liquid in, “Never liked that shirt anyways. Now open up.”
She eyed him nastily, to which Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Honestly. I know it tastes horrible, but it’s just carbonate and nitrate silver.”
She quickly scribbled down on the notebook, You’re trying to poison me.
“Actually, I’m doing quite the opposite. That is, counteracting the poison caused by Scarlet Fever,” he sighed, pushing the beaker insistently against her lips, “Please? I know it’s got to be awful, but I can’t stand the sight of you bed-ridden.”
She hesitated for a few moments, before showing him another message with shaky hands.
Will you ask Mrs. Hudson to make me that broth I like?
He nodded. “I’ll even tolerate her nagging me about the rent if I have to. Just please take your medicine.”
Begrudgingly, she let her lover feed her the damned thing that had her spluttering and coughing afterwards, eyes water at the pungent smell and disgusting aftertaste.
“I’m sorry,” he winced as though he himself were the one ill, a heavy look in his blue eyes as he did; looking as if it physically pained him to see her like that. And it truly did, with the way his chest clenched at every thought of her struggling, of her deteriorating overnight, of her leaving him—
A burning hand curled around his fingers, which he hadn’t noticed were trembling visibly. He swallowed thickly, tortured by worries that clouded his mind and left him shivering in fears he’d tried so desperately to lock away. Somehow, though, that single weak hand that held his tucked every concern in the back of his mind once again.
Sherlock looked up from his lap to meet her eyes, which were a little hazy with the drowsiness that came with the fever, but also still laced with fondness and warmth he’d only ever received from her.
She opened her mouth, taking in a shuddering breath. “W-whatev—“
“Don’t, you’ll open the ulcers in your throat—“
Squeezing his hand to stop him from interrupting her, she went on, determination brimming in those tired eyes. “Whatever h-happens…” she croaked out, “P-Promise me. You’ll be… you’ll be f-fine.”
He knew. He knew what she was saying; what she was implying. He knew the possibilities she was entertaining; the chances that things could go disastrously wrong. She’d avoided saying “we”, because she’d known that there was a very real possibility that it would become a “you”. Just him and these four walls.
Sherlock despised his own weakness. Here he was, wallowing in his own misery, when only God could ever know how terrified his lover was. And yet she selflessly set that aside, just to falsely comfort and reassure him. How pathetic was he?
“P-promise me.”
Blinking back the tears that had unknowingly collected in his eyes, he gritted his teeth and dug his nails into his free palm. It was all he could do to thaw the ice threatening to freeze his heart.
With a shuddering breath, he sealed the vow. It was the least he could do to repay her for the immense strength she’d shown for his sake the entire time. “I promise, my dear. I’ll be alright.”
Taglist: @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy
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