Ted squeezes her hand and smiles back at her. Hey, Sherlock opened the door for that. He's just going to have to deal.
"And then right before someone tries to, you know, have me dealt with, I befriend not one but two detectives. Impressive, being that lucky and unlucky at the same time," he muses.
Sherlock sighs again, looking away, his expression sourly exasperated.
Joan, on the other hand, is so happy. She kisses him back, then rubs her nose against his in turn, enjoying the affection and not really caring if it's annoying or cutesy.
"You too," he answers quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the cab. They can't properly cuddle in here, but he leans lightly against her, holding her hand for the rest of the ride back.
She leans against him, smiling. She's definitely not at a hundred percent...not even close if she was being honest...but in this moment she can forget, and just be with him.
When the cab pulls up at 221A Baker Street, Sherlock hops out to get the wheelchair from the trunk.
Ted himself is feeling pretty awful. (He does shiver a couple times.) But Joan's lovely presence does a lot to mitigate it. And it helps to know he'll soon feel better.
Ted gets to his feet as well, opening the door for her, then helping her out once Sherlock has taken out the wheelchair and come to join him.
The cab driver even comes to help them get up the few steps into the apartment, and Ted thanks him profusely, since he himself is limited help.
Joan doesn't like this part, feeling keenly her helplessness and loss of control. It takes a mercifully short amount of time, though, and then they're in the apartment.
The place has been aired out and cleaned, and it smells pleasantly like lemon. The living room is furnished, with a sofa and a couple chairs. There's also a work room with a couple tables and a desk. The main bedroom is upstairs, but there's a smaller room on the first floor that has been made up for them, the queen sized bed sporting incredibly soft cotton sheets.
"This is nice," Ted comments as he glances around, appreciating how it's been made ready for them. "You hungry, or just wanna get ready for bed?" he asks Joan. He's basically intent on just following her every whim for the forseeable future.
"I wouldn't refuse a pad thai," Sherlock says, sitting in one of the chairs.
Joan can bet that Ted is feeling queasy. "The coconut soup is good for nausea," she tells him. "It has lime and ginger, and the chicken is a gentle protein."
Ted nods a bit, then phones them up and orders two coconut soups and a pad thai to be delivered. He hasn't sat down yet, since he worries at this point if he does, he won't want to get up again.
After he hangs up, he checks the clock on his phone. It's actually almost about time for his evening dose. Thank goodness.
"I think I'm gonna go take a shower," he says. He feels all gross and sweaty, so it's not just an excuse to not take pills in front of Sherlock. "You gonna be alright?" he asks Joan. As long as Sherlock's there he assumes the answer is probably yes.
"Alright, thanks," he answers, and gives Joan a quick kiss before he heads off to the bathroom, bringing his bag and picking up towels on the way.
Once there, he puts down the lid of the toilet and sits down on it, opening his bag and pulling out his medication, immediately taking his evening dose, swallowing the pills dry because he can't make himself get up to get water.
He sits there for a minute, but he can't really wait for them to start working, so he sets about the exhausting business of getting undressed and wrapping up his cast so it doesn't get wet in the shower.
Joan asks Sherlock to help her out of the wheelchair and onto the couch. It helps her feel a little bit more normal. Sherlock folds up the chair and puts it in the hall closet.
Sherlock sits on the couch next to her, the two of them keeping each other company in a comfortable silence.
Once he's in the shower, Ted takes his time. It's the first time he's been alone for more than a few minutes in... he's not even sure how many days. And normally that doesn't necessarily bother Ted that much, in fact it's been quite deliberate this week. But this week has been... a lot. And he doubts he's fully processed even half of it.
So he just stands there for a while, letting the hot water wash over him. Trying to regain some equilibrium, so he can be there for Joan.
Taking his time has the added benefit of giving his meds time to work, so when he's finished drying off and getting dressed, he feels alright. And Beard even gave him a couple t-shirts and underwear in this bag, so he doesn't even have to get back into the sweaty ones. By the time he comes out of the bathroom again, he looks a lot better.
Joan smiles at him when he emerges from the shower. He really does look a lot better, which is a relief. As concerned as she is about his physical dependence on his pain meds, she doesn't want him to suffer, and it's good he doesn't have some sort of bug.
Sherlock stands up so Ted can sit next to Joan, moving to one of the chairs.
"I feel better," he replies, returning the smile. "Good lesson, I suppose. I'll definitely remember to take those now." He speaks quietly, not wanting to discuss it around Sherlock.
She greatly appreciates how considerate Ted is being of Sherlock's sobriety. Not that she expected any less from him, of course. She's had other people stay with them that were decidedly less considerate, but Ted cares about people, and about Sherlock in general, to a much larger extent.
Sherlock returns with a plastic bag that he puts on the coffee table. He takes out the soups, setting them in front of Ted and Watson along with two plastic spoons, then takes his pad thai and chopsticks.
Ted offers Joan a pillow to have in her lap, so she can rest the soup on that and not have to hold it lifted, without having to have the hot box right on her lap. He picks up her soup first and opens it for her, handing it to her along with the spoon.
Chances are for the foreseeable future, Joan will have to ask Ted not to help with things.
Joan smiles a little at the help. She appreciates it, even if there's a stubborn part of her that grates against it. She takes the spoon and dips it in the soup. As she lifts it toward her mouth her hand shakes, spilling the soup back into the container.
Crap. Maybe soup wasn't the best of ideas.
She tries again and again with the same result. Finally she puts the spoon down with a frustrated sigh.
Ted looks over at Joan, concerned and sympathetic. Not just because of the physical weakness itself, but because he can imagine how frustrating it must be.
"Want me to do it?" he offers softly, holding out his hand for the spoon.
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