221B Vaccine Ficlets
Sam Gracie
Halfway There
Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait very long. The whole operation was designed to be very
efficient. One chipper nurse wished them “Happy Vaccine Day!” which made John grin under
his mask. Neither of them had a problem with needles for their own reasons. It was over
without a fuss in no time. Honestly, the hardest part was the mandatory fifteen-minute
observation period afterward. Suddenly, Sherlock stood. John starts to argue but the beep-
beep-beep from his phone knocked the words from his mouth. Why did he bother setting the
timer in the first place?
That first day, John hardly noticed the injection site, but begrudgingly admitted he felt a little
fatigued. The next morning, his energy level was noticeably lower than normal but that wasn’t
the worst of it. His right deltoid felt like one giant bruise, though he had no mark. If Sherlock
was hurting, he didn’t mention. As the afternoon drew on, though, John noticed Sherlock’s eyes
drooping.
John sidled up behind Sherlock’s armchair, pulling fingertips through the detective’s curls.
“Come on, love.”
“John?”
The doctor guided his brilliant madman to his feet and to the bedroom with surprisingly little
complaint. They lay, facing each other, so both sore arms are up. Fingers intertwine, eyes slip
closed. Despite the discomfort, they rest feeling the world was a little better.
Fully
A month goes by fast. Sherlock forgot about the appointment and never came to bed the night
before, pouring through notes on a cold case. Afterward, John urged they take a rest, but
Sherlock remained stubborn.
“If I go to sleep now, John, l’ll wake up at one am!”
John wanted to argue, to rage about Sherlock’s lack of self-care meaning he picks up the slack.
Instead, he sighed. He nodded. He filled them with electrolytes and soup for lunch. When
Sherlock developed a low-grade fever, John provided Acetaminophen and curled up with him
on the couch. He pampered and fretted and even braved a trip to the shop for more supplies
the next morning.
Later, like a switch had been flipped, Sherlock was fine. No aches, no fever.
Just in time to return the favour.
“I feel like hell.” John groaned, rolling over in the bed for the fourth time in twenty minutes.
Every joint in his body hurt, especially his bad shoulder. Long, able fingers rubbed into his
muscles. Lips pressed to the sweat on his forehead. John sighed and slept.
Two days after the dose, they were both right as rain. Sherlock solved the case, John let the
clinic know he could return. Both contemplated the engagement ring they had hidden under
their respective sides of the bed.
2019-2020
Paper and ink
Two short stories written in the fandom of BBC’s Sherlock series (2010 – 2017) inspired by the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. These pieces imagine a modern-day Detective Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson receiving their COVID-19 Vaccinations. Trigger Warning: Mention of Needles. A “221B Ficlet” is specifically a story that is exactly 221 words long and ends with a word beginning with B, in honor of the London flat where the detective makes his home.