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[Voice] backdated to the day after the Hurricane
[The only thing worse then hitting your head during a hurricane and being ordered to rest for two weeks was hitting your head, being ordered to rest for two weeks and then waking up miserably sick with a cold.
This really was not Conan's week.
He gropes blindly for the communicator and speaks it into it with a voice hoarse from coughing.]
Dr.Watson? Mr. Holmes? Do you know if the first aid kit has any cold medicine?
This really was not Conan's week.
He gropes blindly for the communicator and speaks it into it with a voice hoarse from coughing.]
Dr.Watson? Mr. Holmes? Do you know if the first aid kit has any cold medicine?

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[He might be a little grumpy about being ordered to stay in bed by multiple people. ]
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[ Why is he putting up with this again? ]
[ Oh, right. John. ]
[ Give him a little bit of time but soon enough the door opens and Sherlock saunters in before setting the cold medicine on the counter. He takes his time to measure out the exact dosage recommended and pours it into a small container. Afterwards he pulls the headache medicine that John's approved from the cabinet and lets himself in the room he knows Conan is supposed to be resting in. ]
[ He gives the room a look over to make sure that Conan has been doing as John says or if he's gotten up at all before wordlessly handing over the small cup with the cold medicine. ]
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As a point of fact, Conan hadn't left his bed this morning. Although the obedience owed more to the fact that he hadn't had the energy to do any more than read through his stack of mystery novels than it did to any intention to follow doctor's orders. ]
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How's your head? I can get you an aspirin if you need.
[ He asks, taking his communicator out with his free hand. ]
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Acetaminophen. I can't have aspirin because of the concussion. It can increase the risk of bleeding.
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[ He checks the small pill bottle that of approved pain medicine from John and notes that it does say Acetaminophen. Whatever, he won't let it get to him and takes it over to Conan along with the cup of water. ]
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....Thanks.
[Conan was making an effort to be polite. ]
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John and I found a new place already. So you'll have your own room again soon-an undamaged one.
[ Making conversation like this is difficult but he's waiting on John to text him back with instructions on how to start to break the fever. ]
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I'm okay. I think I just caught a cold.
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[ Not that Elizabeth is one who should be preaching that lesson... ]
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[ Well, cant blame her for trying to offer help. ]
I hope you feel better soon then.
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Thank you.
[He sneezes.]
Ah, actually there is something. Do you know any riddles or puzzles?
[Because cold or not, Conan was stuck with a promise to rest for the next two weeks. And he was already starting to go stir crazy from boredom. ]
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I do! What kind do you like?
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And since Sherlock is bringing medicine.] Do you need anything else?
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[He'd already read through the stack of books that had been left for him.]
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[Not surprised at all.]
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[Since Sherlock seems to like to criticize his blogs.]
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[Much like Conan himself. He had never understood how his father could prefer the fictional cases of his books rather over the real cases the police called him in for. ]
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[If Sherlock did write mystery or crime novels, he could control who the suspect was and how interesting it became.]
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You really think writing mysteries could make up for that?
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