Sick

Part 1

by N.B.D. (Glitterbug880012 at aol.com)
4/5/02

I stole the idea from a little while back, sorry. I wrote it spur of the moment, and I kinda abandoned the other one.

Holmes heard it faintly -- the sound of throwing up. Down the hall in the bathroom, he placed it. Not wanting to alert the others, he slipped out as Deidre laughed in reply to a joke said by Wiggins.

Following the sound, he found the bathroom door open. Knowing it was Lestrade, who had excused herself a few minutes ago -- eating nothing, which was strange for the Inspector who loved anything that was real food -- he walked forward.

"Lestrade, are you all right?" he called.

No answer, more vomiting.

He walked inside and saw her leaning over the toilet, blood coming up at the same time. He quietly stood leaning on the door, realizing what was going on.

She washed her face and turned, looking at him with a look similar to those of the people Lestrade caught everyday.

"We need to talk."

"Take the Irregulars home, Watson," Holmes said in a firm voice, his arms crossed.

"Ooh, Holmes, care to share?" Deidre drawled, in return receiving a death glare.

Lestrade watched from the doorway, hugging herself as the three kids were corralled out the door. At least Holmes was going to do this in private, so they didnít know. She braced herself as the door shut, an awkward silence setting in.

Holmes sat down at his seat. "Sit."

She obediently did.

"Eat."

She couldnít.

"You know, no one ever gives Watson enough credit for his food, especially when they refuse to eat much of it. Throwing it promptly up in the bathroom is just another slap in the face. Or is it that you were afraid your table manners were so atrocious, you should wait until the others left to eat? Do go on and tell me, Lestrade."

"I canít eat," she replied weakly, driving them into another awkward silence. Holmes stood from the table and started to pace the floor. He leaned against the mantle, and gazed into the fire.

"I shouldíve known," he started, "when Gregson told you to lose weight to be a little faster in chases, that youíd take it too seriously. I bet he wasnít the only one. That stupid... And all the exercise equipment. And when you started to have only water and a cracker for your breakfast, only to find out that was your midday meal. Lestrade, you have an eating disorder!"

"What?" She started. "Holmes, Iím dieting. If something doesnít stick to the ribs, then maybe I shouldnít be eating it."

"So your so called Ďdietí includes throwing up? Lestrade, donít you know that eats your insides out!?!"

"Holmes, I know what Iím doing. Youíre starting to show your age, you know." She crossed her arms.

"Feeble comeback, Lestrade. Come with me." He grabbed her arm and took her over to a full-length mirror. "What do you see?"

She stared in it for a while, then looked lower, her face showing her disgust. "I see an absolutely pudgy woman."

"I donít. I see a woman whose face is deathly pale, whose wrists..." He held one up. "...have the bones clearly sticking out, and..." He opened her mouth, exposing the gum. "...bloody gums. Hmmm, let me put this together."

Watson walked through the door at the same time.

"Watson, a person is causing herself to throw up; denies that she has a disorder; bloody gums, throws up blood, refuses to eat; and sees herself as overweight," he hollered through the flat. "Whatís her diagnosis?"

"Well, obviously a eating disorder."

"And what should she do?"

"Get help immediately."

"Lestrade!." Holmes whirled on her, who had been trying to sneak out quickly, to no avail. "Youíre sick, and if itís the last thing I do, Iím getting you better."

TO BE CONTINUED

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