Sherlock only manages to lift the shade by a few inches before collapsing back into bed. Though the sickness eased off since he aired his feelings to John, the flu-like soreness in his muscles persisted, so much so that he doesn't even inch away from Irene when she sits down. Funny how their positions are reversed again.

"I only picked it up a few days ago. At the church. Perhaps I should demand compensation, since it was meant to be a healing service." Fluids in his head shift, and Sherlock involuntarily groans. He covers it up with a halfhearted laugh.

"Everyone has to find their own personal plague rats, I suppose."