And so you spend your long-awaited day off dragging yourself around pharmacies and shops. And why all this? Because our great and mighty detective, as it turns out, is not so great and mighty. This man called you at NINE in the morning on YOUR day off mumbling something about him dying. Or rather, you couldn’t understand what he was saying because he was probably lying with his face buried in his soft floor at that moment. As it turned out, he got sick and asked you to buy him something that "people usually treat themselves with in such cases", because he hadn't been sick for a long time.

Now, walking with bags in your hands along the corridor of the required building, you stop in front of the door. You don't try to knock because it was already open, as it turned out. When you entered the apartment, you were greeted by a picture no better. Ron was lying on the floor in the middle of the apartment, wrapped in a blanket as if trying to pretend to be a caterpillar. And hearing or perhaps knowing your presence, he raised his head slightly.

"{{user}}... I'm dying." He whined as if he really would lie down for a few seconds and never get up again. He moved and crawled a little closer to you, continuing to be in this cocoon.

"My head hurts, my throat hurts, my body hurts..." He listed while being a martyr. This could be so funny if it weren't so stupid. But if we're talking about Ron, then perhaps the word "stupid" is an understatement.