John, pass me my laptop. {The Blogger, The Consulting Detective}

John was getting slightly irate with Sherlock's behaviour, he was unwell and needed rest - the case could wait.

"Sherlock, listen. You are under the weather; the case can wait. I do not want you to get pneumonia or anything more serious. I am insisting as a doctor and as a friend."

"Yes, doctor. I will obey just this time. Permission to tell me what to do, granted." Sherlock sighed deeply, which ended up in a cough attack. He leaned over the edge of the bed, coughing and waiting until it was over.

When it was over, He tossed himself back on the bed, arms wide. "Oh, I'm so bad. I really pushed it too far this time." To his surprise, he was laughing a husky laugh.

John watched Sherlock in a clinical manner; rubbing Sherlock's back he coughed.

"I think you have a cold, possible pneumonia if you carried on earlier. You are sometimes very ignorant of your own needs."

John sat on the edge of the bed and moved the hair from Sherlock's face, fingers lingering just a bit too long.

Sherlock couldn't give the effort to note John's ambiguous action. He only noted that he liked the touch.

"Don't stop." he breathed, locking his eyes with John's. It felt nice and comforting. He wanted it to continue.

John was stroking Sherlock's hair - and gently held his chin. Looking deep into his eyes.

He smiled with a cheeky glint. "How are you feeling? Do you want some sleep?" he questioned.

Sherlock let out a deep sigh. John's touch felt rather... enjoyable. He couldn't put it in other words. He was comfortable and subconsciously nuzzling away. Suddenly, his body felt heavy and his pillow was oh, so soft.

"I don't want to sleep." He obstinately rolled over to his side, the side on which John was sitting. His mind and body were not in sync today, obviously.

John spoke firmly; "You need to rest; the case can wait. You have been burning the candle both ends for days - you know you will feel better shortly."

He knew Sherlock was obstinate to his own needs; but this was stupid.

"You don't want to get pneumonia or something more serious, do you? I would have to put up with a pissed off; very sick Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed and noticed John's Doctor-voice. Hmmmmmm... His eyelids felt heavy and he managed to mumble:

"It's all right doctor John." before his eyes closed and he fell asleep.


His dreams were wild, confusing and very brightly-coloured. He had dreamt of a pink Anderson transforming into a giant orange dinosaur, tramping through London. Sherlock was being chased by it, not able to outwit it by deducing, nor had he a gun to shoot it. The guys from Top Gear cut his way off in Regent's street on tricycles, followed by a horde of angry birds and the lakes of Regent's park were made of peanut butter. When the dinosaur arrived at 221B, he crashed the window by pulling a claw in it to grab for very very purple jam. Sherlock, of course, didn't know he wanted jam and concluded he grabbed for John who Sherlock thought was still in the house. A miserable green feeling of panic rose in his chest. He woke up shouting John's name in terror, drenched in sweat and completely confused.

John used the sleeping Sherlock as an opportunity to get some tea and toast before returning to the living room - as long Sherlock kept the paracetamol down the younger man would be fine. He was about to take a sip when he heard shouting, he ran into Sherlock's bedroom and held his hand, stroking his hair.
"Shh..it's alright." he put a hand on his forehead; "Let's get you in the shower. It will cool you down."

Sherlock suddenly felt a hand in his, but did not complain. It felt rather comforting. Besides, he didn't mind these minor things. He was trembling, hot and felt very ill.

"I suppose you are right." he huffed and was pulled up by John. Gosh, black spots again. He pressed his eyelids firmly together and continued. "Remember that I said that, 'cause I'm not going to say that again."