Just A Mild Case
A/N1: this is dedicated to the lovely MorbidByDefault, hoping she gets well soon. And also to the sweet Zora Arian, who wrote me a sick fic as well and I just really wanted to thank her as well!
Now, this fic can take place way off in the future of As Above As Below or you can just take it as a standalone one-shot. Happy reading!
Molly Hooper opened the front door of 221B Baker Street just in time to see John Watson barreling down the stairs, taking two steps at a time and nearly bounding into her. There were muffled banging sounds from above. "What's going on?" Molly asked John, he looked as though he had just invaded Afghanistan again, but this time on his own and nothing but a towel to help him.
"His Royal Pain-in-the-Ass needs more tissues. Apparently, his lovely skin is too sensitive and requires the most expensive one Tesco has." John said dryly, "Are you going up?"
"Was planning to…but now that-"
"MOLLY!" shouted a deep voice from above, rather raspy and followed by a series of hacking coughs.
"How the hell did he know I was here?" Molly whispered urgently to John, who looked at her bemusedly.
"He's Sherlock, what'd you expect? And anyway, he keeps on randomly calling for you as well as me now. You know, ever since-" John waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Molly blushed crimson, "so, have fun looking after your uh…Sherlock now. I'll be back within an hour. I might stop by Mary's, I need a cuppa. Call me if you need me."
Molly wasn't really happy about the prospect of looking after a Sherlock who had a mild case of pneumonia; she loved the man to bits, but sometimes, even in the best of health, he could be very trying and now that he was sick he could be Lucifer himself. Nevertheless, her love won out in the end and she started up the steps.
"Oh Molly," John called, halfway out the door, "He's a child now, so he'll try your patience very much."
"You have no idea, John." Molly said rather mysteriously, disappearing up the steps.
John shook his head; he would never understand that woman.
Molly opened the door to Sherlock's flat gingerly, taking note of all the strewn papers and the misplaced cups and saucers. Sherlock's flat couldn't actually be called to be in "ship-shape" but at least, for John's efforts and now hers as well, the place could be neat and tidy. Now it looked as though a hurricane had blown through.
"Molly," said Sherlock, weakly now, from the sofa, "What took you so long? I wanted a cup of tea hours ago."
Molly sighed and looked at the consulting detective stretched out on the sofa, wearing a disgusting blue t-shirt and baggy pants underneath the silk robe. He looked pale and so very young.
"Why didn't you ask John?" Molly asked, moving to stand in front of him. He looked up at her, eyes bright and nose red, and said pitifully, "John keeps adding lemon to the tea. I don't like lemon tea."
"Sherlock," Molly said exasperatedly, hands on her hips, "Lemon tea helps with the congestion!"
Sherlock reached out and took one of her hands in his large one. Swiping a thumb over her knuckles tenderly, he said, "Please make me real tea? You wouldn't want me to die. You love me."
Molly sighed and turned to make the tea. She never could refuse him, not when he asked her like that.
Nearing the kitchen, she looked at the empty mouse cage on the table, "Uh…Sherlock. Where's Gladstone?"
"Experiment." Was what she got as an answer.
Molly didn't even dare ask.
"Argh, it's horrible!" Sherlock said as soon he had one sip of the tea. Molly tried not to scream at him (murder never solved any dispute) and took another deep breath. She snatched the teacup from him (Sherlock looked like he was about to through it) and said, "What do you want then?"
When Sherlock didn't answer, Molly cast fresh eyes over the room again. She noticed a hot-container sitting on Sherlock's desk, "Sherlock, what is that?"
"Sweat."
"Sweat?!"
"Mrs. Hudson calls it chicken broth, I call it sweat. Tastes horrible." Sherlock attempted to sound contemptuous, an effect that was somewhat ruined by another bout of coughs.
Molly bit her lip. She had to get some food into him; he looked like death. Just as she was thinking of making some of that curry Sherlock seemed to be partial to, he grabbed her arm and tugged with tremendous strength. Caught off-guard, Molly fell onto him so that she was now straddling his hips.
"Oof, Sherlock, what are you-" She started, but he cut her off.
"Can I kiss you, Molly, please?" Sherlock said, widening his eyes for added effect, "I haven't kissed you in ages!"
Molly twisted her head out of his grasp when he tried to pull her up, "No, Sherlock, I'm sorry, but you might be contagious."
"Please?"
Dear Lord, Sherlock was begging her to kiss him. If she could go back six months in the past and tell herself that this day would actually come, the past her would die from happiness.
God, she needed to manage her thoughts properly.
Molly pried herself gently away from him, causing Sherlock to make a small moan of protest but quieted when Molly sat down on the couch and made him lie on her lap. Carding her fingers through his hair in a soothing pattern, she asked, "Better?"
Sherlock made a pleased sort of whine at the back of his throat and Molly smiled. A sudden thought came into her head. "Soft kitty, warm kitty…" She sang, fighting the urge to giggle.
"What the hell are you singing?" Sherlock's indignant face made her laugh out loud. He looked scandalized, "And what is so funny..?"
"Um…nothing, just a pop culture…forget it." She tugged a bit on his curls, and Sherlock closed his eyes and purred.
"Molly," Sherlock said, voice barely above a whisper, "Stay here until I wake up?"
Molly smiled at him and bent down to kiss him on the forehead, "Of course, Sherlock."
Sherlock smiled like a contented cat and let Molly ease him into a nap.
That was how John found them when he came back two hours later (admittedly, he only took so long because he was dreading going back to the flat) and saw Molly Hooper dozing with a slightly snoring Sherlock on her lap, his hand clutching one of hers tightly.
"Oh Molly," John said quietly, setting down the shopping in the kitchen table, "You wonderful, beautiful saint."
A/N: Sick fic! As I write this, my nose keeps getting blocked, my throat is super dry and there are annoying jolts of pain from my left foot (which should have healed by now!) Anyway, in my honest opinion, this fic is little more than just fluff and a sick brain loves mindless fluff.
The next chapter of Cogitate will be up as soon as my wonderful beta gives it back to me and the Kid!Lock fic is still in the works. So stay tuned!
Hope you leave a review!
Love,
Adi x