This is my entry for johnlockchallenges for phanidani. The prompt " Either John or Sherlock get's sick and the other has to take care of them. Or they both get sick. I just want one of them feeling miserable. (Wow, that sounds horrible doesn't it, whoops.) Idk, I love sickfics. Any rating." I really hope you enjoy it! I could't decide what to do, so I wrote three mini fics and an ending.

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Food poisoning! Of course, it was just his luck. The first time John managed to make Sherlock eat something during a long case and he gets food poisoning.

-How are you feeling now?

The doctor didn't get any answer, only a glare and silence. John felt sorry for him but Sherlock was a difficult person to deal with sometimes, and having to stay home when a case was still unsolved turned him into the most annoying patient he had ever seen.

- Sherlock, it is not my fault! How was I supposed to know you would get so sick! This is not what usually happens when people eat.

Sherlock looked paler than usual and he was obviously trying to hide his nausea and discomfort. He was angry and he finally answered.

- It was completely unnecessary. But no! "Sherlock, you have to eat something, it's been three days". Who cares! I need to focus, John. And you just stopped everything I've been working on. You know the police. Anderson? He will mess things up before I get back there. I need to see the crime scene and the evidence by myself because people just see and not a single one of them will find the important information. Key evidence will be in front of their eyes and they will do nothing about it because they can't see! What if another body shows up? Do you expect me to stay here and let everything in their hands? And this medicine is not making me feel any better.

- Because you just took it under an hour ago!

- I need to get out now, I need to think and move on with the case.

- You need to rest. You will feel better soon. Take a nap and …

- A nap! How can I take a nap? My mind can't just simply shut up to get a nap! Oh, I envy your mind! I have already told you that. It just shuts down whenever something else happens and you are perfectly happy with. It is not how it works John. I need to solve the case! I need to get out of here now!

- You have a fever! You cannot go out just now. And I'm sure you are still dizzy. It will make you feel worse if you get out just now.

Sherlock didn't answer and only stared at John. He grabbed the blankets and covered himself. John noticed that even if he wanted to play strong he was feeling really ill.

- I'll make you tea. And so, John went to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and tried to decide what would make Sherlock feel better. He finally decided to use only water and no milk. At least this time the lack of milk was not an obstacle. It took longer than what he had imagined, since he thought it would be a good moment to put some order in their kitchen, full of Sherlock's stuff in the counter and lots of unwashed dishes in the sink.

By the time he returned to the detective's room, Sherlock had fallen asleep. What a strange sight for John, since the man seemed to never sleep, or at least he usually went to bed later than John and woke up earlier, and when in a case, he rarely slept more than a couple of hours. And now, even when he was so mad at the suggestion of a nap, he was finally resting.

John grabbed a chair, sat down and looked at his roommate. He looked so peaceful and tired. John touched his forehead to check the temperature, and he ran his hand through his curls, softly to avoid waking him, and left the room quietly. That marvelous, brilliant and indomitable spirit, his best friend, and the man who was the most amazing person he had met in his entire life, was sleeping.

Next morning both of them woke up early. John had to do some extra job in the clinic, since he had asked for some hours to try to help Sherlock with this investigation some days before. Sherlock was looking really better now. He looked tired, but his face had recovered some color – as much as possible- and he had his working face on.

- Good morning, Sherlock. How are you feeling?

- Better now. Thank you. -He said with a serious face and a flat deep voice. John figured he was just about to leave, and that maybe he wouldn't like to talk about the large nap that he took, because he actually woke up just until the morning.

John saw a cup of tea was already prepared for him. He smiled, because he remembered that the last time Sherlock had made a drink for him, it had been in an attempt to drug him with the sugar from someone's house. Still, he said thank you, and enjoyed it before leaving 221B for the day.

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The oddest discussion was taking place inside 221B. It would have been a loud argument, but it was a silent fight.

- It is your fault, Sherlock. There was no need for that. John whispered as he cleaned his red runny nose.

- At least I proved my point. I already knew it was spot on, but I wanted to make everyone in the police to see the evidence clearly. Sherlock replied, also silently.

- But we didn't have to stay all night long in the rain!

- Yes, we had too. It was the only way to prove that Mr. Thomas couldn't have possibly used that route in a rainy night and therefore couldn't have been there at the time of the murder. It was perfect that it was raining so much.

Both of them were sick and had lost their voice. It was a very weird discussion with both of them whispering, but gesturing as if they were shouting. The flat was a mess, but they were sitting in the sofa with their blankets and a lot of tissues for their runny noses.

Mrs. Hudson went up to the flat and saw them. She knocked at the door and she heard the weakest reply. A small voice - Come in – She saw the messy flat and the two men sitting, covered in blankets and looking completely miserable.

- What happened to you too? You are so sick!

- Sherlock decided it was a good idea to spend the night in the rain spying a man, waiting to see the route he would use to go home. John whispered

- Sherlock! You are supposed to stay home and cover yourself when it rains. -Mrs. Hudson said as she cleaned the small table and touched both of their faces. – You are both boiling! You need to shower to lower your temperature. I'll bring you chicken soup.

She left the flat really fast. John thought that even if she was worried, she was happy to be able to help them.

- I don't want soup. Sherlock said and walk to get his violin. His hair was a mess and the pajamas were loose over his slim frame.

- Mrs. Hudson is trying to help us. You should at least try it. Don't be rude as you usually are.

Sherlock didn't reply and began playing random short pieces and random noises on the violin. His mind was idle, since Lestrade hadn't given him any other thing to do. John was now occupying the whole sofa; he was lying on his back with a bunch of tissues in his hand, cleaning his nose very frequently.

Soon enough, Mrs. Hudson was back, carrying two separate containers with soup. She handed one to John, who thanked her and started eating all of it.

Even being unable to smell it and with a sore throat, he enjoyed the soup greatly. It was possibly the best thing he had eaten since he lived with Sherlock; John was enjoying the warm tasty rich soup so much. It was what he didn't know he needed. The medicine he got for both of them was nothing special, but this was delicious.

Sherlock, on the other hand, didn't stop making noise with the violin when the poor landlady tried to give him something to eat. He was not really a man with a big appetite, and when he got sick he ate even less. He remembered his mother being upset about it. When he grew older, she stopped worrying so much, since that seemed to be just the way his body worked but neither Mrs. Hudson nor John were used to that.

John was done with his soup and thanked Mrs. Hudson a lot for what she had given them. He was so genuinely happy with what he had eaten and his full stomach made him forget about all the things that didn't feel right.

- I'm glad you liked it John. I will bring you some more in the afternoon. I'll leave you two. And, Sherlock, don't let the soup get cold.

- Thank you, Mrs. Hudson – John said- Sherlock will try it just now. Have a nice day!

When she left, John grabbed the dish and the spoon and sat next to Sherlock. – Try the soup! It is really good! It made me feel better.

- Then help yourself! I'm not hungry.

- Come on, at least try it, and as you know, you need plenty of liquids when you get sick. As your doctor, I highly recommend you eat it.

- You are not my doctor, you are my flatmate

- And your doctor.

Sherlock sighed and turned towards John. He covered his shoulders with a blanket and hid his hands within it.

- Do you want me to feed you? – Asked John, after seeing that there were no hands to hold the dish or the spoon.

- Sherlock took his hands out of the blanket, but John interrupted him.

- No, it's ok. You need to keep warm. – And so, the doctor fed his patient all of the soup.

Sherlock was struggling to keep a huge smile well hidden. It was not about having solved yet another case, but about something that he never imagined: someone taking care of him just like that. He examined Johns face, he looked peaceful, and somehow that peace and joy were transmitted directly to him. He had never loved anyone as much as he loved that man, who was his friend, a smart mind, and his only cornerstone. Not even when he was a young child he imagined having such a great person in his life and he was deeply and simply happy.

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It was late at night, Sherlock and John had been running all over the place and trying to find information for their case. They were in a cab and Sherlock had reached his destination. They used to split in order to be more efficient in the research. If someone had told Sherlock some years earlier that he would fully rely in someone else to find key facts to feed his mind and solve the cases he would have laughed at them.

- John, go find Lestrade and tell him they've got the wrong person. They need to stop wasting their time in that man and work in the evidence from the scene. I'll see you home then.

- Ok, Sherlock. Be careful.

The cab started moving again. But as soon as Sherlock turn around he heard a terrible sound. His mind stopped working in that precise moment. His eyes were wide with horror, and his heart sinking deep in his chest within a moment of infinite terror.

- John. It was the only word he managed to pull out of his mouth as he ran towards the now completely destroyed cab, avoiding the several others. A truck lost its breaks and there was nothing to be done. How many cars were there? Had he received a direct impact? He was not sure at all.

The world stopped and everything vanished as he tried to find his flatmate in that chaotic hell.

- Sherlock. I'm here. A low trembling voice managed to say from within the wreckage.

- John, I'm going to take you out of here. Sherlock was helpless, something he never expected to be in his entire life. John was in there, but there was no way of taking him out.

- I think something really not good is going on in here. John said, as he pointed to a metal shaft that made his way through his abdomen and imprisoned him within the car. The detective's eyes widened in horror, he had seen some terrible things, but he had never felt an anxiety compared to what he was feeling in that moment.

- The paramedics will come soon. They will take you out, John. He reached to the doctor's face. He was cold and sweaty.

- I'm a doctor, remember? I know what is going on here. And they won't take me out immediately when they get here, you see? They are instructed to take the people with the highest chances to make it when there are several victims, and from what I hear, this was quite big.

-They are going to take you out of here. We will go home soon, just wait. Sherlock was numb and cold and couldn't manage to think about something else to say. John's breath was shorter and shallow. John reached out and placed his hand on Sherlock's. It was covered in his own blood, and Sherlock panicked.

- Sherlock, I don't think they will get me out of here on time. I just want to …

- Don't say that. They will, you will be fine.

- I just want to tell you that … you are the most amazing man… I've ever met… and … He had to take a pause to breathe. Air felt so dense for him now, and it seemed to refuse to enter his lungs- and... I love you.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand. – Don't you dare to die here! They will take you out. Where the hell are the paramedics! He shouted at the top of his voice. He turned his cold eyes towards his friend. Stay awake, John. Don't close your eyes. He ran his hand over his face as he tried to keep him awake.

- Stay with me, John. I need you here.

- Sher… Sherlock. John extended his arm, and Sherlock move closer to him. He was completely terrified and felt so powerless and useless. The only person he truly loved was about to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He started to hear the sirens, but they seemed to be a thousand miles away. He kissed John's forehead, as he whispered just his name. Not even a million words would be enough to express all of the things he was feeling. He blamed himself and the world and every single thing that led to that moment.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. He was unable to hide the growing sorrow that flooded his heart. It seemed ages ago when he got out of the cab. He had forgotten time, and all the things that mattered to him were suddenly irrelevant. Sherlock had never felt such a deep terror in his entire life. He kissed him softly

- I love you, stay with me. His own breath was shallow now, but by an entirely different reason.

Sherlock looked at John as he caressed his head. The doctor's eyes were flickering and his breath was more irregular every second and just moments later he didn't open his eyes again.

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It had been over a year since that damned night. Sherlock refused to empty the flat, but he moved out. The idea of taking John's belongings out was unbearable, but at the same time, he knew he would lose his mind if he stayed there. He just closed the flat, with all the stuff that was still in there, and moved out.

Once in a while he visited. It was like a sanctuary for all those happy times long lost. The cupboard with John's jumpers, the little shoebox with his memories from the army, even the cane he used to walk when he and Sherlock first met was there, where he had left it. His own belongings were still there. He had left his blue dressing gown in the small sofa, and even his violin had remained in there.

At least he was able to tell him. He didn't go without the knowledge of how much he meant for him, and how much he had changed his life. John had made him better and had always cared for him and he would carry his memory deep in his heart for the rest of his life.

FIN

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Phanidani! I hope you liked it! I apologize if there are grammar mistakes. I checked a thousand times, but English is not my first language. I am also sorry if the truck thing seems unlikely. Maybe in London it is, but in here some accidents like that have happened, so it is entirely possible. I'm sorry for the last bit, but you said miserable!

It was great to write this and I truly hope you enjoyed it!