Sherlock opened the door of 221B and let out a sigh of relief. He was now home, and he didn't have any more work to do for the evening. Usually he enjoyed his work, but today hadn't been anything interesting. It wasn't a case; it was just running errands and being annoyed by the people in shops.

He took off his coat and set it down, running a hand through his curly hair. He wondered how John was doing, since John was ill. He knew that his flatmate had probably been lying in bed all day, so he decided he'd check John's bedroom.

He quietly made his way to John's door and began opening it carefully. "John," he whispered, "how are you feeling?" When he didn't get a response, he simply entered the room. Dr. Watson was sleeping, his arms spread out and above his head. Sherlock laughed a bit too loudly, and John began to stir.

His eyelids fluttered open and he saw Sherlock standing over him with a tiny grin. He groggily rubbed his eyes, yawning as he did so. "How long have I been sleeping? What time is it?" He sat up and glanced at the window. Of course the curtains were drawn, so he couldn't see if it was day or night outside.

"The time is of no importance. Are you feeling any better?" Sherlock questioned, truly caring about the well being of the other man. His response was a cough and sneeze from John. Sherlock just nodded and said, "I'll go make you some tea."

"Thanks," John muttered in response as Sherlock exited the bedroom. John found himself smiling about how kind Sherlock was being. Most of the time, Sherlock was very serious and wouldn't stop his case-solving for much. But if John needed help with something, he knew he could rely on Sherlock to care for him.

Not much later, Sherlock reentered with two cups of tea. He handed John one of the cups and sat on the end of the bed, taking a sip from the other cup. "So were you able to sleep well for most of today?" Sherlock asked, hoping to get a 'yes' in response.

John thought about waking up at random points in the day and not knowing what the hell was going on. It had happened on many occasions today, especially since he was out of it because of being sick. He didn't want Sherlock to worry too much though, so he said, "I was fine."

"Good," Sherlock said to him, nodding. He didn't like that John was sick for a number of reasons, but one of them was definitely that he just wanted John to be happy. John set the tea down on his nightstand and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes and sighing. "I'm cold," he mumbled, shivering as if on cue.

"Need another blanket?" Sherlock asked. Before John could reply, Sherlock was in the hall getting a blanket from the cabinet. He returned and handed it to John, who thanked him with a laugh. "I didn't even say that I really wanted one," he told Sherlock with a smile.

Sherlock shrugged. "But you accepted it, didn't you?" John wouldn't deny this; he was pretty grateful for the extra warmth. If only he could get just a bit more...

This time when Sherlock sat, he was next to John with his feet up on the bed. "Get your shoes off of my bed," John complained. "If I must." Sherlock groaned as if this was such a tedious task he was performing. He pulled off his shoes and tossed them to the floor, looking at John the entire time.

"Are you happy now?" Sherlock said in a sarcastic tone. John rolled his eyes. "I'm simply ecstatic." Sherlock gave one of his closed-mouth smiles and pulled the covers over his legs.

"Sherlock, I'm ill," John said with an unhappy frown. He wanted Sherlock to be there too, but he didn't want him to get sick. Sherlock cocked his head and told John, "I'm fully aware." John realised that Sherlock honestly didn't care, and was going to stay anyway. The thought brought a smile to his face.

They each went from the upright position to lying down, without noticing it had happened. They were facing each other, their faces not far apart.

John admired Sherlock's smooth face and greenish blue eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about how lucky he was to have this man with him, caring for him while he wasn't feeling well. Meanwhile, Sherlock stared at John's sickly pale face with the ghost of a smile. He still thought that John looked wonderful, even in his current state. He leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on John's lips, who kissed back immediately. They broke away from each other and John buried his face in Sherlock's warm chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John under the covers, pulling him in closer.

This was the man that he would always help when he was down. He wanted John to know that he'd always try to keep him safe, even if it meant putting himself in danger. He was willing to do that for John, and no one else.

"I love you, Sherlock," John suddenly said into Sherlock's chest. He sounded like he'd be falling asleep soon, and Sherlock kissed the top of his head as a 'good night.'

"And I love you."