I don't own BBC Sherlock, they are the creative works of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and of course the wonderful Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

This chapter has been edited. I hope it reads better, I will be going through the others every week as well. So a edited chapter going up once a week, unless something gets in the way.

No Pain, No Gain

Chapter One

John groaned as he pulled his quilt over his head and snuggled further down the bed just a little bit more. He could hear the pounding of sock clad feet as they came up the stairs and towards his bedroom. He knew what Sherlock was going to ask of him. He knew that he would once again give in to the request and get out of bed. John didn't wish to, as he was feeling like total crap. His head was beginning to pound in time with is heartbeat and his body ached He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but with Sherlock coming into the bedroom he knew it wouldn't happen. Sherlock had been talking about a number of murders in the city over the last two weeks. Each one was beginning to get more vicious as each new victim turned up.

"John!" came the smooth tones of his genius flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, as the door to his room burst open, slamming against the wall and causing John to wince, "Lestrade just text, we have another body." There was a thrill of excitement running through his voice as he spoke. It spoke of the chase, the puzzle and the feelings of being right, along with another life that would be saved, "John, get up." He called to him again as he moved over to the older the bed and nudged the mattress with his foot, wanting him to hurry up so they could go, "Hurry up John, I don't want Anderson to ruin the scene before we get there."

John sighed as he pulled the cover down and looked up at the man that was hovering over his bed, "I'm up and awake Sherlock." He said as he sat up, closing his eyes as be began to feel the affects of the flu starting to make itself known. It was a sudden onset of symptoms, since he had felt fine when he had gone to bed three hours ago. John hoped he would be able to keep up with anything that Sherlock dragged them through.

Sherlock glanced down at him. He observed John for a moment and saw that he was pale, with a slight flush of colour on the older mans cheeks. John looked to be in some discomfort, "You're ill," he stated simply.

Light blue eyes looked up to his flatmate as he said, "I know," not explaining to the other what was wrong with him. John flipped the cover off him and sat up on the edge of his bed; "Can I at least have a quick shower before we go?" he asked his friend and waited for an answer.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, as he looked his friend over once again. He rarely had the chance to see John without a top on, and the younger man had to admit that the doctor had some hidden muscles on him. The sight gave him a pleasant feeling inside, one he couldn't help but enjoy. What drew most of Sherlock's attention was the injury to John's left shoulder. A scar, the aftermath of being shot when he was in Afghanistan over a year ago. It was something that had almost taken the older mans life, before they had even had a chance to meet. It was not something that Sherlock liked to think about. He nodded his head quickly and left the room before his scrutiny could make his friend feel uncomfortable, "I'll make you some tea." He called out over his shoulder.

John jolted a little in surprised at the words Sherlock called out to him. John could count the number of times that Sherlock had made him tea on two hands, and that was only because in the last month or so, that Sherlock had started making them more.

John shook his head a little, wincing as his head throbbed in pain. He got up and made his way to the bathroom. He hoped that the shower would help him feel at least semi human before he had to leave the flat. The hot water helped soothe some of the aches, but not everything. He let the water cascade over him as he quickly washed his hair and body. He thought over the lack of severed heads in the flat. There had only been two occasions where he had found fingers and toes in there over the last few weeks. It confused him a little, about the slight changes in Sherlock and what he does around the house. Though Sherlock still never went to the shop to get milk or any groceries. John stepped out of the shower and quickly dried off and got dressed.

John walked into the living room, yawning, and sat down in his usual chair. Sherlock was soon walking in and placing a mug of tea on the small end table next to him. Sherlock walked over to the sofa and sat down, looking John over. John had closed his eyes against the light in the room. He slowly opened them and looked to the mug and then to Sherlock, "Thanks." He smiled as he picked it up and held it between his hands.

Sherlock smiled back and then started to watch his flatmate as he murmured, "You're welcome." John got a funny feeling from Sherlock; it started after the case with Moriarty and the incident at The Pool. Sherlock had taken to watching him a lot of the time when he was in the flat. When John was out he would often get a random text from Sherlock that would require him to answer. John didn't know why his friend was watching him all the time, but he didn't mind it. It felt like Sherlock cared about him more than he would admit. It was also amusing at times when he noticed that he was being watched, he would look to Sherlock, who would quickly look away, as though he didn't want to be caught.

John drank his tea, enjoying the warmth that it ran through him. He set the mug down on the small end table and looked over to Sherlock. "Shall we?" he said as they stood up.

Sherlock couldn't help but the grin of excitement he gave to his flatmate as the two of them put on their coats to ward off the chilled September air. The weather had quickly turned chilly as August gave way to September and kept going down as they days wore on. Sherlock was soon stood at the curb calling out, "Taxi!"

John snorted and shook his head a little as a black cab pulled up and stopped for them. He knew that if he tried to call one, it would take sometime for him to get one to notice him. They climbed into the back of the cab and Sherlock gave the driver the address. John sighed as his body protested being out of the house and away from his bed. His joints ached as he settled back into the seat, hoping they would stop just for a little bit. Each light that raced by sent a sharp spike of pain through his already aching head. He closed them against the light, hoping it would help a bit.

"You all right?" came Sherlock's voice, startling him a little.

"What?" He asked as he opened his eyes and looked over to the detective. He blinked a few times to get right of the blurriness within his eyes.

"I asked if you are all right?" piercing green and greyish eyes looked to him, as though they were observing everything about him, and John had no doubt that they were.

"Yeah," he answered him softly, "I'm fine," John frowned as his voice was now sounding a little croaky.

Sherlock hummed a little in disbelief, he could see that John wasn't well, even if the other didn't want to admit it. Sherlock couldn't help but worry about John and if he was well enough to help on the case with him. He felt bad about bringing John out with him, but he felt better for having the other man around. Sherlock had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that he worried every time he let John go out of the flat or even when he left John alone. Sherlock gave a soft sigh at his thoughts and shook his head to get rid of them. He turned his attention back to the buildings that were steadily going by as they approached the crime scene. He hoped that they would help distract him from the thoughts.

John felt Sherlock's attention leave him and he leaned back in his seat, keeping himself still as he waited for the car to arrive at its destination. John did his best to keep the wince off his face as the car rounded a sharp corner, causing his body to protest the jolting motion. His head was beginning to pound even more and he wished he had thought to take some Paracetamol before he had left the flat.

Thank you for reading, and I do hope you have enjoyed it.

Edited - 5th August 2014