"John!" Sherlock shouted, loud enough to scare the birds off the roof. Watson came rushing in, throwing open the door to the detective's room.
"What" he panted, "the hell is going on?" Sherlock stared blankly at the doctor, as if the solution was obvious.
"I'm sick." he said simply. With a look of 'Are you kidding me?' on his face he checked his watch.
"Sherlock. It's three in the bloody morning. This couldn't wait?"
"No. Fix me." He said and crossed his arms over his chest.
"What's the matter?" he sighed heavily.
"I. Am. Sick." John stifled a yawn and a few choice words for his companion as he reached his bedside. He felt the detective's forehead.
"You are quite warm." John sat down next to Sherlock. The detective looked a little peaked.
"My nose has been running all night, and I can't sleep." Sherlock complained, blowing his nose in the nearest tissue. He sniffled.
"I'll go get you some tylenol. That should help with the fever. Alright?"
Sherlock nodded. As John left the room he snuggled back under the mountain of blankets. He shivered slightly, this damned sickness was slowing him down. He couldn't think. He groaned and sat up in bed.
"John!"
"I'm coming! For chrissake!" Sherlock smiled in the dim light of his bedroom. He hated being sick but having John play doctor with him wasn't too bad. John came back with a glass of orange juice and two white tablets in his hand. He handed the items to Sherlock.
"Now don't-"
Sherlock snatched up the two pills and dry swallowed them both at once.
"Do that. Ugh." John sighed, handing him the orange juice. Sherlock flopped back in bed and stared up at the ceiling.
"Is there anything else I can get you, highness?" John asked, turning to go back to bed.
"John. Wait."
"What?"
"I think, as you are my physician, you should stay in my room tonight. Make sure that I make it through the night. You know, for safety." Sherlock said, quietly. John Watson closed the door and smiled.
"Alright move over." John climbed into the bed and curled up next to Sherlock. Lying on his stomach Sherlock threw an arm over John and held him close.
"I think I'm feeling better." he said sleepily. As Sherlock drifted off, John kissed him atop his fevered forehead.
"Yes, I think you are."