This is sort of a sequel to Storm, that I wrote here the other day, but (I hope) it makes sorta sense on its own. Otherwise it's okay to read these stories in the wrong order. I plan on doing a few connected short one-shots, but as a little twist, I'm not gonna write it in the chronological order. Why? I have no idea.

The moments between "Tea?" and "Sleep in my bed tonight", and between then and "Don't worry, I'm here", there was no real explanation for and John did not specifically care much at the moment. His throat was hurting and his head spinning when he tried to lift it. He flopped back down the pillow. It was a nice pillow. Nice and soft and it smelled familiar. He could sleep for a couple more hours. It was not because he- Work! His head shot up and he looked around in the search for a clock, just any. All he saw was a blurry mess. Partly because this room really just was a huge mess and also because his eyes could not follow his rapid head movements. He groaned and sat up. He could not go to work anyway, but he had to call in sick and he was pretty sure that in the mess yesterday evening had been, his phone would be in the living room. Very carefully he put his feet on the floor, one by one and got up. He staggered out the bed room, grabbing the door frame for support. Sherlock was up, but he had been surprisingly quiet for a morning with no case. At John's not quite as quiet entry to the living room, coughing and nearly falling, god, he felt bad, Sherlock's eyes had shot up from the news paper.

"How are you feeling?" He asked. John was about to make a mocking comment about Sherlock's sudden inability to deduce that himself, but figured being honest was easier.

"Horrible," he admitted and flopped down into a chair.
"Yes, interesting," Sherlock muttered to himself and looked at John for a moment longer before he looked back to his paper.
"Do you know where my phone is?"

"Don't worry, I already called you in sick."

"Thank you," John mumbled. He was slightly confused and very, very tired. He would just close his eyes, just for a moment, just-

"Do you need anything?" Sherlock stood in front of him. John's eyes shot up. He squinted to focus on the figure in front of him. Just for a moment he intended to shake his head, but remembered, what it would probably feel like. Instead he just muttered a small 'no'.

"Not hungry? Thirsty? Interesting," Sherlock said. "But tired." He was not talking to John. He put a hand on his forehead for a moment. Then he put two fingers under his chin and looked long at his face and eyes.

"Fascinating."

"What -" John coughed shortly. Sherlock seemed to take notice, - "what are you talking about? It's just a cold."

"And you're a doctor," Sherlock mocked. John chose to not reply. Sherlock stared impatiently at him. John still kept quiet. Sherlock seemed offended. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sherlock explained:
"You're not thirsty, which is weird, considering you are very warm and have been tossing around in your sleep all night. Your nose isn't stuffed and you're not hoarse. Otherwise signs of a common cold. Your fever is too high for a cold and you are too exhausted. Your eyes are flickering all over the place like you can't focus at all." John opened his eyes again. It took him a while to process what Sherlock had just said and he was sure Sherlock had even cut some parts of his deductions out due to John's poor state. He stared blankly at Sherlock.

"I'll go back to bed."