Many thanks to MapleleafCameo and Johnsarmylady for looking through this for me. :-)

I do not own them so I cannot profit from them.

The words that are in bold spell out the gift recipient's pen name.

It was their fifth anniversary and if anyone had asked John Watson, even six years earlier, if he would ever be in a relationship with the great Sherlock Holmes he would have laughed in their face. Yet here they were and John couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Looking at Sherlock, who was chatting with Mrs. Hudson at her doorway, John was happy to see the consulting detective back at full health. Just a week and a half before 221B had been off limits for anyone who didn't have the initials J.W. or S.H. Even Mycroft had been banned by their protective landlady when he had unexpectedly shown up on their doorstep.

Despite loving the gangly genius it, wasn't always easy for the former army doctor to care for Sherlock on a regular day, never mind when the flu virus was taking over his transport. John had been forced to look at it as if it were a game. One in which he was a knight battling a great monster that must be defeated without any damage to himself. Also, there could be no thoughts of killing the drama queen it had attempted to take over.

He had come out victorious. Just.

John had known his patient was back to his old self when he had opened the refrigerator door three mornings earlier and found an unwelcome sight. Yelling to ask what the hell was in the crisper had merely got the words, "Surely, with your medical degree, you can tell it is a foot!" flung back at him. The doctor had simply rolled his eyes and made a pot of tea.

John was brought back to the present as his husband rushed past. Following close behind, he dared to ask once more, "Sherlock, where are we going?"

Like the four times before, silence and a stern look were all he was given. When they arrived at Simpson's, John grinned and was able to see the small, shy smile Sherlock would wear when he was pleased at doing something that had made John happy.

It was during his starter, the creamed mushrooms, that John started to feel a little warm. He put it down to the warmer than normal temperatures outdoors and ignored it. While he enjoyed his Dover Sole, Sherlock let him know a pair of tickets to the Doctor Who Proms, was safely tucked in his wallet. A few minutes later, John blamed the ache in his muscles on how tense with excitement he had got when finding out about the concert. His head now a little fuzzy, he wasn't used to this sort of food and wine, he decided to forego dessert.

John knew the stress of the traffic was the cause of his sudden headache as the two men walked up the steps leading to the Royal Albert Hall. Once they were in their seats, and very nicely situated seats they were too, John snuggled down and waited for the concert to begin. He was enjoying himself thoroughly when he realised Sherlock was shaking his shoulder. Confused, he opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Throat sore, it must be very dry in the building, he noticed his head was resting on his husband's arm.

"John, I've allowed you to sleep for ten minutes but do think you would appreciate watching the remaining two songs of the program since they are your favourites."

John tried to lift his head and couldn't understand why it seemed too heavy.

Sherlock ran his hand over the silver threads. "No need to move, you're fine where you are. I would simply suggest remaining awake."

Deciding it was best to listen to Sherlock, he was the genius after all, John stayed right where he was and managed to keep his eyes open. When the audience started to clap, he found a strong hand helping him stand and, ignoring the dirty looks of those they passed, Sherlock took them outside to where a very familiar black car was waiting. Soon they were heading back to Baker Street.

John wondered at the heat inside the car. "Why is it so bloody hot in here? It's July not December. Plenty warm enough outside as it is."

Long fingers moved to rest on his forehead and left cheek. He sighed at the cool touch.

"The air conditioner is on, John. Not the heating system."

John shook his head. That didn't make any sense.

"I'm afraid you seem to be experiencing the same flu I suffered through a short time ago."

Of course, John thought, the flu. Of all things, Sherlock would share that.

"During your nap, I texted Mycroft and had him deliver the necessary items to the flat as well as arrange for his doctor to stop by once I have you changed and in bed resting. Mrs. Hudson has also been informed of the situation."

It was an uncoordinated and uncomfortable John Watson that entered 221B. After a quick exchange with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had guided them up the stairs. Stopping off for a quick trip to the bathroom, while his partner went into the kitchen to brew a pot of tea and survey the new items on their table, John looked at himself in the mirror. It was no wonder he felt miserable if he looked so bad on the outside.

Half an hour later, Mycroft's doctor had left, leaving strict instructions on how to best care for his patient, and John was starting to doze. Knowing, from previous experience, that sleep was the thing needed most, even if it was a hindrance during a case, Sherlock leaned down and placed a kiss on the warm forehead. His excellent hearing allowed him to hear John as he mumbled, "My knight in shining armour."

Smiling at the sick man's words, Sherlock whispered against his beloved's skin, "Yes, John, as always, we'll fight the monster together."

As Sherlock left to text Lestrade that he would be unavailable for the foreseeable future, John snuggled down into his pillow and smiled.

I hope you enjoyed it, TheGameMrsHudsonIsAFoot! :-)