Sniffle, Sneeze, Snivel
John rolled onto his back, drawing an arm over his eyes.
His head was pounding.
His eyes hurt.
His nose was running.
He kept sneezing.
He was exhausted.
His body ached.
He was sick.
He had known he was getting sick. He had known that, and he had tried to fend off the illness before it could really grab ahold of him.
But.
No luck.
The telltale tickle deep within his nose had him fumbling for the tissues on the nightstand. He sneezed loudly, groaning afterwards as he draped the tissue over his face.
He was miserable.
He had decided a few hours ago that he wasn't going to get out of bed anytime in the near future. He was just going to sleep this off. Except, he had woken up ten minutes ago, and he hadn't been able to get back to sleep since. His miserable state wasn't letting him fall back asleep. It was... dreadful. Simply dreadful.
He rubbed his nose before crumpling the tissue, tossing it back onto the nightstand. He was slowly collecting a pile of tissues on the nightstand. It was a bit disgusting, really, but the bin was halfway across the room and he had no inclination to get out of bed.
He pressed his fingers against his eyes, rubbing them harshly. It felt like an allergy attack gone seriously wrong; only it was winter and he was sure it was probably a cold. Nonetheless, it didn't make him feel any better.
He sneezed again. This time, the resulting groan was mixed with a few mumbled and slurred curse words, most particularly centering around where this cold could go.
He knew where the cold had come from. It had come from Sherlock.
Sherlock had been ill, for the first time that John had ever witnessed, with some cold-flu type thing. And John had made it his personal duty to take care of Sherlock to the best of his ability. Of course, what with Sherlock being Sherlock, that was a remarkably difficult thing to do.
Somehow, Sherlock had gotten better.
And no more than on the day that Sherlock was out of bed for the first time since being sick, John ended up nearly vomiting all over the kitchen from the smell of the Chinese take-away that they had just picked up.
Needless to say, John had completely skipped out on food and shut himself tightly up in his bedroom.
That had been nearly five hours ago.
He rubbed his nose again, sniffing hard. He was... so miserable. He wondered if Sherlock had felt like this because, while Sherlock had exuded sick, he hadn't exuded miserable. Not that John noticed. Not that Sherlock had even wanted to admit that he was sick in the first place. Not that Sherlock ever really exuded anything less than smartarse-
John sneezed again.
A strong shiver seized his body and he pulled the duvet over his head, muffling his groan.
Sherlock was probably just all pleased with himself. He had gotten better and gotten John sick all in the same day. Good for him.
John rolled over, looking towards the window. It was snowing. Ironic, wasn't it? He, silly enough, wanted to go walking hand-in-hand with his girlfriend in the snow. Maybe walk through Trafalgar Square or Hyde Park. Of course, this was all under the pretense that he actually had a girlfriend. Which... he didn't.
He sneezed again.
"Sherlock..." he groaned, pressing his arm over his eyes. He took care of the detective and what did he get in return?
Sick. He got sick.
What a wonderful thank you.
I finally got the first chapter of this uploaded. So sorry for the delay!
Favs and follows are grand, and reviews are even better! Thanks!