New Scotland Yard…
"So, what do we have?", Lestrade asks
"Well, there is the lipstick, which also matches the one of Jennifer Wilson's aka the Pink Lady and - ", Sherlock abruptly stops, his legs swaying.
"Sherlock, you okay?", John asks
"Yes, of course, I'm fine.", Sherlock answers
"Let me see.", John says, not believing his best friend for a second. He checks Sherlock's forehead. "Come on, we're going home."
"John, I'm - "
" – fine? Yeah, right. We're going home, right this instant. Doctor's orders.", John says, trying to stop Sherlock from protesting…
…and failing miserably. "We have a case!", Sherlock says, annoyed
"We had a case, you have a fever, which must be also affecting your brain, if you're swaying. Home, now. Not listening a word and that's the end of the conversation.", John says, pushing Sherlock to the direction of the door.
"But - "
"No buts, it's over. Besides you've solved numerous cases at home.", John continues. By that time, everyone at Scotland Yard were looking the exchange between doctor and consultant detective with interest and amusement – even Lestrade.
"I fail to see what is so different about this one!"
"You're sick, that's what's different!", John kinda yells, frustrated
Sherlock gives him a look of incredulousness.
"Stop acting like a child, Sherlock."
"I'm not being childish, John."
"Not only do you act like a child, you remind me of one.", John says. He starts pushing Sherlock to the door again. "Greg, if you need us anything extremely important, call us, otherwise forget it, got it?", John tells Lestrade
"Yes, sir.", Lestrade mock-salutes
"Good, we're out."
221b Baker Street…
John gets his coat off and heads for Sherlock's but before he's able to do anything, Sherlock starts walking, swaying.
"Nausea again?", he asks Sherlock, as he sees the person in question holding his head.
"Mmnnn.", Sherlock denies
"Right…", John says, defeated. He puts his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, so as to steady him then takes off his flatmate's coat and sits him down on the sofa.
"Alright. Lie down, I'm going to make you some tea. And don't you dare say that you're fine, 'cause I'm going to tell Lestrade to not take you on cases for an entire month.", John says, knowing the threat would not go unnoticed.
"You can't do that!", Sherlock says, annoyed.
"Yes, I can and I will, if you continue sulking."
"I'm not sulking, John, I never have."
"Yeah, right…", John says, sarcastically
Sherlock, knowing when he loses a fight, finally lies down, but stands up frustrated, heading to his room.
"Where are you going?", John asks him, popping his head from the kitchen.
"To get a blanket.", Sherlock answers
"Go lie down again, I'll bring it to you."
"But…"
"Uh,uh,uh…", John says, more sternly
"Fine.", Sherlock surrenders. Then, he goes to lie down.
After a minute or so, John returns with a blanket.
"Sherlock, I hope it's warm enough…", he trails off at the sight he witnesses. Sherlock had fallen asleep. Although dumbfounded, he couldn't help the smile that graced his features. After that, he walks over to the sofa and puts the blanket over Sherlock, then he checks his temperature.
Slightly dropped, that's good, he thinks. Then he heads back to the kitchen. Instead of pouring a cup for his best friend, he pours one for himself. He goes to the living room, sits down on his armchair and takes a sip as he watches Sherlock sleep peacefully.
Maybe miracles do happen after all.