Sickness- Sherlock gets sick for the first time since John moves in.
Rating K

John woke up one morning, his internal alarm clock telling him it was time to get up wither he liked it or not. As he glances to his actual alarm clock to see the time it didn't surprise him to see that it as just after 8am. With a small sigh he got up and dressed before heading down to the kitchen for a good cuppa. As he got to the kitchen, something was off. Sherlock hardly slept and he had gone to bed the previous night before John actually did, a little odd but it did happen every so often after longer cases, but the detective was nowhere to be seen. His normal place on the island in the kitchen was empty, remnants of an experiment still cluttered the work space, was the same as he had left it the night before. The detective wasn't in his chair or on the sofa either. Nothing seemed to have been moved. It didn't look as though the younger man had even come out of his room yet.

As he put the kettle on the stove, to start some tea, John decided to investigate. He walked to the door to Sherlock's room and listened from behind the door for a moment. A small, almost weak, moan could be heard and then came a crash. John jumped and bolted into the others room.

Here Sherlock lay on the floor, wrapped up in his bedding, not moving. "Sherlock!" John was quick to move to the younger's side to try and help him up but before he even touched him he knew something was wrong. With his hands only inches a way he could feel the heat radiating off the others body. Sherlock looked up at him his eyes slightly red and he still looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. His normally pale skin was slightly flushed and a small cough escaped his mouth. This only added to what John already knew what was going on. Sherlock was sick.

"Come on let's get you back into bed," he said as he helped the sick detective up. Carefully John helped Sherlock out of his ball of bedding. After the doctor got the detective onto his bed comfortably, sitting up slightly, he gave him a quick once over. The fall didn't appear to have hurt the other witch is a good thing. Sherlock's pupils were slightly dilated and his breathing was also a bit labored probably from whatever happened before the fall.

"John," Sherlock said softly.

"Yes?"

"Your hands are cold. They normally aren't. Normally your hands are so warm and soothing. Somethings wrong," the sick man leaned into the others hand as they rested on his forehead.

"Your right somethings wrong. You're sick you bloody idiot."

"Huh, I don't remember the last time I was sick."

John let out an airy laugh. "I'll go get you some tea and some medicine. Just rest here."

"I don't think I can go anywhere. You saw the result of when I tried to get up a few moments ago." Nodding a little John quickly left the room and finished making the tea that he had left on the stove. It didn't take the doctor long to grab a tray, and load it with a few items that the sick man may need. Coming back into the room and seeing the other man just lying in bed was something he wasn't use to. Setting the tray down at the foot of the bed he sat near his best friend.

"Here Sherlock," John said as he grabbed the tea and medicine. "Nothing like a good cuppa to help with the flu." Sherlock took both of the things the doctor was holding out to him into his slightly shaking hands. "Don't force yourself to much. You'll need rest." John steadied the others hands. After Sherlock took the medicine and drank his tea his eyes started to get heavy. The detective moved himself back down the bed so he was laying down again. He let out a small sigh as John put the tea cup back on the tray.

"What is it Sherlock?"

"I can't work today. I can barely move without falling over. My mind is all clouded over. Is this what normal people feel like?"

"You seem to be functioning rather well. Then again this isn't how you normally act." John sits down on the other side of the bed set his hand on Sherlock's forehead again.

"Can you stay?" the detective asks as he curls up next to the other man. The fever must be messing with his mind.

"Of course." John says. His fingers itching to touch the curls on the detectives head. He finally gives into the urge and runs his fingers gently though the brown curls. The younger man leans into the touch almost immediately.

"Thank you John…" he mumbles before drifting off to sleep.

Thanks for reading. Feel free to PM or leave a comment if you have a request.