Isn't He Like A Toddler?

Come home. –SH

If this is because you need your laptop, Sherlock, or something as ridiculous as that (like usual)… –JW

Actually, don't bother. It's nothing important; I'm just not feeling well. –SH

Really? What's the matter? –JW

Don't worry. –SH

Sherlock, please tell me what the matter is. –JW

No. It's ridiculous, like you said. You shouldn't have to come home for me. –SH

Sherlock, I'm sorry, I had no idea you weren't feeling well. I'm coming home. Tell me what the matter is. –JW

John hurried up the stairs and walked in the door, to find Sherlock lying in bed in his own room (which was, unsurprisingly, a mess of books, papers and blankets), wrapped under the covers with a hurt expression. "Sherlock?" he whispered. The detective remained silent, turning to face away from the doctor. "Hey, sweetie," John sighed, not sure what the repercussions would be for addressing the world's only consulting as he just had. But Sherlock said nothing, just lay there quietly. John walked over to him and kneeled down by his side, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes. "Sherlock, how are you feeling?" "Terrible." Sherlock whispered. He closed his eyes and sighed, "My head hurts and I can't stand up properly." "Is this related to an experiment by any chance?" Sherlock shook his head, "No." John nodded and reached forward to check his temperature. "You have a fever," he said softly. Sherlock groaned and rolled over, and John wrapped an arm around him. "Shall I get you some paracetamol?" The detective nodded at this. "I'll be a minute."

A moment later, John returned and sat down by Sherlock's side. "Sorry for being such an idiot." the doctor whispered quietly, "Next time you call me I'll come home straight away." Sherlock responded to this by curling into John's side and closing his eyes as he swallowed the paracetamol his friend handed him. John chuckled, "Has anyone ever told you that you are one adorable little baby?" "I am not a baby!" Sherlock huffed weakly, looking so much like an indignant toddler that John resisted the temptation to take a photo as evidence for the man in question. "You are!" John laughed, ruffling his hair. "Now go to sleep, Sherlock." Sherlock mumbled something incoherent into John's side, and the doctor leaned down to hear better, "Hm, what was that, sweetheart?" "I love you John. You're the best friend I've ever had." "Oh, Sherlock," John smiled back warmly, gently rubbing the detective's back, "I love you too. You're the best person on Earth." "Goodnight, John." the detective murmured. John placed an affectionate kiss on his curls, "Goodnight, Sherlock."