Author's note: Because my throat feels as though I swallowed a porcupine and my stomach feels as though that porcupine was really unhappy with that, I decided to write a sick fic to make me feel better. Reviews are the best medicine!
When John woke up he was fairly certain someone had attacked the inside of his throat with sandpaper while he was sleeping. It felt raw and painful when he breathed and when he swallowed. John knew he hadn't been snoring, because whenever he snored Sherlock would either wake him up, or record the snoring. And since John didn't see any recording equipment and had (amazingly) gotten a full night's sleep, he knew the sore throat wasn't because he had been snoring. John rolled over on his side and took a few gulps from the glass of water sitting on the table to see if that would soothe his aching throat. Unfortunately it didn't, and there was a rather unpleasant side-effect. The moment the water hit John's stomach he felt it making its way right back up again. John sprang out of bed and ran to the bathroom as fast as he could, upchucking the watery contents of his stomach into the toilet. John continued to heave up nothing for about three minutes before sitting back on the cool bathroom tiles, his entire body shaking. John reached over to the sink and felt around blindly for the thermometer but didn't feel anything but emptiness inside the drawer. John looked up at the clock sitting on the wall of the bathroom and groaned when he saw the hands indicate that it was four twenty in the morning. Far too early to bother Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock would most likely be up although John didn't think that was such a good thing. John flushed the toilet and dragged himself off to try and sleep again, the trashcan tucked underneath one arm. Of course sleep didn't come; John should've known that, he lay on the bed with his eyes shut but the combination of pain and nausea kept him awake. Finally John decided to go down into the living room and make himself some tea; taking the risk that Sherlock might do more harm to John. John yanked himself out of bed and grabbed the trashcan as he walked towards the door. John felt a huge wave of dizziness overcome him and cursed himself for standing up too quickly as he went crashing to the floor.
Sherlock snapped out of his reverie when he heard a loud crash from upstairs. He didn't want to move and check on John, he didn't want to move at all. Yet John may need him, although John had probably just fallen out of bed while having a vicious nightmare Sherlock knew he should probably go and check. The last time Sherlock had been too lazy to go and check John had come down the stairs bleeding from a nasty cut on his arm that he received from a shattered water glass. Sherlock rose from the couch with a sigh and ascended the stairs to John's room slowly. He knocked once on the door and when there was no response he pushed it open. It stopped before it could open all the way with a loud thunk accompanied by a weak groan.
"John?" Sherlock called through the half-open door and was met by another groan. "John!" Sherlock felt fear rising inside him as he squeezed his thin body through the door. Sherlock's breath sped up as he thought of all the terrible things that could have happened to John, he could've been attacked by a man who had climbed through the window while John was asleep. Or shot by some distant sniper. Or bitten by some cleverly placed venomous spider. Or- Sherlock finally made it to John's side and was checking all his vital signs, thankfully John wasn't injured externally but he didn't appear to be in a very good state either. "John, look at me. Are you alright?" John blinked groggily up at Sherlock and his body was immediately wracked by coughs. Sherlock dashed over to John's bedside table to check the water glass for poison, he examined it from all angles, smelling it and swirling the seemingly innocent liquid.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked groggily from behind Sherlock and he was immediately at John's side again.
"Checking for poison. John I know you're in a bad state, but I need you to try and identify your symptoms so we can figure out what you've been poisoned with." Sherlock said hurriedly, re-checking John for signs of the drug, whatever it may be. John gazed up at him in confusion and Sherlock grabbed hold of John's shoulders in an attempt to get him to focus. Just in case the poison had somehow affected John's hearing Sherlock spoke as loud as he could without flat out screaming.
"I NEED YOU TO TRY AND IDENTIFY YOUR SYMPTOMS AND FIGURE OUT WHAT YOU'VE BEEN POISONED WITH!" John winced and squeezed his eyes shut while Sherlock spoke, so that meant his hearing was alright.
"Yeah I heard you Sherlock, I was just confused because I haven't been poisoned, I've just got a fever." John said in a raspy voice and Sherlock put the pieces together. The trashcan on the floor next to John, John's hoarse voice, the sweat that shone from John's forehead, the fact that John was shivering despite the intense heat he was radiating. Sherlock sat back for a moment and was surprised that he only felt slightly relieved, John wasn't dying (thank god) but he was still sick. Sherlock stood up and extended his hand to help John up. With Sherlock's help John got slowly to his feet and Sherlock slipped his arm around John's back while scooping up the trashcan. Sherlock half carried John down the stairs and sat him down on the couch that Sherlock had been occupying earlier. Without even thinking about it Sherlock dashed off to the kitchen to make John some tea, while the kettle was heating up Sherlock doused a cloth in cool water and went back into the living room. There he saw John heaving up nothingness into the trashcan beside the couch. The sight of John's body retching and the horrible shivering that followed was enough to make Sherlock's stomach clench. He laid John down onto the couch and placed the cloth on John's forehead. John gave Sherlock a perplexed look but Sherlock was too busy tucking a thick blanket around John's body to notice. Sherlock grabbed John's favorite mug from the pantry and poured the steaming hot tea into it, which was also John's favorite (Sherlock was actually surprised that he remembered these things). He blew on the tea to cool it and gently placed it against John's lips so he could sip it. John did, but did so with a completely baffled expression that Sherlock saw that time.
"What? I'm doing it right aren't I?" Sherlock said after John had swallowed a few mouthfuls of the tea.
"Yeah, it's just…" John trailed off, his voice did sound better after the tea though.
"What?" Sherlock set the tea down and rose to his feet, placing his hands on his hips indignantly.
"It's just I didn't expect you to care, let alone do all this." John said and Sherlock actually felt hurt by the statement. Sherlock could be a nuisance at times, but that didn't mean that John was meaningless to him.
"Of course I actually care. I have told you before that you are important to me if you don't recall. You didn't really expect me to do nothing while you were sick did you?" Sherlock said and John smiled up at him as though Sherlock had just given some kind of gift. John also blushed slightly but Sherlock chose to ignore it.
"Thank you." John said, his voice becoming raspy once again. Sherlock nodded and gave John another sip of the tea. After a moment John groaned and bent over the side of the couch and puked up the tea that had felt soothing mere moments before. John began to dry-heave and Sherlock sat next to him on the couch. He rubbed John's back in circles in the way he had often seen other people do while trying to comfort each other. John finished heaving up air and when he laid back down his head wound up on Sherlock's lap. Sherlock became tense at the intimate contact at first but after a moment he relaxed and his fingers absentmindedly found their way into John's hair. He ran his fingers through it and was surprised at how good it felt, the prickly sensation of John's short blonde hair against Sherlock's palm made Sherlock feel warm and cozy inside. John mmmed contentedly and only after he began to snore softly did Sherlock realize he was asleep. Sherlock continued to run his fingers through John's hair and when he looked down at John's sleeping form and idea popped into his head. A ridiculous idea really, not at all an idea that Sherlock would've normally had, but Sherlock couldn't push it away. It kept on coming back and bouncing around the walls of Sherlock's mind palace. Finally Sherlock decided to acknowledge it, after all, how bad could it be? Sherlock assured himself it was nothing more than an experiment and turned John onto his back so Sherlock could see his face. Sherlock bent over and with one last reassurance he placed a gentle kiss on John's lips. Sherlock didn't know what he'd been expecting but he certainly hadn't been expecting it feel quite so… good. Sherlock pulled away and saw that John was smiling in his sleep. Sherlock smiled too and allowed himself to drift off into sleep as well.
A few days later
"How on earth did you manage to get yourself sick?" John asked as he wrapped a blanket around Sherlock's shivering form.
"You were sick first; undoubtedly you are the one responsible for my illness." Sherlock said in a raspy voice and John sighed.
"Well sorry about that." John said with an apologetic pat on the arm.
"I'm going to make you some tea, don't go anywhere." John bustled off to the kitchen and Sherlock stared after him. Sherlock knew precisely how the sickness had been transmitted but didn't think John needed to know just yet. With a small smile Sherlock muttered two words.
"Worth it."