"John," Sherlock was curled up on the couch in just his bed sheet His cheeks were flushed, and his forehead was hot to the touch. He coughed into his fist before trying again. "John," he cried weakly. He didn't understand why he was sick. He never got sick. Sherlock plopped his head back down on the couch in defeat. John wasn't here. John was at work. He was out taking care of other people, instead of staying home and taking care of Sherlock. He let out a loud sigh, his eyes fluttering closed.
"Sherlock." John's voice broke through the haze of sleep. John's hand was pressed to his forehead, a look of concern etched on his face. "You're fever hasn't gone down any since this morning." He muttered.
"John?" Sherlock croaked out.
"Shh." He murmured, "Save your voice." John reached behind him, picking up a cup of tea. "Here, I added some lemon and honey, to help with your throat." Sherlock lips twitched in an almost smile. He accepted the tea, and inhaled the scent. He took a small sip before attempting to talk.
"Why are you?" he began, but John cut him off.
"Why am I here instead of at work? That's simple. I took the day off." He replied, a smile playing on his lips. "I checked in on you this morning. The fact that you were asleep told me that something wasn't right. Sure enough you had a fever, so I went out to the grocery to pick up some things, got in a fight with a chip and pin machine, and then came back here. Called the office on the way, told them I was ill.
"You called off."
"Yes. I figured you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. I'd hate to come home to you collapsed from exhaustion and the flat destroyed." He joked. Sherlock finished his tea, and leaned back into the couch. John sat next to him, turning on the telly in the process. Sherlock shifted so that his head was on John's lap and his legs hung off the end of the couch. John just smiled as he carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair. In no time Sherlock had drifted back to sleep, and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Sherlock shifted a bit but otherwise remained undisturbed. John leaned back into the couch, deciding it would be best to rest his eyes. His fingers slowly slipped from Sherlock's hair as he let out a small snore, completely at ease with his flat mate curled up on his lap. Though they were more than just flat mates, they were friends. And it was becoming apparent that soon they would be so much more.
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