This is my first time writing fanfiction. I hope you enjoy it! *More notes at the end!*
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own these guys ;)
Sherlock is in the middle of an elaborate deduction and getting more excited with every word. As usual he's solved a major murder case, exposing Scotland Yard for the idiots that they are.
Although John has witnessed his best mate display his intellectual prowess numerous times in the past three years, it never ceases to amaze him. He can't help himself from staring while Sherlock's mouth moves at a mile a minute; supplying a vivid description of the crime's events.
"That's fantas-AAAACCCHHHUUU!"
The sneeze mid-praise causes DI Lestrade to frown awkwardly at John. "Bless you."
"Ta, Greg"
"You'll have to excuse John, he was too stubborn to wear his coat out last night," Sherlock scolds.
John doesn't argue with that statement because Sherlock is right, of course. They had a disagreement (or as Mrs. Hudson called it, a domestic) just the night before. On his way storming out the door, John was told that he should wrap himself up a bit more. But his pride wouldn't allow him to receive advice from the man he'd just had it out with.
It's been two days since John's got his cold. His nose and cheeks are scarlet, and he'd had a sneezing fit in the middle of the night. Despite his cold, John decides not to spend the day in bed. So he heads down stairs (clad in his dressing gown and pants) for a nice cuppa.
"Morning." John greets before blowing his nose. To his surprise, there was already a hot cup of tea waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He doesn't bother dwelling on the question of how Sherlock knew when he'd be coming down.
The detective ignores him in favor of focusing on John's laptop screen.
"Have you got a case?"
"No." Without another word Sherlock closes the laptop, throws on his coat, and heads out the door.
John shrugs it off as Sherlock's usual behavior. He makes himself comfortable on the sofa and turns on the television, a box of tissues at his side.
Sherlock returns an hour later. He bursts through the door of 221b with bags of groceries. "Well that was tedious!" He kicks the door shut behind him.
"You…did the shopping?" John asks with raised eyebrows.
After discarding his new batch of soiled tissues, John turns to his laptop for answers to Sherlock's sudden interest in stocking their kitchen. The last page on his browser history is a recipe for soup. He can't help but smile at the thought of Sherlock getting lost in a grocery store on his behalf.
John walks to the kitchen to find the detective carefully chopping vegetables. His lingering smile broadens at this sight.
"Sherlock," he says fondly, "it's just a little cold." Sherlock only scoffs as he empties the contents of the cutting board into the broth.
"Lestrade phoned while you were out. He could use your help with…"
"It can wait."
Sherlock's previous words resurface in John's head. All that matters to me is the work. John feels a sudden rush of love and adoration for his flatmate. Sure he knew that they cared for one another. But had those seemingly insignificant touches and moments of staring into each other's eyes meant something more? Had a small act of kindness caused John the realization of his feelings for Sherlock? Or was he just feeling vulnerable? He pushes these thoughts aside for now and returns to the sofa.
Sherlock's soup smells delicious, if he does say so himself. He prepares a tray of soup, crackers, and water for the ill doctor. He then places the tray on the table in front of John. John invites him on the sofa to watch crap telly.
"Thank you… for all of this," John waves a hand over the tray.
Sherlock is taken back to all those times when one of his parents got ill. The other would prepare soup and spend full days taking care of them. Despite how ordinary he believed his parents to be, Sherlock always admired the love that they showed one another.
"It seemed like the logical thing to –" Sherlock cut himself off at the feel of a warm hand on his.
"No. I mean it, Sherlock…" with that John closed the little distance between the two of them, gently kissing Sherlock on the lips. "God, I'm so sorry! You could get ill." He immediately regards the act as selfish. He lowers his head, embarrassed.
Unfazed, Sherlock lifts his blogger's head with both hands and returns the kiss. It's short but more passionate this time around.
"It's just a little cold, John," Sherlock responds with a soft smile.
*Author's note: So as I said before, this is my first (and probably last) time writing any fanfiction. I read A LOT of it though :) This little scenario just popped into my head last night and I wanted to take a risk. Please feel free to leave me your constructive criticism in the comments, I'm all for it! Thanks for reading!