AN: Don't worry, I'm going to update Saying I Love You Should Be So Simple. Not tonight, however. I need a little break from the story, myself. Again, don't worry! I'm not even close to being sick of the story, I just need to let my mind organize the ideas I have before I start writing them. Not to mention, I have a headache and I wanna write a cute, fluffy, completely non-angsty fic. Who better to use but Sherlock and John! I shall begin.

"John," Sherlock called out. He listened for a minute to the nothing that answered his call. Not a shuffle, not a creek, and certainly not John rushing to see what he needed. Sherlock kicked his feet up onto the coffee table in annoyance and called again. "John!"

John appeared in the sitting room, blinking warily at Sherlock.

"What? What could it possibly be now, Sherlock? After all of that? Getting me arrested – again! – after I specifically told you that I didn't want to go in the first place! Not to mention it was gloomy all day, I kept inhaling smoke and engine exhaust, and then you started off on a chase that literally got us nowhere, I don't care what you say!"

"If you're done grumbling, I'd much like some tea," Sherlock muttered, pushing his fingers together. John didn't move. Not for a very long time. And when he finally shifted, moving to go into the kitchen, Sherlock looked up at him and saw his face. He looked completely miserable, but there was something else.

Sherlock paused, and then pushed himself to his feet and followed John into the kitchen.

"I'm making your bloody tea, you don't need to supervise me, Sherlock," John said very quietly. He began to boil some water and then grabbed a couple of bags along with the honey. He closed his eyes for a second, just breathing.

But he opened them when he felt something on his forehead. He looked at Sherlock's hand in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Come here," was the only reply, and Sherlock was dragging John away from the kitchen, up the staircase, and into John's bedroom.

"What are you doing?" John asked yet again. Sherlock began going through his clothes. "Sherlock," John nearly moaned in annoyance. "Stop that." Sherlock looked up for a second, his expression something of hurt, and it shocked John.

"Here," he said, shoving bottoms and a t-shirt into John's hands. "Put these on."

And he left. John stared at the clothes for a while before finally putting them on and standing there, wondering if he should go downstairs and turn the stove off so it doesn't start a fire.

But Sherlock was back – and he had tea. And now the tea was in John's hands and it was the perfect temperature. Sherlock must have been gone for longer than he thought.

"Get into bed, John, come on," Sherlock said, taking the mug out of John's hands.

"Hey," John muttered, reaching out for it, "I only just got that."

"It's empty." John looked at the mug and realised Sherlock was right.

"Wow," John said. But, soon, he was being gently forced into bed by Sherlock. "It's not dark yet, this is silly."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?"

"You're sick. You have a fever, you had a headache when you came down the stairs. You knew you were getting sick, why didn't you just say so?"

"Oh. I dono."

"John…"

"I wanted you to feel badly about dragging me along and getting me arrested, but maybe it was too much to want you to feel bad about me getting sick 'cause of it."

Sherlock bit his lips together. "Don't do that. Worrying is better than… You… dying."

"Is it?" John asked, not really knowing what he was saying. Sherlock put a wet, cold cloth on his forehead. "Where did you get that so suddenly?"

"John, do you not remember me leaving and the conversation when I got back while I waited for it to freeze?"

"Huh? Remind me…"

"You began telling me about the habits of the turtle you once saw as a child."

"I've never cooked a turtle."

"Nor have I," Sherlock replied with a wary sigh. "I hope the medication will at least bring your fever down. Do you think it will?"

"Might. W... Wait, you gave me medication?"

"Yes. The same you gave me the last time I was ill."

"Should work, yeah… I think." John was muttering to himself again. Sherlock put a hand against the cloth on his head and pressed down lightly. The water dripped a bit down John's face. Sherlock quickly went to catch it with the same hand, brushing John's cheek. He was surprised when John leaned against his hand with a sigh. He stayed like that for a little bit.

The next day, John was feeling much better. He still had a bit of a headache, but he was otherwise quite happy.

"Hey, Sherlock, what happened last night? I thought I was making you tea- Don't really remember anything past that. Did you drug me?" John teased. Sherlock looked up from the dry cloth he was holding in his hands.

"Your fever worsened and I took care of you." John blinked his eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh. I see. I'm feeling much better, thank you for, erm… For doing that, Sherlock. It was very… kind? Friendly? Civil? Something nice- it was very nice of you," John stammered with a grin. Sherlock smiled.

"Not a problem. John?"

"What?"

"First off, I'd like to say this: I've never cooked a turtle." John stared at Sherlock for a minute, wondering if this was some sort of test of his sanity.

"Erm… Nor have I. What's the next thing?"

"You need to tell me when you're feeling ill, or I'll simply worry more when I find out on my own. For example, I know you still have a bit of a headache."

"Ah. Yeah, I do. There's not much I can do about that, though. I took some medicine, I'll be fine."

"Come here," Sherlock nodded his head back, gesturing to the place on the couch next to him. John hesitated, but eventually sat down next to Sherlock with a confused look on his face. Sherlock put his hand on John's forehead and then cheek.

John couldn't help but lean into his hand.

And Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

AN: It's not much, but it is what it is. I wrote this because I have a horrible headache. Another reason I'm not writing the next chapter to my other fic right now. It was very short, but I hope you enjoyed it!