A/N: A fic fill. I quite like how this turned out, not sure if I'll continue it so ignore the status. Favourites, follows and reviews are appreciated muchly!
0o0
It was 7:30 and Sherlock was already in bed.
That's odd…He rarely sleeps let alone goes to his actual bed. And at this hour? Something must be wrong…
Sherlock knew John had a date the following night and he wasn't having any of it. When John had told him he'd met a woman for drinks the week before and got on really well with her, he knew he had to step in. His face had been that of outward neutrality and indifference but inside, Sherlock was plotting. He was tired of other people trying to have John all to themselves. They didn't deserve him, he was Sherlock's! Other people had plenty of friends they could turn to, Sherlock only had John. People could borrow him for the clinic and whatnot but when it came to whom John was dedicated to, the answer was obviously Sherlock and he wouldn't accept any other answer.
As John thought more about Sherlock's sudden reclusiveness into the one room he didn't often use, he needed to calm his mind and make sure Sherlock was well. He approached Sherlock's bedroom door and knocked. Sherlock grunted.
"You alright?" John questioned.
"Yes, fine." Sherlock's voice was throaty but John decided not to press on. He'd wait for any other symptoms to show up before proceeding. He was probably worrying too much. Sherlock was just knackered from all the running around of the previous few nights. Dealing with Moriarty was never easy and doing so would always send Sherlock's mind racing for long after.
Sherlock had been preparing for this and it would be simple. Tonight, he would fake that something was wrong so tomorrow when he woke up worse, it wouldn't be out of the blue. John may have been a doctor but it wasn't often, or ever, that Sherlock was sick. The fact that Sherlock was such a great actor, too, always helped. John would have to believe him.
He went to bed that night without hearing anything from Sherlock's room again and deemed him fine, for now.
o0o
After John had fallen asleep, Sherlock waited until it was five: an hour prior to John's usual waking. Sherlock went to the kitchen and got an ice cube and ran it around his nose for five minutes until it had melted entirely against his skin. He got a towel and dried his nostrils and the surrounding area superficially so there would still be some of that wetness of a runny nose left.
Sherlock had stowed away some berries to eat in the morning in his room and went back to have some. They always made his bowels act up and his stomach ache. He used to hate that such small things could make him so ill but they had proven to be useful time and time again when needed.
Afterwards, he went to the loo and turned on the tap. He took his washcloth and ran it under the warm water for a few minutes. He wrung it out until it was only warm but dry and placed it on his forehead, cheeks and neck. He needed to be as convincing as possible; as clever as he was, John was still a doctor and a damn good one at that.
Sherlock had managed to pass twenty minutes readying himself to feign sickness, now he just had to wait for John to wake up. He lay in his bed as he let the 'symptoms' overtake his body.
John soon awoke and went through his usual morning routine. He had a shower, got dressed and went to have breakfast. He went to the kitchen with no sign of Sherlock. Now he was starting to worry.
He went over to Sherlock's room and found the door closed. So he's still in there. Sherlock's eyes had been closed, relaxed, but as soon as he heard John's footsteps they opened. His eyes were slightly red, he hadn't slept in days and, luckily, this would help his performance. John was about to knock and Sherlock restrained himself from telling him to come in. If Sherlock was going to prove he was sick, he couldn't be as sharp as usual. This meant, being asleep and not knowing that John was right there.
John rapped the door.
"Sherlock," he said tentatively.
Sherlock groaned and rolled over slightly, "Yes?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, John," he muttered.
He tried to make it sound like he was recollecting his voice to sound as normally as possible but still with hints of something not being right that John would hopefully hear.
"Do please stop worrying, I told you last night."
"Can I come in?"
Sherlock smirked and then wiped the expression off his face.
"Yes."
John opened the door hesitantly unsure of what he was expecting to see. Sherlock was in his blue dressing gown sprawled out on his bed. His breathing was shallow and John went over to him quickly.
He looked at Sherlock's face and saw the red eyes, the wet nose, the half open eyes.
"You're sick!" John looked at him, concerned. He was glad it was a Saturday so he could stay home and take care of Sherlock. Sherlock had always been in impeccable health, it was very odd for him to catch something so unexpectedly.
"Do you even realise it or are you that bloody stubborn to not go and tell me?"
"I'm fine John," he whined. His voice was lower than usual and had grown raspier.
"Yeah, sure. Don't worry, I'll take care of you since you can't seem to take care of yourself," he said mildly irritated. That changed when he looked at Sherlock's bright orbs; they were looking back at him, almost entreating.
Sherlock made no sign of pleasure but inside he was jumping for joy. He'd wanted, no needed, John to believe him and he did. Sherlock would just maintain this sickness until the following day and John wouldn't go anywhere.
John took care of Sherlock until evening. Feeding him, medicating him, attempting to entertain him, listening to his complaints and doing whatever else he asked. After finishing up a game of Cluedo successfully now that Sherlock was too lethargic to argue until the end, John checked the time.
"Sherlock…remember I have that date?"
"Yes." How could I have possibly forgotten?
"Well, um, it's time and I was wondering if it would be alright if I still went? You're not that bad anymore, right?"
Sherlock was throwing a fit inwardly. "Of course not, go ahead John."
"Thanks," John smiled at him. He'd been taking care of his flatmate the entirety of the day and he seemed to have gotten significantly better. Almost back to normal, just some rest and he would be fine.
He left Sherlock's room to go get ready and Sherlock went and had an astounding amount of berries until the feeling in his stomach shot up through his oesophagus and he felt he couldn't hold it anymore. Soon he was knelt over the toilet. John had put on his trousers and shirt and was fiddling with the buttons when he heard retching. He dashed over to Sherlock's room as the unpleasant sounds grew louder.
The door to the loo was open and John could see Sherlock's back as he heard the heaving from the consulting detective. He couldn't leave him in this state. He remained where he was, waiting for Sherlock to finish and come out.
"It's alright John, you can go. I'm fine, really," Sherlock lied convincingly.
Oh no, not like I haven't heard that before. You won't get rid of me that easily.
"No, no, you're not. I'm staying. I don't want your condition to grow worse in my absence, it's only a date after all. We can reschedule."
John had turned away to text and Sherlock looked in the mirror to see. He grinned for a few moments before regaining composure. He was so good at playing sick and faking all the symptoms, he wondered how long he could get away with this. It was almost turning into a game for him. He'd been paying attention to where John's fingers went on the keyboard and saw him type 'tomorrow.' Sherlock would make sure tomorrow was spent with him.
o0o
A few hours later, after Sherlock had done some genuine napping, John came in. A chicken broth, toast and yogurt were the doctor's nourishment for a sick detective. He woke Sherlock lightly and gave him the food in bed.
"John… I'm not hungry. Can I have this tomorrow?" Sherlock was torn between sincerely not wanting to eat and making John's job a little more difficult. If Sherlock had been truly sick, he wouldn't be an easy patient.
"Absolutely not! This is all food that's going to make you feel better and I'm sure you're not enjoying lying in bed idle."
Sherlock knew he was right. The immobility was rendering Sherlock at unease but it was outweighed by John's constant presence. He pleaded to at least eat later but John wouldn't concede so Sherlock ate slowly while his flatmate watched. He didn't trust Sherlock to not go and get rid of the food aptly if he left even for a moment.
Sherlock was making John's job difficult but he couldn't lie, he was enjoying this. Having John wait on him hand and foot was exhilarating. Never had anyone been so doting on him and he was relishing every moment of it.
o0o
The next day Sherlock decided he wanted to add a headache and fever, get rid of the runny nose and uneasy stomach but keep the tired eyes.
He did the washcloth routine again but this time, he made the water piping hot. He waited in bed for John to come and check on him after getting up.
"Sherlock?" He knocked.
"Yes John, come in," he murmured. "Could you close the blinds for me? And try not to be too loud, my head is bursting."
John did as he was told. "How do you feel?"
"Headache. Tired." He paused. "I think I might have a fever too…"
"Let me check," he stepped over to Sherlock and put his hand to Sherlock's temple. It was quite hot. "I'll go get the thermometer."
He came back hurriedly and did a reading.
"39, that's not good Sherlock."
"Guess not. I feel very hot."
Sherlock had gotten too proud, too careless and made an amateur mistake. He caught it as soon as he'd done it and hoped against all odds that John wouldn't notice. For a second, he had stopped acting and said what he actually felt.
When someone has a fever they feel cold, they're begging to be under the duvet and in jumpers. Sherlock's rolled up his sleeves and hasn't gotten under the covers once. Why's he lying to me?
John was about to ask Sherlock and then the thought struck him.
He knows if he's sick I'm going to take care of him. I'm going to stay with him. I'll give him all my attention. He wants my attention? That badly anyway? I know he can be a right prat sometimes and want to be admired but this, this is different…
John knew he was faking but he wasn't going to let on. He was going to let Sherlock think he didn't know and continue giving him what he wanted. It's what Sherlock needed.
"Better get into something less suffocating then, yeah?" John smiled at him, it went all the way to his eyes.
Sherlock saw through it. He knew. He caught him. John knew he wasn't being truthful but he wasn't saying anything, and now Sherlock knew that John knew. From that moment on they were both pretending. But why? Why would John pretend?
Sherlock didn't have time to think, only to change while John went to prepare the two food. He came out in a simple white shirt and shorts. John looked over at him and raised his eyebrows; he'd never seen Sherlock in shorts before. He didn't even know Sherlock owned any shorts. It seemed the man only owned two piece suits, scarves, coats and dressing gowns.
"You look different," John remarked with a smirk.
"Not good?" Sherlock sat and attempted to cover his legs with his lanky arms.
"No, very good," the smirk turned into a grin.
Sherlock beamed at John appreciative of the fact that he liked Sherlock in all his states. He wiped his nose in attempts to keeping up with the sickness. He wasn't sure what the point was anymore if they both knew they were pretending but he wasn't sure he'd want to have to explain anything to John if he did tell him that he knew.
As the day went on Sherlock's 'symptoms' eased up. He didn't want his flatmate not going on the date if he knew Sherlock was lying. If John hadn't figured it out yet, Sherlock didn't want to give him reason to inquire his mind further. By evening, Sherlock was mostly back to normal.
"You can go on that date you missed for me yesterday. I truly am fine now." He smiled weakly at the doctor, his doctor. The man who had taken care of him in (false) sickness.
"That's alright. I'm good with staying here too."
Sherlock looked at John sceptically. Forehead muscles pushing downwards, nose is wrinkled, cheeks pushing in. John's telling the truth.
"Really?" He asked incredulously.
"Yeah. Want to watch some crap telly?" He giggled somewhat as he looked over at Sherlock for approval.
Sherlock rolled his eyes jokingly, "Sure."
Sherlock was already sat on the couch. John turned the telly on and sat beside Sherlock. He glanced over at John without turning his head, not wanting to be obvious.
They had been watching who knows what for an hour; John had sunk comfortably into the couch. He had gotten closer to Sherlock naturally, nothing too uncomfortable for either of them to really notice. Sherlock wanted to be closer, though. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, doing the cliché that he'd seen people do before and put his arm on the sofa behind them both, resting the length of it there.
John smirked as he noticed what Sherlock had done. I guess the telly really has gotten through to him. Wonder if he realises how obvious that was. He smiled softly to himself as he thought about it and inched over to Sherlock.
There were only a few centimetres left between them. Sherlock had had his legs crossed so he waited five minutes before uncrossing them and ever so casually having his left leg brush up against John's right.
"Sherlock?" John turned to the man alongside him.
"Yes John?" Please don't say we're too close. Don't say you want to go to bed. Don't move away. I'm really not good at this John.
"My neck's starting to hurt," he ventured slowly. "Mind if I rest it?"
Sherlock wasn't sure why he was asking him for permission but simply nodded his head and turned back to the telly. Suddenly, John's head was resting on Sherlock's shoulder and his body was lain against Sherlock's. He could feel every inch of the doctor against him and did it feel good.
After some moments of surprise, he moved his arm from the couch onto John's side. It felt nice resting it against him, the heat from John passing through to Sherlock. The warmth spread throughout his body and he wondered why he had been against this for so long.
Hours passed, John had fallen asleep on Sherlock and he wasn't planning on budging. Halfway through the night John groggily awoke and Sherlock eagerly took the opportunity to tell him what he had been burning to.
"John?"
"Yeah?" His flatmate replied blearily.
"You know," Sherlock hesitated before choking out, "I do need you. And I'm glad I have you."
John wasn't fully conscious but the magnitude of the words hit him all the same.
"You're going to have me for a very long time Sherlock," John was smiling like a child without abandon.
"How long?" He urged on.
"Forever, Sherlock. Forever." John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple before snuggling back into Sherlock and going back to sleep.
"Forever…" Sherlock whispered. He was euphoric.
Being sick had never brought upon such good outcomes.