Disclaimer: Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, and Mrs. Hudson belong not to me.

A/N: So if Watson became ill, Holmes would undoubtedly feel the need to care for him. However...that could end up hurting more than helping. R&R!

"HAH-CHOO!"

Watson sneezed so hard his hat fell off.

Holmes looked up from the case notes he was reading. "Goodness, doctor. I wasn't aware you were interested in filling the position of the big bad wolf."

He sniffled. "Hilarious, Holmes."

The sleuth set down his notes altogether. "Watson, you don't sound very good. You seem rather congested."

"Nonsense," Watson said. "It's just allergies."

"Ah, yes," Holmes nodded. "Because there is so much pollen in the air in the middle of winter."

Watson glared at Holmes as he walked up and bent over him, leaning his face close. "Get out of my face."

"Hmm," Holmes said. "Your tear ducts are rather gummed up."

"Leave my tear ducts alone."

Holmes stuck his finger between Watson's lips, pushing open his mouth and peering inside. "Your throat is rather red."

Watson swatted his hand. "Holmes!"

In reply, the detective shoved Watson's head back and looked up his nostrils. "There is quite an excessive amount of mucus in there," Holmes observed, wrinkling his nose. Watson slapped him. "Now really, doctor. There's no need for that."

"Then stay out of my nose!"

Holmes stood up straight. "Watson, sit right there. I'll be back in no time."

Although he was somewhat reluctant to do so, Watson stayed put.

Before long, Holmes ran back into the room, some cotton balls and a bottle of something in his hand. "Hold on, doctor, this will only take a second." He popped the lid off the bottle and dipped two cotton balls briefly in.

"Holmes…what is that?" Watson asked, a feeling of dread rising in his gut.

"Watson, don't struggle." With that, Holmes grabbed Watson's face and shoved the chemical-soaked cotton up his nose.

The doctor promptly passed out.

Watson awoke slowly and with a pounding headache. "Holmes…" he groaned, "…you profound idiot."

"Ah, Watson, you're up." Holmes set his case notes down again and came over to the couch where the doctor was laid out.

"You fool," Watson muttered. "What have you done to me?"

"Well, I attempted to clear your nostrils. I may have, er…used too much of the stuff. And knocked you out."

Watson sighed, putting his hand over his eyes. "My head feels as though it is being ripped in half."

"But your nose is clear, yes?"

"…yes."

"Good." Holmes cleared his throat. "May I take your temperature, doctor?"

"…my temperature? Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Holmes said with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Watson narrowed his eyes. "Holmes," he said warningly.

"Open wide, Watson," Holmes said under his breath, pinching the doctor's aching nose and thrusting a thermometer under his tongue.

"Holmth!" Watson shouted. "Are you thure that'th an oral thermomether?!"

"Yes," Holmes said quickly. "Of course, Watson. I'm not an imbecile."

"I beg tho differ," Watson growled.

Holmes pulled the thermometer out of Watson's mouth. "Hmm. You have a fever."

"What's my temperature?" Watson asked, wiping spit off his lips.

"…feverish."

"Holmes." He handed him the thermometer and Watson read it, then sighed. "Yes. I have a fever. Brought on by your infernal nose cleaner, no doubt."

Holmes puckered his lips very slightly and reached out, petting Watson's hair. "It's alright, doctor. You'll get through this."

"Not if you keep touching me," Watson snapped, shoving his hand away.

"Would you like a drink?" Holmes said sympathetically.

"Yes, please," Watson sighed.

Holmes stood up and scurried out, coming back a few minutes later with a mug of water. "Here, doctor. This should help."

Slowly Watson propped himself up and took the glass from Holmes, taking a sip. "This is good, Holmes. Slightly tangy, but—wait a moment, water isn't tangy."

Holmes put on his most innocent face as Watson's eyes rolled back in his head and he blacked out again.

The first words out of Watson's mouth when he came to once more were, "Holmes, you don't have long to live!" Immediately his stomach was being subjected to the most terrible feeling. Watson's eyes widened and he rolled off the couch, scrambling to the bathroom.

Looking quite pale, he emerged a minute or two later and collapsed on the couch. Moaning, he closed his eyes and covered his faced with his hands.

The door opened and Holmes walked in with his finished case notes. "Ah, such a memorable case, yet somehow—" He caught sight of Watson, now glaring at him with a murderous glint in his eye. "Oh. Doctor. You're up." Over his shoulder, Holmes loudly stage-whispered down to Mrs. Hudson, "The beastly fiend has awoken!" He looked over at Watson and gave him a tentative smile. "I, uh…I tried to bring your fever down."

"With what, Holmes? With what?"

"…a small trace of nitrogen."

Watson shot up. "You put dry ice in my water?!"

"Watson, please think about this!" Holmes pleaded, backing quickly away as Watson stormed towards him. "I had your best interests at heart, I really did!"

"Holmes, if I weren't so sick to my stomach you would be lying in the gutter three streets away with two black eyes, a cracked sternum, a fractured tibia, and a missing eyetooth!"

Holmes gave Watson's gut a tiny smile. "Thank you, stomach."

"Holmes!"

A frantic chase down the stairs ensued.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Holmes cried, diving behind the skirts of his trusty landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, please step aside," Watson demanded.

"Please don't," Holmes whimpered.

"Look, boys, if you two are going to insist on acting like squabbling brothers, I want no part in it," Mrs. Hudson said firmly. "Let go of my skirt, Holmes. What are you, a mother's boy?"

"Yes," Holmes nodded.

"Take your due like a man!" Watson bellowed.

"I'm afraid I must agree with the doctor," Mrs. Hudson said.

Holmes pouted. "I only wanted to help you, Watson."

Watson pointed an accusing finger at the detective. "Never. Help. Me. Again." With that, he turned and walked quickly outside.

"Where is he going?" Holmes wondered, sounding much like a child who knows very well he's just escaped a horrible punishment.

"You made him quite sick, Mr. Holmes. I wouldn't blame him if he did pound you," Mrs. Hudson said dryly, pulling her skirts away from Holmes and stalking off to finish lunch.

Holmes sat forlornly on the floor, looking up as Watson walked in. "Are you…alright, old boy? You look rather peaky."

Watson sighed shakily and gave him a nod. "I believe I'll be fine now." He came over and offered his hand, helping Holmes up. "Would you like a drink?"

"I swear I won't touch yours this time," Holmes said earnestly.

Watson smiled. "No need to worry, Holmes. I'll take care of it."

Far from being bothered by Holmes's frequent trips to the lavatory that night, Watson rather enjoyed his laxative-utilizing revenge.

Ah, Watson. Not such an angel after all. Hope you enjoyed it!