John awakens underneath a dripping faucet.
He reexamines that thought and realizes that it's just Sherlock hovering over him, frozen in fear and holding a wet flannel.
John lets his eyes drift shut.
"JOHN, YOU CANNOT DO THAT."
John jumps, surprised by the terror in his friend's voice.
"Do…what?"
"WHAT YOU JUST DID."
"Oh, alright then."
John drowsily prepares himself for more outbursts, but Sherlock seems to be deflating before his eyes. He exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging, and reaches forward.
"Here, John." Sherlock wipes the flannel across John's forehead, so gently that John can barely feel it. And yet, it brings him immediate relief. Sherlock continues, his eyes unusually bright, until an involuntary shiver makes its way through John's body.
"Are you cold?"
"Y-yes. My feet are like ice. But it's f-fine, Sherlock, really–"
Sherlock scrambles from the bed and disappears from John's sight. Suddenly, the blankets are ripped away from his feet. John looks towards the foot of the bed, confused and disoriented, and finds Sherlock clutching a pair of socks.
It should be comical. John should be laughing at the focused look on Sherlock's face. He should sit up and do…something.
Instead, he simply watches as Sherlock carefully places a sock on each foot, pausing to stroke his thumb once, twice, three times across John's left ankle.
When Sherlock looks up, his eyes are filled with sorrow.
"Sherlock?" hushes John. "What is it?"
Sherlock's gives him a small, quivering smile. "I just want to be sure that you are okay, John."
"Oh, Sherlock," says John, pushing himself up into a seated position. "It's just a fever, I promise. I'm sure I will be better by tomorrow. You're probably anxious to get back to whatever experiment you were working on this morning, right? Go on, I'll be fine by myself."
"Absolutely not! You are in pain, and I refuse to leave you. That – I won't do that to you, John."
Sherlock looks just as surprised by his outburst as John, and his face flushes in embarrassment when he realizes what he has said. In response, John shifts to the side, wincing slightly, and pats the space beside him.
Sherlock clambers towards him, settling against the bed and facing John. He stares down at his clasped hands.
"You remember the stories that I told you, Sherlock?" asks John, looking pleasantly surprised.
"Of course," huffs Sherlock, with a touch of his usual bravado. "I remember everything of importance, John."
John laughs quietly. "Well, here is something of great importance, then. Something I should have told you a long time ago. I was a lonely child…in fact, I have been lonely for most of my life. But I haven't felt that way since the moment I met you, Sherlock. You've shown me what it means to be cared for, and I owe you so much for that."
Sherlock stares, his eyes full of disbelief. "But, John, it is you who cares for me," he insists.
"We take care of each other, Sherlock. If I'm sure of anything, it's that I know you, and you are not the sociopath you claim to be."
Sherlock looks uncertain. "Well, I did say that I was high-functioning," he says sheepishly.
John lets out a burst of laughter that quickly transforms into a cough, and Sherlock moves forward immediately to help him settle back against the pillows. When he moves to reach for a glass of water on the bedside table, John holds him back, clutching Sherlock's hand to his chest. Sherlock can feel the beating of John's heart, steady and true, and he closes his eyes to measure the pulse.
When he opens them again, John is watching, fighting to keep his eyes open and witness the act.
"Sleep now, John," whispers Sherlock. "It's alright. I'll be here when you wake up."
Hours later, John opens his eyes. True to his word, Sherlock remains at his side, stretched out on the bed beside him. For one small moment, a look of uncertainty passes over his face, as if he is unsure whether or not his presence is welcome.
John moves forward and brushes a curl off of his forehead.
"Thank you," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's cheek.
Sherlock smiles.
One more minute, he thinks, reaching forward to pull John close. One more minute, and then I will get up and make John tea.
