"You're not as quiet as you think you are."
Molly, her head feeling like it was full of heated concrete, slowly lifted her head from the toilet bowl and looked at Sherlock. He stood leaning against the now-open bathroom door; his stance said 'unconcerned' but his eyes said 'worried.'
She groaned and turned her head away. The poor woman had never wanted Sherlock to see her like this; he'd seen her in enough ugly and embarrassing situations (the Phone Call was the prime example of that). Well, now she could add 'sick as a dog' to her list. "I'm sorry I woke you up."
"I woke up the moment you left the bed an hour before you usually do when you have to work," said Sherlock, walking into the room and kneeling down beside her. "Once I heard you, I called Stamford and informed him that you wouldn't be able to come in today."
Under any other circumstances, Molly would either insist that she was perfectly fine or scold him for cancelling her shift on her behalf. But she only sighed and said a feeble, "Thank you." Then, her traitorous stomach chose to do a combination cartwheel & backflip, and her face was once again in the toilet bowl as she heaved.
Sherlock held her hair and rubbed her back. "Just let it out, Molly. You know that I've seen much worse."
When she lifted her head back up, her cheeks were wet with tears over the whole icky situation. Sherlock immediately grabbed some wads of toilet paper, and wiped her cheeks and mouth. After that, he felt her forehead and his eyes widened. "You're burning up."
Molly sighed, the circles under her eyes quite pronounced. "That tends to happen with the flu. It's being making its way through the staff."
"Do you feel alright enough to go back to bed, or do you think you'll regurgitate again?"
Molly had to chuckle at that word. She thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Bed sounds lovely…but I wouldn't say no to the waste-bucket being close at hand."
Sherlock nodded, and gently helped her up to get her into bed. "Once you're settled, I'm calling John."
"Oh, don't, Sherlock," Molly weakly protested as she gingerly climbed into bed (she feared that any sudden movement may cause her stomach to start their gymnastics routine again). "I already know that this is the flu, and I don't want him catching this and passing it on to Rosie."
Sherlock nodded as he tucked her in. "Well, I'm going to call him anyway, so that he can tell me everything I need to be doing in helping you get better." He kissed her flaming cheek. "I'll just be a few minutes."
Molly had to smile to herself as Sherlock left the room. Leaving aside the fact that she didn't have the strength to put up a fight, she didn't want to. After so many years of taking care of Sherlock whenever he needed it because she loved him, she couldn't deny that to be taken care of by him now because he loved her back…well, she certainly wasn't going to stop it!
A/N: This little drabble was inspired by the fact that I was in Molly's situation yesterday morning (unfortunately without Sherlock there to be a sweetheart). Ugh, being sick is a bitch, and my stomach can go to hell right now. See you tomorrow!