A/N- Thank you so much to everyone who favorited or put an alert on this story! Like I said last week, if you have any prompts, I'd love to give them a go.
I wrote two sick!Sherlock fics, because I couldn't decide if he'd be really whiny and needy or if he'd resolutely insist he was fine even if he collapsed on the kitchen floor. So this week we have whiney Sherlock.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"John."
Ignore him, he'll stop.
"John!"
Answering will encourage him.
"Ignoring a sick person is a violation of the Hippocratic Oath."
John sighed, getting up from the kitchen table to acknowledge his flatmate lying on the sofa. Sherlock sick was similar to a sick toddler, always demanding food or attention or John to make it better.
"What do you want now?" John snapped.
Like a five year old, Sherlock curled into his blanket, peering out over his knees. "Throat hurts," he whispered.
"I'll make you some tea," John said, returning to the kitchen.
"John!"
"Yes?"
"Cold."
"I'm making you tea."
"Won't be enough."
With some more sighing and some face rubbing, John left the tea steeping in the kitchen to gather blankets. He returned with both comforters from the beds and the afghan Mrs. Hudson had given him at Christmas. All of them he piled unceremoniously on top of Sherlock.
"Warm enough?"
"Still cold."
"I'll get the tea."
When John returned with the mug, Sherlock shivered theatrically, chattering his teeth together. John handed him the mug, and Sherlock took one sip before proclaiming, "Doesn't help."
Suddenly, Sherlock's arms shot up, wrapping around John, and pulling him on top of the detective. John's head nestled in the hollow of Sherlock's throat and the detective tucked his chin against John's hair.
"Much better."
