Several weeks later John, Lestrade, Sherlock, Anderson and Donovan were sitting in Lestrade's office, looking at paperwork from a case. Anderson set the file he was reading through, and rubbed his eyes, "Coffee?"

John sighed, and nodded, "Please."

"Black, two sugars," Sherlock muttered, scanning the document in front of him, not paying attention."

"I'll help," Sally stood up, setting the pile she had been reading through on the desk, and left with Anderson.

The case they were working on was long, spanning the last decade. They were trying to find the culprit of many murders, and even Sherlock was missing pieces of the puzzle. Lestrade had asked them to read through the old case files, and see if they could find anything new. So far, they had had no luck, and had been awake for a long time without a break.

John sighed, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, "Sherlock, put it down for a minute. You're straining your eyes."

Sherlock didn't even blink, just kept on reading. After a few minutes, Donovan and Anderson returned, balancing more coffee cups then they would normally try to carry. Sherlock accepted his from Anderson, not even acknowledging the other man.

John remembered the last few times Anderson, or Donovan had given himself or Sherlock anything. Most of the time, whatever it was it had been loaded with garlic. Sherlock also deduced a few of the items had been coated, or filled with holy water as well, but they hadn't found any obvious clues.

After each incident, Sherlock made a point not to go to any crime scenes, or even leave the flat, for several days afterword. If questioned, John shrugged, saying Sherlock had gotten sick. Anderson had become even more suspicious, and had apparently recruited Sally.

Sherlock sipped the coffee, not taking his eyes from the file. He blinked suddenly, pulling back and looking at the coffee. He looked at Anderson, shrugged and continued on, drinking the coffee. John watched as Anderson grinned into his own cup of coffee.

Sally was plainly watching the consulting detective, not trying to even cover up the fact she was waiting for something. John carefully took a sip of his coffee, but found it tasted normal. He went back to reading.

Several minutes later Sherlock stood up, and left, setting the cup and file on the table. John swallowed the last of his coffee and followed, wondering what his friend was doing. John followed his friend to the bathroom, and heard the sounds of someone retching.

John winced, "You alright?"

Sherlock coughed, "Fine. Anderson spiked the coffee with holy water. Need to pretend to be sick."

John rolled his eyes, "Doesn't pretending to be sick involve not actually being sick?"

"Anderson won't believe I've suddenly fallen ill without me looking like I am," John could practically hear Sherlock roll his eyes. John winced again as Sherlock dry heaved into the toilet. Sherlock flushed, and came out of the stall, looking composed but pale and shaky.

He went to one of the sinks, rinsed out his mouth and spread some water on his face, "I'll wait for you near the door. Get our coats and the file I was reading. Tell them I've come down with something, blame it on Mrs. Hudson's cooking if you have to."

John nodded, and went back to Lestrade's office. He grabbed his coat, Sherlock's coat and scarf and the file Sherlock had been reading. Lestrade looked up from his own file, "What's going on? He found a lead?"

John shook his head, frowning as if in worry, "He's come down with something. Probably the fish Mrs. Hudson practically shoved down his throat earlier. He'll be fine in a day or two. If you can drop off a few more files for him in the morning, we'll all appreciate it."

Lestrade nodded, "This is happening a lot, are you sure he's alright?"

John shrugged, "You should see his file. He'll be fine, just run into a battle with his 'transportation', that's all. Good luck, text me if you find anything."

Lestrade nodded, and John left. Sherlock was waiting just inside the door, still looking terrible. The security guard was watching them intently. Sherlock shrugged on his coat and went outside, calling a cab.

Even John was sure the security guard would tell Anderson that Sherlock had been ill.

(LINE BREAK)

Author's note: Still don't own Sherlock. If you have questions/comments/suggestions let me know in your reviews or PM me. I'm open to suggestions!