"Sherlock!" John cried in exasperation. He pulled back from Sherlock, his pajamas now covered in vomit. As a doctor he was used to being thrown up on but he never thought in a million years that he would have Sherlock Holmes throw up on him. Especially not because he was drunk. "Why didn't you run to the bin?"

Sherlock wiped his mouth. "It kind of snuck up on me" he said. He crumpled to the floor suddenly "I don't feel very good"

John suddenly felt really weary. The events of this day and how horrible they had been, toppled with the comicalness of Sherlock being drunk and making a spectacle of himself made for a lot of ups and downs. He should be angry at Sherlock for being so childish, but he really couldn't. All he felt as he looked down at his friend, sitting down with a crushed expression and dirty clothes, was pity. John knew that when Sherlock admitted that he didn't feel good it really meant something; John knew him well enough to know he didn't just mean that his stomach felt bad.

John felt like this was the perfect opportunity to say 'I told you so' about the ice cream but he didn't even want to. For the first time that evening he thought about the fact that Sherlock had been out drinking because of what had happened with the little girl earlier. Sure it was nice to laugh at the comical antics that Sherlock was putting on now but behind that mask of drunkenness he was hurting. John had been so focused on looking for comfort from Sherlock that he hadn't really taken the time to consider that Sherlock might actually need some comfort himself. He didn't know what comfort for Sherlock looked like, but he would at least do what he could.

"Here, let's get washed up" John said as he put his hands out and helped Sherlock up. He took to his attitude of leaning as he had been doing earlier, leaning very heavily on

John as they walked to the bathroom.

John turned on the light and walked over to the tub. He deposited Sherlock into the empty tub, siting back so that his long legs were hanging over the side and turned the shower head on so that it was spraying gently on Sherlock. He, not surprisingly, began to whine. "John, I'm getting wet!"

"Of course you are" John said, "I'm trying to get you cleaned off" He took a towel and began the unpleasant work of wiping the mess off Sherlock's shirt.

"But I don't want this water spraying on me" Sherlock continued to whine. "Just get me new clothes!"

"I'm going to do that, but you're covered. You need to be cleaned up a little first" John said, wishing selfishly that Sherlock would recognize for a second that John was the one in the uncomfortable position. The sleeves of his own shirt began to get wet and since he was a mess too he just took his own shirt off.

"I don't want to, John" Sherlock whined, closing his eyes and moving weakly around but other than that not making much of an effort to get away. "It's cold in here and I just want my dressing gown on"

"I know it's cold in here" John said, shivering a little bit where the water was hitting his bare arms and chest. "But you need to be washed" He also hoped that the cold water would sober him up a little bit. Already his demeanor was changing from happy and manic to whiny and needy. Maybe it was working.

Feeling quite awkward, but knowing he had to do it, he began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt and take it off so that he could get him a little more cleaned off. Sherlock grumbled a little bit but didn't protest to having his shirt removed. John moved the towel around Sherlock's chest and neck until he was clean, trying not to notice how skinny his friend was. He doesn't eat nearly enough, John found himself fretting.

Sherlock had grown quite after a few minutes and was no longer carrying on, he had just closed his eyes and sat back, letting the water soak his black curls. He might have been asleep but John knew better. John turned the water off and got a clean towel, first drying off Sherlock's hair and then dabbing his arms and chest. He was surprised when Sherlock finally spoke up again.

"See, I told Mycroft" he said, opening his eyes slightly.

"Told him what?" John asked.

"That you would take care of me because you are a good doctor" Sherlock said. He smiled at John with a smile that seemed young and innocent, very unlike Sherlock. John felt himself grow just as embarrassed as he had been when he'd said it the first time even though Mycroft wasn't here to hear it.

"Well, that's what I do I suppose" John said awkwardly, his face flushing. "Uh, I'm going to go get you some clothes."

John went to Sherlock's room, goose bumps moving over his own skin at the chill of the flat. He noticed as he past that the fire had gone out and he stopped for a second to replace it. When the flame were burning brilliantly again, he continued to Sherlock's room. John opened the door hesitantly and walked in. He rarely went in Sherlock's room and it felt like an intrusion. Though, Sherlock wasn't in any condition to really care so it didn't matter he supposed.

Like the rest of the flat Sherlock kept his bedroom a mess, with books and experimental supplies strewn all over the place. His bed was ruffled from the last time that he had slept in it, which had no doubt been several days ago and a crumbled pair of pajamas lay on top. John just grabbed those, as he didn't really relish the idea of going through Sherlock's drawers, and grabbed his favorite dressing gown off the hook on the back of the door and went to leave quickly. The sound of the storm outside had gotten worse and at least once a minuet it seemed that lightening flashed and lit up the inside of the flat.

When John got back to the bathroom he found Sherlock in much the same condition as he had been when he had left; still sitting in the bathtub, sitting back with his eyes closed. He looked almost asleep and when John saw him shivering, he felt almost sorry for having dumped in there and dosing him with cold water just because he'd thrown up on him. Almost.

John laid the clothes on the edge of the sink and said quietly, not to disturb him, "Here's your clothes Sherlock" and turned to leave the bathroom.

Sherlock's eyes shot open. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice rising shrilly.

John turned around in surprise. " I'm going to change my clothes and clean up the mess in the living room" he said.

"Aren't you going to stay?" he asked.

"Why would I stay?" John asked, "I'm not going to be far, just in the other room."

"Can't you….." Sherlock said, trailing off. He looked off to the side as if he was tired.

"Can't I what?" John asked. This version of Sherlock was so weird.

"Help me" Sherlock said pointing to his clothes.

John face heated up. "Help you change your clothes?" he asked in astonishment. "Why would I do that?"

Sherlock's face fell a little bit as he put a hand to his head. "I'm so dizzy John, I feel so strange" he said.

"Well, that'll be the alcohol" John said. He actually did feel sorry for Sherlock, but there was no way on earth he was going to help him change his clothes. He'd have to be a lot drunker than he actually was to take Sherlock Holmes clothes off. As it was, he was feeling awkward enough standing here in the bathroom with neither of them having a shirt on.

"I'm going to fall down" Sherlock said, holding his head. "I feel really bad."

John's stomach twisted in sympathy. "I'm really sorry Sherlock. That's what happens when you drink too much. Feels really good for a while, then you feel sick. But trust me, you can stand up long enough to put your clothes on." He turned around and left Sherlock sitting in the bathtub, feeling sorry for him, but not going to give in to his childish request. He would take care of a lot of things but not that. He wasn't that good of a doctor.

Sherlock's a mess! What would he do without John to take care of him? Things will get fluffy in the next chapter :)

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