JW & SH
A/N: I own nothing…
Chapter Nine: Sentiment
"John!" Sherlock called loudly. He laid back on the couch, coughing several times. The consulting detective grabbed a tissue from the box on the floor, blowing his nose. "John!"
The doctor burst out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. He held a bar of soap in his right hand, ready to defend Sherlock if necessary. The dark haired man smirked at his husband's appearance. "What were you going to do? Wash the intruders to death?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. John looked around, and seeing there was no immediate danger, lowered the bar of soap.
"What do you want Sherlock?" John's shoulders slumped in relief. He had been expecting an attack. "Can you see that I was having a wash?"
"Clearly," Sherlock coughed. He squirmed slightly, trying to get comfortable. John shook his head, walking back to the bathroom. Several seconds later, Sherlock heard the water shut off. John reappeared, standing back in front of the consulting detective. He raised an eyebrow, and gestured for Sherlock to continue. "Can you make me a cup of tea?"
"That's why you were calling for me?" John asked. "Because you wanted a cup of tea?"
"Yes John," Sherlock gave him that 'you're an idiot' look that was usually reserved for Greg Lestrade. "Can I have that cuppa now?"
"Just let me get dressed first," John gave in. The things he did for his husband. The doctor went back to their bedroom and got dressed. A few minutes later, much to Sherlock's happiness, John went into the kitchen to make the consulting detective some tea. He put the kettle on, pouring the water into a mug when after it came to a boil. The chamomile tea bag followed, making small ripples in the water. John took the mug out into the kitchen, placing it in Sherlock's outstretched hand. "Would you like anything to eat?" John knew what the answer would be, but the doctor in him had to ask anyway.
"Eating only slows me down," Sherlock said. John sat down in his chair, watching his husband.
"You wouldn't have gotten sick if you hadn't jumped into that river," John commented after only a few minutes of silence. Sherlock looked over at his blogger. "You have thousands of scarves. Why did you chase after that one?"
"It's my favorite," Sherlock stated simply.
"Why?"
"You gave it to me," Sherlock coughed again, this time louder than before. He took a sip of his tea, trying to calm his inflamed throat. Sherlock set the cup on the floor, putting his hands underneath his chin. "When it comes to you, I am prone to outbursts of sentiment. Fascinating."
"I love you too Sherlock," John rolled his eyes. He turned and went into the kitchen, this time making a cup of tea for himself. When he returned to the living room, Sherlock was still in the same position that John left him in, so he just sat down in his chair again. The consulting detective, now in his Mind Palace, muttered incessantly. John was so used to it after living with Sherlock for years, didn't even notice. The doctor took a sip of his tea, burning his tongue. He didn't realize it at first, but the muttering had changed into soft snores. John smiled, taking both mugs into the kitchen and setting them in the sink. He walked back over to the couch, wondering if he should take his husband to their bed. The taller man would be more comfortable there and it would be less likely that Sherlock would wake up with a sore neck or back. John's decision was made. He very carefully slid his arms under Sherlock's body, trying not to wake the man. Sherlock hardly ever got any sleep, so John was not going to wake him up. For both of their sake. John staggered underneath Sherlock's weight once he finally got him off the couch. The doctor heavily walked to their bedroom, sure Mrs. Hudson downstairs could hear him. Several steps later, John set Sherlock down on their shared bed. He took off the consulting detective's shoes, placing them not too far from the bed. Then he stripped his husband down to his trousers so he'd be more comfy. John covered Sherlock with a blanket, not bothering to get the man under the comforter. "There. Sleep well my love." John kissed the sleeping Sherlock's forehead. Then, he also took off his outer clothes so just his trousers were left. He laid down on the other side of his husband, curling into the taller man's back.
He was asleep within ten minutes, feeling safer than ever.
A/N: I'm back! Okay so I wanted to advertise my Sherlock one-shot. It's called Let Me Give You My Life. It's based on the song "Take Me To Church" by Hozier. Please give it a look.
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