Chapter 10

It's Obvious Isn't it?

Lestrade knew something was wrong the moment he got out of bed in the morning, but he didn't pay any mind to his pounding head and stuffy nose. He had to work today. There had been a murder in the middle of Cardiff and Sherlock of course was not willing to miss it. So that is now why he stood in the freezing rain by a disemboweled body in the middle of some grimy alley. Lestrade was to the point of being ill at the sight, but Sherlock and John just rummaged around the body like it was a Christmas present. Anderson and Donavan seemed to be thinking the same as they stood off to the side, watching the two as they whispered with themselves. Lestrade would have set them strait, but he didn't have the energy. He felt like he was going to pass out any second.

"Lestrade?" Greg looked up to see that Sherlock had moved from the corpse and was now standing over him. John was there too with a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling on his face. "Are you alright?" John asked when Lestrade didn't seem to react to his name being called. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but felt a wave of nausea hit him. Luckily, Sherlock noticed and helped him out.

"Nausea, fever, and dizziness…no, John, I don't believe he's alright. In fact I believe he has the flue," Sherlock stated smartly. John rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock I know, I was simply asking out of curticy."

"Curticy? If you stop asking questions like that you would save quite a bit of time-"

"Um…guys, as much as I enjoy listening to you two rant I rather not pass out on the remains of this poor sod," Lestrade struggled, forcing down the bile rising in his throat at the thought of the body. John and Sherlock quickly snapped out of their fight and swung Lestrade's arms over their shoulders, escorting him to the taxi.

"What about the body?!" Donavan shouted out at them as John pride the taxi door open for Lestrade and Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head before helping John push Lestrade into the cab.

"My God! For once can you bundle of idiots handle one simple case without the three of us?"

Back at the flat Lestrade sat on the couch in the sitting room. He had wanted to go to his room, but John had told him that the last thing they needed was for him to fall down the stairs on his way to the loo. So, here he sat with a quilt thrown over his body and a bottle of water on the coffee table next to him. Sherlock was sitting on the chair sipping at his tea as John bustled around trying to find the medicine to help Lestrade's upset stomach.

"Here," Sherlock's low voice said softly, draping a cool cloth on Lestrade's burning forehead. Lestrade flinched, but eventually pushed towards the soothing cloth as Sherlock dabbed at the sweat building on his brow.

"What 're ya doin?" Lestrade slurred weakly as he watched Sherlock care for him. Sherlock glared at him.

"Keeping the fever down," Sherlock said simply, continuing to dab at the sweat that threatened to roll into the DI's eyes.

"But, why?" Lestrade asked, trying to understand. Sherlock could be on a case this very moment. Why was he caring for him? That's when John finally popped back into the room. He was carrying a spoon and a bottle of purple liquid. Both Lestrade and Sherlock wrinkled their noses at the sight of the disgusting liquid. John smirked at him.

"It's either this or you can continue to puke your guts up," John stated. Lestrade let out an unhappy sigh, opening his mouth for the spoon a thick liquid. He swallowed it, hoping that the vile taste of it would not bring it back up his soar throat. John set down the spoon on the table then and pulled out a thermometer, sticking it under Lestrade's tongue. When it bleeped John pulled it out, glancing at Sherlock through his long lashes. Sherlock nodded, dunking the cool cloth into the ice water again and draping it over Lestrade's head again. The DI let out a pained gasp, trying to pull away from the cold, but Sherlock and John held him down.

"Come now, Lestrade. You don't want to end up like me and John when our fevers get too high," Sherlock stated, frowning as the distasteful memory lingered in his mind. Lestrade laughed at that, a hand flying to his throat as it scratched.

"Dear God! If that happens to me please shoot and ask questions later! I'd never live it down!" Lestrade yelped. That earned a laugh from his two flat mates and the three sat together around the couch. John flipped on the television, flipping the station to BBC1. There was some teaser trailer playing for that new season of…hmmm…something that started with an 'S' or something. Lestrade let out a long yawn then, slinking further down into the couch cushions. His fingers pulled the quilt closer. "You never answered my question," he said lazily. Sherlock and John looked up at him from the TV, frowning. Lestrade stared up into Sherlock's bright blue-green eyes and realization dawned on us.

"It's obvious isn't it?" Sherlock asked before darkness finally swallowed the DI.

Lestrade slowly opened his eyes at the sound of soft music playing in the background. Sherlock must be playing again. The soft melody was gentle and had a soothing effect on his pounding head. There was still a cool cloth on his forehead and the television was now focused on some game show. He slowly pulled himself up, finding that John was looking through a book over by the fireplace. Sherlock was the first to notice Lestrade's movement and immediately stopped playing, setting the instrument down on his chair. John did the same with his book when he noticed Sherlock's behavior and smiled in Lestrade's direction.

"How are you…" John stopped, sending a glare towards Sherlock when the detective rolled his eyes at him. "You feeling?" John finished. Lestrade sat up a little more, pulling the cloth off his head.

"Better, thanks," he yawned, stretching his limbs. The two flat mates relaxed slightly. Lestrade watched them, about to open his mouth when his stomach rumbled. He glanced down at his talkative belly and smiled at his two friends. "I think I better make some tea," Lestrade stated, slowly bringing himself up from the couch. He stretched out his stiff muscles and walked into the kitchen. He hummed as he went, grabbing three cups and some sugar. After putting the kettle on he whipped the door open to the fridge, finding the remains of something that looked like it went through a meat grinder.

Lestrade, everything alright..." John trailed off as he stopped at Lestrade's side, both detectives turning a funny shade of green. "SHERLOCK!" John shouted before gagging his way back into the living room. Lestrade slammed the door shut, tossing his head into the sink as his lunch threatened to force its way back up. When a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder Lestrade looked up to see Sherlock holding a glass of water out to him. Lestrade glared at him.

"What is that doing in the fridge?!" he croaked, taking the glass and leaning against the counter. Sherlock smirked, glancing at the fridge in the corner of his eye.

"Oh, I had Anderson bring some samples of the victim from the case earlier. The fridge in the lab was full so…" Lestrade turned another shade of green and Sherlock jumped back a little. A smile quirked at Lestrade's lips and then he remembered something.

"Sherlock, why did you and John look after me instead of continuing the case? I would have been fine on my own," Lestrade asked, taking a sip of water to force the sick taste out of his mouth. Sherlock's eyes smiled and he turned back towards the living room where John was still shouting at him from.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked.

So what do you think the reason was for John and Sherlock dropping the case to care for Lestrade? Thank you Rosa Clearwater for the request. I hope you enjoyed it. I also hope that the rest of you all loved it as well.