A/N: Hey, guys! Long time no "see", yeah? (I know the chapter title is really cheesy, but give me a break; I wanted a pun.) For the record, I know these updates have been far apart, and I'm sorry. I could give you loads of excuses, but they don't really matter all that much because you're getting a chapter now! This one isn't very long, but it has a story behind it that I don't actually explain in the chapter itself because it didn't really fit with the dialogue or anything. I would have had to create another scene entirely in order to fit it in, and I was concerned that would seem redundant, so... I'll explain at the end?

Reviewer Response at the bottom!

One more note, I am actually beginning to run out of material... anything you wish to see, please let me know? I could use the inspiration. I do, however, have a few more scenes up my sleeve, and they'll be really long chapters when I finally get around to posting them. Especially the first one in that category because it's a scene from the show manipulated specifically to also include the kittens of Baker Street.

But enough of that. On with the story!

John sighed deeply, sinking into his designated armchair tiredly. He tried to take a deep breath but remembered with a start that he couldn't breathe through his nose and parted his lips with an annoyed roll of his eyes. His sinuses were congested to the point of supplying him with a headache. And a generous amount of pain just around his eyes.

It was that time of year, and it was bound to happen sooner or later. Especially for someone who worked around sick people all of the time. Precautions were taken, but there was really only so much someone could do.

With that resigned thought, John leaned his head back. There was a soft rumbling noise, oddly comforting before he felt a soft rub on his leg. John forced his eyes open and looked downward to lock eyes with an orange cat. He smirked and reached over to affectionately scratch the animal behind their ears.

The animal then, without a moment's hesitation, sprung onto his lap. As if the petting was a granted permission.

Chips – or Fish, frankly John didn't care anymore – walked a few circles on top of John's lap before perching himself on John's right leg, the creature tucking all of the limbs it had underneath itself. The purring it emitted was thunderous.

John smirked, and stroked its back. "Taking pity on me, are you?"

The purr seemed to deepen, as if in response. A calm washed over the doctor, and he leaned his head back once more.

The only clue John had to his dozing off was the soft tap of fur on his cheek pulling him to full alertness. A smooth black tail shimmered by his face and he was suddenly aware of the odd pressure on the back of the chair. The extra purring from behind his ear caused him to smile slightly and reach up to pet Khoshekh.

Further evidence of John's illness was one clue; Sherlock. John had barely noticed the Consulting Detective's absence, as John often walked in on him being routed silently in his mind palace. No, it was the man's sudden arrival that led John to realize he hadn't been there in the first place.

The thundering up the stairs cut off the purrs as the cats turned their heads expectantly to the door. John was sure the moment Sherlock came into the room, Chips and Khoshekh would have already left him in favor of their favorite human.

It amused John that Sherlock Holmes never questioned the odd loyalty of the creatures, taking their presence as an absolute. They were always there, always by him. Almost like John himself. This thought cast a fond smirk on the doctor's face as Sherlock burst into the flat.

A flurry of movement as Sherlock didn't even remove his coat as he rushed to the table. He dug and dug through pile after pile of papers and files. Tossing a few books haphazardly onto the floor as he searched, Sherlock paid no mind to the three of his companions nestled in John's chair.

That is, not until John coughed. The soldier had felt the feeling claw at his throat, but he'd never been one to enjoy coughing. The sensation itself was simply awkward to him. However, being a doctor, he knew the benefits of the reaction in dislodging phlegm in his throat. But he made sure to tuck his mouth and nose into the sleeve of his jumper.

Sherlock turned to him abruptly, and John was momentarily sure he'd startled the detective. That was, of course, until he saw the look of irritation on the younger man's face.

"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock snapped.

John frowned at him, somewhere between confused and offended. "I'm sick."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I know that. Why are you all…?" He waved his hand vacantly as he turned his attention back to the table, still looking for something. "We've got a case. You've taken off your shoes and let not just one cat claim you, but two!"

"We've got a case?" John repeated, his ears feeling as if they'd been stuffed with cotton. Of course, he'd heard Sherlock correctly, but his brain took what seemed like forever to process the words. And by the time it finally got around to it, John wasn't sure if he'd heard them correctly anymore.

"Don't repeat me, it's dull." Sherlock pulled a specific file from the clutter. He flicked his wrist, causing the paper to give a soft snap in response as it straightened itself. "Grab your coat."

John sniffed, and moved to lift Chips from his lap. The action was groggy, and John wondered if the brief nap he'd had managed to put him too deeply into a sleep cycle to be fully awake even then. It would take nearly the entire cab ride to wake up again.

"Wait."

Sherlock's sharp demand caused John to freeze out of reflex. There was an amount of wary command in that tone that made him still instantly, as that sort of tone in direction had saved his life before. John lifted his eyes to Sherlock. "What?"

The detective was staring at him with a furrowed brow. "You really are sick."

"Yeah, I tried to say." John moved to stand again, but Sherlock continued and John stopped.

"Both of them." Was the confused whisper.

"What?" Confusion colored John's inquiry now.

Sherlock gestured with the file toward him. "Fish and Khoshekh. They're both… purring."

John looked over his shoulder for needless confirmation that Khoshekh was still present before shrugging. "They're both cats. Of course they would—"

"No," Sherlock stopped him. "I'll…" He trailed off and started again. "You stay here. Rest."

"But – the case!" John objected.

"No crime scene. Just to the morgue. Needed the research I did on mold a month ago. I don't have the time to waste on Bart's terrible printers, so I'm bringing my own copy." Sherlock brandished the file. "Stay. Rest. Drink tea or something. Have you taken medication?"

John stared when given Sherlock's sudden question, as it put forward the illusion of concern. But Sherlock was never concerned. Not really. "Er… yeah?"

"How long ago?"

"What time is it?"

"A bit after seven." The answer was shot back.

"Maybe an hour ago?" John offered. That was just when he'd gotten home, and before he'd settled himself in his armchair. That had been one of the first things he'd done upon crossing the threshold of 221B. Medicine.

"Good." Sherlock didn't offer a parting word beyond that before he stalked out of the flat.

John paused, still frozen somewhere between standing and sitting, leaning forward over Chips. He contemplated following the detective. But quickly he realized he'd taken too long to think about it as the door closed at the bottom of the stairs with a firm slam. By the time he would have gotten his shoes on, Sherlock would have been long gone.

The doctor tried to relax back into his chair. Sherlock wasn't going anywhere dangerous at the moment. Just St. Bart's Hospital.

A thought pushed its way into John's mind. Sherlock had realized John was sick. Probably deduced it somehow. But the Consulting Detective hadn't really acknowledged it at first. But something… something he saw changed his mind.

What had Sherlock said?

They're both purring.

John frowned thoughtfully as he observed both of the felines perched around him and how they purred gently, deeply. It was odd that something like that would have clued Sherlock into the idea that John was feeling worse than he looked. What did they have to do with it? Why did their purring specifically matter?

The questions seemed to feed an extra strike of pain to John's head and he reached a hand up to rub his brow in mild annoyance at the intrusion to not only his comfort but also his thoughts.

Then he was suddenly hyperaware of Khoshekh's purring. It was… soothing. Almost. More on a psychological level, probably, John thought. Though the vibrations through his leg and the back of the chair did have a calming effect on their own. Perhaps it wasn't as psychological as he thought.

It seemed as if the thoughts he'd had in a string should connect in some way. But whatever way they locked together, John didn't put the effort forward to find out. He was feeling too awful. However, the doctor was aware of the fact that Sherlock had made the connection and had seen it clearly, which no doubt was the reason for leaving him behind.

John sniffed, and looked around for something to wipe his nose with.

Nothing in his immediate vicinity.

He could always go and find something.

Just then, Chips shifted to get into a more comfortable position, and John allowed himself a smirk. He'd just wait for later then.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading this! And if you've favorited/followed/reviewed this story, I am also incredibly appreciative of you, too! This story is getting so much support, and it's gone on for a lot longer than I thought it would... So my gratitude goes to you.

Now, for the explanation thing. I actually have a cat (and he's completely black, like Khoshekh), and a few weeks ago, a virus went through my house. Everyone who lives here got some form of that virus at some point. I got it first, though, and it took about two weeks for me to get through it. The point of this story is that, while we were all sick, my cat seemed to be able to sense who was feeling the worst and would go curl up on their lap before purring loudly. He did this for that entire two weeks. Relentlessly. No matter where you were, he'd come and lay on top of you as if he were your only ticket to health and he knew it. I was actually writing the last chapter when he came and tried to snuggle on my lap while I was at my desk. He's so weird, and I love him.

That was the inspiration for this chapter, as I wondered how Sherlock would react to both cats (who normally follow him around without fail) snuggled around an obviously-sick John Watson. That, on top of his gained knowledge that cat purrs have healing qualities, would probably lead him to the conclusion that the last thing John probably needed was to go stand in a chilly morgue while Sherlock inspected mold on a corpse.

I hope you enjoyed it a little at least.

Reviewer Response:

TapTapAlways: I love getting reviews from you. For some reason it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. I'm really glad you thought it was cute (I did, too).

Catch you later!