Another chapter. But a short one this time. Expect a sequel. ASAP (hopefully : ))

Thankyou to all the guest and non guest reviewers, followers, faved and readers. You make my day.

And another thankyou to Sandra67 for her prompts and ideas. I couldn't have done it without her.

Ta,Laila.

Sherlock was perfectly fine. Of course he was. There was no pounding in his head and his body was not burning up. He was certainly not swaying as he experienced dizziness. He wanted to tell John to get his eyes checked when the doctor remarked on Sherlock being too pale. He was sure that his roiling stomach was a sign of his breakfast digesting and not a sign of it coming backup.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes was perfectly fine.

That was Sherlock's last thought before he fell to the ground, unconscious, not aware of John's worried shout or Greg's concerned 'Sherlock'.

John Watson was a patient man. He tolerated a great many things. He should know, considering that he lived with a stubborn, proud and a git of detective, that patience was something one needed to have in today's world. However for the past three days he was fighting hard to keep his anger and his worry at bay.

Sherlock was ill.

It was as clear as the nose on his face. Why he denied that was beyond John. Yes, he knew that Sherlock was a stubborn arse refusing help in the best of times. But that didn't stop John from mentally cursing the detective when, despite his constant pestering, he insisted on following Lestrade's call to a crime scene.

Sherlock stumbled around the body with as much elegance as Anderson, firing off words at such a low murmur and at such speed, that John and Greg found it more difficult to follow than they usually did. When Sherlock finally stopped against a wall, his face covered with sweat, making his curls stick to his forehead, John was relieved.

That was until he found that Sherlock didn't seem to hear him calling and that he was as white as a sheet and his body heat was felt even from a distance. John noticed all this in the space of a few seconds. His worry was doubled as Sherlock's eyes rolled back before he fell to the ground with a sick thump.

John was instantly in his elements as he fell to his knees beside the unconscious man, wincing at the heat he felt on Sherlock. In a calm voice he ordered Greg to call an ambulance, at the same time taking Sherlock's pulse. Fast, but it was to be expected with a fever this high. John hoped that the emergency services would arrive before Sherlock decided to boil his brilliant brain by seizing.

"Donovan, wet clothes and water. Now!", he snapped at the woman standing helplessly watching. Sally nodded and rushed out to get them. Anderson followed her hurriedly.

John slapped Sherlock's cheek lightly, "Sherlock, can you hear me? Open your eyes. Come on."

There was no response and John cursed again. A cloth was thrust into his vision and he wiped the detective's twitching face with it. "Remove his coat and shoes", he ordered and saw that Greg had taken himself onto the task.

Just then when John was praying for the ambulance to hurry, Sherlock arched his back with a guttural moan and started convulsing.

"Shit!" John raised his head slightly to prevent it from hitting the ground. The convulsions lasted for a few seconds, before they were able to breathe a sigh of relief. At the same time the ambulance arrived and the medics jumped out with a gurney.

Soon Sherlock was loaded onto the back of the ambulance with John seated beside him, holding his head and watching the heart monitor as if it was his lifeline. Which it was.

The vehicle sped off with Lestrade staring at it's disappearing back with concern which was surprisingly shared by Donovan and Anderson.

It was either the flu or yellow fever, thought John, as he paced impatiently in the waiting room. He knew that he was panicking unreasonably. If Greg was here he would probably push a coffee into his head and push him onto a chair telling him to calm down. But Greg was still at the crime scene and John was left to his own restless mind.

He had been here for at least an hour as the doctors tried to determine Sherlock's condition. He had apparently had another seizure, as John had found out from a nurse, a few minutes after arriving here. The clot.

John looked up at the sound of a door opening and saw the doctor coming towards him. He rushed up to him.

'How is he? Is he alright? What's the matter with him? Will he be alright?'he wanted to ask Dr. Stephen as the badge read. But Dr. Stephen was perceptive and had started speaking before John had asked.

"He'll be alright. He has caught the JEV. Japanese Encephalitis Virus. Fortunately these are just the initial stages and can be treated with time easily. His brain has not undergone any damage or swelling which, although rare, could result in longtime neurological or cognitive disorders. You were right to come here when you did. He will make a quick recovery." With a nod and a friendly pat the doctor motioned him to Sherlock's room before leaving.

John closed his mouth and wiped the shock from his face before walking with a straight back to Sherlock's room.

Another thing to be noted about Sherlock was that he was always confident and he always appeared larger than life. But John had changed that. At least a little. Because in John's presence and only in his' did Sherlock let go of his fears and insecurities and become just Sherlock and not Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective. But John had rarely seen him so ... small. So vulnerable.

Entering the hospital room was one of the Worst experiences that John Watson had had. And he had led troops against Afghanistan.

Sherlock was lying on the uncomfortable hospital bed, hooked up to every machine to monitor his heart, breathing. The doctor had said that with supportive care his friend would make a complete recovery. And John was sure that he was right. But John was ... afraid.

What if Sherlock got worse? What if his brain started swelling? What if they were not able to reduce his fever?

A shuffle from the bed dispersed his thoughts and he leaned forward.

"Sherlock?", he called.

A small groan, a flutter of eyelids and a pair of green blue eyes were revealed. They roved about the room before settling on a familiar sight.

John Watson.

"John? Wha' happen'?", Sherlock rasped, tired eyes fluttering closed before the detective drifted off to sleep once again.

"You caught a bloody virus from India, is what happened, you idiot. Because you had forgotten to get vaccinated. And almost took fifteen years of my life by being hospitalized" John muttered, adjusting the blankets over the detective. He made a mental note to bring a couple of his blankets from Baker Street to replace the papery hospital sheets.

He pulled his chair closer to the bed, and laid his head down on the bed near Sherlock's chest.

"Don't ever do that to me, Sherlock. Never again", John murmured, laying his hand on top of Sherlock's.

Minutes later when Lestrade came running into the room, it was only to back away quietly at the sight of the detective and his blogger snoring away softly, their hands and hearts linked.

Hope you liked. Please read and review.

Ta,

Laila.