John decided to whip up some tea before heading out. He went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. "Sherlock, would you like something to drink?" he called.
All he heard in response was a grumble as his boyfriend turned over on the sofa, tangling himself up in his blanket. John rolled his eyes. He was going to need something a little stronger to put up with Sherlock today. Did Sherlock have any meth in the apartment? No, he was going clean wasn't he? Dammit. Coffee then. Black coffee. As strong as possible.
John took two large mugs out the cupboard and put a tea bags in one and instant coffee in the other. The kettle whistled and John fetched it. He poured the water into the mugs and stirred the last of the milk into Sherlock's tea. All done.
Sherlock sneezed loudly and groaned into the sofa. "Bless you." remarked John, handing Sherlock the hot mug of tea. Sherlock took a tentative sip and muttered a thank you. He put the mug down and sneezed into a tissue again.
"I hate being sick!" he bemoaned.
"Well maybe you shouldn't go jumping into the river Thames in the middle of sodding winter if you don't want to catch the flu," said John.
"But John!" whined Sherlock "If I didn't jump in after the international jewel thief, he would have gotten away!"
"Scotland Yard were tracking him just fine."
"Scotland Yard is stupid," muttered Sherlock, sipping his tea. "They can't do anything right…"
John drank his coffee as he spoke. "They're professionals Sherlock. They're trained to find and arrest criminals. It's their job and they're good at it."
"No they're not," muttered Sherlock. "They're all idiots and I don't like them."
John sighed. Sherlock could be so immature sometimes. In a weird way, John usually found Sherlock's stubbornness endearing, where most other people found it irritating. Not today. Today Sherlock was just being annoying.
"I'm heading out," said John. "Do you want anything from the shops?
"I think we need milk."
"Yeah, I just used the last of it. Anything else you can think of?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Okay. I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't blow up the flat," said John, going for the door. Sherlock murmured an agreement and pulled the blanket over his head.
A few minutes later, John was standing in the supermarket before a shelf of tinned soup. He picked up a can and turned it over in his hands. Chicken Noodle soup.
A memory came flooding back to him. It was like he was nine years old again. This stuff used to be his favorite food.
Maybe Sherlock would like the stuff he thought, placing a can in his basket.
He returned home to a sniffling Sherlock, still wrapped in his blanket. He set the shopping bag on his kitchen table. "Have you ever had chicken noodle soup?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Why?"
"It's just… when I was a kid, I got sick a lot. Poor immune system you know? So I was home from school all the time, but my Mum worked from home so she would look after me. And she always swore that a good can of chicken noodle soup could cure any cold. I've been think about her a lot since you know…" He trailed off. How had the conversation gotten to this again?
"She seems like she was a kind woman. I wish I could have had a chance to meet her."
"You would have liked her, you know? She was sharp witted like you. And smart. I miss her a lot," he admitted. "I know it's been ten years but it still hurts to think about it."
The silence hung in the air for a second. "So yeah. Chicken noodle soup. Damn good stuff. Want some?"
"Yeah. Should I help?"
"Nah. You're sick – just rest up. It won't take very long to make," explained John, pulling out a saucepan.
"Are you okay John?" asked Sherlock suddenly, concern much clearer in his voice than John has heard in a while.
"I think so? Sometimes the memories come back and it can be difficult to deal with. But I'll be okay."
Because a good can of chicken noodle soup can fix everything.