"Lestrade is calling me in." Sherlock pulled his scarf around his neck, trying to keep from coughing out the words he spoke. He ran towards the door like he had a time limit to get there, which in a way he did. A time limit named Doctor John Watson.
"No, Lestrade is not calling you in." John appeared in front of the door, spreading his arms wide to block the detective. "Because you are not working today. You're sick."
"That's no reason for me to stay home!" Sherlock scowled.
"It's a perfectly good reason. Now don't make me tell you again. Get in pajamas and find something restful to do. At least for today no work, no cases, no experiments, no shooting the walls. You're going to lay down and I'm going to make you some tea."
"John!" Sherlock began to protest, but his words gave way to a fit of coughing. John steadied the taller man and led him away from the door.
"Like I said. Rest. Now."
Five minutes later a pouting and coughing Sherlock sat in his pajamas on the couch, plotting his revenge.
"I'm bored!" He sniffled, but John ignored him.
Sherlock looked around the room for a weapon of mayhem. Sadly John was keeping his gun upstairs and any move to retrieve it would be foiled, and his chemistry set was in the kitchen where John was making tea so there was no getting that.
That was when his eyes rested on a box rubber bands sitting on the table.
John ignored the first few rubber bands that went flying by his head, but when the fourth one pegged him in the back he sighed and turned around to deal with his troublesome patient.
"Sherlock. Resting does not mean using me for target practice."
Sherlock had his arm propped up on the back of the couch, and was currently taking aim with another rubber band which he let fly just short of John's position.
"Bored." He pouted.
"You're not supposed to be entertained you're supposed to be getting well." John sighed. "I'm going to make you some food, because I know you haven't eaten in three days."
"Tea's fine." Sherlock replied.
"No it's not." John growled, returning to the kitchen.
When John came back Sherlock was laying down, covered in a blanket. John smiled, at last he was getting some rest. He'd have to save the soup he made for later, but that was fine.
He placed a hand on Sherlock's forehead and his brow furrowed with worry. He was burning up.
This is what John always expected to happen to the younger man. He was always pushing himself so hard and taking such awful care of himself, sooner or later he would just collapse of sickness.
John lifted the man off the couch and sighed when he realized how thin Sherlock was. It wasn't even hard lifting him. Sherlock murmured something in his sleep and made a pained expression.
"Hush you, you've had enough pouting for one day." John joked, carrying the man to their bed.
He lay Sherlock down and pulled the comforter over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Sherlock's eyes blinked open and when he realized where he was he scowled slightly.
"I do not need to be coddled, John." He glared.
"Just let me take care of you, sod." John laughed and kissed him.