I suck for not updating this sooner. I mean I really suck. Sorry. Sort of a filler chapter until I can be assed to write something better. Beware! At some point, Irene and Sherlock will get laid thus creating Mini Sherlock from Left, The Red Headed Leauge and Mother's Day. I wont go into much detail. It will just be them running into Irene's bedroom at the end of the next chapter. Probably.
AOR
Sherlock woke later with a huge headache and an urge to vomit. He kept his eyes shut against the glare of the overhead light. Where was he? Opening his eyes hesitantly, he saw John leaning over him, stroking his forehead with a wet towel. A groan escaped his mouth before he could stop it. John looked worried.
"Are you OK? You've got a fever of roughly 140 degrees. I was really scared until I remember what you told me about your first transformation. I thought you were going to die."
"Where did you find me?" Sherlock groaned. His stomach lurched as he sat up. Tactfully, John grabbed a pink plastic bowl and handed it to Sherlock. Several seconds later, it was filled with vomit.
"Ew." Sherlock said, repulsed at his own stomach contents. John bit his lip anxiously. Sherlock tried to stand but John forced him back onto the bed.
"No way mister. You aren't going anywhere. I found you staggering around on the landing. You collasped as soon as you saw me. Now, I clean this," he removed the reeking bowl of vomit. "And you are going to stay there." John turned and walked into the bathroom taking the bowl and towel with him. Sherlock heard a flushing sound as John shoved the bowl's contents down the toilet. After that there was a brief silence then the sound of running water. He returned swiftly with a thermometer and newly soaked towel.
"Open up." Sherlock's mouth opened to retort and John took this oppertunity to shove the thermometer inside. Sherlock leaned back on the pillows, sulking as the mecury rose higher and higher. John gasped.
"I don't believe it! You were cooler asleep!" He removed the device and showed it to Sherlock. It read 158 degrees. The detective gulped.
"Lie down." John instructed. Sherlock, suprisingly, obeyed his orders instanly. John's worry increased but he didn't let this show. In full doctor mode, he lay the towel on Sherlock's forehead and called room service for some ice. Whilst he was waiting, he carefully unbuttoned his friend's white shirt, revealing an even whiter chest. Sherlock blushed madly, blaming the fever for making him hot. When this came, he shoved it on Sherlock's bare chest, on hsi forehead and under his neck. 10 minutes later, Sherlock's temperture was 132. John decided this was a good point to let the detective sleep. The good doctor didn't dare leave his patient. They were best friends and John would blame himself forever if something happened to him. The sun had gone down long ago and the room was decorated with strangely shaped shadows. A piercing howl ripped through the night. John shuddered remembering the tale that his uncle told him everytime he came to stay as a small boy. The Legend of The Hound of The Baskervilles.