Sherlock shivered. He was so cold, so very cold. Still fighting off the last of his fever. He coughed and stretched his legs. But... There was something wrong. There was another body yawning and stretching next to him.
His mind began to race and he forced down a wave of inexplicable panic. His mind was still addled from his sickness and he was feeling perhaps a bit paranoid. With good reason, he thought. Moriarty is still on the loose and Moran to worry about as well…
He sat bolt upright. That's what he had been doing before catching the flu, how stupid! Chasing after Moriarty's goons in cold and damp London alleys, no wonder he was sick. He swayed with lightheadedness.
Focus! He cursed himself. You need to focus. There is a strange body next to you, and you're letting your mind wander! Idiot!
Still swaying and shivering Sherlock looked to his left. He let a sigh of relief. It was John, only John, likely exhausted from caring for Sherlock almost all night.
John muttered something in his sleep and curled closer to Sherlock's side. Sherlock awkwardly patted his hair, unsure what to do.
John, sensing the touch, yawned and slowly blinked at Sherlock, his mind working out what exactly was happening.
"Morning," he mumbled. "How're you feeling?"
Sherlock smiled. "Better."