Next chapter! Yay! The story will have an end, I promise. Will post again as soon as I can!
John heard a bang.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight, "shit."
"Sherlock? You alright in there?"
The next thing Sherlock knew he was leaning against the shower wall; head throbbing. He grunted quietly. He put a comforting hand up to his eye.
Yet another shout from John as he was trying to shower, except this time, John had a good reason to be worried. Sherlock felt a growing lump appear on the corner of his eye.
Reply; Sherlock's brain reminded him. "It's fine John."
John sighed, "Well hurry up anyway, I don't trust you to stay fine"
"What was that bang before, while you were in the shower?" John asked as Sherlock emerged, still slipping on a baggy t-shirt.
"Dunno," Sherlock replied unhelpfully. John noted the tiredness in his voice, along with the sick sounding crackle.
John soon discovered the answer to his question as Sherlock turned to face him. He had the beginnings of a black eye. John frowned, swore under his breath, and approached; his hand pausing above Sherlock's face, almost as though waiting for permission. But then he remembered that he was the doctor here, and could do whatever he liked. Brushing cool but soft fingers over the lump and bruising, John inspected the latest damage. Sherlock relaxed into his touch, so much so that he began to sway a little. John wasn't able to properly steady him again, so practically carried Sherlock to the bed.
The room was now spinning before Sherlock's eyes, he felt as though he were on a boat; rolling, up and down, over the waves. He could barely tell where he was. Until he heard John's voice; then it all snapped back to him, the haze started to clear.
"Hey, come on Sherlock, stay with me for a bit would you?"
Sherlock heaved his chest into taking a deep, congested breath.
"Sherlock, what did you do to your eye?"
The corner of his eye was starting to feel a little sore.
"Moriarty," He grumbled
"What? What are you talking about Sherlock? He's not here. How hard did you hit your head?"
"Not hard. Just a bump. Thought, I saw, Moriarty."
John dove into his medical bag which had been forgotten in the corner. He pulled a thermometer and attempted to put it in Sherlock's mouth.
Sherlock sensed someone approaching as he lay clumsily on top of his duvet. He flipped his eyes open, saw what John was carrying, and gave him a glare that made John stop in his tracks.
"I need some water John," Sherlock's scratching throat mumbled out.
"If you let me take your temperature then I'll get you all the water you need."
Sherlock looked at the thermometer, "Never mind."
"Never mind what?"
"The water, I'll get some later."
"What? I said I'd get you some?"
"Yeah, after you stick that thing in my mouth, therefore I chose neither."
"For goodness sakes Sherlock, just let me help you." John was already worried, but the stress Sherlock was now causing, was not helping matters. John took a moment to breathe. Regaining his composure, he switched from caring friend, to army doctor.
"Right Sherlock, you no longer have any say."
Sherlock's already too-fast heart, starting beating that little bit harder. He felt the control slipping from him, which he did not like, but unfortunately this was John's territory now.
Sherlock tried to fight as a strong arm held him by the shoulder, but weakness overcame his body. He was definitely losing the battle. The haze was returning, and fast. His head was splitting, and at that moment, he gave in to John.
John was firmly holding Sherlock in place, so he could slip the thermometer in. When it beeped, John knew the numbers were going to be bad, yet the reading made him raise his eyebrows. He looked down at Sherlock who seemed to be in state of semi-consciousness. Just to make sure the results were correct; John put a hand to Sherlock's forehead. He pulled away rather swiftly, as his hand was scorched by Sherlock's burning skin. Being this close to Sherlock now, he felt the heat radiating from him.
"Sherlock, this is going to be cold," John informed as he reached for his stethoscope. John tried warming it, but he knew it wasn't going to help against Sherlock's fevered body. John took a moment to look at his young friend, lying, in pain, on top of the duvet. John hadn't realised how much he truly cared for the man until this moment. He hoped nothing ever happened to Sherlock that would take him away; including his current situation, which John suddenly switched back on to.
He heard Sherlock's heart pounding away under his sweaty chest, noting how hard it was having to work. He heard the congestion in his chest, which to be honest, was expected from the state of him.
Sherlock started to snore softly, probably the most peace he'd had all evening. John really didn't want to wake him, but he needed to give him some fever reducing tablets and make him more comfortable.
John shook him softly.
"Sherlock, come on mate, wake up." John paused when he heard Sherlock's breath hitch slightly.
Was Sherlock awake?
"Sherlock?"
John's face creased as he saw a few drips run down the small gap between Sherlock's face and the pillow. Sweat? Partially, but it they seemed to come from around his eyes. Tears?