Sherlock groaned miserably and buried his face in John's bare ribs. "Johhhnnnnnnn." He complained loudly.
John rolled over sleepily, mumbling something about '5 more minutes'. It was Sunday, and he had looked forward to sleeping in; Sherlock had even promised him a lazy day in bed. But now, the genius was interrupting his sleep and breaking his promise. John buried his face in the pillow, willing himself not to wake up completely and to fall back into his dream.
Sherlock suddenly shot out of bed, practically taking John with him as he scrambled over, and caused John to cry out when a foot accidentally connected with his chest. "Sherlock what are you-?" John began angrily, but stopped when he heard Sherlock begin to vomit violently in the bathroom.
John went in after him and his anger melted to loving concern when he saw his boyfriend clinging to the toilet for dear life. "I think I'm dying." Sherlock managed, before getting sick again. There were tears streaming down his cheeks and John wished he could take the pain away.
The doctor wet a flannel down and pressed the cool cloth against Sherlock's forehead. "I'm sorry I ruined your sleeping in." Sherlock managed to murmur, trying to catch his breath.
"Don't worry about that right now, love. Let's get you back to bed."