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John placed his empty mug, of which once contained tea, on the arm of the chair where it balanced carefully. The woman crying over dramatically on the television had become old some time ago but John was still watching it intently as if just staring at it would make it less crap. Welcome to British TV on a lonely Wednesday evening.
John was about to make the uncountable amount of effort to get up and switch the channel when suddenly a clunk resounded throughout the whole house. Followed by a gut wrenching wail.
"Oh shit!" John cursed and hopped to his feet in an instance, "Sherlock!" he hollered, appearing at the detective's door a second later "Sherlock, are you ok-?"
Said detective was sprawled on the wooden floor of his dingy room, writhing like he was having some sort of seizure. He wailed again, trying to claw at the floorboards beneath his fingernails.
"Oh, Christ, Sherlock what's the matter, tell me what the matter is!?" the doctor hurried up to his friend, kneeling down to try and comfort the tossing and turning individual, "Sherlock, you need to speak, what's wrong?" the army doctor side of him was trying to stay calm, but the best friend side of him was panicking. And it seemed the best friend side of him was also winning.
Sherlock twitched at the sound of the doctor's voice and his pale eyes flew open in an instant.
"Oh god, John." he huffed, clinging to John's jumper the best he could from the floor, almost ripping the damn thing off him as he pulled himself up to face level. Sherlock's pupils had blown up an incredible amount, this was already setting alarm bells off in John's medical mind.
"John, I can't…I can't breathe, help me John!" he wheezed, breathing heavily as he hung from John's shirt, his head lulled forwards onto his chest.
"Okay, Sherlock, calm down, just breathe." the doctor panicked, using this chance to feel the back of Sherlock's neck. Jesus Christ, he was so hot it would put Satan himself to shame.
"Just…calm down, breath with me okay?" Watson took a deep breath in through his nose and felt Sherlock mimic him shakily. They did this for a while until Sherlock completely dropped his head into Watson's lap and began screaming in terror, grabbing at his throat.
"Sherlock, what's wrong!?" John tried to remove the man's hands from his own throat.
"John, it's got me John!" he cried.
"No, Sherlock, nothings got you, you have a fever…" John concluded because that's what it must have been. Just from looking at Sherlock's hair he could see he was drenched in sweat. "…Just calm down, okay, it's going to be alright."
Sherlock groaned and rolled off Watson's lap and onto the cold floor, pawing at his sweat drenched shirt.
"Oh god, I'm so hot…I think I'm gonna burn, John help me." he whined, tugging uselessly at his clothes. John sighed, still ever demanding even when he was ill.
"Sherlock, wait..." the doctor insisted, taking the detectives hands from all but ripping the expensive material of his shirt. "Let's get you up off the floor first."
It was definitely easier said than done.
Sherlock was a tall man, taller than John, and in this state he was all but dead weight in the doctor's arms. Hooking his arms around his chest from behind the detective, John managed to pull him into a sitting position, he then proceeded to pull him to his feet.
Sherlock lost his footing and fell backwards into the army doctor who stumbled into the bedside table with a howl. Holmes' head rested back on Watson's shoulder, his eyes squinted closed and breathing heavily.
There was an attempt, John noted, for the thin man to move on his own, but it resulted in nothing but him slamming back into the latter again and causing him to supress a scream as the table delved further into his back.
Taking a firmer hold on the man this time, determined not to get this wrong, John managed to hoist the detective to his feet with success.
It was all blind movement from there on, Sherlock was much taller than John so John's face was pressed into Sherlock's shoulder blade as he guided him to where he hoped there was a chair. The heat of Holmes' back was making John sweat himself and he wouldn't be surprised if he was left with a shoulder blade shaped burn mark on his cheek when he pulled away.
Eventually Sherlock stumbled face first into the back of the chair that was in the corner of his room. He groaned and shakily turned himself round to sit, using John as a support.
"Right…" John started, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulders "I'm gonna get you undressed and then get you all cleaned up, okay?"
Sherlock gazed into John's cool blue eyes, his own cloudy with fatigue and fever. John could see that he couldn't understand a word he was saying and that made an odd sense of pride swell up in his chest.
Sherlock didn't know what was going on, his feverish mind couldn't process the information or options in front of him yet he chose to put his full trust in John, not thinking or even considering that John would do anything bad to him in this state.
Yes, it was pride, pride and…something else.
Something he didn't want to think about right now, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and instead focused on the suffering man in front of him.
"Right, okay, I'm just going to unbutton your shirt…"- he didn't want to scare Sherlock, right? John thought, putting his own nerves at bay more than anything. Undressing your male flatmate when you are too a male and not interested in other males can be an embarrassing task.
Bringing his shaking hands to the detective's heaving chest was fine, it just seemed the unbuttoning was the bit that had his heart in his mouth and his hands stalling.
'For god's sake, John' he scolded himself 'be a man, you've had to do much worse in the army!' and with that final thought, he abandoned any feeling of guilt and embarrassment and just went in with his head down.
It was like opening an oven door. Moist heat hit him square in the face coupled by the stench of sweat and musk. It wasn't entirely unpleasant but, dear god.
John tried not to let his eyes linger over the pale man's glistening chest too long, it's just he'd never seen Sherlock Holmes- the Sherlock Holmes- even mildly unclothed before. Even the event at Buckingham palace hadn't really counted as it was only his back, but this, this was personal. This was something a lover would see.
He felt heat and fear flush through his body, almost like a cold realisation that started from the crown of his head and washed through him in an instance.
Just ignore it, John, don't be so ridiculously…ridiculously…just don't be an idiot.
Suddenly, pale hands batted John's away as Sherlock made much quicker work of clumsily removing his shirt, peeling the material from his drenched back. The poor man was suffering and could very well have fainted from overheating and here John was, battling his thoughts as to whether or not Sherlock would care about this.
Hell, he probably wouldn't even remember this by the time the fever broke.
His long fingers moved down to his trousers to make work of his belt but they were slick with sweat and he couldn't get a grip. It didn't seem like an overall easy task so John took over.
"Okay, to make this easy Sherlock, I need you to stand up" John tried, knowing that he wouldn't hear him anyway.
Grabbing Holmes under his arms, John had to supress a gasp at the intense heat he found there. Never the less he pulled him up onto unsteady legs.
Sherlock's head lulled forwards onto John's shoulder, leaving him to grope blindly for Sherlock's belt. He really wasn't making this easy. John already had to use his other hand on Holmes' forearm so as to stop himself toppling back against the weight, and he couldn't see a thing with his chin resting on the man's hot shoulder.
Jesus, this had to be easier.
Abandoning all hope as to whether Sherlock would stand or fall, John knelt down to make the job easier. He worked as Sherlock's belt within seconds, whipping the leather from its holsters and placing it besides him.
Sherlock had apparently decided it would be helpful for him to drape himself over John's back, making the only easy way for John to get this done was if he pressed his cheek against his flatmate's stomach. It was most definitely not helpful but it did protect some of Sherlock's decency as he now couldn't see a thing once more.
Managing at last to undo Sherlock's buttons and fly, he hooked his thumbs with confidence he didn't feel into the hems of both his trousers and underwear and pulled them down in one swooping motion.
He had the last minute thought to grab the detective's ankles and help guide his feet out of the clothing, so he wouldn't trip.
"Sherlock…" he started, moving briefly to let his friend know he wanted to stand up "Sherlock, you need to stand up now." John sighed and stood up without warning, catching the detective before he fell flat on his back.
He searched his soul with those wide eyes again, not knowing what would happen next. Barely even realising that he was now stood stark naked in front of his flatmate.
"Right." John nodded more to himself, as if checking off things to do on a check list.
Taking Sherlock's arms seemed like an easy thing to do if the man hadn't stumbled back into the chair as soon as John moved out of his sight.
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock." He groaned, pulling him up to his feet once more and sternly guiding him towards the en suite bathroom.
Right, this was either going to go amazingly easy or tragically terrible, there was no in between with Sherlock Holmes.
Gripping the poor man's arm a little harder than he had overall intended, John tried to lean Sherlock against the bathroom wall as he headed over to the grand, china bath.
'This was going to be fun' Watson chided to himself.
Reaching out a surprisingly free from sweat hand, he turned the great brass knob of the tap and watched the water splutter out. John rolled the sleeves of his jumper up above his elbows and firmly pushed the plug into its provided hole. Asoft whooshing noise filled the room as the bath began to fill with hot water.
John heard Sherlock whimper next to him, the bathroom wasn't very spacious (barely having enough space to fit a toilet, a sink and this monstrosity of a bath as it was)so John wasn't really surprised when he felt Sherlock's head plant firmly on his shoulder again.
'Good god' he thought to himself 'It's a bloody good thing I'm a doctor!'
Well, ex-doctor; that stung a bit but it was true. Still, no reason to believe that he had lost all his knowledge. He had had it forced into him through harsh training and a lot of blood. Thank god there was no blood present with Sherlock.
The ex-soldier sighed and dipped his hand into the scolding water, gasping and pulling back straight away afterwards. Maybe it would be a good idea to add the cold water now, just a thought. What with John's arm now a burnt red colour up to his elbow, it might just be a very good idea indeed.
Forcing the hot tap to squeak to a stop, John leant across to turn the cold tap into motion only to discover it wouldn't budge.
"Bloody bath." He muttered to himself, hitting it with the heel of his hand and cracking the stiff copper into full gush.
The harsh movement had knocked Sherlock off balance and now he was, once more, gripping at the neck of John's jumper while resting his head in the crook of his own arm. Well, that almost pulled John into the bath, but he steadied himself against the edge of the tub. He was still a little shit even when he was unaware of what he was doing.
"John…" his baritone voice moaned helplessly.
"Sshh, you're going to be fine, I'm just running you a bath, okay?" the doctor soothed, patting his flatmate awkwardly on the head.
Did he just pat Sherlock Holmes on the head? Did he just pat the Sherlock Holmes on the head like some sort of dog!? John sighed in humiliation. Well, at least he wasn't going to remember anything.
He dared to dip his hand once more into the not-so-scolding water and smiled at the result. Now, the difficult bit, getting this stubborn bastard into the bath.
Knocking the stiff handle back into place, John moved cautiously, trying not to alert the detective too much as he dried his hands on his trousers.
"Right, erm, Sherlock…" he started, carefully removing the detective's hand from pretty much tearing his jumper to shreds. He held him a little more gently by his arm now so he didn't fall, "We need to get you in now."
Sherlock blinked his verdigris orbs at his highly trusted flat mate and nodded slowly.
John was happy that Sherlock seemed to be responding now, but his temperature still hadn't gone down and he could tell by just looking at him that he was still sweating like a two penny whore on double pay.
"Right, okay…" John grabbed the other man's leg and helped him hoist it into the bath tub, feeling the puff of a gasp against the back of his neck as Sherlock's sweat chilled skin made contact with the hot water.
After a lot of struggle and John eventually getting so wet that he might as well be in the tub with Sherlock, Holmes was finally in the bath. Goosebumps had risen on his skin and he was shivering despite the hot water that John was now helpfully sloshing against his back.
Sherlock had his knees drawn up against his chest and probably looked the most venerable and tired John had ever seen him look. The army doctor picked up a nearby sponge and continued to drown it in the hot water, rinsing it over Sherlock's back once more.
"Don't worry…" he spoke softly, feeling that Sherlock was oddly sensitive when he was ill. He definitely wasn't his usual arrogant self that was for sure, "It's only a little fever, it'll pass, you're going to be okay."
Holmes sniffed glumly, staring point blank at the end of the bath. He sighed and buried his lower face in his arms so only his luminescent eyes peered over the alabaster skin.
John sighed. It seemed Mr Holmes was also quite emotional when he was ill, which came to a bit of a change to John who was so used to seeing a closed off man.
John squeezed the sponge over Sherlock's neck and watched as the hairs there stood on end and then brushed the sponge soothingly over his friend's back.
He managed to give his flatmate a proper, almost clinical wash without much complaint. Sherlock's limbs might as well have been boneless in his grip, which made it easier for him to wash under his arms and chest.
"Right now, time to just wash your hair and then we're done and you can sleep." He prattled on, finishing his sentence with a reassuring smile.
John hoisted up from his haunches and scouted around the crowded bathroom for something that would hold water. He found a bowl but evidently was almost sick in the sink when he realised it was full to the brim with decaying cockroaches.
"Urgh, shit Sherlock, that's disgusting!" the doctor exclaimed, Sherlock just groaned softly and gently bit his arm…He'd been doing that throughout the whole bath. It was most likely a nervous thing, his body was responding to him being in such a vulnerable state but couldn't react due to the fever boiling in his veins.
Retching as he swiftly emptied the roaches into the bin, John washed the very existence of the bowl away in the sink, considering bleach but deciding against it. When Watson was sure the bowl had been successfully reborn, he padded back over to the bath where Sherlock had started to shiver again.
His glassy eyes flickered towards his flatmate as he approached, watching him slowly but not really taking anything in properly. Sherlock blinked his dark lashes and his eyes fixed on the bowl John was holding in his hands.
Eyebrows furrowed in confusion across porcelain skin, his bright orbs clumsily eyeing John once more but as he opened his mouth to speak, John shushed him. Speaking seemed like too much effort at the moment for his ill friend, so he was better off not doing it. Doctor's orders.
Plus, it was a bonus every now and then not to hear the detective's full toned voice calling out to John, or even talking to himself.
"No, no, hush." John stressed, gently pulling the detective back towards him as he cowered in the corner. The fevered hallucinations were coming back and it seemed, this time, in full force.
The doctor's fingertips brushed over the chilled skin of his friend in an attempt to steer him into a more comfortable position, unfortunately Sherlock was having none of it.
As soon as the calloused hands touched his arm, he yelped and jerked away from them at high speed to the other side of the bath, in all the hurry he even smacked his head against the wall but he didn't seem to care.
"Sh-Sherlock, it's okay…" John panicked, wondering if this was going to pass without some fatal accident.
The water sloshed around the taller man's waist as he scrambled to push his back further into the wall, his pupils had shrunk to small dots and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Overall, he looked pretty terrified.
"Ssshh now, it's me remember…it's John…" the doctor eased himself towards the panicked sleuth "…You know…your 'best friend'." he inclined his head sarcastically, fully aware Sherlock was in no state to concentrate on whether that was sarcasm or not.
Sherlock whimpered and continued to struggle but soon realised that there was nowhere else for him to go.
"Now, now…" John moved slowly, gently filling the bowl with the-surprisingly still warm- water and holding it steady. The detective watched his every move with frightening accuracy despite his clouded mind.
"…Just…" he reached out is free hand, carefully inching it towards Sherlock who scowled at it as if it had murdered his family. Wetting his lips, John tentatively grasped the back of the sleuth's neck and eased him forwards.
Said sleuth stiffened in his grip and did all that he could to stop him from coming any closer to the doctor, even if it meant thrashing about like a dying sea lion.
Watson sighed and held back a yelp as he was splashed with yet more of Sherlock's bath water. It seemed Sherlock was having a very Sherlock-like tantrum. By which is meant that he is an annoying little bastard like always.
"Oh for god's sake, Sherlock!" John roared and tipped the entirety of the bowl over the flailing detective's head.
Well, that shut him up.
Sherlock spluttered like a cat that had just fallen into it's milk and quickly balled his fists into his eyes to clear them of water, gasping all the while.
"Well then…" John smirked, leaning over to pick up some sort of shampoo bottle. Double checking to make sure it wasn't full of battery acid or something, he squeezed a generous amount into his palm.
Sherlock was sat up straight in the tub now, his face a picture of a pouting child. John laughed quietly.
"Are we quite alright now…no…you know…strange octopi coming to disrupt your wonderful salon session?" Sherlock continued to remain stony up until when John began to lather the shampoo into his curled locks, then his expression softened.
It reminded John very much of a cat in the sense that he could be a foul tempered little shite but would soften up if it involved him. And he was by no way referring to the quite purr that vibrated from the man's throat, oh god no.
Watson continued to work the shampoo through his rich curls, denying the fact that he'd secretly wanted to do this for a while now, just to see what his hair felt like.
Well, it felt like…hair.
Sherlock keened into the touch and John still couldn't deny that his fever was going as strong as ever. He could feel the heated scalp under his fingertips and just knew that the rest of his body felt like that.
"Right then…" he brought his hands away from the other's head and washed the suds off into the bath, retrieving the bowl once more and filling it with water, "Close your eyes…" he warned. Sherlock obeyed, something he usually wouldn't do if he wasn't ill but never the less, John didn't take it for granted.
Carefully- an adjective John seemed to be repeating in his mind a lot- he tilted the sleuth's head back and gently poured the water over his head to rid his curls from suds. Sherlock gasped as the water cascaded over his scalp but otherwise stayed still, thankfully.
The doctor repeated this few times, each time making sure that the suds were slowly disappearing, and when he was absolutely sure his friend's scalp was rinsed through properly he pulled the plug. The water made a gurgling noise as it escaped down the drain and John found himself wishing he could do the same thing, as now it was time.
Time to get this difficult and obstinate bastard out of the bath.
Holmes looked at his friend, confusion clouded his eyes along with the fever and it overall made the man look very drunk. John wet his lips and stood up, trying to think of the best way to go about this.
He glanced down at the sad, sorry looking and wet detective that now sat in an empty bath and was reminded of a homeless dog.
"Right then…um…" nervously, the doctor grabbed Sherlock under the arms. The detective froze but then seemed to register what was happening. He steadied his pale and soaked hands on John's shoulders as he stood, stepping clumsily over the edge of the bath and almost knocking the doctor to the floor as he stumbled into him.
"S-sorry." His rich voice croaked and John was surprised to hear the first words the man had spoken in a good three quarters of an hour.
"N-nah, it's nothing." He tried to brush it off but he was more than a little angry that the detective had managed to get him fully soaked now, and a little flushed at the fact Sherlock had actually said sorry to him. That just wasn't natural of him so John put it down to the fever.
Sherlock shivered against him and brought the soldier back to his full attention. Right, towel. He didn't want Sherlock to catch a cold as well as a fever, which would be horrendous. Not to mention a bad move for him as a doctor.
Risking himself to lean back a little, John managed to snag a clean-ish looking towel from a rack not far from his reach. Hell, anything wasn't far from his reach in this tiny bathroom.
Tentatively, he wrapped the towel around Sherlock's shoulders and Sherlock took it thankfully, resting his head on John's shoulder…again!
As if John's jumper could get any wetter anyway. No it was fine, it was only his best jumper, nothing- you know- major.
The doctor took a step backwards and sighed when Sherlock almost fell to the floor, unable to stand without his support.
"Jesus, Sherlock…" he groaned, taking the detectives towel clad shoulders and leading him blindly out of the bathroom, which was easier for Sherlock than it was John as John couldn't see where he was going. "Can you actually do anything without my help?"
John knew the answer to that, and the answer was no…no he couldn't.
Watson hissed as his calf hit a chair and he almost fell backwards into it, but he corrected himself quickly and manoeuvred around said annoying furniture without much grace. Sherlock was staring him in the eyes the whole time and it was actually starting to get so uncomfortable that John had to look away.
Finally John found the bed, well, almost fell over the bed would be a better way to put it. The doctor spun his friend around a little too quickly for his poor fevered head and sat him firmly down, briefly making sure he was dried off properly.
Shit, he was still boiling.
John knew the first place he'd be visiting as soon as he got a spare minute and that would be the pharmacy, no doubting it.
"Right then, I'll just..." and then he paused, because he was going to say 'I'll get you something to wear' but then realised he didn't know where Sherlock kept his clothes, let alone what would be suitable for him to wear to bed.
Looking around for a quick substitute, he noticed one of Holmes' dressing gowns crumpled on the floor. 'That'll do' he thought to himself as he risked moving away from his dearest friend to go pick it up.
Upon turning back, it appeared Sherlock had fallen to sleep on the spot, sat up in his bed. John would be lying if he said that wasn't the tiniest bit adorable.
"Okay then Mr 'Transport'…" he chuckled and gently fed his long arms through the sleeves of his dressing gown, wrapping it around him and laying him down, "…not so 'overrated' now, is it?"
John left the room altogether a bit more shaken up than he had been watching that terrible soap opera. He left the door open to hear for any noise as he picked his mug up from where it was still balanced- 'well, at least some things do as I tell them'- and taking it into the kitchen to wash.
This was going to be a long week, John could sense it.
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Thanks for reading!
The next chapter will have smut, i promise!
Please comment, it helps me write faster so I can get this smut done and you can read it as quickly as possible!
hoaxsuicide *hint hint*