Here's the next chap. Hope you like and please review! They are love ^-^
Illness was just something Lestrade couldn't wrap his head around. It was rather nasty, always making you cough and sneeze, and it made you completely vulnerable for days on end. And though he hated even the idea of germs and bacteria, he didn't hate the people who caught it.
"You know, I could always go check up on him if it would make you feel better."
Lestrade huffed at John's suggestion. They were in his office after a rather long case, ending with Sherlock half passed out on the sofa in the corner, when Lestrade mentioned Dimmock catching a cold. They all could've avoided this if Dimmock had just worn his jacket to that case last week, but the guy had strong pride and was a strong non believer of superstition.
"I don't think he needs any more doctors pestering over him. Just a little nap is all."
John quirked a blonde eyebrow, his lips sticking out in obvious disagreement.
"But if it's a cold then he might need medication."
"Oh no," Lestrade pushed. "He has all the bloody medication I could find on the stuff. It's just his first cold, and he thinks that if he has every medication on cold, it'll go away in an hour or so."
"Are you bloody serious? His first cold and he's what, thirty two?"
"Thirty six, and yes, he's never had a cold. I asked him about it and he said that he was always healthy. It wouldn't help his future career if he was always taking the day off." Greg moved down farther into his chair and bit into his donut.
"Brilliant! I have to find out how he does it." He paused to rethink his words. "Or did it, anyway. And why did he stop in the first place?"
Lestrade blinked, taken aback at the question. "Umm- he forgot his um…." Lestrade face burned bright red, and his focus shifted down to the ground. This wasn't the kind of conversation he wanted to be having with Sherlock's lover.
'You know what, I don't need to know," John said a little too fast. He was smiling at what he probably thought had happened, and seeing how he was with Sherlock, the man couldn't be too far off.
Lestrade nodded; glad he didn't have to explain. "So, how are things with Sherlock?"
"Oh, you know same old, same old. Every day I wake up to a body part either in the fridge or somewhere equally as important. I yell but it just doesn't faze the guy."
Lestrade smiled at the doctor, knowing how the consulting detective could be. "It'd be best not to waste your voice, seeing as how nothing important gets through his head."
"Should've told me that sooner."
Lestrade laughed before getting up out of his office chair. He made it to the door before turning around to Watson. "Well, if you don't mind, John, I have to go make sure Dimmock's not getting into any trouble."
Dimmock's lonely looking flat was dark through the windows as Lestrade made his way up the stairs. Once he was finally in front of 498c, Lestrade gave a quite knock to the aged wooden door.
The door to Dimmock's flat creaked open a minute later holding up a rather sickly colored DI. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering Dimmock's forehead, and his cheeks were a dark red color, as if all of his body heat had transferred to his face. And then there was the instinctive sound of wheezing coming from his lungs which told Lestrade that the younger man hadn't coughed the mucus out of his system yet.
He took a deep breath before steering his boyfriend into the dark flat. "You look somehow worse than this morning. I'll turn on the telly, and we can watch Doctor Who tonight."
Lestrade shut the door behind them, ignoring the wines of protest escaping Dimmock's mouth.