Thanks for all the follows, reviews and get well wishes! You lot are the best! I'm fully recovered from my illness and have new inspiration for poor John.
This one is a bit more comfort than hurt/comfort, but...well, I couldn't torture him the entire time.
Disclaimer; I don't own anything here. Simple as that.
John stepped back into 221B and shivered. He could really feel the side effects of his fever now. Every single bone in his body ached and his head was throbbing so hard he could hear it in his ears. His vision swam not long ago when he left the surgery and he was still trying to clear his head. He stumbled up the stairs and into the flat and dropped his coat on the rack, taking note that Sherlock's was not there. He was out then. Good. Maybe the flat would be quiet and he could get rid of this headache. He cleared his throat and grabbed at his neck. He needed medicine and maybe some tea if he could stand long enough to make it. He cough repeatedly into his hand, groaning before making his way straight for the paracetamol. He swallowed them with some orange juice and returned to the living room, deciding he couldn't stand any longer. He grabbed the remote and sat down on the couch and waited until his medicine kicked in, unable to do anything else.
He had just covered himself with a blanket and started flipping through channels on the telly when Mrs. Hudson walked in the door with a feather duster in her hands.
She gasped and put her hand over her heart when she saw John.
"Good gracious, John! I didn't hear you come in! Why are you home so early?"
John sighed, loosening the tightness in his chest.
"Ah, just got a bit of a fever." He coughed into his hand again and crinkled his nose. He had brought up a bit of mucus. Gross. He reached for a nearby tissue and wiped it away.
Mrs. Hudson immediately looked concerned.
"A fever? Oh dear, how high luv?"
He licked his lip and shook his head.
"High enough to be sent home from work."
Mrs. Hudson tutted.
"Oh John, you need to take better care of yourself."
John cleared his throat, cringing as the action felt as if he had started a fire in his larynx.
"I thought I did."
"You have stretched yourself far too thin, John. You've been running around with Sherlock all night and going to work all day with no time to rest in between! No wonder you got sick! You need rest now, and maybe something for that fever. I'll tell you what dear, I'll make you some soup. How would you like that, luv?"
John just smiled. It was amazing how much Mrs. Hudson reminded him of his mother.
"That'd be lovely, Mrs. H." He sighed and sank further into the couch cushions.
Mrs. Hudson nodded.
"You stay put, I'll fix you up some soup and some nice cold medication."
John did as ordered, coughing into his hand once more before pulling the blanket a bit closer.
Mrs. Hudson returned a few minutes later with a cup of warm tea and a measuring cup full of liquid cold medicine.
"Here you are young man. Drink up."
He thanked her and took the medicine first. He couldn't help but cringe at the vile taste, but he made no complaints. He took the cup next, taking a sip and his eyes rolled back in his head in relief as it calmed his throat.
"That any better?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"Gosh, yes." John sighed, his voice not cracking in the slightest. It was such a relief to talk without a white-hot iron in his throat.
Mrs. Hudson smiled.
"I'll fix that soup, dear, you just sit there and rest."
John nodded and took another sip, feeling the honey's glorious effects working.
He sat his cup down for a moment, willing himself to savour his tea and not drink it all in one sitting, and then picked up his laptop and opened it. He clicked and scrolled through his blog, reading the comments below the posts.
The delicious aroma of broth filled the air. He smiled. His stomach rumbled and he actually felt a little hungry for the first time today.
"Oh my gosh!" He heard Mrs. Hudson cry from the kitchen. He looked up, alarmed, but he stopped worrying when he saw her holding up a bag of bloody thumbs. She held them up for John to see.
"Sherlock needs to stop bringing these things in with him! It is unsanitary and I will not allow it into this flat!"
John laughed.
"It's on his shelf. He said something about carrots and fingers dissolving or something to that effect."
Mrs. Hudson gasped and held the bag farther away from herself and dropped it back on the shelf.
"Ugh, that Sherlock...where is he? He disappeared not long after you left for work, but he didn't say where he was going."
John shrugged, eyes drooping slowly.
"Didn't say anything to me either. He did say something about a client this morning."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head.
"No one came to the flat. He just left."
John shrugged again.
"Probably had another case or went out to the morgue with Molly."
"Alright...well, your soup's ready dear!" She announced, pouring some in a bowl and grabbing a few crackers and walking over with a tray of lovely smelling food.
"Thanks Mrs. H. You are positively spectacular." He kissed her on the cheek as she placed the eat off tray on his lap.
"Anytime, luv. If you need anything else, I'll be just around here. I was going to dust out the bookshelves in Sherlock's room."
John nodded and tool a sip of the broth. It was truly amazing. Mrs. Hudson's cooking was, dare he say it, the best food he had ever tasted.
After he had finished the bowl he sighed in content. He felt much better now that the aches and pains had lessened and his head no longer felt like a ticking time bomb. He wasn't shivering and he had stopped sweating and feeling dizzy so he guessed that his fever had slacked off for now. He felt completely exhausted. Exhausted and surprisingly comfortable.
"Mrs. Turner next door has some special cough drops," Mrs. Hudson called from the bedroom, "They worked wonders when she had that terrible cough not too long ago. I could pop next door and get you some if you'd like?"
She was surprised when her question went unanswered. Curious, she peeked into the living room.
"John?"
John had stretched out across the sofa, his head fallen forward so that his chin rested on his chest as he snored softly. Mrs. Hudson put a hand over her heart. The poor man was out like a light! She suspected the cold medicine had begun to work its wonders. She pulled his blankets up and put her hand to his forehead. A bit warm, but nothing deathly. She patted him on the shoulder and listened to him snore as she turned off all the lamps.
She decided he definitely looked better than he had before.
A/N; looks can be deceiving. It will get worse before it gets better, John.
Sorry for the fluff, it demanded to be written. Because Mrs. Hudson is such a nice landlady, and I couldn't have John suffer the whole time.
Sherlock will be in the next chapter and will have to deal with a sick blogger. Oh dear.