Sherlock gets the flu

The phone rang early the morning to come and John flailed his arms over the floor to get it out of his charger. Sherlock turned on his side of the bed and groaned loudly as John started to talk to whoever was on the other side. The loud signal pained his head and the moving around hurt every limb, he was really going sick.

"Yes, yes of course. I'll be in in an hour." The weight shifted in the bed as John stepped out and Sherlock opened his eyes to see what he was up to. "It was the clinic. Someone called in sick so I need to cover for him." he explained and stepped out of his pyjamas to hit the shower. It was dark still and Sherlock made no effort to keep himself awake. He looked to his side and stole John's pillow to prop himself up a bit more, he shouldn't have done that. The sand in his head shifted and he fell back on the bed, pulling his hair. Somehow, he must have slumbered for a moment. Next time he opened his eyes John stood by the wardrobe, hair newly washed and stepping into his work clothes.

"John?" he breathed and felt the pain in his throat. The doctor crawled back in bed and wound his arms around him to say good bye.

"There are some left overs in the fridge, make sure Hamish eats properly, and so should you." Sherlock answered him with a tired hum and placed a heavy arm around John's waist. "And try not to tare down the house today." He hummed again and John kissed him. "And you should read some more to him today, the more he learns the sooner he will speak." He nodded and swallowed painfully. "I'll miss you." A cold hand stroke his cheek and he managed to give his husband a tired smile.

"Feelings are mutual." he whispered and squinted in the dark to look at him. John looked tired, it had been a late night for them both full of cuddling and pleasuring. "Do you have to go?" John chuckled and kissed him again.
"Christmas coming up." he reminded him and hugged him tightly, every vain in his body pained but he didn't care. Because John was holding him. "See you at four." And he was off. Leaving Sherlock alone in the dark bedroom and he groaned loudly as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in. But then, there was a light knock on the door. A newly awake Hamish was standing in the frame, the skull under his arms and hair in every direction.

"Good morning." Sherlock greeted him and patted John's side of the bed. "Care to join me?" The boy hurried into the room and placed the skull on his place before jumping up in bed. He tucked himself in under the same cover as his father and Sherlock placed his arms around him. "Guess we have the whole day to our self. Daddy had to go to work." He buried his nose in his sons dark hair and took a deep breath, smelling the shampoo and skin cream that was a part of Hamish. "Let's just sleep a little more and then have some breakfast." Hamish nodded with his forehead against his chest and his small hand traced inside of Sherlock t-shirt sleeve for warmth. "Do you want me to read some more today?" He nodded and crawled a little closer to his chest. "Will do then. Go back to sleep now."

It felt like he's slept for less than a second when someone started to shake his shoulder. His lids were glued and he couldn't move under the cover, his body was to heavy and painful. He managed to open his eyes, but his sight was blurry. Eyes disobeyed him.

"Hamish?" he breathed, but fell into a fit of painful coughing. Lungs disobeyed him. Then he felt the weight of Hamish on his chest and the boy placed his ear against his ribs. Just like John did on him when he was sick, he was listening. "Hamish." he tried again and placed a heavy hand on his head, but his lungs were filled with something that felt like water. This was bad. "We should..." another pure fit of painful coughing and he turned his head to the side, he couldn't breath. His throat was useless and he started to panic when his body gave up on him. His body was useless. This must be what drowning felt like. Was he about to die in the presence of his son. What a cruel fate it would be for them both. But Hamish was smart. As soon as he heard the raspy breaths he got up of bed and ran to the pile of clothes Sherlock wore yesterday to pull out the phone. But he didn't give it to Sherlock. Instead, he succeeded to locate John's number since it was presented with a picture of him and he called him himself. The boy who hand't spoken a single word during his lifetime opened his mouth and...

"Dad's sick."

Sherlock heard him and did everything he could to get back into breathing. This wasn't how it was supposed to be the first time Hamish spoke. Sherlock opened his mouth big enough for his jaw to break and sucked the air around him. It finally came back to him and he felt the weight of Hamish on his chest again. He looked down and saw the tears streaming down his face, his small hands pinned to his shirt and his eyes was closed hard. Breathing was still difficult, and his head was about to explode in pure pain, but he didn't care about himself at the moment. Hamish was probably more scared than him right now.

"Hamish." he breathed heavily and wound his arms around him. "It's okay. I'll be alright." But his lungs were filled with water again and he couched loudly, every spasm tore through his throat, eventually making him gag. "Get off me for a moment." Muscles contracted around his stomach, forcing whatever was in him up his throat and Hamish crawled back into the bed. The detective needed the bathroom, quick before he threw up in the floor. But he only managed to sit up before the strength abandoned him. He hit the floor and landed in a pile of weak limbs. Was this the end?

John ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time and reached the flat.

"Sherlock!" he shouted and looked around in the sitting room and kitchen. "Hamish!?" He continued his search and reached the bedroom. There on the floor laid Sherlock on his back with Hamish on top of him. Clinging to him with everything he've got and tears falling down his face. This was something he never wanted to witness. "Oh god.." He stumbled across the room and landed beside them. He had to break Hamish away from the unconscious Sherlock. "It's okay, Hamish. Dad will be okay. I just have to take a look at him." Eventually Hamish released his grip of Sherlock's t-shirt and John pulled him into a hug while checking his husband's pulse, it was there, but weak. Hamish buried his face onto his shoulder and sobbed quietly. "I'm sorry Hamish, but I'll hold you in a moment. I have to take care of dad now, okay?" The boy was brave, he stepped over Sherlock and fell to his knees beside him to hold his big hand while John stroke his forehead. The man's brain was burning.

"Sherlock?" he said loudly and listened to his breathing that was squeaking in his chest. "Sherlock, can you hear me?" The detective looked very peaceful, like he'd just fallen asleep while standing, but he was paler than usual. John had never seen him this sick. "Sherlock?" Finally his eyes fluttered and he took a big shaky breath. "There you are." John said with a sigh of relief and stroke the hair out of his eyes. "What are you doing on the floor?" The detective started to tremble. Of cold of fear, John could not tell. "Can you hear me, love?" A cough left his throat, a raspy, thick cough followed by a loud groan and John cupped his face. "Can you focus on me, please? Come on Sherlock. Look at me." His glossy eyes locked on him and John gave him a calming smile. "Your fever is through the roof. We need to get it down. Okay?"

What John really wanted to do, was panicking. He wanted to scream and shout because he'd never seen his husband this ill. The moment he'd laid eyes on him on the floor he thought that he was just as damned as everyone else in his presence. People just seemed to have a way of dying if he ever got close to them. But he kept himself calm and brave, he didn't want to scare Hamish. So, he put a smile on his face and put on the roll of a doctor more than a worried husband.

"Up you go." he ordered and placed Sherlock's arm around his neck to hoist him up. Legs wobbled under him and Hamish took his part in the mission to get Sherlock the the shower by grabbing his trousers. His head hung as John dragged the weak detective to the bathroom. "Come on, move your leg." It was a heavy duty, Sherlock's body was failing him and every muscle in him was soft. He was barely conscious. "Come on love." They got closer to the door of the bathroom and Hamish ran to open it for them. "Hamish, could you get me some towels? We need to cool dad down with some cold water." The floor was still wet since John showered and he almost slipped on the tiles, but luckily he managed to stop the fall by grasping the counter. With the heart in his throat, he sat Sherlock down on the floor of the shower and fell to his knees beside him.

"Sherlock?" he tried again and saw how the detective tried to wake himself up by lifting his head. It was useless. "It might get a little cold now, but don't panic." A pile of towels dropped down beside him and he reached for the shower head to wet them down in lukewarm water. Hamish stood close to the curtain, just staring with teared eyes and John shot him a worried look. Why did mrs Hudson need to leave this weekend when they suddenly needed her the most? "Hamish? D'you wanna help?" He held out the wet towel and the boy gave him a questioning look. "We're making him better. Just hold it to his neck." It took some time, but Hamish wanted to help. He took the towel and stepped into the shower to help his father. The coldness from the water sent a shivering breath over Sherlock lips and his body twitched. His face bundled up into a painful grimace and he groaned as his head fell back to the wall. John wetted another towel and placed it on his thin arm. The detectives head tossed back and forward and Hamish reached out his hand to stroke his fathers curls. Then Sherlock started coughing again and John placed a hand behind his neck until the fit was over. The detectives eyes fluttered again and they finally focused on John.

"John?" he breathed heavily and the doctor stroke his thumb back and forth over his jaw. "You're home early." He was still burning and in need for more treatment of cold water, but John was relieved to have him back so quickly.

"How are you feeling." John asked with a smiled and saw him shaking. "You gave us quite a scare." Sherlock swallowed painfully and blinked. The world around him had gone into a wild blur of colours.

"Where's Hamish?" He felt someone pull his arm and he looked to his left. The small boy stood close to him, teared up but still wearing a smile on his face. "I'm so sorry love. I didn't mean to scare you." To his relief, Hamish fell into his chest. Hugging him with his short arms and sobbed quietly, his father's had never seen him like this. Of course he'd cried before, but never so painfully as now and Sherlock placed a heavy arm around him to comfort. It was impossible to keep his head up so it fell forward, forehead landing on the crown of Hamish's head and that's where he stayed, holding his boy half asleep and cold towels touching his skin.

"How are you feeling?" John asked again and stood up to get his medical kit from the cupboard. There was no answer from him and John deduced that he'd probably gone back to sleep again.

"Dad?" There was that voice again and the doctor turned quickly to look at his little family in the shower. "You need to tell daddy what's wrong so he can help you." The air disappeared out of the room and the world outside became unimportant comparing to this. Less than twenty minutes ago his phone had rung in the middle of an examination of a patient, and when he answered his heard the little voice. He never doubted it was Hamish, but the words he spoke wasn't what he wanted to hear. Tears burnt the back if his eyes and he bit down hard so he wouldn't cry.

Nothing in the bag was on it's place, probably Sherlock's doing from an old experiment with the gauze, but he eventually found the thermometer in the bottom.

"Sherlock?" he said and lifted his head. "Keep this under your tongue for a minute." When his hands were free again he pressed the cold towel to his body. "Guess you're not immune to the flue after all."

"You were never this bad during your flue." Sherlock moaned miserably and heard John chuckle.

"Well, you have a way of being a bit overdramatic now and then." he said and kissed his forehead, making Sherlock giggle with a sore throat. The thermometer beeped and John took a look. "Well aren't you a bad man? 39,9!? Lucky you we have such a brave boy in the house who could help you." He was looking at Hamish who was pressing his cheek against Sherlocks collarbone, tears still flowing but he was smiling now. "Let's get dad a little cooler, shall we?" Hamish nodded and sniffled before he grabbed the towel again. Pressing it to his fathers cheek while rubbing his fingers on his scalp, something they used to do to him when he was sick. Sherlock shivered violently and tried to pull away. The pain and cold was to much for him to control.

"Dad, you have to be still." said Hamish strictly and John couldn't help his tears anymore. Hamish was talking, and he was good at it. He quickly wiped his welling tears and leaned in to kiss his sons head. When he pulled back Hamish looked up at pierced him with his death stare. "Dad's sick. No time for kissing."

"Alright, alright." said John, fighting the urge to laugh and cry. It was hard. Hearing Hamish's voice for the first time was so overwhelming he just wanted to pull the boy into a hug. Carry him around for the rest of the day and hear him say all the words that the boy had in his mind. But Hamish was right, now was not the time.

Sherlock started to come back. Slowly, but he was getting there. He kept his eyes open, eyes locked on Hamish and when he finally had the energy to smile he smiled wide and proudly.

"You have a beautiful voice Hamish." he said and cupped the boy's face with his left hand. "Please let me hear it more often." Hamish pressed his lips hard together until the form a thin line and stared down on his feet. A knot tied itself in Sherlock's chest. Maybe he shouldn't have pointed it out.

"I will dad." he said suddenly and nodded, still looking at his feet. "I will."

No one could see the tears on his wet face, but John could hear the joyful sob leaving his throat as Sherlock pulled their son in for a big hug. The short arms found their way around his neck and hugged him back.

"That's my boy." Sherlock groaned into the dark hair and kissed his temple. "You have a beautiful voice for speaking. When you know how to read you'll be the one reading to me."

"Okay, don't stress him." said John with a smirk and pressed the cold towel to his forehead. "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads." Sherlock lied and his head fell back to the wall again. John called his bluff.

"So you honestly think you could stand without falling over?" he asked and Sherlock sighed.

"Standing is boring." he said and John snorted.

"Yes, and so is breathing and and being conscious I presume? Shall we get you back to bed perhaps?" There was no need for an answer. Sherlock was barely awake anyways. But John checked his temperature a second time when Hamish suddenly ran out of the room. "Where are you going?" There was no reply and he lent forward to get a look out in the bedroom. "Hamish?" He heard the sound of a drawer being pulled out and slammed closed and two second later the boy was back with some folded clothes.

"Dad can't go to bed all wet." he said and placed the pile on the lid of the toilet. "He will get worse if he do that." This was a moment of pride for John. His son was intelligent as his dad and as caring as him. They'd done well raising him and now when the boy could express himself by talking he wasn't just a shadow in their home anymore. It was like he'd become real.

"You're quite right." he chuckled and saw how the temperature had dropped to an acceptable number. "Let's get dad out of these wet clothes."

It was quite a struggle to get a sleeping Sherlock out of his clothes, but both Hamish and John took their part. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, drying his upper body with a clean towel and the hardest part was the pants. John held Sherlock up as Hamish pulled and they were soon to be off. They dressed him in nothing more than a new shirt and underpants before John decided that he would carry him to the bed. Painful shoulder or not, Sherlock couldn't walk by himself. The boy followed him with quick stepped and jumped up in bed to get the cover out of the way. Hamish helped tucking him in and Sherlock started to come back again as soon as he felt the soft surroundings. Just looking around and carefully squirming himself into place.

"I'll get you some water." John informed him and left the room. Water was probably for the best, his throat needed to be chilled.

"Dad?" The sand in his head shifted again as he turned to see his son. The tears had stopped falling down his cheeks, but he had a serious face now, almost like he tried to warn him of something. "You need to tell daddy when you're sick. I can't take care of you by myself." That boy truly had a big vocabulary for his age. John was probably right. Hamish was probably to shy to speak before he could use the language properly and he had snapped up every word that had passed him. And today he had been forced to use his knowledge of words. Maybe he had realised that he wasn't so bad at it, or maybe he just loved to see how happy it made his parents.

"I know." he said hoarsely and stoke his hand over his sons cheek. "Come here." Hamish fell into his fathers arms and Sherlock held him as tight as he could. "You're such a brave little boy. You've got that after your daddy. I'm so sorry I scared you."

"I was worried, not scared." said Hamish and snuggled his face into his neck. "I'm never scared." The sweetest line from the sweetest boy, Sherlock thought and caressed his back with a smirk.

"I'm sorry I worried you then." he said and saw John walking into the bedroom again with a glass of a water.

"Make sure to drink some and take these." He sat down in the bedside and held the cold glass to his cheek. It was a wonderful feeling to his hot face and he saw the pills in John's hand. "It will dissolve the mucus in your lungs and throat. Making it easier to cough up."

"Always so informative, John. Well done." he groaned and let his husband drop the pills into his mouth. After that, the straw tickled his lip and he sucked the cold water to chase the tablets down his throat. "Hold it to my cheek again." John pressed the cold glass back on his skin and saw how Sherlock enjoyed the cool down.

"Try to sleep it off. I'll make Hamish some breakfast." The detective just nodded and John turned to the boy lying on his father's chest. "Let's not disturb dad anymore." he whispered and Hamish reached out his arms for John to pick him up. "What do you want for breakfast?" The boy kept his arms around his neck as they walked into the kitchen. "Cereal? Toast?" He was dying to hear Hamish voice again and he prayed that he wouldn't fall back into silence again. The biggest fear was that he would handle this wrong. He had no idea which words would encourage him and which would scare him.

"Eggs." said Hamish into the crock of his neck. "Boiled eggs with mayonnaise." The first meal was demanded and John couldn't be more proud. "And bacon." he added and John giggled.

"That's sound delicious." he said and put him down on the floor in the kitchen to attend to the breakfast. "Do you want coffee with that?" This question was asked every breakfast and was always followed by a laugh and a shake of the head from Hamish. But today was different.

"What do you think, daddy?" John hid his head in the fridge for a couple of second more, just having his own little fit of happiness. Eyes shut hard together, heart pumping violently behind his ribs, a scream of joy waiting in his throat which he released with a mute hiss behind clenched teeth.

"You're right." he said and got his head out from between cartons of milk and juice. "Silly me." Even if his husband had a close call this morning and now was unconscious in bed, Baker street felt healed.

Please, please, please tell me what you think! :D