Love:The Power of Life and Death- Johnlock

I Can't Thank You Enough...

"Sherlock?" John called as he stumbled down the stairs of the flat. "Sherlock!"

The doctor slammed the door of the living room open with so much force that he significantly weakened the hinges. It was 4'o clock in the morning, but considering the fact that his detective didn't sleep often, John decided to check the kitchen for Sherlock. It was empty. Well the living room was out of the question, John had already checked as he ran through to the kitchen; John decided to look in the bathroom. He was ceased by violent coughing coming from behind the bedroom door as he walked past it.

John quickly entered without bothering to knock  to find a man sprawled across the bed; his skin was as white as his sheet- which was now hanging off the edge of his bed- and the room smelled vile. The doctor slowly crouched beside Sherlock's face; in response, the suffering man opened his eyes. His light eyes that appeared so bright and full of wisdom were now dull, almost lifeless. John had never seen Sherlock so vulnerable. The doctor gently rested the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead to measure his temperature before analysing his other symptoms. "How do you feel, Sherlock?"

"My choice of words may be offensive." He mumbled. 

"Do you have a headache?" Sherlock nodded.

"Are you achy? Do you have a sore throat?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

"Both." Sherlock croaked.  John could clearly see that the detective didn't want to talk, the poor man began to shiver, despite his alarmingly high temperature. A dry cough escaped his chapped lips.

John cursed quietly after diagnosing Sherlock's illness as he made his way to the bathroom. He returned shortly after with a flannel soaked in water as cold as the snow that shimmered on the rooftops of London.  John brushed away sweat-soaked curls sticking to Sherlock's forehead and replaced them with the flannel, intensifying Sherlock's shivers.

"Looks like you have the flu..." John remarked as he tracked the man's temperature. Sherlock remained silent. "Don't be ridiculous, John. " The now dissipating fever restored strength in  his voice. "If I'm that ill I can't work. I can't have that happen.  What I have, is a mere cold."

"Sherlock, as brilliant as you are," a blush coloured the detective's pale face, "I think we should trust the doctor with this one."

"How do you know it isn't just a bad cold?" Replied the stubborn Sherlock, determined not to give in.

"Do you not watch the news?"

"Pfft, the news is useless, whenever a crime has been announced, Scotland Yard embarrass themselves with their appalling observations."

John tried to hide his grin as he watched Sherlock rant. "Well if you did watch the news, you would know about the flu epidemic that is going on at the moment."

"Did you not hear me, John? The news is useless. It's always wrong."

John sighed in defeat. "At least let me look after you."

"Why would you need to? I only have a cold."

"Why would I need to?" John echoed, "do you know the time? It's 4 in the morning! Your coughing and sneezing woke me up, from upstairs!  If you don't think that's bad, I dread to think what your idea of bad is!" 

For the first time in years, Sherlock was left speechless. John had the last word. Then again, how could the detective  have the last word with that response? The only person who could leave him lost for words was Mycroft; but he has the Holmes gene, he too is a genius and therefore has the ability to outsmart him...occasionally. Sherlock would have been frustrated if anyone else had done it, but because it was John, Sherlock was left impressed.

Days had passed and John noticed how Sherlock was giving in to the fact that he had the flu; the detective finally admitted he had it when it peaked on the third day, resulting in the man being humiliated. Not only because he was wrong, but because he didn't like John seeing him in such a vulnerable state. The man constantly had nine words circling his brain: 'This wasn't the man John fell in love with'. He fell for a strong, mysterious independent man...didn't he? Well Sherlock was convinced that he did; and because of that, he tried his absolute best to reject medications and fluids that were vital for his recovery. He was sure that it would make him appear strong and independent. These actions lead to a very frustrated-and concerned- John.

"Sherlock, please drink something. Anything." John pleaded.

"I don't need to, John."

"Yes you do! It will take much longer to recover without something flushing the toxins from your body!"

Sherlock weakly lifted his arm and lightly tapped his temple. "The power of the mind will help me, John. You're a doctor, you should know that an optimistic view helps recovery dramatically."

"I don't care, Sherlock. What I do care about is that fact that you haven't had a drink since yesterday!" John removed the damp flannel off of Sherlock's forehead and dropped it in a bowl of cold water on the bedside table. He then crouched beside Sherlock with desperation in his eyes. "Please... for me." Sherlock stared at the doctor as he came to a decision. He groaned and rolled over, shoving a pillow over his head.

"Fine." Replied a muffled voice from beneath the pillow. "Just one."

Relief flowed through the doctor as he swiftly made his way to the kitchen.

After days of suffering, Sherlock regained enough strength to drag himself to his armchair; much to John's delight.

"I can't thank you enough, John."

 "Really? Why is that?"

"You didn't give up on me; you stayed by my side and you've done your best to support me. I thank you for that, John Watson."

"Well I couldn't have given up on you could I?" John chuckled, "How could I let the person closest to me suffer with the flu?"

Sherlock looked up at the doctor across from him who was now sipping from his coffee mug. Their eyes locked onto one another's and Sherlock's heart skipped a beat.

"I wasn't just talking about my illness John."

"Oh," John replied, unsure on what to say next.

"You really haven't changed much," Sherlock chuckled, which quickly transitioned into a dry cough. The man awkwardly cleared his throat before continuing, "You're still the same man  I met in St. Bart's years ago." The detective smiled at the memory; John then mirrored the detective. "Well I can't say the same for you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow to appear intrigued but behind that mask were the same nine words that echoed in his mind for days, they constantly orbited the detective's complex mind. Anticipation and nerves engulfed his senses. He was anxious for John to elaborate on his statement.

"How so?" Sherlock's voice cracked as he eventually asked the question.

"Hm?" John stopped drowning his taste buds with his coffee to process Sherlock's question. "Oh, well you're..." He paused. "Well you're a lot more open now. You're not as much as a dick anymore," he joked which caused Sherlock to plaster a fake look of amusement across his face to cover his pain. "Oh, and you're a lot more sentimental." John continued, earning a grimace from Sherlock. "That's not a bad thing though!"

Sherlock looked up confused. "It's not?"

"Of course, you idiot! Do you know how long I've had feelings for you? It was long enough. With the exception of the times you treated me as a friend, which wasn't very common; you were mainly emotionless, like a robot. Do you know how that made me feel?" He kept his eyes locked with the silent Sherlock's. "It made me feel worthless."

"John..." Sherlock began, filled with guilt. "I-"

"And now you've changed." John interrupted. "You've shown me happiness, you've shown me friendship...you've shown me love; because of that, I have to say the same."

"What?" Sherlock asked, rather confused.

" I can't thank you enough, Sherlock Holmes."

A grin spread across the two men's faces while relief washed the anticipation out of the raven haired man. John stood up and made his way over to Sherlock before planting a kiss on his forehead and draping a blanket over him.

"Get some sleep."