Johnlock One-shots

207.Feeling Ill

“Sherlock,” John whispered, sitting down on the couch next to his boyfriend and putting a hand on his knee.

“No.” Sherlock turned the other way, ignoring the thermometre in John's hand.

“Sherlock,” John inched closer to him, moving his hand to the detective’s lower back.

Shaking his head, Sherlock moved away. But then he covered his mouth with his elbow and sneezed. John smiled a little as the detective started to cough.

“You're sick.” John said, putting a blanket over Sherlock's shoulders, which he snuggled up into and got comfortable in. John thought he looked cute.

“No I'm not.” Sherlock mumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve. He was pretty sure he looked sick, and whatever it was in that brilliant mind of his thought he could wipe that sick look off his face so John didn't know.

“Yes you are.” John said, putting his hand on Sherlock's forehead.

“No I'm not.” Sherlock repeated, sneezing into the blanket.

John took Sherlock by the shoulders and laid him down, tucking him in with the blanket. “Get some rest,” he whispered and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

“No.” Sherlock sat up, but John pushed him back down. He stopped struggling after a while, closing his eyes and going to sleep.

After that, Sherlock kept trying to leave and tell John he was doing okay, but his high fever and continuous coughing, sneezing, and lack of temperature control showed John otherwise. He attempted to bring Sherlock to the hospital a few times, but it always ended with Sherlock running back inside 221B.

John gave up after not so long and allowed Sherlock to work on a case, hoping he would realise how bad he was doing while they were there.

“So… you think the dog killed her?” Asked Sherlock, staring down at the teenager boy.

“Yes.”

“You just don't like the dog.”

“I like the dog.”

“Nnnnno you don't,” Sherlock said matter of factly. The dog was a big dog, but he didn't think it killed this lady.

“Oh yeah, how come?” The boy asked.  

“You have a friend that owns a cat, you regularly go to that friend's house and play with the pet. Judging by the fur on your clothes, I can tell your friend has two other dogs. You dislike the dogs but they love you. I'd say it's a pug and dalmatian. The pug is an adult and the dalmatian is only a pup. Now, these two dogs are very playful and they run around your legs to try and get you to play. I know a cat wouldn't go up to your chest, so you were holding her.”

“Her?”

“Yes, obviously.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes before looking back down to the boy. “There's no dog fur on your upper body, only a cat's.”

“So? I wanted to play with the cat today.” The boy mumbled, crossing his arm.

“Today and all the other days? The evidence is in your clothes, while I was instigating the house, I found a pile of clothes-- your clothes-- and all of them had cat fur stuck to the fabric. You don't like dogs.” Sherlock flashed a quick smile before his face went emotionless again. The dog was stuck on a leash, which was tied to the house. He walked over to the dog and bent down, using his gloved hands to scratch the dog's cheeks. It whined and leant into Sherlock's hand, barking and standing up to move closer to him.

Sherlock played with the dog for a bit before getting up and walking over to John, who was smiling. He took off his gloves and put them in his pocket, sneezing into his arm.

“Feeling alright, Darling?” John asked, moving closer to Sherlock and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“No….” Sherlock whispered, shaking his head. He hadn't solved the case yet, but he was feeling progressively worse. He took a step, then fell back. John caught him, holding him and running over to the ambulance.

They got to the hospital and Sherlock was annoyed. He was really sick and his ‘sickness fighting’ system was practically non-existent with all the drugs he used to take, so he was more susceptible to illnesses. Sherlock had to take the rest of the week off as he recovered and the Scotland Yard investigated the case he was on.