John Watson was sure Irene Adler was really dead, since her words were running through his head as if her ghost was haunting him.
He was constantly hearing her voice in his head, so he was glad whenever he had things to do that would distract his mind from thinking about what she said.
It started with a little sneeze on the crime scene last week and John was immediatly turning to Sherlock who looked rather annoyed. ‘Maybe you caught the flu’, John said and examined him from the far. Sherlock pulled a face. ‘I haven’t. I’ve never been sick’, he replied. John raised his eyebrow, but left it uncommented. He knew that Sherlock wasn’t going to let him check and he wasn’t going to push him unless the symptoms got worse.
Unfortunately, they were.
A few days later Sherlock was looking rather pale and he was walking around in the flat in search for tissues because his nose wouldn’t stop running. John grabbed Sherlock by one arm and pulled him into a chair, succesfully ingnoring the protest Sherlock made.
John felt Sherlock’s lymph nodes which were swollen. After that, he laid his hand on Sherlock’s forehead and frowned.
‘And?’, Sherlock asked and tried to sound annoyed, but his voice was affected by the cold so he didn’t seem as cool as he intended to be. ‘Well, you seem to have a slight fever and that cold you catched will get worse, if you keep running around’, John answered.
‘If you mean working by “running around” I’m afraid I have to tell you that I’m not going to stop’, Sherlock said and John felt frustration building up inside him. ‘Sherlock, you have to rest or-’ ‘No’, Sherlock interrupted and stood up. He was standing right in front of John now, his chest nearly touching him. ‘I have to work on this case and you know it. I can’t leave it to idiots like Lestrade or worse, Anderson.’
John didn’t answer. Sherlock took the silence as a sign of victory. He grabbed his coat and scarf and walked out the door, leaving a worried John behind.
The next day though, Sherlock was moving more carefully while working. John looked up from the news paper he was reading, to watch Sherlock scuffling around. When Sherlock winced quietly and grabbed his own head with his hands, John had seen enough. He rose from his chair, strode over to Sherlock and clutched his arm.
‘You are sick. You’re going to bed now or else I’ll make you’, John growled and shot Sherlock - who was already opening his mouth to argue with him - a look that clearly told him to shut up.
Sherlock stayed silent, but didn’t move. After a moment of considering his options, he started talking. ‘John, I can’t. I have to solve this case’, he said and tried to free himself from John’s grip. ‘You can’t be serious. I bet your fever has risen since yesterday, you can barely move anymore and I can see sweat drops on your forehead. Please, Sherlock. Just lay down for a few days. That’s all I’m asking for.’ Sherlock just stared at him for a moment, then he sighed and John swore that the rings under his eyes were suddenly darker. The surrender was more than obvious.
John smiled and led Sherlock back to bed where he waited until Sherlock was finally under the covers, his eyes half closed. ‘Try to sleep’, John said and Sherlock nodded slightly. John felt weird to see Sherlock like this, vulnerable and totally stripped off his mask of strength. Then again he was happy about the fact that Sherlock trusted him enough to let himself go.
A few hours later, John was sitting in the living room again, watching a rather boring show on television. Sherlock was sleeping ever since John had put him to bed and just when he was thinking about what to do with his free evening, he heard Sherlock calling his name.
With a wave of worry, John rushed to his bedroom to find Sherlock wide awake in his bed. ‘I’m bored’, he announced and gave him an accusing look as if his current state was John’s fault.
John sighed. ‘Okay, if you promise to relax, you can take your blanket and move into the living room and watch television.’ Although he wasn’t sure, John thought for a second that Sherlock grinned when he walked past him in his dressing gown and the blanket thrown over his shoulders.
They moved an arm chair and a small stool so he could sit directly in front of the tv. Sherlock let himself fall into the chair, sighing and shifting until he sat comfortable, placing his feet on the stool. ‘Hand me the remote’, he ordered and stretched out his hand. John raised an eyebrow, but gave him the remote nontheless. ‘I’ll make some tea’, John said and turned his back on Sherlock who was already frowning at the tv.
Not a minute later, he was complaining about everything and everyone in the show he was watching. ‘How idiotic! Are they even native speakers?’, he said when John returned and starred angrily at the screen. ‘And isn’t it obvious that her husband is cheating on her? Which isn’t much of a suprise considering her lack of manners and her horrible way of talking.’
John walked over to him and nudged his feet off the stool to place the tea on it. ‘Relaxing doesn’t mean shouting at the tv’, he said and took the remote out of Sherlock’s hand. Then he pushed Sherlock who had half risen from the arm chair, back into it. ‘Here, drink your tea and take those pills. They will help against the fever. After that I would like to measure your temperature to make sure that the fever is sinking.’
Sherlock mumbled something under his breath, but drank his tea without further complaints. The only noise came from the tv as they drank their tea and John enjoyed it a lot. Suddenly he heard Irene’s words again and wondered, if they were really acting like a couple, if he was acting like a boyfriend.
Startled, John looked up again to see that Sherlock was examining him with curious eyes. ‘What…?’, John began, but stopped himself because Sherlock was standing up now, eyes still fixed on him and moved over to where he was sitting. John gulped, not sure what to do or to say. He looked up to Sherlock who stopped right in front of him, hesitating.
‘I just…’ Sherlock said, but instead of finishing his sentence, he lowered his head until he was only a few inches away from John’s face.
John’s heart was racing and he couldn’t think anymore. He could feel Sherlock’s breath on his face and he was so very aware that their lips were nearly touching. But before John could do anything, before their lips touched, Sherlock abruptly pulled his face away. A confused expression was on his face and John just starred at him speechless. Without another word, Sherlock turned away and walked into his bedroom.
John’s cheeks were burning. He was confused and overwhelmed. Also he was aware of the fact that a part of him wouldn’t have minded at all to have Sherlock’s lips on his own.
After some time, Sherlock reappeared in the living room to find John still sitting in the same chair he had left him in. He played with the end of his blanket that was still wrapped around him and avoided John’s eyes. ‘I think you gave me a slightly too high dosis of those pills’, he said. John was sure that he didn’t, but answered, still slightly taken aback: ‘Probably.’
Fanfiction by somehuntersmarryangels
Picture by lanimalu