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"Sherlock?" John called out to silence.
He laid down the bags of groceries on the table next to Sherlock's half-eaten take out, now spoilt from the previous night. John shook his head. Before he went to visit a colleague overseas, he called Sherlock often to make sure he was eating the right food.
"Sherlock?" He called again, still, no answer.
"Right. Out again without a note are you?" He murmured to himself.
Just as he was about to go back to the kitchen, a muffled groan startled him.
He took a step back and there it was again. It came from Sherlock's bedroom.
John knocked softly, a rumble of hum answered. He entered the room, finding his flatmate wrapped in sheets.
"Alright?"
The mess of curls shook a 'No'.
"Is it your stomach?"
Sherlock nodded slowly. John sighed. He went to the loo, took some prescribed tablets from the first aid kit and the coconut juice from the groceries then went back to the bedroom.
"Sherlock, drink this with the pill. It will help with rehydration."
"Hnngh... What-iz-that?" Sherlock mumbled.
"Coconut juice—"
Sherlock finally looked at him scowling.
"I'm the doctor, I know what's best for you." He says firmly.
Sherlock grumbled his protest but complied. As for John, he stayed in the bedroom until he's sure that Sherlock's feeling better.