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Sherlock tapped lightly on the bedroom door with one knuckle, then opened it when he heard John move inside. The lights were off and the curtains drawn, but by the light from the hallway he could see John's outline in the bed, lying on his side with his back to Sherlock. "You need anything?" he asked, voice slightly above a whisper—he knew John wasn't asleep, but he still didn't want to disturb him.
"No, I'm fine." John's voice was hoarse from days of coughing. He turned onto his back, blinking toward Sherlock in the dim light. "How are you and Rosie holding—"
"Daddy! I got you more ice water!" Rosie appeared in the hallway next to Sherlock, a glass of water clenched in both hands, clearly trying to walk slowly and carefully but doing a poor job of it.
Sherlock reached down and plucked the glass from her before she could spill it. She looked up at him but her tiny glare didn't last; freed of the burden of having to control her pace, she ran into the bedroom and bounced up onto the bed next to John.
"Mm, sweetie, careful." John put a hand out toward her, but stopped short of actually touching her. Pointless, since Rosie was already infected, though like most young children her only symptoms were a stuffy nose and mild cough.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," Rosie said. "Does your head still hurt?"
"It's better than it was, I think." He moved slowly, straightening a pillow behind his back so he could sit upright.
Sherlock stepped all the way into the room and set the water glass on the stand next to the bed. He put one hand on Rosie's shoulder to keep her from bouncing and stretched his other toward John, brushing his fingers across his forehead. "Fever seems about the same."
"Yeah." John cleared his throat, then tried and failed to suppress a cough.
When he finally stopped coughing, Sherlock handed him the water glass and watched as he took a long sip. "I do wish you'd thought to bring your stethoscope with you when they sent you home for quarantine."
"I don't have pneumonia, Sherlock. My lungs are fine."
"Hmm." Sherlock put the water back on the nightstand for him and sat down on the bed next to Rosie, then pulled back the rumpled sheets and blankets that John lay beneath.
"What are you—?"
"Shh." Sherlock leaned over, pressing an ear against John's chest. He could hear his heart beating, but nothing else. He shifted his position so he could meet John's eyes but kept his head on his chest. "Cough."
John rolled his eyes but did as Sherlock requested.
Sherlock didn't know precisely what he was listening for, but he didn't hear any wheezing or otherwise alarming sounds, though his ear lost contact as John's forced cough turned into a longer stretch of hacking. He sat up and ran his hand up along John's chest and neck, pausing to rub the rough stubble on his chin with his thumb. "We'll leave you to sleep more. Rosie and I are going to watch another film, though there's some disagreement as to which one."
"Frozen 2!" Rosie popped off the bed. "You promised!" She put her hands on her hips for a moment, then lifted one arm to wipe her nose along the sleeve of her shirt.
"Cough into your elbow but wipe your nose only on tissues, remember?" Sherlock nodded at the box of next to the bed.
"I need the soft tissues. Those ones hurt." She flounced out of the room in search of the tissues with lotion added, which were in short supply in the flat after the last few days.
"She seems to be feeling better," John said. "Have you heard from Mrs. Hudson?"
"Rosie has been Facetiming with her. The staff of Speedy's is leaving food outside her door. She's not shown any symptoms yet."
"That's good. And you?"
Sherlock shook his head, then leaned forward and dropped a kiss on John's forehead before he could object.
"But I see you're determined to get it," John said, but he was smiling.
Sherlock shrugged. He wasn't sick at all yet, but saw no way to avoid exposure, given that he was caring for two people who were ill and had been kissing and hugging them both as well as sleeping in the same bed as John during the long incubation period before they'd known he was sick. "I'll try to hold off until you're feeling well enough to take care of me."
John laughed, with only a slight turn to coughing at the end. "Okay. Give me a few more days. I'm sorry I brought this home to you. Just one of the hazards of my job."
Sherlock nodded. "I understand. Though I expect fewer complaints about the dangers of my work in the future."
"Your detective work or your toxic chemicals in the kitchen?"
"The kitchen. You love the danger of the detective work, don't say otherwise."
"I love the detective himself even more. Thank you for taking care of me and Rosie."
"I don't mind. Except for all the Disney films. You'll owe me for those." He leaned forward and gave John another kiss, then pulled the blankets up to his chest once more.
John smiled at him as he sank back beneath the covers and Sherlock felt his chest tighten, not with illness but with the knowledge that he would risk any danger to keep what he now had.