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John had only just come home from work due to a text from Sherlock:
Help me. SH
Sherlock still had danger nights now and again, even with their relationship as great as it was, Sherlock still often got bored. Though he had been doing exceptionally well on this, John still feared for the man in the back of his head. His sister being an addict, he knew how difficult it was for someone to overcome such a huge addiction so, of course, he came home early.
Upon arriving, John found Sherlock curled on the couch with his fingers clutched into his hair like his head was about to explode. Before even taking off his shoes, John rushed to his side. "Sherlock?" He asked, tapping the man's shoulder, praying to any deity that he was conscious and responsive. "Sherlock, love, answer me." A moan came from Sherlock and John breathed again. "Sherlock, I need you to use words. What did you take?"
Sherlock shifted and John could see instantly what was the matter, and stopped worrying (and quite honestly was trying his hardest not to snicker.) Sherlock's eyes were very glossy and his nose was akin to the description of a magical reindeer belonging to a fat man in a red suit. "John, I demand you make me better," to John, he sounded more like, "D'awn, I d'mand 'ou to make be bett'r." Sounding a bit like Elmer Fudd. Not like Sherlock would know who that was, but it certainly amused John. Smoothing his hand over Sherlock's forehead he found that there was no fever: it was just as John suspected. Sherlock was suffering from allergies. He gave a gentle chuckle and kissed his lover's curls with a promise to return shortly. After a few moments, John came back with a large glass of water and two pills.
"I can't promise that this will cure you," John said, helping Sherlock sit up a little so he could take the allergy medicine, "but it should help." After Sherlock downed the water followed by the pills, he made room for John to sit so he could lay his head in the man's lap. It was times liek these he could swear that Sherlock was part cat, where he would comb his fingers through his amazing curls and Sherlock would snore softly and John could imagine it was a gentle purr instead. Toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning his cardigan, Sherlock once again made his home onto John and was soon fast asleep due to the medicine John had given him, per their agreement that John would from now on give Sherlock the medicine in the correct doses so Sherlock would not be tempted to accidently overdose in a desperate attempt to make his body cooperate with what he wanted. Flickering the television on, John's hands were now in the curls and began their nightly routine of giving Sherlock the attention he would never really ask for.