Work Text:
Sniffle sniffle
Constant sniffling. That’s what kept Doctor John Holmes-Watson up all night. But he wasn’t the culprit of it, oh no, he was purely the victim. The culprit was the lanky man with brown curly hair lying next to him.
“Sherlock?” John whispered. A coughing fit was the only response he received.
“Sherlock, honey, you’re sick,” he said a little louder.
Sniffle sniffle
”Don’t be ridiculous, John, there’s no way my body would let me down like that,” Sherlock defensively whispered through his coughing.
“Well at least go and blow your nose - I can’t stand any more sniffling,” John replied. When Sherlock didn’t move, John gave him a hard poke to the ribs.
“Ow” Sherlock yelped, “That was not necessary! I’m getting up now.”
”Thank goodness,” John muttered as Sherlock finally moved and he started drifting off to sleep.
The next morning...
“You can’t be serious, Sherlock,” the doctor yelled, disbelieving, “You are not going into work today. I’m calling Lestrade and telling him you’re too ill to come in.”
”What do you mean? You worry too much, John, I’m perfectly fine,” Sherlock stated whilst clearly trying to repress a sneeze.
”Let me be the judge of that,” John said as he grabbed his medical kit from their shared bedroom. He swiftly pulled out a thermometer and instructed Sherlock to say ‘Ah’.
The detective raised his eyebrows and shot him a look as if to say ‘You’re joking, right?’
But the doctor was persistent and patiently waited for his husband to comply.
“Uhh fine! Ah,” Sherlock reluctantly did what he was told and the thermometer was shoved in his mouth.
After 3 minutes of awkward silence, John removed the thermometer, stared at the number it was showing and tutted.
”Looks like someone’s staying at home today,” John said smugly.
”What? Let me see that.” Sherlock stole it out of the other man’s hand. 39 degrees Celcius it read. “There must be some mistake because I feel fine.”
At that very moment, he stood up a little too quickly from his chair and fell forward from the dizziness. Luckily, his loving husband was there to catch him and gently seat him back in his chair.
”It’s out of the question - you, Sherlock Holmes-Watson, are not going into work today. I won’t let you, even if I have to restrain you,” John told Sherlock (who was looking rather embarrassed from having to be caught by his husband), “Now you just sit there whilst I go and get you some medicine and make you a nice cup of tea.”
All Sherlock could do was huff (and cough) until his husband returned with supplies.
”Alright, I’ll let him know you send your best wishes, Greg. Goodbye,” Sherlock heard from the kitchen. The sound was muffled by the closed door, but it was clear enough to be heard and clear enough to annoy Sherlock.
”Tell him to sod off or I’ll shove his wishes where the sun doesn’t shine!” He yelled from the living room in a croaky voice.
Upon hearing his husband’s rudeness, John aggressively pushed the kitchen door open...
”I understand that you’re frustrated that your body isn’t as perfect as your mind, but there is absolutely no reason to be rude! And you’d better stop shouting like or you will lose your voice,” John chided, and then continued, sarcastically adding, “Oh imagine how awful it would be if you couldn’t speak and I’d finally get a bit of peace.”
Sherlock opened his mouth to make some witty comment but was shushed by John.
”Now, here’s your tea and medicine,” the doctor said as he handed his patient a mug and two tablets, “Take these and then I think it would be a good idea for you to sleep.”
”John, I am not a child; I do not need a nap,” Sherlock huffed.
”Then don’t act like one and stop arguing with me. It’s for the sake of your health - I don’t want to have to visit you in hospital when you’re on a ventilator because you pushed yourself too hard and developed pneumonia,” John replied.
”You’re overreacting, dear John,” Sherlock coolly responded, but immediately regretted it when he looked up and saw the genuinely worried look on his husband’s face. He sighed and downed his tablets with his tea.
”Good, thank you,” John breathed in relief, but he was met with a cheeky eye roll, which John pretended not to see.
Once Sherlock had finished his drink, John helped him to their shared bedroom (with little resistance from the patient, much to John’s surprise).
He had set him down on the bed, tucked him in and started walking towards the door, when John heard a small voice from underneath the sheets...
”John?”
”Yes, dear?”
”Stay. Please, John.”
A small smile crept onto John’s face when he heard these words that were filled with such vulnerability and helplessness - not words that were normally associated with the great Sherlock Holmes-Watson.
”Alright, honey,” John replied as he made his way back to the bed, this time pulling the covers back and climbing in next to his sick partner.
John gently wrapped an arm around the lanky man’s body whilst his other hand was tangled up in his husband’s brown curls.
”Thank you,” Sherlock whispered and leaned into his husband’s loving embrace.