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A dull headache welcomed John as he drifted away from sleep and into the world of the living. He groaned at the sound of the alarm clock beeping away, and his arm felt like a dead-weight as he reached over to turn it off. When he opened his mouth he immediately noticed how raw his throat was. His lover was still sleeping soundly beside him, but even though he felt like shit himself and Sherlock was in dreamland he knew they had to get up to get Amelia ready for school. Not to mention he had a twelve hour shift ahead of him at work- which, with the way he was feeling, he wasn’t looking forward to at all.
“Sherlock,” John mumbled, elbowing his partner in the side. Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of movement from Sherlock. His throat was so raw he barely had a voice, and it was with great effort that he managed to shout louder: “Sherlock!”
He let out a round of coughs as his partner sat up straight.
“What?” Sherlock demanded. He looked around the room in panic, as though he were worried something was wrong. When his eyes found John’s, he frowned. “You look terrible.”
His boyfriend placed a hand on his forehead and winced.
“You’re burning up,” Sherlock said.
“I have a cold,” John muttered as he threw his legs over the bed.
Every bone in his body hurt. If this was a cold it was a very bad one but he was a father, and he didn’t have time to take off for being sick. The best he could do was not let anyone know just how horrible he felt, drink lots of fluids, and rest up whenever he could.
Yet when he tried standing and walking his chest felt tight. His head began spinning.
“You okay?” Sherlock asked as he placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
“Yeah,” John lied. “I’m going to shower.”
“John,” his boyfriend announced, spinning him around so they faced each other. “You’re sick. You seem very sick, and we both know you have no business being around patients today.”
“Fine, I’ll phone out of work,” he replied hoarsely, “but I can’t take a day off from being a dad.”
“Yes, you can,” Sherlock insisted. “We both know I’m more than capable of caring for Amelia for a day. You stay in bed. I’ll make her breakfast, I’ll get her lunch ready, I’ll take her to school, and then I’m coming back home to take care of you.”
He planted a soft kiss on John’s cheek, and his lips felt comforting against his warm skin.
“You’re a good dad,” his lover murmured. “You need to rest and get better so you can keep being a good dad. Pushing yourself too hard does you no good so what you are going to do is to get back into bed and take care of yourself.”
John wanted to protest, but at the same time his muscles ached so much and the pounding in his head became too much to bear. He knew Sherlock was right.
Suddenly his stomach churned, and for a full thirty seconds he was absolutely certain he was going to throw up. Pushing past Sherlock, he rushed to the bathroom but by the time he fell to the floor in front of the toilet the nausea had passed. Sherlock was right beside him in an instant with a hand on the small of his back.
“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked softly.
He breathed in and out, trying to calm himself down, before replying:
“Yeah. Yeah, I just had a bit nausea.”
A violent chill shook him, and John wrapped his arms around himself.
He had been in denial of his own diagnosis, but that was the last clue he needed. He didn’t just have a minor cold. With a groan he gently lowered himself against the bathroom wall and rested his head in his hands.
“I think I have the flu,” he mumbled.
In a flash Sherlock was across the room. His hand flew in front of his mouth and he began inching his way out the door.
“What?” John demanded hoarsely.
“Why didn’t you say you have the flu?!” Sherlock demanded. “I can’t get the flu!”
“Like I can?” He muttered to himself.
“You go back to bed,” Sherlock instructed. “I’ll get supplies.”
His boyfriend disappeared, and John rested his head against the wall, closed his eyes, and welcomed the darkness.
He ended up falling asleep on the bathroom floor. The nausea had once again became so much that he didn’t want to move, and he was afraid as soon as he got back to bed he’d feel sick again. When John woke up a blanket was wrapped around his body and his four-year old daughter was staring down at him. John frowned when he realised she was wearing a mask over her mouth and latex gloves.
“Amelia?” He tried to say, but he found his throat was even rawer than earlier.
Amelia frowned back at him.
“Why are you on the floor, Daddy?” She asked.
Groaning, he lifted himself to his feet. At least the nausea seemed to have passed, and he managed to get himself back to bed. His daughter followed, and it was only then he noticed she had a small black bag with her.
“Is that my medical bag?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded.
“Doctor Sherlock and me are here to give you a checkup!” She announced. "I'm his nurse!"
At that moment he remembered that he was supposed to be getting Amelia ready for school, and panic rose within him as he worried why she was still home. He glanced over to the clock, and a pit fell in his stomach when he saw it was half four. He had slept all day. His entire body felt hot, his throat felt like sandpaper, and it felt like all the blood had rushed to his head.
With a groan he fell into bed. The door opened and a small smile fell across his face when he saw his partner was also wearing a mask and gloves.
“What is this?” John muttered, waving his hand toward their new accessories.
Swallowing nervously, Sherlock admitted through the mask:
“Protection…from flu germs.”
“I hate to break it to you,” John said, bursting into coughs. Taking a deep breath, he finished: “My germs are probably all over this house by now.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened and John let out a dry, pitiful, chuckle.
“So…I hear Doctor Sherlock and Nurse Amelia are here to give me a checkup.” His daughter’s smile brightened even more, and for the first time that day he felt a little bit like himself. “Well then, go ahead.”
Suddenly his daughter turned very sheepish. Even though she was very brave and adventurous Amelia tended to turn sheepish when she was put into the limelight.
“I need to take your temp-ture,” Amelia announced, taking out the thermometer. She was actually right about that: he probably should have taken his temperature first thing that morning. When the thermometer beeped a moment later she handed it over to him. "What does it mean?"
38.6
That meant not good.
He showed the reading to Sherlock, whose eyes became filled with fear.
“Does that mean you have a fever?” She asked.
He nodded reluctantly.
“Your cough is bad,” Amelia said expertly, shaking her head. She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of cough syrup. John smiled gratefully as Sherlock helped her pour out a dose and had it to him.
“Thank you,” he whispered before downing the medicine. It tasted sour against his raw throat, but if it helped his horrible cough that was all that mattered.
"Now don't you need to listen to his heart?" Sherlock asked, winking at him.
"Oh yeah!" His daughter said, her eyes filled with determination
She was doing a really excellent job at making him feel better. He couldn’t concentrate on how terrible he felt when his daughter was so determined to help him and to learn about health. He knew and Sherlock knew there was no reason for her to listen to his heart, but it was just something she loved to do. John couldn’t help but to feel proud as she raised the stethoscope to his heart. For a long moment she listened quietly, a distant smile on her face.
“How does it sound?” He asked hoarsely.
“Strong,” she replied quietly. “I’m sorry you feel sick, Daddy.”
“I’ll be okay,” he promised her. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
"Now let's take his blood pressure," Sherlock said, taking the cuff out of the bag.
He helped her put it on his arm correctly, and John helped her take his blood pressure manually.
“What does it say?” She asked.
He smiled.
“It’s good,” he said.
His voice was beginning to go in and out, and he knew as much as he loved watching his daughter play doctor he needed rest.
“Can we get you anything?” Sherlock asked.
John cleared his dry throat and croaked:
“Maybe some water. And tea. And some paracetamol.”
On cue, Sherlock reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of pills.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Now how about we let your dad get some sleep?” Sherlock said, turning to Amelia. “We’ll check back in on him later to take his temperature again.”
“Can we make him soup?” Amelia asked, jumping up in the air.
Sherlock laughed.
“Sure.” He winked at John. “Sleep well, love.”
The two slipped from the room to leave him in silence. John took a deep breath and tried to convince himself he was already feeling the effects of the cough and pain medicine.
In the end it would take him four long days to get over the flu. His fever didn’t start going down until the end of day two and his headache wouldn’t go away for nearly a week. But Amelia and Sherlock were there for him- masks, gloves, and all- the entire time.
The night of the fourth day of having the flu he finally felt like emerging from his sick room and joining his family for dinner. Amelia jumped up in excitement from her place at the table and ran toward him, throwing her arms around him.
“How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked.
“Much better,” John replied, leaning down to give his partner a kiss on the cheek.
His throat was still a little sore, and his voice wasn’t completely back to normal, but other than that he was really beginning to feel like himself again. When he saw it was spaghetti Sherlock had made (one Amelia’s favourites) his stomach growled. He was sick of his soup and crackers died, and for the first time that week he felt he could eat a real dinner.
But first he wanted to have a word with his daughter.
“Nurse Amelia,” he said, kneeling down to her level. He placed his hands on her shoulder, and she offered him a shy smile. “I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“You’re welcome,” Amelia said, her cheeks blushing slightly.
He hugged her tightly. It had been so hard to not be able to hug her, not be able to give her a kiss goodnight, because he was sick. He would never take these hugs for granted again.
“I love you,” he whispered.
She squeezed him tight and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“I love you too, Daddy.”
He stood up and met eyes with his partner.
“And you, Doctor Sherlock,” he said, stepping forward and taking his boyfriend’s hands. “Thank you for taking such good care of both Amelia and me. I couldn’t have gotten through this week without you.”
They shared a quick kiss and let their foreheads rest against each other.
“So I should quit my day job, then?” Sherlock teased. “Maybe join you in surgery when you go back?”
John let out a hoarse laugh.
“You’re not that good of a doctor.”
“Fair enough,” his boyfriend grinned. He grabbed a pharmacy bag from the counter and handed it to him. “I got more of the cough medicine you asked for. Do you still have a headache?”
He nodded, and Sherlock went over to the microwave and put in a wrap he got John earlier in the week to help with his headache. The heat felt amazing against the pain, and he was grateful when Sherlock popped the wrap out of the microwave a moment later and placed it gently against his forehead.
“Ah, thanks Doctor,” John said. He took hold of the wrap so he could rest it against his head and Sherlock took his seat at the table.
“Anything else I can get for you?” Sherlock asked.
“No,” John said, meeting his eyes and offering him a grateful smile. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Blushing ever so slightly Sherlock reached over to the pot of spaghetti and began dishing it out onto John’s plate. His boyfriend never ceased to amaze him with his kindness, with his bravery and with his loyalty.
I’m truly lucky, he thought to himself as dinner was placed in front of him.
Then he heard it: a single cough from his partner. Their eyes met, and they both knew it.
He had spread the flu to Sherlock.
“Oh no,” John sighed.
“It’s okay,” Sherlock said. He coughed again but then offered him another smile. “It was worth it.”