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tarotgalTitle: The Benefits of Having a Doctor For a Flatmate
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Sherlock (I think technically this might work for other versions of Sherlock Holmes, so imagine whoever you like)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen or Sherlock/John, depending on how you want to read it
Disclaimer: I sure as heck don’t own these characters. And no one is paying me for this.
Summary: Sherlock is ill. He just won’t admit that. And John knows it’s only going to get worse.
Notes: This is the first Sherlock fic I ever wrote. I wrote it in a café right across from 221B Baker Street in London, while sitting under a Sherlock Holmes mural.
“Sherlock!” John winced as Sherlock hit the wrong note again, accompanied not uncoincidentally by a cough. He turned at his desk, frowning at his flatmate. “I do wish you would be sensible and let me take a look at that scratchy throat of yours.”
“I assure you it’s nothing,” Sherlock replied, clearly having swallowed a lake full of gravel since he’d picked up the violin.
“It’s nothing now. Let it go and it may very well turn into something.”
“Well then it’s a good job I have a doctor for a flatmate, isn’t ihhh…” He turned his head, pressing his nose into his bicep. “hffshhh!”
“God bless you.”
“Useless sniff old fashioned convention, blessing. Serves absolutely no purpose. As if my soul were in danger of flying out of me just because my nose is feeling a bit ticklish… hah… ha-hifshfff!”
“God bless you all the same. It’s to make you feel better.”
“I feel find.”
“Ah. Odd, as you don’t sound it.”
Sherlock set down the violin and bow with rather more force than needed. Cupping a hand to his nose and mouth, he stormed off to bed. The door closed behind him just after John heard an only slightly muffled “heyetchahh!”
John rubbed his hand against the back of his head where the beginnings of a headache stirred. Sherlock was not going to make this easy. Damn him. John closed the case files, knowing he wouldn’t get anything else done tonight, and went on a thorough search of the flat for a thermometer, sure he would need it sooner rather than later.
*
“Johd?” The moan waking John from sleep was amongst the most pitiful he had ever heard. And it was so much deeper than Sherlock’s usual voice, it took a sleepy John several seconds to place it. Then it came again, somehow increased in patheticness. “Joooooohdddd?”
John pulled himself out of bed, struggling into his bathrobe and slippers as he crossed his bedroom. He threw open the door to find Sherlock practically falling into him, having used the door for support and, suddenly, finding it gone. John wrapped his arms around the man and together they rocked on the spot, upright but just barely. Sherlock was heavy against him—heavy and warm. Feverish, in fact. No thermometer needed for that diagnosis.
John’s immediate concern, however, was summoning the effort required to get Sherlock somewhere he could sit or lie down. There was Sherlock’s room down the hall and the drawing room sofa, though neither prospect seemed very likely.
But Sherlock found his footing and some measure of balance as he pushed past John and flopped unceremoniously onto John’s bed. He nuzzled into the sheets, murmuring, “Still warb. Just as I susbected.” He hugged his arms to his chest, legs stuck out straight so his bare toes hooked around the edge of the mattress.
“Sherlock, you can’t sleep there.”
The man yawned greatly. “I thidk you’ll fide I cad.” He turned his head and sneezed twice into the pillow, the explosions so strong his body jerked and so wet John pulled a face.
On a good day, arguing with Sherlock got him nowhere. Already John had a feeling sick Sherlock would be infinitely more difficult to deal with. “Yes, it seemed you will be sleeping there. I’ll just help you with the covers, shall I?”
Sherlock gave a weak little nod and shivered as John tugged bits of the bunched up comforter out from under him and drew it around him.
“I take it that you most definitely have come down with something you decided you need a doctor for?”
Sherlock coughed and closed his eyes. “Odce again, your failure to grasb basic logic astouds be, Johd. If you had ady ability to… observe, you would see that I ab berely cold. I thought this ad exberibedt to deterbide if your bed was ady warber thad by owd.” He nuzzled—actually nuzzled—into the pillow and blankets.
“I see. And is it?”
“Id… id… id-ed-chetschhhhh!”
“God bless you.”
“I sniff dod’t see where God edters idto it—”
“Sherlock! It’s just an expression.”
“A poor ode.” He turned his head again and gave a resounding sneeze into John’s pillow.
John suddenly felt exhausted, drained. “Say, here’s one for the famous Sherlock Homes’ logic. Where am I meant to sleep now?” Without giving Sherlock a chance to reply, he began running through his options out loud. “Now, you are in my bed, so it might make sense for me to be in yours. But if your complete inability to use a tissue or a handkerchief when you sneeze has been a standard operating procedure tonight, I expect I shall not be putting my head anywhere near your pillow. Then there’s the sofa, but it’s chilly and we have no spare blankets. I refuse to wake Mrs. Hudson up at this time of night to ask after one. I suppose I could get changed out of my pajamas and go get a hotel room somewhere, but—”
“Odce agaid, Watsod, you overlook the bost obvious, bost loh… logicalll… ehfchhfff!”
“And that is, I ask, not blessing you.”
“You will sleeb id your bed.”
“But you’re already in it.”
“Precisely.”
John stared blankly, not following.
“There’s roob. Add it will be buch warber with two.” To illustrate the fact that there was sufficient room, he rolled to his side and patted the bed in front of him.
John suddenly had the most intense headache and massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “Sherlock…”
“Add you claib to be a doctor? I’b cold add you refuse to helb.”
Ignoring the fact that doctorly duties did not regularly entail climbing into bed with one’s patient, John pushed up the heavy covers and begrudgingly climbed in. He scooted in further, lying on his side, and tried not to go rigid when Sherlock draped one of his long arms around John.
“Is this another of your experiments? Catch a cold and see how far you can take this before I lose my patience with you?”
“Have you?” he asked, sounding interested.
John took stock of the situation. He was indeed warm and, damn it, quite a bit more comfortable than he had been before this whole fiasco began tonight, having Sherlock within reach and within sight. And if it was doing Sherlock some good as well, who was he to argue? This was actually quite pleasant. In a quiet whisper, “I thought perhaps I had. But it seems I—”
“HufChahh!”
John winced again, feeling the sneeze on the back of his neck. “Sherlock!”
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Sherlock (I think technically this might work for other versions of Sherlock Holmes, so imagine whoever you like)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen or Sherlock/John, depending on how you want to read it
Disclaimer: I sure as heck don’t own these characters. And no one is paying me for this.
Summary: Sherlock is ill. He just won’t admit that. And John knows it’s only going to get worse.
Notes: This is the first Sherlock fic I ever wrote. I wrote it in a café right across from 221B Baker Street in London, while sitting under a Sherlock Holmes mural.
“Sherlock!” John winced as Sherlock hit the wrong note again, accompanied not uncoincidentally by a cough. He turned at his desk, frowning at his flatmate. “I do wish you would be sensible and let me take a look at that scratchy throat of yours.”
“I assure you it’s nothing,” Sherlock replied, clearly having swallowed a lake full of gravel since he’d picked up the violin.
“It’s nothing now. Let it go and it may very well turn into something.”
“Well then it’s a good job I have a doctor for a flatmate, isn’t ihhh…” He turned his head, pressing his nose into his bicep. “hffshhh!”
“God bless you.”
“Useless sniff old fashioned convention, blessing. Serves absolutely no purpose. As if my soul were in danger of flying out of me just because my nose is feeling a bit ticklish… hah… ha-hifshfff!”
“God bless you all the same. It’s to make you feel better.”
“I feel find.”
“Ah. Odd, as you don’t sound it.”
Sherlock set down the violin and bow with rather more force than needed. Cupping a hand to his nose and mouth, he stormed off to bed. The door closed behind him just after John heard an only slightly muffled “heyetchahh!”
John rubbed his hand against the back of his head where the beginnings of a headache stirred. Sherlock was not going to make this easy. Damn him. John closed the case files, knowing he wouldn’t get anything else done tonight, and went on a thorough search of the flat for a thermometer, sure he would need it sooner rather than later.
“Johd?” The moan waking John from sleep was amongst the most pitiful he had ever heard. And it was so much deeper than Sherlock’s usual voice, it took a sleepy John several seconds to place it. Then it came again, somehow increased in patheticness. “Joooooohdddd?”
John pulled himself out of bed, struggling into his bathrobe and slippers as he crossed his bedroom. He threw open the door to find Sherlock practically falling into him, having used the door for support and, suddenly, finding it gone. John wrapped his arms around the man and together they rocked on the spot, upright but just barely. Sherlock was heavy against him—heavy and warm. Feverish, in fact. No thermometer needed for that diagnosis.
John’s immediate concern, however, was summoning the effort required to get Sherlock somewhere he could sit or lie down. There was Sherlock’s room down the hall and the drawing room sofa, though neither prospect seemed very likely.
But Sherlock found his footing and some measure of balance as he pushed past John and flopped unceremoniously onto John’s bed. He nuzzled into the sheets, murmuring, “Still warb. Just as I susbected.” He hugged his arms to his chest, legs stuck out straight so his bare toes hooked around the edge of the mattress.
“Sherlock, you can’t sleep there.”
The man yawned greatly. “I thidk you’ll fide I cad.” He turned his head and sneezed twice into the pillow, the explosions so strong his body jerked and so wet John pulled a face.
On a good day, arguing with Sherlock got him nowhere. Already John had a feeling sick Sherlock would be infinitely more difficult to deal with. “Yes, it seemed you will be sleeping there. I’ll just help you with the covers, shall I?”
Sherlock gave a weak little nod and shivered as John tugged bits of the bunched up comforter out from under him and drew it around him.
“I take it that you most definitely have come down with something you decided you need a doctor for?”
Sherlock coughed and closed his eyes. “Odce again, your failure to grasb basic logic astouds be, Johd. If you had ady ability to… observe, you would see that I ab berely cold. I thought this ad exberibedt to deterbide if your bed was ady warber thad by owd.” He nuzzled—actually nuzzled—into the pillow and blankets.
“I see. And is it?”
“Id… id… id-ed-chetschhhhh!”
“God bless you.”
“I sniff dod’t see where God edters idto it—”
“Sherlock! It’s just an expression.”
“A poor ode.” He turned his head again and gave a resounding sneeze into John’s pillow.
John suddenly felt exhausted, drained. “Say, here’s one for the famous Sherlock Homes’ logic. Where am I meant to sleep now?” Without giving Sherlock a chance to reply, he began running through his options out loud. “Now, you are in my bed, so it might make sense for me to be in yours. But if your complete inability to use a tissue or a handkerchief when you sneeze has been a standard operating procedure tonight, I expect I shall not be putting my head anywhere near your pillow. Then there’s the sofa, but it’s chilly and we have no spare blankets. I refuse to wake Mrs. Hudson up at this time of night to ask after one. I suppose I could get changed out of my pajamas and go get a hotel room somewhere, but—”
“Odce agaid, Watsod, you overlook the bost obvious, bost loh… logicalll… ehfchhfff!”
“And that is, I ask, not blessing you.”
“You will sleeb id your bed.”
“But you’re already in it.”
“Precisely.”
John stared blankly, not following.
“There’s roob. Add it will be buch warber with two.” To illustrate the fact that there was sufficient room, he rolled to his side and patted the bed in front of him.
John suddenly had the most intense headache and massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “Sherlock…”
“Add you claib to be a doctor? I’b cold add you refuse to helb.”
Ignoring the fact that doctorly duties did not regularly entail climbing into bed with one’s patient, John pushed up the heavy covers and begrudgingly climbed in. He scooted in further, lying on his side, and tried not to go rigid when Sherlock draped one of his long arms around John.
“Is this another of your experiments? Catch a cold and see how far you can take this before I lose my patience with you?”
“Have you?” he asked, sounding interested.
John took stock of the situation. He was indeed warm and, damn it, quite a bit more comfortable than he had been before this whole fiasco began tonight, having Sherlock within reach and within sight. And if it was doing Sherlock some good as well, who was he to argue? This was actually quite pleasant. In a quiet whisper, “I thought perhaps I had. But it seems I—”
“HufChahh!”
John winced again, feeling the sneeze on the back of his neck. “Sherlock!”
no subject
Date: 2013-01-04 11:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-05 03:27 am (UTC)Thanks for taking the time to read it and leave feedback. I'm glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2013-04-10 07:51 pm (UTC)Sherlock being all sneezy and GREEDY FOR JOHN'S WARMTH!!!! And actually nuzzling into the pillow, and sneezing on John's neck (which was actually more appealing to me than it ought to).
Wow. Thank you a lot for writing it <3
Don't you have a sequel? Usually I'm not such a big fan of sick!John, but contagion would be very lovely in here :)
Love,
Linda
no subject
Date: 2013-04-10 09:20 pm (UTC)That would give me an excuse to write it! *EG*
And thanks for the feedback! I'm so glad you liked it! He's such a fun character to play with in this context--needy about certain things, stubborn about others, etc. Poor John does a good job handling him, I think. Doesn't really seem fair that he gets sick... but I adore sick!John and it seems quite logical that he would *G*
no subject
Date: 2013-12-22 01:58 am (UTC)Thanks for another great fic to read and reread.