So, apologies first, I currently only have a computer that will access LJ at the weekends. Which means delays. Also, this has got fluffier than I intended. Fluffier than I ever write. But I think Sherlock was just feeling so miserable, even if he doesn't want to admit it. No doubt he'll be his normal grumpy self when he feels a bit better.
Sherlock leant back against the pillows. Despite himself he felt soothed by the presence of John by his side. He knew he should be up. It was ridiculous letting some inconsequential virus get the better of him when he should be out there preventing crimes. But just at this moment his brain warred with his body and for once his body, usually the victim, won. To show willing he tried to sit up. But a ridiculously small amount of pressure from John on his chest kept him flat on the sofa. He sighed, his body was failing him, he would have to rely on reason to get himself out of the situation.
His voice was more feeble than he would have liked but he had faith that he could still persuade John in to whatever he wanted.
“John...”
“Sherlock, if you say one word to try and convince me to let you up and out of here, I swear I’m going to lock all the doors and windows and remove the keys.
“And before you say that you could overcome those difficulties, and I’m sure you could, I’ve let Mycroft and Lestrade know that you are sick and unavailable for the next week. They are both in agreement with me and are more than willing to ensure that you stay here.” John’s arms were crossed but a smile softened his words. “Now lie back and I’ll get you a drink.”
Sherlock lay back, quietly fuming but aware that in his current state there was little he could do. Almost before he knew it John was next to him again, a steaming cup in his hands. Sherlock looked at him questioningly.
“Lemsip. Come on, it’ll help.”
Sherlock sat up and reached out for the mug. He wanted to say no, wanted to refuse but the smell of lemon was enticing and he was still cold despite the blanket. As he reached over a paroxysm of coughing shook him and John put the mug down to support his friend.
As the shaking subsided Sherlock leant back again, John was sitting next to him now, supporting him and pressing the mug towards him again. He knew it shouldn’t but Sherlock sipped from the mug and carried on drinking.
“You do realise of course, Doctor, that this will make little difference to the virus in my system, and in fact is unlikely to alter the duration of my illness in any significant way.” It wasn’t his best he knew, but it was as good as he could manage at present.
John’s smile told him that the other man realised this too.
“Oddly enough Sherlock, I do know that. However, it contains decongestant and paracetamol. It will bring your temperature down and make your symptoms more bearable. Now drink.”
Sherlock sighed, he’d finished the mug already, his stab at defiance outweighed by the comfort the drink had brought him. Now he found himself leaning more heavily against John. His eyes were closing and he couldn’t keep them open.
“Just sleep, I’ll be here when you wake.” Were the last words he heard.
Re: Fill: Part 3
Also, this has got fluffier than I intended. Fluffier than I ever write. But I think Sherlock was just feeling so miserable, even if he doesn't want to admit it. No doubt he'll be his normal grumpy self when he feels a bit better.
Sherlock leant back against the pillows. Despite himself he felt soothed by the presence of John by his side. He knew he should be up. It was ridiculous letting some inconsequential virus get the better of him when he should be out there preventing crimes. But just at this moment his brain warred with his body and for once his body, usually the victim, won.
To show willing he tried to sit up. But a ridiculously small amount of pressure from John on his chest kept him flat on the sofa. He sighed, his body was failing him, he would have to rely on reason to get himself out of the situation.
His voice was more feeble than he would have liked but he had faith that he could still persuade John in to whatever he wanted.
“John...”
“Sherlock, if you say one word to try and convince me to let you up and out of here, I swear I’m going to lock all the doors and windows and remove the keys.
“And before you say that you could overcome those difficulties, and I’m sure you could, I’ve let Mycroft and Lestrade know that you are sick and unavailable for the next week. They are both in agreement with me and are more than willing to ensure that you stay here.” John’s arms were crossed but a smile softened his words. “Now lie back and I’ll get you a drink.”
Sherlock lay back, quietly fuming but aware that in his current state there was little he could do. Almost before he knew it John was next to him again, a steaming cup in his hands. Sherlock looked at him questioningly.
“Lemsip. Come on, it’ll help.”
Sherlock sat up and reached out for the mug. He wanted to say no, wanted to refuse but the smell of lemon was enticing and he was still cold despite the blanket. As he reached over a paroxysm of coughing shook him and John put the mug down to support his friend.
As the shaking subsided Sherlock leant back again, John was sitting next to him now, supporting him and pressing the mug towards him again.
He knew it shouldn’t but Sherlock sipped from the mug and carried on drinking.
“You do realise of course, Doctor, that this will make little difference to the virus in my system, and in fact is unlikely to alter the duration of my illness in any significant way.” It wasn’t his best he knew, but it was as good as he could manage at present.
John’s smile told him that the other man realised this too.
“Oddly enough Sherlock, I do know that. However, it contains decongestant and paracetamol. It will bring your temperature down and make your symptoms more bearable. Now drink.”
Sherlock sighed, he’d finished the mug already, his stab at defiance outweighed by the comfort the drink had brought him. Now he found himself leaning more heavily against John. His eyes were closing and he couldn’t keep them open.
“Just sleep, I’ll be here when you wake.” Were the last words he heard.