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John noticed it right away. He spent countless hours with the world's only consulting detective. So even the littlest difference in Sherlock's behavior was noticed. Sherlock's nose normally a lovely shade of creamy white was tinged pink. And he was wheezing a bit. John came up with his own deduction that Sherlock must have caught a cold. Being out in this rainy London weather he's surprised he hadn't caught one himself.
"Sherlock? Are you feeling alright?" John asked. True concern in the tone of his voice.
"Busy, John." He replied as they walked back over to the area where the murder they were currently investigating happened to have taken place.
It didn't take Sherlock much longer to call in and report the woman's to Lestrade. It was the man who ran the barber shop over on Woodland. Bit unnerving really for John. That's where he always got his hair trimmed. But nevertheless, soon Sherlock and John were in a cab on their way back to 221B.
John was looking out the window when he turned to Sherlock after the man had let out a rather large sneeze. John opened his mouth to repeat his question from earlier, but he was cut off by a mop of curls landing on his shoulder.
'No, John. I am not feeling well." he says quietly his low melodic voice, a bit raspy.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?! IF people see they are going to talk!" He said trying to push Sherlock off to no avail.
"John please."
"No Sherlock. I'm Not Gay!"
"No. John. Please take care of me." The younger man said looking up at the ex-army doctor.
John's heart pounded in his chest as he stared down at those icy blue orbs.How could he say no to that...that... that perfect face? It was nothing new to John the attraction he felt for Sherlock. But, Sherlock was asexual. And John could never let the other man know of his feelings.
John just grunted in agreement and looked back out the window until they arrived at their flat. Quickly he got out and payed the cabby before heading into his and Sherlock's flat. at the top of the stairs, they paused, allowing a winded Sherlock the catch his breath, and without even removing his long, black coat, he flopped down on the couch.
"Sherlock, it would be best if you went and changed into something more comfortable." John announced, walking into the kitchen and putting a pot on to boil.
Sherlock just whined like a sick child and didn't move. He was still laying there when John walked in with a hot cuppa.
"Sherlock, what did I tell you?"
Sherlock shifted and looked up at him. "Jawnnnnn, you said you would take care of me!" He whined.
John went a little red in the face. "Yes I said I would, but that does not count for me changing your clothes. Go put some sleep clothes on."
"But John!"
"No buts! Go Now." He ordered. And with that Sherlock hung his head and walked to his room to change.
"My god, he can be such a child!" John thought to himself. "What on earth have I gotten myself into..."
Not to long after Sherlock had entered his room, he emerged in his white sheet. John nearly facepalmed. That was what he got though. Sherlock went and flopped down on the couch again. A few seconds later, Sherlock's voice rang through the air of the flat.
"Jawnnnnnn, I'm cold!"
John sighed and got up to feel Sherlock's forehead. As he placed his hand on his forehead, Sherlock's slender fingers wrapped around John's wrist and pulled him down onto his chest.
"I said I was cold John."
"S..sherlock what are you..."
"Stop John." Sherlocks said immediately, as he buried his face in the crook of John's muscular neck and sighed heavily.
"Sherlock I..."
"I said stop. John." And with that, Sherlock held John in his arms for the rest of the night. John didn't really mind. He had always imagined what it would be like to held by the detective's those long inviting arms. Granted Sherlock was sick. But John didn't protest further and just cuddled into Sherlock. And they both slept well through the night. The Detective and his blogger.
"Sherlock? Are you feeling alright?" John asked. True concern in the tone of his voice.
"Busy, John." He replied as they walked back over to the area where the murder they were currently investigating happened to have taken place.
It didn't take Sherlock much longer to call in and report the woman's to Lestrade. It was the man who ran the barber shop over on Woodland. Bit unnerving really for John. That's where he always got his hair trimmed. But nevertheless, soon Sherlock and John were in a cab on their way back to 221B.
John was looking out the window when he turned to Sherlock after the man had let out a rather large sneeze. John opened his mouth to repeat his question from earlier, but he was cut off by a mop of curls landing on his shoulder.
'No, John. I am not feeling well." he says quietly his low melodic voice, a bit raspy.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?! IF people see they are going to talk!" He said trying to push Sherlock off to no avail.
"John please."
"No Sherlock. I'm Not Gay!"
"No. John. Please take care of me." The younger man said looking up at the ex-army doctor.
John's heart pounded in his chest as he stared down at those icy blue orbs.How could he say no to that...that... that perfect face? It was nothing new to John the attraction he felt for Sherlock. But, Sherlock was asexual. And John could never let the other man know of his feelings.
John just grunted in agreement and looked back out the window until they arrived at their flat. Quickly he got out and payed the cabby before heading into his and Sherlock's flat. at the top of the stairs, they paused, allowing a winded Sherlock the catch his breath, and without even removing his long, black coat, he flopped down on the couch.
"Sherlock, it would be best if you went and changed into something more comfortable." John announced, walking into the kitchen and putting a pot on to boil.
Sherlock just whined like a sick child and didn't move. He was still laying there when John walked in with a hot cuppa.
"Sherlock, what did I tell you?"
Sherlock shifted and looked up at him. "Jawnnnnn, you said you would take care of me!" He whined.
John went a little red in the face. "Yes I said I would, but that does not count for me changing your clothes. Go put some sleep clothes on."
"But John!"
"No buts! Go Now." He ordered. And with that Sherlock hung his head and walked to his room to change.
"My god, he can be such a child!" John thought to himself. "What on earth have I gotten myself into..."
Not to long after Sherlock had entered his room, he emerged in his white sheet. John nearly facepalmed. That was what he got though. Sherlock went and flopped down on the couch again. A few seconds later, Sherlock's voice rang through the air of the flat.
"Jawnnnnnn, I'm cold!"
John sighed and got up to feel Sherlock's forehead. As he placed his hand on his forehead, Sherlock's slender fingers wrapped around John's wrist and pulled him down onto his chest.
"I said I was cold John."
"S..sherlock what are you..."
"Stop John." Sherlocks said immediately, as he buried his face in the crook of John's muscular neck and sighed heavily.
"Sherlock I..."
"I said stop. John." And with that, Sherlock held John in his arms for the rest of the night. John didn't really mind. He had always imagined what it would be like to held by the detective's those long inviting arms. Granted Sherlock was sick. But John didn't protest further and just cuddled into Sherlock. And they both slept well through the night. The Detective and his blogger.
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"Where do you think you are going?" John did not need to turn around to know that Sherlock would attempt to make a break for it the moment his back was turned.
"Just getting a book," Sherlock lied, looking wistfully at his coat and scarf. Maybe if he just ran he could get away, he was faster than John and could soon out run him. But then where would he go? The only lab that still accepted him uninvited was Bart's and that would be the first place John would look. He refused to go within a mile of Mycroft, and Lestrade would be on John's side no doubt. No, he would have to stick it out and hopefully just annoy John to death. He kicked his leg
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Sensing that it was John, who was coming home and not someone else, didn't prove a challenge to the great Sherlock Holmes. Doctor Watson had this very specific way of opening the front door, unique pace of climbing the stairs and breathing pattern that somehow felt soothing. But Sherlock, sitting in his armchair and browsing through a newspaper, knew that something was different today. All those little habits of John's were slightly altered. Perhaps due to the rain that kept falling incessantly for the whole day. Whatever the reason, Sherlock was mildly intrigued. Something was afoot.
"Hello, John," he said casually, eyes fixed on John.
"He
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A quick JohnLock fluff thing. Sorry its bad. *shrugs*
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That was really cute