Sick Days

John, how come you weren't in school today? This project is really important. We need to get a good grade on it. - SH

Sick, Sherlock. Got the flu. - JW

You can't be sick now. We're so close to graduating. - SH

Tell that to my immune system. Can we talk about this later? - JW

No. I'm coming over and we're going to work on our project. - SH

Sherlock, no. I feel like crap and I'm sleeping all the time. Plus you'll get sick. - JW

Sherlock? - JW

The arrogant boy didn't respond to John's text and he finally put the phone on his nightstand, not expecting a response now. He smiled sardonically and a small part of him hoped that Sherlock did get sick if he came over. Would serve him right. John laid back down and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep, his body unable to stay awake any longer.

Sherlock rode his bike quickly the half mile it took to get from his house to John's. He did really want to work on their project but the bigger part of him was worried about John. His friend didn't get sick often and Sherlock wanted to take care of him. Much as he couldn't really admit it to himself.

He set his bicycle against the fence next to the Watson's driveway and knocked on the door. Mrs. Watson answered it and smiled when she saw Sherlock. She ushered the boy into the house and walked back into the kitchen.

"Here," she said, handing Sherlock a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of juice. "Bring this up to John, will you? He could use some company." With a wink, she headed back into the kitchen, leaving a slightly confused Sherlock standing hold the tray. What was the wink for?

Shaking his head, Sherlock carried the tray upstairs and pushed open the door to John's room. Light snores came from the bundle of blanket and John on the bed and Sherlock couldn't help but smile fondly at it. He set the tray on the nightstand and sat down carefully on the bed.

"John," Sherlock said quietly, shaking John's shoulder. "Wake up." John groaned and shifted under the blanket, opening his eyes. He looked blearily at Sherlock the shook his head.

"Told you not to come," John yawned. "You're going to get sick." Sherlock patted him on the shoulder and picked up the tray again. When John saw the soup, his face brightened and he sat up completely in bed. Sherlock placed the tray on John's lap and watched while his friend slowly ate.

John was having a hard time lifting the spoon to eat his soup, weakness infusing every muscle. He hated being sick; it felt like his immune system saved it all up and punched him in the chest with illness. The spoon clattered into the bowl, falling from John's suddenly nerveless fingers.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked worriedly.

"Tired and weak," John replied, grimacing. He hated showing weakness, especially in front of his best friend.

"How about I help?" Sherlock suggested, picking up the spoon. His skin tingled as he dipped the spoon and brought it to John's lips. Wanting to care for John overwhelmed Sherlock and he waited to see if John would accept the bite.

John watched him for a moment then opened his mouth and allowed Sherlock to slide the spoon in. He tipped the soup onto his tongue and felt Sherlock sliding the spoon out of his mouth. He groaned when, for reasons he wasn't quite ready to understand, Sherlock brought the spoon to his own lips and licked it.

"What are you doing?" John asked breathily.

"I... I don't know," Sherlock replied honestly, staring down at the spoon and flushing. He dropped the spoon into the soup and got up to pace John's room. Feelings he didn't completely understand flooded him, so Sherlock did what he did best. He analyzed what he could and buried what he couldn't as deeply as he could. When he felt his equilibrium return, he sat back down on John's bed and fed him the rest of the soup. They let the subject drop, not wanting to discuss it right now.

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Sherlock, you missed school. Did you get sick? - JW

I feel like I'm dying. John how did you stand this? - SH

It's just the flu. You'll get better in a couple days. I did. - JW

Doesn't feel like it. I'm glad we worked on the project and got it done early. I can barely stay awake now. - SH

I'm coming over. You helped me so I'm going to take care of you. - JW

John walked to Sherlock's house and let himself in the back door. Sherlock's parents were almost never home and his older brother Mycroft was already at university, so Sherlock had given John an extra key. John heard silence in the house and sighed sadly. He knew how lonely Sherlock must be but the boy never let on.

John stopped in the kitchen and grabbed bread to make toast. While it was warming, John poured a glass of orange juice and placed it on a tray. When the toast was done, he spread it liberally with butter and strawberry jam. He placed the toast on a plate and carried the juice and plate upstairs to Sherlock's room.

The taller boy was bundled in all his blankets, much as John had been. He smiled and held out the plate with the toast.

"Eat this," John said. "Food helps. And you'll feel better." One hand snaked out of the blanket bundle and grabbed the toast. Sherlock ate it quickly, taking swallows of juice every once in a while. Once it was all gone, he sat silently and shivered in his cocoon.

"J...John," Sherlock stammered. "So c-c-c-cold." John tilted his head and studied Sherlock. The taller boy was flushed but his entire body was shivering underneath his blanket cocoon.

"All right," John said. "I'll try to help warm you up." He crawled into the bed and worked his way into the cocoon until he could wrap his arms around Sherlock. He felt the thin boy stiffen in his arms and John whispered soothingly into his ear until Sherlock relaxed.

Rearranging their bodies under the blankets so that they were lying on their sides, John pulled Sherlock tight against his chest. Sherlock tucked his head into John's shoulder, his arms stealing around the shorter boy's waist. John smiled and impulsively placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's head.

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yeah?" John replied.

"Thank you."

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock gently. He kept watch over him until light snores signalled Sherlock had fallen asleep. John rested his head against Sherlock's and followed him into slumber.