This is meant to be fun. That's what I keep telling myself - and my frowning fiancé. Zed! What the zed's wrong with this guy?

OK, maybe this wasn't a great idea. Watson's still nervous in fast-moving cars and I know Holmes worries about him more than he'd like to admit. Seriously though, they'd have a lot more fun if they'd just lighten up!

I shouldn't have listened to Chelsea. We should've gone on our own. Watson didn't look as if he was enjoying himself any more than Holmes is, even though he's been dragged along to a funfair before.

Zed! I wish Holmes'd stop complaining! He doesn't like the food, he's refusing to go on any rides (even the tame ones) and he's already found out that the skill games are fixed (and said so at the top of his voice - he even asked me to zedding cuff the guy on the shooting gallery!). What am I supposed to do?

"You are gonna co-operate Sherlock or so help me..." I grab him by the arm and drag him into the queue for the ferris wheel. "Scared o' heights? No? Then you won't mind this ride, will you?"

He sulks in the queue. He won't talk to me, he won't look at me... Zed! I forgot what a child this guy can be when he's in a mood.

He calms down a bit when we're strapped into our seat and the wheel's moving. I can tell he's calming down by the way he's looking around at the view.

Before long, Sherlock's holding my hand 'n' smiling. Thank zed for that! I was starting to think he was never gonna forgive me.

"Can we go home now?" Holmes asks when we get off the ferris wheel. "I am hungry."

"You should've had lunch when we stopped," I snap back at him. "I said you'd be hungry."

"I do not like greasy, rich foods," he sniffs. "Not unless I can remain still and quiet for at least an hour after eating in order to digest. I know not why places such as this only serve things such as chips and burgers in the first place. Ugh! Is the only point of a funfair to make one horribly sick? If that is the case, your driving can have that effect."

Zed! He's a nice guy. "Are you done?"

"Yes. I should very much like to go home."

I'm gonna have some fun first and I tell him so. I don't know why he's so tense! It's not even like he ever threw up in my car - not even when he was sick with the flu - so I know he'll be OK.

"Stop being such a grump Sherlock. Zed! C'mon, this is meant to be fun!"

He likes the dodgems. He even cheers when he bumps me and waves a fist in the air. Like that is it? Two can play that game! We're careful not to hit each other too hard - I know all about whiplash and Sherlock's a real gentleman - but we have fun.

It isn't possible to drag Holmes on the rollercoaster - it's got a scary-looking loop-the-loop and he swears that just the thought of it makes him feel sick. Huh! That's probably hunger actually, but I can't force the guy to eat.

I do drag him on the log flume. That's fun! Holmes likes it - or at least doesn't hate it - until we go down the big dip at the end 'n' get a soaking. Zed! Anyone'd think he doesn't bathe with all the fuss he's making.

I feel a little guilty when his teeth start chattering. I forgot that Holmes feels the cold more than he feels heat - I guess it's because he's so slender - and I probably shouldn't have let him get so wet.

"We'll go home soon, OK?" I tell him as I squeeze his hand. Zed! He's really cold! "Your hands're like ice! Are you OK?"

He nods and tries to stop shivering. It doesn't work. "Wh-where arrrrre we g-g-g-g-going now?"

OK, he's colder than I expected. I squeeze his hand 'n' drag him into the hall o' mirrors. At least that's inside, out o' the breeze. Holmes isn't exactly amused by the mirrors, but at least it's warmer and he slowly stops shivering. I really don't want him to get sick! Maybe we should get back.

I really want to have one last ride before we go home. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at me doubtfully. "Which one?"

"My favourite - the swinging ship."

He folds his arms and shivers as he stops walking. "Absolutely not."

Why not? "It's not like it goes upside-down or anything - it only swings."

"I would rather not thank you."

I frown at him. "Why not?"

"Oh!" he huffs, uncrossing his arms to throw his hands in the air. "All right! If we can go afterwards then I submit."

I message Chelsea to let her know we'll be going home once we've had one more ride and then I drag Holmes off to join the queue.

Sherlock's starting to worry me. He's real quiet - and not the kind o' quiet that he was when he was sulking either. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was nervous.

"You OK?"

He smiles and nods.

"You don't look it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I shrug. "OK then. If you're sure."

He just nods again and gives me another smile. It's an actor's smile - just his mouth turning up at the corners, not the sort that lights his eyes up.

When we get aboard the ship, Holmes is tense. I hope he'd tell me if there was something wrong, but I'm not all that sure and he's been acting weird. Oh well, this ride won't last long and then we'll be off home. I hold his hand and squeeze it gently as the rocking starts. I feel him relax a little. Good!

The rocking gets faster and soon it looks as if the opposite end o' the ship is touching the ground when it tips up. Amongst the cheers and laughter I hear Sherlock groan quietly beside me and turn to him. He's pale - really pale - and his eyes are closed. His jaw's clamped shut and the hand that isn't still in my hold is resting on his stomach. Zed! He expected this and didn't say anything!

I'm pretty relieved when the rocking slows down, but Sherlock doesn't open his eyes until it's stopped altogether and the safety restraints are released. Then he quietly waits until everyone else has got off before climbing out behind them. He doesn't look good!

"Do you wanna find a bathroom?"

"No. I just need to sit quietly. Oh God... My head...!"

I drag him - gently - to a bench and sit down next to him, rubbing at his back as he massages his temples and swallows awkwardly. I hope he isn't gonna throw up - I know he'd hate to do that in public.

"Want some water Sherlock?"

He waves his hand. I think that's a no.

"OK. Uh... Is there anything I can do?" Why the zed do I sound so apologetic? If he'd told me he thought he might get sick I wouldn't have put him through this.

He groans quietly but he's looking a little better.

"I don't get it Sherlock. I don't get you. Why didn't you say something?"

He's taking careful, deep breaths now. I see him give me a glare from the corner of his eye.

"What? So you expect me to read your mind or something? I've never seen you throw up apart from that time you had the flu - and even then, you were OK in my zedding car."

"I suffer from seasickness. On occasion. The rocking motion... The sight of the opposite end of the ship almost touching the ground while we were flung into the air... The speed... Oh...!" I watch anxiously as he leans to the side and coughs a couple o' times, but he hasn't had a thing to eat or drink so he can't throw up.

"I'm getting you some water."

"I shall vomit if I have anything."

I rest a hand on his forehead. It's hot, but he isn't sweating. "You zedding idiot! You're dehydrated - no wonder you feel bad. I'm getting you some water and you're gonna drink it very slowly 'n' carefully, so you can keep it down. OK?"

He nods gingerly.

I can't believe he'd do something so zedding stupid! I'll have to give him a talking to later.

The water helps. I thought it'd do him some good. He doesn't look great though - he's still pale and he keeps wiping his water bottle across his forehead.

"Think you can face the ride home if I'm careful and you sit up front?"

He waves a hand and takes another sip of water. "I shall survive. Watson would fare worse than I were you to force him into the rear seat. He still goes into the state that you refer to as 'fight or flight'."

Yeah, he does. He still feels sick sometimes and I've noticed that he gets fidgety even when he's in the front seat of my car and I'm driving slowly - not that he ever complains.

"Will you be OK?"

He glares at me and straightens up. "Really Lestrade! What sort of a question is that? I have already said that I shall be all right."

"You said you'd survive, not that you'll be OK. 'Sides, you still don't look all that good."

He takes another sip of water and shrugs. "I should like to freshen up, now that I am feeling more like myself. Would you excuse me?"

"Can it wait?" I ask him. I mean, he can't have got that dirty in the few hours we've been here. Zed! How often does this guy wash himself? "Watson 'n' Chelsea'll be here any minute and then we'll be going home."

He grimaces and fidgets next to me. Oh! O' course! He's started to want to find a bathroom now that he's finally decided to drink something.

"Are you OK?" I ask him carefully. I mean, he has to be getting desperate if he's fidgeting and I'm not sure he knows where to go. I'm not sure I know where the nearest men's room is either.

"Of course I am!" he snaps as he gets to his feet (very slowly) and tries pretty unsuccessfully not to jiggle.

Yeah, right. His behaviour's telling me something a little different. He looks like a little kid that's waited way too long and doesn't wanna admit it.

I take him by the arm without a word and guide him in the direction of the last bathrooms we passed. I don't wanna desert the guy while he's struggling, even if it is his own fault.

"I am embarrassing you."

"No you're not," I tell him quickly. "Think I've never felt like that? Zed Sherlock! It happens to everyone sometimes. Just concentrate on hanging on and I'll get you to where you need to be. OK?"

He nods curtly. "Thank you."

I can feel him shaking. Poor guy! It's horrible, feeling like that. I'm tempted to just tell him to duck behind a bush or something, but it isn't legal, I'm a Yardie and I know he wouldn't anyway. I squeeze his arm sympathetically and keep my eyes open for that men's room - I'm sure it was close!

It doesn't take us long to find the men's room and I take his near-empty water bottle from him and usher him inside. He walks with a measured pace but his fingers are already working at the front of his trousers. Well, at least he made it.

I message Chelsea to let her know where we are. I also make sure she knows that we'll be heading for the car afterwards. I want to get Sherlock home so that John the compudroid can take a look at him - I'm not gonna relax until John says he's OK.

Holmes is quiet on the drive back, but he seems better. Maybe he's just quiet because Watson is. Chelsea's chatty though - she more than makes up for the men's silence.

"Did you guys go on the rollercoaster?" she asks suddenly.

"No," Sherlock says tersely. I think that's got to be the first word he's said since we got in the zedding car.

"You should have! It was great! Wasn't it John?"

Watson groans very quietly. Poor guy! If my car makes him nervous, I dread to think how he handled that.

"We tried almost every single ride," his fiancée goes on, oblivious. "I liked the rollercoaster best though."

"Yes. It was... 'fun'," says Watson with what looks like a shudder.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder. "Come off it John!" she scolds. "You're a soldier for zed's sake! It wasn't scary and you've seen wars."

"Can it Chelsea," I snap. "Holmes 'n' Watson are real brave, but they aren't used to fast rides - it must be scary as zed for 'em and we should both 've been more supportive."

Watson gives me a grateful smile.

"This is a lesson learned as far as I'm concerned," I add for good measure, just to really stick the boot in. "I'm gonna listen to Holmes in future."

"Yeah, yeah, OK," huffs my selfish flatmate. "I'm sorry, OK? I guess I didn't think about that. Are you OK John?"

He nods but doesn't say anything. I guess he's upset.

When we stop at Baker Street, John ushers us all inside with a promise of tea and biscuits but (for once) Sherlock doesn't want any tea and Watson turns both the tea and the biscuits down. I quietly tell John that Holmes got dehydrated and he promises to keep an eye on the both of 'em for me.

I kiss Holmes' cheek and then hold him close to me. "I'm real sorry Sherlock. Next time we'll go kite surfing or something. OK?"

"That would most certainly be much more enjoyable," he says gratefully. "I might actually go so far as to call kite surfing 'fun'."

I lean back to smile at him. "Yeah, it is fun."

We agree to arrange a session soon and then I play with Briar the English setter while I wait for Chelsea to finish apologising to Watson. That takes her ages, but it's good to see her thinking about how Watson feels for a change so I'm not gonna rush her.

When Chelsea's ready to leave I give Holmes one last hug and a quick kiss (I want him to know I'm sorry too) and then I drag my flatmate back downstairs and out to the car.

"Next time you decide to go to a funfair, we'll go alone," I tell my friend as I drive. "It might be fun for us, but Watson looked really scared and uncomfortable - Holmes didn't enjoy himself much either."

"Yes Beth," she mutters like a pouting teen.

I think I've made my point. I won't say any more about it.

"Do you like kite surfing?" I ask without even turning to look at her.