Dr. John Watson didn't need medical training to know he was sick. Despite the fact that his skin was burning, chills ran through his aching body. He knew he would have to spend the day resting. Unfortunately, it was difficult to rest with Sherlock Holmes as your flatmate.

"John, get out of bed. We have a case." Sherlock found it odd that John had overslept and was annoyed that he had to enter his room (without knocking of course) to retrieve John himself.

Sherlock's irritation faded when he saw the state of his friend. John looked pale and was drenched in sweat. "Are you alright?"

"You're the consulting detective. Do I look alright?" John felt Sherlock's hand touch his forehead to confirm that John indeed had a fever. "You're going to have to go chase murderers without me."

Without another word, Sherlock left the bedroom. John couldn't help but feel disappointed. In the back of his mind, he hoped Sherlock wouldn't leave him alone, but he knew Sherlock had been dying for another case. There was no way he would pass one up for him.

As John coped with his loneliness, he was startled by a wet, cold cloth being placed on his brow.

"John, relax, it's me," said Sherlock.

"I thought you left."

"Left? You're sick." Sherlock said this so matter-of-fact as though the solution was the most obvious thing in the world. As usual, it was not obvious to John. "Do you really think I'm going to leave you in the throes of illness?"

The corners of John's mouth twitched. "Taking care of the ill is awfully boring you know."

"You never bore me, John." Sherlock blushed at his unusual candor about his affection for his friend. "Uh…let me know if you need anything."

"Um…yes." John hoped his already flushed face hid the fact that Sherlock's compliment made him blush as well. "Thank you-"

Pain flared up in John's throat as he broke out into his worse coughing fit. He turned away from Sherlock to curl into a ball. He clenched the sheets as each cough forced his sore body to involuntarily move. He shut his watery eyes waiting for the fit to pass.

John felt a hand gently rub his back. He tried to work past the pain by focusing on the kind, comforting gesture from the self-proclaimed sociopath. Once the coughing had subsided, John laid flat on his back. Sherlock tucked his blanket around his shoulders.

"You're not dying on me, are you, doctor?" The concerned Sherlock was only half joking.

"After everything I survived with you, do you really think I'm going to be done in by a fever?"

Sherlock smirked. He was glad John's weakened state didn't diminish his quick tongue. He grabbed the wet cloth that had fallen during the fit and placed it back on John's forehead.

John closed his eyes and sighed as the cloth cooled his burning forehead. "I just need to rest. I'll be fine. I'm fine."

"Yeah. You're great." Sherlock repeated the words said to him when John looked after him after being drugged by Adler.

Sherlock cared for John the entire night. He gave him medicine, water, soup while monitoring his fever. John spent most of the night practically comatose. It was one of the most boring nights of Sherlock's life, but no matter how many times Lestrade tried to tempt him, he refused to leave John's side.

Considering John had endured so much for Sherlock, the least he could do was handle a little boredom.

A/N: Please leave reviews. A story without reviews is so boring.