The room was a mess. There was paperwork strewn all over the wooden floor, wet clothes hanging from lampshades and the windows were steamed up. John sat in his armchair beside the fireplace in his pyjamas, stripy dressing gown and slippers; his hair was slightly damp from the heavy rain storm they had been running in, chasing the latest suspect through the alleyways of London.

He sneezed, let a groan out and had a sip of his hot tea.

"Oh John, do shut-up" Sherlock scolded from his position at the kitchen table. He did not even move away from his microscope to speak and John rolled his eyes.

"You should be blooking bafter me, I'mb ill after running arounb Londonb in the rain" John said, his nose obviously blocked up, he sneezed at the end of his sentence and groaned once more.

Sherlock sat back in his chair and looked over at John, as though he could feel the back of his head being burned into by Sherlock's gaze he turned round and looked over.

"You haven't changed yourb clothes, Sherlock!" John stammered through his cold. "You're goba get ill too"

Sherlock scoffed. "I do not get ill, John"

John sneezed again.

"John! Control yourself!" Sherlock shouted.

"My throat is sore." John stated. Feeling sorry for himself.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, walking toward John. "What can I do?" Sherlock asked awkwardly.

"What do you meab?" John asked through his nose.

"How can I relieve your current pains?" Sherlock asked again.

John blinked. "Not muchb, I just neeb to stay warmb and dry" he said eventually.

"Would it make you feel better if I was ill with you?" Sherlock asked unexpectedly.

"You willb be if you doa't chabge your clothes" John stated, rubbing his nose with a tissue.

"I want it to work faster; I cannot sit around and wait to get ill. It needs to be now or not at all." Sherlock said matter – of – factly.

John looked up at his flatmate with a bemused look.

Sherlock sighed, then, swooped down without a further word and firmly planted his lips to Johns, ignoring the ex-soldiers' first attempts at pulling away.

He pushed John down into the chair and flicked his tongue through his lips, thoroughly exploring the good doctor's mouth.

Finally they broke apart. Sherlock stood up with a "That should do it" and moved swiftly toward his room to change his clothes leaving a befuddled looking sick doctor in his wake.