Chapter Four

"John?"

John, who had been unwisingly nodding off in the chair, snapped to attention at his name. He recognized the voice and hurriedly scrambled to his feet. It had been hours- hours since Lestrade had woken him up. The DI was actually passed out in the chair designated as Sherlock's at the moment. John hadn't had the heart to wake up, especially when John actually noticed the time. He'd lost track of the entire day. That should have alarmed him. It didn't.

"Sherlock?" John replied, poking his head around the corner of Sherlock's room. He was still somewhat unsteady on his feet, but he was, by all means, in a better state than before. He leaned against the door frame of Sherlock's room, eyeing the man who was sitting up, holding the rag in his hand.

"What is this rubbish?" Sherlock grumbled, waving the dry rag towards John.

"It was for your fever." John pushed away from the door frame, walking over to Sherlock.

"I see you're feeling better."

"Remarkably," John agreed. "And you?" He took the rag from Sherlock and pressed his hand against the detective's forehead instead. "You're still warm... Probably a low-grade."

Sherlock nodded slightly, although moving away. "Yes... Most likely one that will be gone within two to three hours."

"Of rest," John added quickly.

Sherlock stood slowly, John noticing only just when the detective tried to hide a flinch.

"You need to get some paracetamol in your system."

"Going to, thanks." Sherlock stumbled, catching himself on the bathroom door.

"You need help?"

"Of course not," Sherlock fired back, wrenching the door open and stepping into the bathroom. "I'm fine, perfectly fine."

"Okay, well, you're still going to have to thank Lestrade."

Sherlock paused in the movement of re-closing the door. "What?"

"Lestrade's been here. Taking care of us. He's asleep out there now," John said, thumbing towards the living room. Sherlock looked in the general direction of the living room before frowning slightly, shutting the bathroom door in John's face. "Oi, thanks for that," John said, frowning at the now-closed door.

He meandered lazily back into the kitchen, grabbing the ginger ale from the refrigerator and pouring himself another glass. Tea sounded good, but also too much of a hassle, and he was sticking with the ale- just in case.

He went back in the living room, sipping at his drink as he walked over to Lestrade. He carefully dislodged the DI's mobile from the sleeping man's hand and, choosing to ignore the unsent text to his wife, powered it off before setting it on the table. He would have roused the Inspector had it not been so late- it would have been remarkably pointless to send the Inspector out now, not to mention just plain rude.

John doubled back to Sherlock's room to wait for the consulting detective to re-emerge, flopping backwards onto the bed. At least he felt a little better. For that, he was grateful.

He woke up to sunlight. His initial reaction was to roll over and cover his face. Until he realized- sunlight!

He sat up rather quickly, looking immediately towards his alarm. But, wait. This wasn't his room. It took him a slow moment to realize that he was in Sherlock's room. Was this becoming some sort of (terrible) habit...? He looked around quietly, but Sherlock wasn't in the room.

Blearily, he stretched his arms above his head and stood, ignoring the small aches still pervading his body. Otherwise, he seemed to feel much better, and was glad that he had spent a few, long hours asleep with this illness.

Knowing that he was fine, he became interested with knowing if Sherlock was. He padded into the hallway; the bathroom door was open, no Sherlock. So, that left the kitchen or the living room. A mop of dark curls appeared past the frame of the hallway wall, followed by Sherlock's intent gaze as the detective leaned back in his chair. Kitchen, then.

"Finally up," Sherlock said, in a sort of question without the tone of questioning.

"Yeah, uhm, sorry about that," John murmured, drawing his fingers through his hair. "Sick and all... Did you get some sleep, uh, regardless? On the couch?"

"I repositioned your body and went back to sleep upon my own duvet, thank you."

"We're making a disturbing habit of sleeping together," John muttered, prying the fridge open.

"No, you're making a disgusting habit of sleeping with me," Sherlock replied.

"I haven't done it on purpose. I'm sick and tired and-" A snort from the living room brought John to a complete stop, his fingers slipping on the milk. The carton hit the countertop and graciously didn't topple over, but John's attention was on the sleeping figure in the living room. He had totally forgotten about Lestrade. "He's been here all night?" John whispered, looking back at Sherlock.

"Don't feel obliged to lower your voice, he snores loud enough to cover any trace of communication."

John blinked, going back to his milk. "What time it is?"

"Just past five-thirty."

"Oh. Should wake him up... he'll be late for work shortly..." John murmured over readying himself a teacup for tea. "Do you want anything? Oh, I meant to ask- you okay? You seem to be feeling better."

"I'm fine."

John finished making his tea and took a seat at the table next to Sherlock. They were quiet for some time, only the snores belonging to the Detective Inspector breaking the silence.

"Rough night," John commented, sipping at his tea. Sherlock 'hmph'ed in return, John taking that as a confirmation.

More silence, more snoring. John didn't know how long it took them to start laughing. John didn't know how long it took Lestrade to wake up and realize that they were laughing at him.

"Oi, what you laughing at?" Lestrade grumbled, sitting up straighter and looking very self conscious. "Actually, what am I still doing here? I see you two are fine."

It took them, namely John, the time that it took Lestrade to vanish, glaringly, into the bathroom, come back out, and pick up Sherlock's untouched cup of tea, to stop laughing. Even then, they, namely John, were still chuckling as Lestrade looked down at them (somewhat fondly, John reckoned) over his teacup.

"You two are mad," Lestrade stated, shaking his head slightly with a smile on his face.

"What made you figure that out?" Sherlock asked quickly, his own sardonic smile on his face. One detective looked at the other and John watched them pass a moment in silence. Lestrade smiled faintly, a soft smile that didn't speak of real humour or amusement. John frowned slightly, wondering what that was all about, before Sherlock reached up and took the teacup from Lestrade. "Stop drinking my tea."

John chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he went back to his tea.

5th August

Interesting Happenings

Well, it's happened, folks. Sherlock and I got ourselves deathly ill- at the same exact time. To save you guys from the terrible mental pictures, I won't go into the gory details. But we have some good friends who watch over us. I wouldn't trade any of the time with them for anything.

P.S. Sherlock, just face it. Some things are just totally uncontroll-

[Blog post unfinished]

And there we have it. I'll probably start another sick!fic just because I can't stay away from them. xD I hope you enjoyed it. I found a new weakness- caring Lestrade- and got to have another giggly moment. It's fine. All fine.

Now to thank you all for following the story! I hope you liked it. Thank you for the follows, favourites, and reviews! Like I said, look out for another sick!fic. Thanks again!