It was a cold winter day, dull sky and bare, quivering trees clinging onto their last shaking leaves. John walked down Baker Street holding plastic bags full of milk, bread, tea bags and too much instant coffee. He was people watching and didn't realise how slow he was walking. He finally got to the flat, nose and cheeks flushed by the bitter winter winds.

He opened the door and saw Sherlock curled up on the sofa making little snuffly noises and wheezing every once in a while. He was wearing the blue dressing gown he loved so much, a soft white cotton t-shirt and grey pyjama trousers. The detective's hair was sticking up and messy, his feet bare, making him look vulnerable. John suddenly felt a rush of affection for the slim, pale, oddly beautiful man. He hastily pushed those feelings away and concentrated on putting the shopping in the kitchen cupboards.

John shrugged off his frozen coat and hung it on the rack by the door. He turned to the detective who was now sitting, with his knees pulled up to his chest, simply watching the doctor go about his daily activities. The detective's observant, flickering eyes making contact with John's soft, kind face.

John felt that rush of affection again, but this time didn't shun the feelings. John went to sit next to Sherlock. He flicked the TV on and noticed that 'Mary Poppins' was playing. It had just started. The doctor knew that this film made Sherlock feel a little better. Sherlock had watched it when he was a child and felt a sentimental connection to it. One of the only things he felt a connection to, other than John.

Sherlock shuffled closer to John, and burrowed himself deep into the army doctor's soft, warm body. He lay his heavy head on John's muscular shoulder, his soft, dark curls tickling the doctor's jaw.

John could hear Sherlock humming, almost under his breath, along with Mary Poppins, this became just background music as John was breathing in the detectives scent. Soap, the shampoo they shared and just how Sherlock smells. It comforted John to have someone to hold, someone to look after. He instinctively, quickly planted a light kiss on Sherlock's mane of hair. The detective turned his head toward John and looked him right in the eyes. There was a soft look on his face and he was looking up at John with a surprised, yet pleased expression. Sherlock raised his head and was just about to kiss his lips when John spoke, very softly.

"You better not give me a cold."

Sherlock looked taken aback, and John let out a chuckle. The detective's face relaxed and dissolved into a content smile, he then replied "I'll try my best." He continued to slowly, hesitantly raise his face to John's. There was a beautiful moment, where their lips were hovering around each others, and they could feel each other's breath on trembling skin and soft cheeks. Finally they locked their lips together.

Soft skin on soft skin. Fingers dancing with each other. Tracing ethereal lines on backs and hips. Comforting.

They parted and Sherlock slid down to rest his head on John's shoulder once more. He closed his eyes, his thick dark eyelashes floating upon pale cheekbones.

The doctor and the detective relaxed into each other to watch the rest of the film.

The next day John was ill, so Sherlock had to look after him.

"I did my best." Sherlock said with a playful smile.

John replied with a wheezy laugh and then a sneeze, followed by a quick snuffle.

Sherlock proceeded to stroke John's dark blonde hair and kiss him, softly, on the forehead.

"Get better, love." Sherlock whispered.