Sherlock rubbed his nose. "My nose hurts."

"Yeah, you look like Rudolph," John said absently.

"Who's Rudolph?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

John rolled his eyes. "Nevermind. Your nose is red."

"Probably because it hurts," Sherlock muttered stonily.

"Probably because you keep rubbing it," John said, not looking away from the newspaper as he turned the page.

"It keeps running, John! I can't not rub it when it's running! And I'm out of tissues again!"

John looked over the newspaper. "I just went out to Tesco. I bought a new box."

Sherlock frowned. "Well, obviously, I didn't know about that. Where are they?"

"Kitchen, probably. Still in the shopping bag."

Sherlock got to his feet, shuffling to the kitchen.

Begrudgingly, Sherlock had to admit that he was feeling better. Now, this was a good thing... except he had started feeling better after John's stupid experiment with the chicken noodle soup. Sherlock didn't want to admit that the experiment had been a success on John's behalf, even though Sherlock had hated the soup.

Still, he was feeling a bit better. Even though his nose was driving him crazy.

The headache was mostly gone, his sore throat had diminished, he still had a few aches and pains, but he had stopped shivering although he was still tired. He considered it a victory... as long as he didn't relapse again.

He found the tissues, ripped the box open, and blew his nose. He poured himself a cuppa and shuffled back to the sitting room.

"I take it you're feeling better."

"'m alright," Sherlock murmured.

"You're feeling better," John repeated. "You got your own cup of tea. You have to be feeling better."

Sherlock shrugged slightly, taking a hesitant sip of his tea. "Ugh! This is cold, John!"

John glanced up. "Yeah? Put it in the microwave for a minute."

Sherlock caught John's gaze, staring at him intently across the room. John sighed before standing.

"Give it here."

Sherlock smiled faintly, handing John his mug. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Is your headache gone?" John asked, taking a beaker out of the microwave and placing the mug in it instead.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Sore throat?"

"It's better, yes."

"Good," John said, more to himself. The microwave beeped. "The congestion will probably take a few days to go away, but you'll probably start feeling better. If you rest and continue with your medication!" he added in the warning tone of voice.

Sherlock sighed through his nose with a bit of difficulty. "This is so tedious. When can I go back out on a case?"

"A day or two more of rest should be fine," John said, handing over the mug of tea.

"I don't want to rest for a day or two more," Sherlock muttered, taking a hesitant sip of his tea. It was nice and hot. "I want this congestion to go away and my nose to stop-"

He was just in the process of reaching for a tissue when he sneezed. The movement sent hot tea sloshing onto his lap.

"Ouch! Ow!"

"Sherlock-"

"That's hot!" Sherlock said, grabbing a handful of tissue to press against his pyjama pants. "Why did you make it so hot?!"

"Take your trousers off!" John demanded, rushing to Sherlock's side.

"And you always say that you're not gay, mate," said a voice in the doorway.

Both Sherlock and John looked up to find Lestrade looking at them with raised eyebrows, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

John's face went red, but he turned back to Sherlock. "Take them off. Go! Put a cool cloth against the area."

Sherlock sighed dramatically, getting to his feet. With much annoyance and pain, he shuffled to the bathroom.

When he returned, it was to hear John say "- stupid clot had to go and sneeze tea all over himself. Oh, there are you," John said, looking up at Sherlock. "Alright?"

"It's fine," Sherlock mumbled, flopping onto the couch. "Pyjamas soaked it up. M'legs just hurt now... On top of everything else," he muttered to himself. He looked at Lestrade. "What are you doing here? Is there a new case?"

"There is," Lestrade said, "but I figured I'd bring you the evidence file rather than dragging you out of the house. Given that you're clearly still ill."

Sherlock perked up, sitting up straight. "Details."

"It's some code we need to crack. We have one victim but have reason to believe there may be more planned. We needed a cryptographer and I figured since there was nothing else for you to do but feel miserable for yourself..."

"File?" Sherlock inquired, holding out his hand.

Lestrade handed it over.

When John glanced into Sherlock's room later, he was surprised to find the consulting detective asleep. There was a bottle of Nyquil laying on the bed next to him, not to mention the many papers that Sherlock had been studying. The detective's notes had even spilled over onto the used tissues, it seemed, as there were hasty squiggles of little stick figures across the two-ply tissue.

Sherlock's stuffy nose made his breathing whistle and John couldn't help but smile.

After taking a photo with his mobile, John replaced the spiral notebook that Sherlock's head was resting on (laughing mentally at the imprint on Sherlock's face) with his pillow.

The case could wait. Right now, rest was the most important.

And so ends another sick!fic adventure! If you wanted an ending with more closure... Sorry. Sherlock's nearly better. What else do you expect from me? :p Thank you all for your support. Favs/follows/reviews are always appreciated! :)

I do not own Sherlock.