Sherlock Sickfic One-shots

Ill.

Word count - 785

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When Sherlock woke up after sleeping for 9 hours, which was already unusual for him, he didn't feel the usual burst of energy he got when he woke up. He stood up, a little too quickly and promptly sat back down on the bed as a spell of dizziness hit him.

Shit he thought to himself, he knew he was sick, that didn't take a genius to figure out. But he also knew he couldn't show it. He got up and began his normal morning routine, he left his room and quickly had a shower as usual. So as not to arouse suspicious, he also skipped breakfast, as he always did.

-

"Sherlock you really need to eat something!" John protested, shoving a plate with a buttered piece of toast on it in front of the detective.

"No I don't!" Sherlock groaned in response,

"But- fine." John gave up, knowing he wouldn't be able to convince Sherlock to eat. He went to make himself some toast and just as he went to take a bite, he heard a shout of "Yes!" from the living room.

"Finally! A case!" Sherlock yelled as John reentered the room, slightly annoyed at having to skip breakfast, but nevertheless, they both promptly grabbed their coats and rushed out the door. Sherlock flagged down a taxi, John following closely behind him. He and John got into the taxi as soon as it pulled off, and they sped of to the crime scene.

-

When they got there Lestrade greeted them at the entrance to the apartment block and explained the murder to them as they got in the lift up to the flat were a young man had been murdered. It was pretty much just a 'regular' murder, so nothing particularly interesting, certainly not to John, who was rather annoyed at having missed his breakfast for this.

They walked into the room with the body in it and Sherlock worked out who, when, why and how the murder had happened almost instantly. He rambled on about the angle of the wounds and how the body fell etc. for a while, all the while Lestrade and John looked on trying to filter out the unimportant information so they at least knew who to arrest. Suddenly Sherlock felt a wave of nausea hit him and he felt as though he was either going to pass out or throw up, or quite possibly both. Thinking quickly he crouched on the floor as if to look at something.

John and Lestrade didn't really take much notice of this and began talking to each other about arresting the guy who had done this. That was until Sherlock put his hand to his head and let out small, but still noticiable a groan of pain.

John quickly spun around and crouched beside Sherlock, "Hey, you alright mate?" He asked, he realised it was a stupid question, obviously the detective wasn't okay, but he still asked anyway. Sherlock simply gave a groan in response before he suddenly lurched forwards and emptied the content of his stomach all over the crime scene.

Lestrade took a quick step back to avoid the sick and John crouched by his side and rubbed soothing circles on Sherlock's back as the detective continued to throw up until his stomach was empty of its content.

John was about to suggest that they go home and Sherlock get some damn rest when, as he began to help Sherlock to his feet, the detective's body suddenly went limp and he would have
crashed to the floor of the apartment if John hadn't caught him and slowly lowered him the rest of the way to the ground. Instinctively, John moved Sherlock into the recovery position while Lestrade and the forensics team, who had just entered the room, all looked on perplexed.

Sherlock quickly came round about two minutes later much to John's relief. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?!" John muttered angrily but quietly.

"It wasn't important" Sherlock replied quitely.

"YES IT WAS SHERLOCK!" John yelled in frustration, Sherlock suddenly looked extremely guilty, and Lestrade looked slightly shocked at hearing the usually calm and collected doctor, yelling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to yell, let's get you home" John said to Sherlock, much softer this time. John and Lestrade then helped Sherlock to his feet and out of the house, Sherlock resting nearly all of his weight on John. They hailed a cab and John got in and had to practically drag Sherlock in Sherlock behind him.

"He's not drunk is he?" The cabbie asked as he looked over his shoulder at the two men, one of whom was sprawled across two of the three back seats of the cab.

"No, he's not." John replied quite harshly, "he's just sick."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Lestrade asked, through the open cab window.

"I'll look after him" John replied with a small laugh as he looked at the detective, before the cab drove off.

It was about a half an hour cab ride back to Bakers street, during which Sherlock slept for the most of it, leaning on John's shoulder without realising it. John just smiled at this fact and admired the beauty of the sleeping man.

They finally arrived at Bakers Street and Sherlock was still sleeping om the cab so John had to shake him awake.

"Five more minutes..." Sherlock moaned, slightly annoyed. John sighed and proceeded to practically drag Sherlock out of the cab and into Bakers Street. From there, John helped him up the stairs (with much difficulty), guided him to his bed room and let him flop onto the bed where he almost immediately fell asleep. John quietly exited the room, flipping the light off as he went.

"See you in the morning" John said as he left the room, a hint of exasperation could be heard in his voice.

A quiet mumble was heard from the bedroom in response. And with that John made his was back through to the living room, flopped into his chair, switched on the telly before he too fell asleep.