Don't Be...Dead

10- A Case

(John)

I woke with a smile, recalling the events of the night before. Despite Sherlock denying any feelings towards me, I was still in better spirits than I had been in a long time. After all, he was back. Sherlock Holmes was back. I rolled over to see if Sherlock was still sleeping to find him…not there.

Panic gripped me. He was there, wasn’t he? I hadn’t just imagined the whole thing, had I? I flung the sheets off of me and jumped out of bed, searching the room but not finding him. I bolted into the sitting room. Nothing. Looking in the kitchen I didn’t see him either. However, on the table was a stack of pancakes and a fresh cup of tea. My breathing relaxed slightly.

“John?” I turned to see Sherlock behind me wearing a pair of sweatpants and drying his hair with a now damp towel.

“Sherlock,” I said, my voice sounding much calmer than I felt (though I was sure that, being Sherlock, he could tell how panicked I was). I turned around to the pancakes on the table. “Are these for me?” He nodded and I sat down, then hesitated, my fork hovering inches above the stack. Wait, Sherlock didn’t do things like this. I mean, he had been away for a while but still…

“They’re not poisoned,” he said, reading my thoughts. I nodded but still didn’t take a bite.

“Oh for the love of…” He took the fork out of my hand and violently stabbed at the stack of pancakes, ripping a chunk off. He paused and looked at me. “See?” he said before shoving the pancake into his mouth. Almost instantly he started coughing on it. With a grimace and a great deal of effort, Sherlock swallowed the small chunk of food. “See?” he repeated, faking a smile that said it’s good, just try it.

“I’m not eating that.”

“At least have some tea, the tea’s great.” I picked up the cup from the table and took a sip. It wasn’t too terrible… much better than the coffee he had made me at Baskerville (though that wasn’t saying much). It was lukewarm though… Sherlock stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to commend him on this feat, so I smiled falsely at him. He smiled back before leaving and going to his room.

The second Sherlock left I got up and set the cup of tea in the microwave to heat it up (after removing his “experiment”- honestly, the man hadn’t been back a day even and there were eyeballs in the microwave!). It soon beeped and I pulled the cup out of the microwave. I turned to see Sherlock grabbing his coat from behind me.

“Where are you going?”

“Mycroft has a case.”

I spluttered out the tea I was drinking. “Y-you’re taking a case from Mycroft? Willingly?”

“John, I haven’t had a case for months. At this point I’d take the one about Bluebell.”

I chuckled. “Alright. Just give me a minute to get dressed,” I said, setting the cup down and standing up.

“John, you’re not coming.”

I looked at him confused. “Of course I’m coming. Why wouldn’t I? Somebody has to keep you from murdering Mycroft.”

He gave that look that said I should know something obvious. “Because you’re sick.

“Sherlock, I’m not sick.”

“Yes you are.”

“Sherlock, don’t be ridiculous, I’m fine.”

“Your eyes are slightly bloodshot, cheeks flushed, voice nasally, and-,” he placed the back of his hand against my forehead, “you definitely have a fever. Get some sleep while I’m gone. I want you recovered by the time I get back so we can investigate.” Without giving me a chance to argue, Sherlock ran out of the flat and into the street below.