Beside You- A Johnlock Fanfiction (BBC Sherlock) *UNDER HEAVY EDITING*

Chapter Twenty- Fix You

We accept the love we think we deserve.

-          Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

(A/N- Hello everyone! Sorry that this chapter's a bit shorter than most of the rest, but I suppose it's a fairly good one. I don't know. Also, I fixed the letter in the previous chapter like I said I would- thank you all for over 2,500 reads and 180+ votes! Love you!) 

Sherlock

Twelve days until the wedding, and my John was sick.

If he hadn’t kept begging me not to, I would have continued to blame myself- I had been the one who had initiated that we sit on top of the double decker bus in the freezing cold rain anyway. Though it did not take long for us to catch the killer, and John was wrapped in my coat for most of the time, he still was ill.

“Do you want me to call a doctor?” I asked him.

“Sherlock, I am a doctor. It’s just a cold, it will be gone in a couple of days- don’t worry,” he put on a smile for me, his voice forced and scratchy. It obviously hurt him to talk- I didn’t want him to get hurt.

“I’ll go and get you some paracetamol,” I told him, but first I made sure he was comfortable, plumping the pillows and tidying up the twisted duvets. On my way to the store, I phoned Molly and Lestrade, informing them that I would not be able to make it today. We’d practiced enough anyway- I wouldn’t need to help them anymore.

Getting the right tablets from the chemist, along with a new thermometer (the last one had been used for various experiments and therefore was not suitable for temperature taking) I ran back to Baker Street as soon as possible. I made John some tea and got him a glass of water to take the medicine with, before walking back into our bedroom.

John was sleeping, but started to wake up when I entered the room. “Hey,” I said softly. “I got you a drink, but take this first. Sitting down beside him, I handed him the water and a tablet, which he gulped down gratefully, though wincing slightly as the lump went down his throat.

“Sherlock,” he said.

“You should whisper, it won’t hurt as much,” I told him in the most soothing voice I could manage.

“Sherlock,” he whispered. “Do you think you could… Umm…”

“Of course, anything”

“… Read to me?”

I nodded and got up off the bed. “Which book?” We’d finished ‘The Hobbit’ a few weeks ago.

“Harry Potter?” He suggested.

“Okay, which one’s the first one?” He looked at me horrified.

“I’m joking! Of course I know which one to get,” I kissed his warm forehead before going to retrieve the book. When I found it, I climbed on top of the duvet next to him and wrapped an arm around him. He rested his head on my shoulder, snuffling slightly, nesting his hair into the crook of my neck as I lifted my legs onto the bed.

I would have been surprised that I was actually enjoying it, but having read ‘The Hobbit’ with John I was aware of his good taste in books and ended up liking this just as much. I continued to read for several hours, ignoring the ache in my voice, until I felt John drift off on my shoulder. I found the nearest object flat enough to be used as a bookmark, and put the book down.

Most people look all puffy, pasty and pale when they’re ill, but John still looked beautiful were my thoughts as I put him into a lying position so that he wouldn’t slip into an uncomfortable position in his sleep.