Sherlock Oneshots

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Johnlock Bromance

London's population is increasing immensely. In 2010, there were 7,825,200 people living in the Capital, with people visiting from all over the world just to see tourist attractions. Imagine, people from different places, bringing illnesses, festering onto others. In the bleak winters of 2011, a bug had spread through the heart of England, reaching 221B Baker Street.

Due to the fact that the sleuth of London, Sherlock Holmes, hardly sleeps and never eats, his health status had lowered its barrier; making him vunerable to an illness. His caring flatmate, John Watson, had tried his best to persuade the detective to consume more and rest, but Sherlock's pompous personality had told John otherwise.
On Christmas Eve, however, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Earth's only consulting detective, was defeated. By the common cold. Nevertheless, Sherlock's demands had increased; sniffling at John for tissues, a cup of tea, a blanket, the list goes on. On New Year's Day, it started snowing vigorously, causing the boys' flat to send a chill up anyone's spine. John had shuffled into the flat, dragging behind snowflakes and shopping bags; Sherlock was wrapped up in two blankets on the couch, shouting at The Jeremy Kyle Show on the TV. John slumped in his chair with the newpaper, sipping the cup of tea; he had made Sherlock one, but that's not what he wanted. An unexpected demand caused John to abruptly stop reading, and he shifted his gaze to the childish man.

"I won't repeat it, John." Sherlock huffed, patting the space with his foot infront of him. His back was resting on the sofas arm, with blankets tangled between his limbs. John slowly toddled over to the sofa and sat down infront of Sherlock's lanky legs. John had expected Sherlock's legs to rest in John's lap, but instead, Sherlock wriggled out of his position and wrested his curly head on John's chest, pulling an arm around the doctor's body. John, now feeling quite uncomfortable, tensed slightly at the mans mis-understanding of personal space.

"You don't have to be so tense around me, John; I was merely making sure you were warm." Sherlock yawned, his eyes drooping from comfy position. John relaxed, shifting his left arm around Sherlock's shoulder, and sloped down slightly. Sherlock's head rested directly on John now, being able to hear John's heartbeat, which was soothing, aswell as John twisting his raven curls around his fingers. Sherlock hummed at the relaxing sensation, a warm feeling spreading through his body, before he drifted into a relaxing sleep.