Happy For the Stranger (Johnlock)

7

I wake up the next morning with a smile on my face, even though I have to go to work today. Once I get dressed and comb through the tangles in my hair, Sherlock isn't up yet, which is strange.

I venture into his room, which i've never been in before. It's a complete mess, probably messier than the kitchen table, which is a stretch.

"Sherlock? Everything ok?"

All I get in response is a grumble and the rustling of covers as he rolls over, followed by a fit of coughing and sneezing.

"God, Sherlock, are you sick?"

I received another grumble and complaining about how hot he is.

"Shit, I'll be right back." Preparing a cold cloth and finding the thermometer I trek back to the room to see all the covers thrown hastily off the bed, and Sherlock lying, half naked on the bed. His face is red and air comes through his mouth, laboured.

He tries to push my hand way when I lay the cloth on his face, but i finally manage to get it to lay on his forehead. "You're sick Sherlock. Open up."

He does as i say and I put the thermometer in his mouth, pulling it out a few minutes later to find that he has a high fever. "Ok Sherlock, you have to stay in bed today." I say, standing up from the bed to be pulled back down by Sherlock.

"I want you to stay." He says in a raspy voice.

"Yes, Sherlock, but I need to call into work first, tell them I won't be there. Then I'll get you a fresh cloth."

He pouts, but lets me go, making me promise to be back as quick as possible.

Sighing, I call the hospital and tell them I won't be in, then wet a fresh cloth for Sherlock, smiling to myself. I know he's sick, but it's still time spent with him.

I return to the room with a book in my hand and sit on the edge of the bed. Sherlock looks at me quizzically. "What's that?"

"A book, Sherlock. Surely you've seen one before." I joke.

He rolls his eyes. "I mean what book?"

"The Hobbit." i say as I open the front cover and begin to read. He scoots over in the bed and props up the pillow, patting the place beside him. Reluctantly, I sit next to him, and continue reading. Several chapters in, I feel his head resting on my shoulder and his soft snores. Closing the book I smile to myself.

Am I in love? He can't love me back. He just can't. I just won't let him know.

I rest my head on his, and when I'm really sure that he's asleep, I press a kiss to his dark curls, smiling at the scent of his shampoo.

I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes.