BBC Sherlock imagines

Fever

It was an average February afternoon. Sherlock was at Scotland Yard, explaining how he'd come to the conclusion that, it was the brother who'd killed the murder victim after getting in a jealous rage over her boyfriend which he had been cheating with, to Lestrade. John was by his side and everything seemed as it should be. At least to everyone except Sherlock. To him, something was off, very off. His body ached, his eyes stung and his head pounded at him constantly. And for Sherlock, this was not normal. Despite this though, he was determined not to let it show. He did not need people looking after him or thinking he was soft. Being vulnerable was one of Sherlock biggest fears.

He continued to ramble out his deductions, as quickly as possible. And the minute he'd finished, he nodded to Lestrade and made for the door, John being quick to follow behind. Sherlock had to stop once outside the doors, leaning against the wall for support. "Sherlock?" John questioned worriedly. When he didn't get a response, he stepped forward placing a hand on sherlocks shoulder. But Sherlock only shrugged him off and started walking towards the main road again. As he did so though, his legs buckled underneath him and he was left on his knees. "Bloody hell" John exclaimed, lunging forward and crouching down next to Sherlock in record time. "Sherlock, come on just tell me what it is, you're white as a sheet for God's sake." Sherlock, struggling to even keep his top half upright and to keep the contents of his stomach inside, he finally gave in, "Don't...feel..well" he managed to get out, just as he launched forward and vomited over the side of the pavement. John instinctively leaned forward, supporting Sherlocks shoulder with one hand and gently rubbing circles on his back with the other. Sherlock eventually stopped heaving so John could remove his supporting hand and call for a taxi. He continued to rub circles on his hunched over, shaking frame until it arrived.

John finally got Sherlock in the taxi, giving the driver the address and shuffling over so that he was sat directly next to Sherlock. He reached up and drew curl away from his forehead, feeling how hot and clammy it was in the process. "You have a fever. How long have you been feeling ill?" He asked. "This morning" Sherlock replied, his voice barely a whisper. "Can you tell me exactly what's wrong? As I'm symptoms" John hated to go into doctor mode, especially with Sherlock, he just wanted to take care of him and hug him and make him feel better, but he also knew he wasn't someone who got ill often, which meant he wouldn't have a good immune system, so he had to know exactly how to get him better, quickly. Sherlock listed off his symptoms, his lack of energy clear in his voice; "Headache, general ache, nausea, coldness, exhaustion."
"Ok," John replied reassuringly, "try and get some rest, just close your eyes." Sherlock didn't even attempt to resist, which unnerved John, and put his head back against the seat, closing his eyes and leaning into John. John kept an eye on him until they got back to baker street.

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