#sherlocksnz

[inconvenient-sneezes]

in which john’s cold *desperately* annoys sherlock.

The Dangers of Flying

***

“Airplanes carry lots of sicknesses, John,” Sherlock quipped, sitting comfortably on the couch watching a televised orchestra concert.

John was huddled on the opposite side of the sofa, shivering underneath a blanket. He was wearing thick grey socks and his knees were pulled up to his chest. “Yes, I’b aware,” he responded thickly, sniffling.

“Oh, please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Oh, you know. Sniffling. Ugh.” He shuddered. “I hate that.”

John scoffed. “I’b sorry you're the one biserable here.” He took a few hitching breaths before sneezing into his sweater sleeve. “Hih! Huh! Et’CHUHH!AhhH! Hah’ISHHHOO!”

“Ew. And sneezing.”

“Sherlock! Could you be dice to be, ad least a little?”

Sherlock looked at him. “Why?”

“Because I feel t-terrible!” He was shaking a bit and his eyes were glassy.

Sherlock moved closer to him. “You look like you have a fever.”

He let his cool hand rest on John’s burning forehead.

Suddenly, John gasped and jerked back, desperately trying not to sneeze on his friend. “Hehh! HehHH! Eh’SHOO! Hup’SHUHH! Hur’ESHOO!” He felt Sherlock press a soft handkerchief over his trembling nose. John reached up and took over, sneezing again, then blowing his nose. “Christ.”

“Yes, you definitely have a fever.”

[inconvenient-sneezes]

in which mrs. hudson says something that surprises even sherlock. 

Liquids, Sherlock

***

“Huh’SHOO!” Sherlock sneezed into his elbow and began counting in his head. Three, two...

“Oh, Sherlock!” 

Right on cue, Mrs. Hudson came bustling into the room with a tray of tea and soup. “Bless you, dear. I brought you some—”

“More liquids id which to drown byself, yes, I cad see thad,” Sherlock said, hands folded. “Ad you kdow I hade purple, especially for cups. Id’s a hideous color.”

“You need more liquids when you’re ill,” she countered, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

He scoffed. “I’b sure I've god quide enough liquids id by dos— deverbide.”

“Oh, listen to you, so congested,” she clucked disapprovingly. “I don't understand why in the world you won’t let me telephone John, Mycroft at least!”

“You kdow how Bycroft ad I get along. John’s occupied with Mary, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Hudson gave him a knowing look. “Oh, she’s just a pretty face. His heart belongs to you and everyone knows it.”

Sherlock was so surprised at that statement, he forgot to sneeze into his elbow. “Heh’SHUHHH!”

“Sherlock,” came the reprimanding tone again. “That’s why I brought you the tissues!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, snatching one from the box and delicately blowing his nose in it.

“And drink your tea, please, you’re body needs more—”

“Liquids, yes, I kdow.”

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[inconvenient-sneezes]

Before leaving, John turned to Mrs. Hudson, dropping his voice. “Make sure he says in bed. If all else fails—”

“Mycroft,” they said together, then chuckled.

I’ll Come Back for You

***

“Promise me you’ll stay home today,” John said sternly, studying his best friend’s face. Sherlock’s cheeks and nose were flushed a light pink and his nostrils were flaring.

“Hihh... hih’ISHHH! J-John... Ix’SHOO! Bud I’b bored ad I wadda case!”

John rolled his eyes, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. “You can’t even speak properly without having to sneeze.”

“D-dahhh... dot true.”

John waited patiently, feeling almost satisfied when the young detective gasped and quickly covered his mouth to catch two more sneezes. “At’SCHH! Hep’CHOO!”

“Bless,” he said smugly. 

Sherlock sniffled, irritated with the betrayal of his nose. “Whed are you cobing back hobe? Ehhh...” His finger found its way under his nostrils, holding back the sneeze.

“I’ll be home around six. I’m serious Sherlock, don’t—”

“Her’ISHH!” The sneeze sounded desperate and harsh against his throat. John actually felt pretty bad for his flatmate.

“Bless you. Don’t do anything strenuous. Read a book or something, okay?”

“The kettle’s on the boil!” Mrs. Hudson announced from the kitchen. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“That's right,” John told him. “Just drink some tea and read until I get back.”

Before leaving, he turned to Mrs. Hudson, dropping his voice. “Make sure he says in bed. If all else fails—”

“Mycroft,” they said together, then chuckled.

***

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[inconvenient-sneezes]

in which sherlock thinks john is magic

Everyday Magic

***

Sherlock was sick as a dog. So sick, in fact, that John had to drive to the crime scene and pick him up.

“Get off. Get your sweaty hands off me!” Sherlock snarled, fighting against Lestrade’s grasp. As John walked over to the group of police officers, Lestrade locked eyes with him and visibly sighed. “Thank god.”

“Sherlock?!” he jogged over to his friend, eyebrow raised. “What exactly—?”

Donovan glared at the private investigator. “He’s sick and trying to get us all infected. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Sherlock snapped, finally breaking free from Lestrade. John took this time to study him. 

Sherlock’s hair was matted to his forehead and his eyes were glassy, so he had a definite fever. Nose tinged pink and—

“Ah’KUSHHHH!” He stumbled forward with the force and John saw Donovan’s look of disgust. He followed up with an equally strong “Heh’TSSSHOO!”

“Bless you,” John murmured, grabbing hold of his friend’s arm. “Alright, alright, show’s over. Thanks for calling me.” John directed the last bit toward Lestrade, who nodded at him.

***

The ride home was quick and painless. Sherlock didn’t say a word, save for the occasional sniffle. John handed the cabbie a bank note and he walked with Sherlock up the steps to their flat.

As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, John noticed Sherlock’s swaying. “Sherlock, are you—”

“Dizzy,” the young man told him, eyes blank.

Thankfully, they were able to make it to the sofa, where John was able to help him lay down. “Just take it easy,” he instructed.

Sherlock flicked his itching nose with a finger, unintentionally inducing a sneeze. “Hap’SHOO!” 

He cleared his throat and grimaced on account of how sore it had become.

John brewed him a cup of lemon tea and inconspicuously added a teaspoon of honey, to ease his friend’s sore throat.

“No,” Sherlock said, upon seeing the cup of tea. “I’m too hot for hot drinks. Hot damn,” he added, chuckling. “I think my fever has risen.”

The doctor cursed after feeling the heat radiating off him. “I think you’re right... sit back and drink your tea.”

“Huh... h-hehhh...” Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shuddery exhale. “Heh’ESSSHHOO!”

“Bless.” John handed him a tissue and pointed to the tea. “Blow, then drink.”

Sherlock took a small, hesitant sip and smiled. “I like it. It soothes my throat. You know? You’re magic, John, magic.” He grinned, eyes wild.

“You don’t mean that,” John assured him. “You’re ill.”

“And you’re magic.”

***

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