A Photo Of John

Chapter 4

When John awoke the next morning he felt pain in his back and neck. He slowly lifted himself up, his eyes flitting around the room, confused. Where was he? After a few minutes he realized he was on the couch, in the living room. He felt a blanket on top of him and a pillow supporting his head beneath him Sherlock must have put them there for him, also dragging him to the couch couldn't have been too easy. Sociopath? Ha. John smiled slightly and sank back down into the covers. He had fallen asleep sometime during the movie, his last memory was his head softly thudding against Sherlock's shoulder and drifting out of consciousness. But now he didn't feel so good, his stomach felt a little off, nothing that a good cup of tea wouldn't fix. John tilted his head to the side and noticed Sherlock was sitting in his chair, tapping away at John's laptop. John attempted to talk to him in his normal voice, but his throat was cracked and sore and it came out as a dry, crusty, mumble:

" Good *cough* Morning Sherlock"

He turned towards him,

" John, are you ok? You look ill."

"Oh god..."

John felt like he was going to throw up, he was lurching forward when he was grabbed by the arm, and pulled to the bathroom. John leaned over the toilet and felt all his miso soup exit his body and enter the toilet with about 4 lurches. After he was finished he curled up on the cold, tile floor.

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what to do in a situation like this. He softly gripped John's shoulder and whispered

" Is there anything I can do?"

He was surprised at himself for being so... sentimental. Caring was his worst quality, but it seemed to be coming so much easier when he was around John recently. He was so utterly out of character. Even more surprising, he didn't mind it so much. He decided when he stared at the fuzzy sweatered heap of John pathetically curled up on the bathroom floor, that if he showed sentiment it would only be for John, he trusted him enough to know that John would never betray him.

John gurgled from down below " I'm so sorry Sherlock..."

Sherlock smiled a little, John is the only person he knew that would ever say something so absurd.

" Don't be ridiculous John. Come here."

Sherlock lifted up John by his arm and supported about half of his weight, they walked to John's bedroom and Sherlock slowly set him down on his bed.

Sherlock assessed John for a few seconds. " Food poisoning."

He responded with a muffled "UGGHHHFFLLL"

" Do you need anything?"

" No, I just feel horrible."

Sherlock nodded and ascended. He was slowly stepping out of the door when he heard a light murmur of a voice.

" Sherlock?"

He turned around and walked a few steps closer to John's bed.

"John?"

" Can you... can you stay with me? I mean, I just don't have any company an-"

He smiled " Of course I can John. Hold on."

Sherlock briskly left the room, and returned this time with his violin.

Without a word, he sat down and began to play softly.

The music was so tender and soft that John's eyes watered. He shut them, enjoying every second of the sweet serenade.

Sherlock's face was full of concentration, full of sadness reflecting across to anyone who could see.

When he finished, John opened his eyes, teary, he had never heard something so beautiful.

" Thank you."

Sherlock smiled but it faltered for a second. He stood up and pulled out his phone. After a few quick taps he held the phone to his ear.

John knew. " Sherlock, you don't need to do this, I'm fine honestly."

There was fire in his eyes. " But I do. After all I've done for that man... this is unacceptable."

" It's not his fault."

" It's his restaurant."

" It was a mistake."

" They hurt you. They made you sick, they can't get away with this. I mean look at you! Pathetic."

" Everyone get's sick Sherlock."

" Not my doctor."

The cashier finally picked up the phone and he walked out of the room.

John could hear muffled yelling from a few rooms away. He couldn't hear the words being exchanged, but he could imagine the poor girl cowering in fear while being interrogated by the consulting detective. He shook his head, chuckling. He didn't laugh for long. His voice hurt.

Finally the noise died down and Sherlock re entered the room huffing, this time with a glass of water.

" I got you water. Isn't that what you're supposed to get sick people?"

John nodded and took a small sip. The water felt cool and clear, easing his cracked throat.

Sherlock sat down and observed John, his face was pale, eyes watery, voice uneven. He could tell John was trying hard to look like he was fine. He yawned a couple times and Sherlock quietly walked over to him. He pulled the blanket over him, and murmured,

"Go to sleep John. You need your rest. We'll be ok in the morning."

John smiled as Sherlock silently shut the door behind him. The last thing he thought of before he drifted into a nap was

" Why did Sherlock say "we"?"