"Oh, come on John! It isn't that bad!"
"Yes it is! It's completely horrible!"
Sher lock pouted, and John groaned, scrubbing his face furiously with his hands.
"I still say no, Sherlock."
John glanced at the test tube in Sherlock's hand. "Fine," he sighed, unable to hold his ground against Sherlock's pleading.
John grimaced and took the test tube Sherlock was holding out. It was filled with a dark purple liquid, which John didn't know what it was. Sherlock wanted him to drink it for an experiment. John took a deep drink, Sherlock watching with a fascinated expression.
It tasted disgusting. Like dog shit. He swallowed, and an even worse after taste came back. "Oh God," John mumbled, shoving the test tube back at Sherlock and rushing to the bathroom.
Leaning back against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, John groaned. Sweat covered his face and, from what he had seen in the mirror, he was pale white. Even paler than Sherlock, in fact.
He sat bolt upright and clutched the toilet as he threw up, once again.
He had no idea of how long he had been in here, but he hoped that Sherlock was suffering. If Sherlock hadn't made him drink that damn thing, he wouldn't be in this state.
Sherlock quietly knocked on the door, and John ignored him again. For some reason, he didn't want Sherlock to see him this weak.
"John? Please, John, let me in," Sherlock pleaded from the other side of the bathroom door.
"Go away, Sher," John groaned.
This was ten times worse than any hangover John had ever had. He groaned again, lying back down and letting his cheek press against the cool tiles.
He felt like he was boiling. His shirt had been thrown somewhere, and he had managed to get off his pants. Pressing against the nice and cool tiles felt like heaven.
He fell into a slight doze, eyes sliding closed.
A soft click made John bolt upright, and then groaned, his muscles protesting from being cramped in one position for so long. He felt slightly better, he didn't have the urge to throw up anymore, but he knew he still had a fever.
He slid back down to the floor, closing his eyes and just resting for a moment. The door softly creaked as it opened, and John listened as he heard soft footsteps coming his way. There was a soft sniff, then a flush as he obviously flushed the toilet to get rid of the sick. Soft hands fluttered over John's face, and he groaned, rolling his head to the side. There was a soft tutting noise, before long arms wrapped around John's waist and he was lifted into a pair of arms.
John opened one eye blearily. "Sher?"
"Yes, John, I'm here," Sherlock whispered into John's ear soothingly.
"Don't make me drink anymore," John groaned, eye closing again.
All he wanted was a nice, long sleep.
"Of course, John. I won't make you drink anymore," Sherlock promised.
John smiled sleepily, and then fell fast asleep as Sherlock tucked him under the covers, chuckling lightly.
John rolled over and encountered another warm body. He opened his eyes, his brain clear again. He looked at Sherlock and was surprised to find him frowning in his sleep, muttering. John glanced at the clock. 3am. Dammit, that meant he had skipped lunch and dinner…
As if that was is cue, John's stomach growled loudly. He ran a hand over his face, looking at Sherlock. Sitting upright slowly, John snuck out of bed, eager to find something to eat.
He rummaged through the fridge, grinning when he found something edible. He shoved it on the microwave, taking out the eyes that were in there, and waited.
As soon as it dinged, he grabbed it out and started shovelling it in his mouth, not bothering with a fork.
After he washed his dishes, he trudged back upstairs and climbed under the covers. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and brought him closer, resting his head on Sherlock's hair. He breathed in the scent of Sherlock's hair, and smiled.
You would think waiting for someone to wake up would be extremely boring, but it actually wasn't. Well, not to John anyway. It was nice just to be able to hold Sherlock with no interruptions.
At about 7am, Sherlock woke up. Groaning, he shifted a little and yawned. "John," he muttered, obviously thinking John was still asleep.
"Sher," John whispered, amused.
Sherlock stiffened, his head snapping up, un-intentionally making their lips brush. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed again at the contact and John leaned down further so as to press his lips more firmly against Sherlock's.
Sherlock let out a soft moan, his touch gently tracing John's lips. John eagerly opened up, their tongues greeting each other softly. John pulled back and planted a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead, lingering for a short while before pulling back fully.
Sherlock eyes opened and he scanned his eyes over John's face. "You look better," he murmured gently.
"I feel better. I can't believe you made me drink that, what was it supposed to do, anyway?" John complained.
"I'm glad you feel better. Breakfast?" he changed topic quickly, getting up and stretching his arms out.
"Sure, a cup of tea would do me some good," John agreed, sitting up as well and stretching out his cramped body.
He would get answers later.
When they got downstairs, an unpleasant surprise waited for them. Moriarty.
He was just sitting in the armchair, idly reading the newspaper. Sherlock stiffened in anger, his face set into a carefully blank mask. He grabbed John's hand and pulled him close to Sherlock's side. "Moriarty," Sherlock greeted coldly.
Moriarty looked up slowly and set down the newspaper. His gaze flickered to John, who just realised he was still only in his boxers. Moriarty's eyes, scanned down John slowly, and as soon as Sherlock noticed, he stepped in front of John, blocking him from Moriarty's view.
"Hello, Sherlock. Possessive as ever. Hello Johnny-boy, did you miss me?" he taunted Sherlock by speaking to John.
Sherlock took a step forward. He let go of John's hand and bodily picked up Moriarty and chucked him down the stairs. John took a moment to revel in Moriarty's shocked expression before Sherlock disappeared after Moriarty.
There were several thumps, and several yelps of pain. John stared at the paper Moriarty had been reading. There was a slip of paper sticking out, and John cautiously tugged it out.
'Dear Johnny boy,
I'm glad you found this and are not as stupid as Sherlock.
15 Birchwood street. Meet me there. Tonight. 1am.
John rolled his eyes. No way in hell was he going to show up to that. But… maybe he could get the police to catch him… He could set a trap!
He shook himself out of his thoughts as Sherlock stomped back upstairs, a grim expression on his face.
Wordlessly, John handed Sherlock the note. Sherlock's face twisted in fury, and he spun around, no doubt with the intent of hurting Moriarty more, but John caught his arm, turned him around and kissed him.
He could figure out the plan later, for now, all he wanted to do was have some quiet time with Sherlock.