I send love and hugs <3333

I DIDN'T 

I'M SO DISAPPOINTED AND SAD

ooooHHHHHHH I got one! Go easy on me, it's my first time.

His hacking coughs were the only things that broke the silence in the room, drawing glances from the other detectives in the room. Greg kept a careful eye on him, obviously concerned for the detective, yet he said nothing. Sherlock closed his dry, burning eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and crouched next to the body. After several long moments of drawn out silence, Sherlock finally parted his curved lips. "The rip on her-" But he was cut off as he doubled over and heaved. Donovan wrinkled her nose and was just getting ready to say something insulting, but John never let her get that far.

"I told you we never should have left home." The Army doctor grunted, striding across the floor with an air of authority. Sherlock paid John with a dismissive glance as he wiped his lips clean with the tips of his fingers. He was shaking as he reached for the frail looking paper that the victim had been clutching, but John grabbed his fingers to stop him. 

Lestrade ran forward, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "Get him out of here." He ordered John. "Before my crime scene is further contaminated." For the second time in a 5 minute gap, John held his tongue. Lestrade shouldn't have called Sherlock in and Sherlock shouldn't have been stupid enough to take the case. 

"Leaving now." John answered simply, cutting off what he was sure to be a witty remark from Sherlock. "Now." He insisted. "Or I'm tossing out every single sample of dog hair you've collected." John threatened, knowing very well that would get a response out of him. With John's help, Sherlock slowly climbed to his feet and they made their way together away from the corpse and the sick. 

"No." Sherlock insisted, almost nothing visible except his eyes. They were back in Baker Street and John had already forced Sherlock into bed. Now he stood in front of the large bed, his feet planted in place, his eyes narrowed in a silent challenge, a bowl of hot soup in his hands. 

"You're going to eat something or I'm going to hook you up to an IV." The doctor said, taking another step forward. 

"I'll only be sick again." Sherlock whined, his smooth voice turned rough and gravely.

"Try anyway." 

Sherlock said nothing and simply stared at John from his place under the covers. 

"For my sake." John added. 

After a moment, Sherlock stirred and pushed the blankets away, then sat up with his back propped against the wall. John fixed the blankets with one hand, then gently set the wide, red, steaming bowl on his lap. "Got it?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, then picked up the spoon with a trembling hand. The room was silent as John watched Sherlock swallowed down several spoon fulls. Suddenly, Sherlock's face scrunched as if in pain and he dropped the spoon back in the bowl with a loud 'clink'. John quickly took the bowl from him, then stepped back and scooted the bin forward on the floor with his foot. 

His eyes were firmly shut and Sherlock battled the nausea. He wouldn't let himself be sick again, being sick was tedious. Finally, it passed and Sherlock sighed in relief. He relaxed against the back of the bed and opened his eyes. "No more." He croaked. John nodded in defeat, but was pleased Sherlock had kept down what little he ate. The doctor was just turning to go back to the kitchen when Sherlock's hand gripped his wrist. "Stay." He said.

"I'm only going to the kitchen for a moment." John said.

Sherlock refused to let go and repeated, "Stay." 

John slowly place the bowl on the night stand and kicked out of his shoes. "If you're sick on me, Sherlock Holmes...." He left the threat hanging in the air. As carefully as possible, John climbed over the other and sank into the uncomfortably hot bed, letting Sherlock have the edge in case he needed to be sick. Then he helped Sherlock wiggle back down into a place where he was moderately comfortable.

Wasting no time, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, craving comfort and contact. John felt as though he was being burnt alive, but said nothing as long as it kept Sherlock quiet and happy. 

30 minutes later, long after John thought Sherlock was asleep, there was a low, gravely murmur by his ear. "It was her girlfriend." John cocked his head just so and waited for him to go on. "There was a fight. They broke it off. Crime of passion." Then there was a light snore.