#reichen-ass

please. dont ever shave for sherlock holmes

I really like this song!!! :DD

John was giving him the cold shoulder. He has been ever since he stepped back into 221B, his shoes mud-caked and his ash blonde hair sticking to his forehead because of the pouring rain outside. His eyes though, were endless depths of blue, cold fury. Throwing his sodden coat off his shoulders, they fell to the ground, crumpled. Kicking his dirty shoes off, the doctor let out a small frustrated sound as water trickled out of his shoes, creating a puddle of muddy water on the tiled floor of 221B.

Shooting a glare at the detective seated in his arm chair, the doctor merely stormed up his room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Sherlock alone once more with the all encompassing silence. 

What Sherlock hadn't expected next, though, was the way his chest started to weigh him down, the feeling of guilt immediately manifesting within him as he frowned to himself. It was his fault that John had been drenched - if he had just waited for John to catch up, they could have shared their cab together and avoid John searching for him and eventually getting caught in the heavy rain. 

Was the doctor alright? Was he falling ill? Had he gone to take a shower? He would catch a cold if he just went to bed like that. 

Sighing softly, the detective slipped into the kitchen, pulling out the tea bags and setting the kettle on the stove. 

`

A knock sounded at John's door, eliciting a soft groan from the doctor as his body shook and trembled with shivers, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. Sniffling slightly, he sneezed once, eyes screwing shut as the room started to spin horribly.

"What is it, Sherlock?" He croaked out, only to have the door swing open and revealing a very concerned looking detective holding tea in his hands.

The sight of John already so sick and feverish caused his heart to constrict with guilt, his frown deepening at the thought that it was his fault John had fallen ill. Striding over to the sick doctor's side - what irony - he placed the cup of tea by his bedside, cerulean eyes now filled with nothing but concern for his best friend as John coughed, his whole body shivering. 

"Do you need anything, John?" The detective finds himself asking, fingers combing golden locks away from midnight blue eyes. 

The doctor shook his head, nose already blocked as he puffed his exhales out of his mouth, struggling to breathe. 

"Sleep, I need sleep, Sherlock, and lots of it," The doctor whispered, eyes falling shut as his forehead started to break out in droplets of perspiration. 

Pressing his palm against the sick man's forehead, the detective sighed and nodded, pulling the covers over his best friend and ensuring that he felt warm.

Damn you! :)

I am going to go with Benedict because then I can have him dress as Sherlock and role play.

Yes, I said role play. 

reichen-ass: sorry your prompt is taking years, I'm kinda stuck with the coming up of the plot but i'll get there i promise! :) 

this is my favourite picture of him. this is the only time that i'm allowing 'less is better' in my life