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That One Time	By : IDontKnowWhatImDoing Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3087 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any associated characters, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 5
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- 7
A thank you to darkangel1211 for the prompt. Had part of this story idea for awhile and their prompt gave it life.

That one time John had the flu.

"John..."
"No. Do not finish that sentence."
"But John..."
"I mean it."
"...I'm bored!"
John grabbed one of his pillows and lobbed it at Sherlock. The pillow completely missing him and knocked over a small lamp instead. With a melodramatic flop John rolled over on the couch facing away from the whiny twit and smiling to himself with some satisfaction.
"There, now you have something to do. And give back my pillow after you clean that up."
He heard an exaggerated sigh and could picture his whiny, bored partner pouting at not getting the attention he currently craved.
"I can't see you pouting so don't even bother."
With an exceptionally vocal grunt Sherlock started picking up the pieces of the broken lamp. John ignored him and tried to go back to sleep but the combination of his fever induced headache and listening to Sherlock grumble while he labored to clean up the small mess made it difficult. Only when it finally got quiet was he able to relax and start drifting into a much needed slumber which was interrupted by the thrown pillow being dropped on his head.
Grumbling louder than Sherlock had he turned back over to glare at him. Sherlock was sitting on the coffee table right in front of him still pouting.
John sighed. "Aren't I the one that gets to be coddled when I'm sick instead of you?"
"No."
His answer was so matter of fact that John almost, almost but not quite, laughed, as laughing caused all his body aches to re-ache.
"Leave me be so I can sleep."
"But there's nothing to do."
"There's plenty of things to do and buggering the crap out of me isn't one of them."
"Like what?"
"Oh my god use that immense brain of yours and think of something."
Sherlock switched from fake pouting to fake frowning. "Everything I think of involves you."
"Dear god how did you survive before me? And that cute act isn't going to work so stop it. You should be taking care of me."
Not giving up Sherlock slumped his shoulders and managed to appear even more pathetic. John rolled his eyes and flipped back over, pulling the blanket over his head. He really hoped Sherlock didn't catch his virus, the amount of whining would probably be legendary.
With yet another sigh Sherlock whined."Tell me what to do then."
"Why don't you go to the chemist and pick up the medicine you were supposed to get me yesterday."
A bit surprising Sherlock said, "Fine." and got up.
And sleep, wonderful sleep, finally came after Sherlock grabbed his coat and marched out of the flat.
.. ..
Sleep that didn't last long when he was woken up by what sounded like dozens of heavy items dropped on to the table next to him. Another roll back over and he saw he hadn't been far off on that guess. It looked like every type of cold medicine possible being emptied on to the table with Sherlock standing over it shaking out a bag to get one more box to drop with a heavy thunk.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
Smiling Sherlock said. "They were out of the one you wanted."
"So you bought all the rest?"
"Well I figured whatever one I got instead, you would just complain that it was the wrong one."
John sat up and started sorting through the mess. "And it was necessary to wake me up?"
"Oh were you sl..."
"If you finish that sentence a pillow won't be the only thing I throw at you today."
Finding a medicine that would help him sleep through Sherlock's tantrum he took two doses. "Please go do something besides bother me."
"What else do you need done?"
"How about taking care of the laundry?"
"Fine."
Listening to Sherlock make as much noise as possible gathering their clothes John wondered if he should have taken three doses. Eventually his pain in the arse partner clomped down the stairs. Sleep, glorious sleep was not going to happen because he could hear Sherlock chatting with Mrs. Hudson in the hall downstairs.
"Sherlock!"
A few seconds later Sherlock bound back up the stairs. "Yes?"
"That is not doing the laundry."
"She volunteered."
"No she didn't."
Grinning like a fool. "Sure she did. What else can I do?"
Beyond frustrated he got up, grabbed his pillows and blankets, and made his way to the bedroom. "How about you clean the sodding the fridge..." Throwing himself on the bed he blamed his fever for not adding in 'of all your disgusting experiments' to the rest of that sentence.
Two pillows over his head couldn't muffle the noise from the kitchen. Shouting over the racket he asked, "What the hell are you doing in there?"
Sherlock shouted back. "Cleaning out the fridge."
"Are you throwing out all of my food?"
"How else would I clean it?"
"You are such a damn child. Do not put my food in the bin!"
The racket stopped but there was not even a moment of quiet to think about sleeping as Sherlock flung himself on to the bed next to him.
Exasperated he turned over. "It's not possible for you to let me sleep is it?"
"Nope."
Seeing his not-so-sweetheart lying there with a pleased grin, John was beyond frustrated, beyond exasperated, beyond caring that he had a fever of 100, and nowhere close to angry. He was right at wanting payback for the giant git's antics. Fortunately the cold medicine had kicked in and he was able to think around his fading headache.
"Give me a back massage."
That pleased with himself grin started switching to a lecherous smile but with a firm tone John stopped that right away. "Oh no! Don't you get any ideas. You promised, you swore, you wouldn't try anything while I'm sick."
The smile dropped but Sherlock still looked satisfied at getting some attention. "Fine. Roll over."
John flipped over to his stomach and Sherlock moved to sit above him. With a perfect Sherlock whine he said. "Your jeans are scratchy."
Matching his whine, Sherlock sounded a little less pleased with himself at the thought of sitting up on John's arse wearing just his silk pants but he got up and removed his jeans.
Climbing back up on the bed Sherlock straddled his arse and started rubbing his neck. John hummed into the pillow. "Mmm."
Moving to his shoulders, John shifted his hips and moaned. "Oh that feels good."
Sherlock started breathing deeper, running those long fingers down his back. John undulated beneath him. "Mmm." Sherlock groaned and rocked his hips into John's arse.
"Stop that."
Whining again Sherlock went back to rubbing his back but John kept it up, moaning into the pillow. Sherlock was breathing faster and John could feel his erection growing.
"Calm yourself, you git."
"Then stop making those noises."
"Can't help it. I'm all achy and your hands feel good."
Pausing to adjust himself Sherlock continued the massage, rubbing his back again.
"Oh god that feels good." He pushed his arse up against his partner's groin. Sherlock moaned quietly. The more he rubbed the more vocal John became until Sherlock rocked his erection into his arse again.
"You promised."
Sherlock mumbled a few impolite words under his breath. Massaging deeper John really wasn't faking it, Sherlock's hands felt amazing on his sore muscles, his silk pants sliding across the top his thighs was incredible. "Oh...god..."
Sherlock leaned down kissing his back, snaking his fingers up to his neck, .
"Cut it out you horny prat."
Grinding harder Sherlock pleaded. "John..."
He mumbled back. "You promised."
Leaning back up, Sherlock groaned but went back to the massage. Kneading his muscles to the small of his back John stopped the complaining, pushing his arse into Sherlock's cock again, "Oh..god..Sherlock."
Sherlock breath was getting ragged, thrusting gently into him.
"John...oh..yes..." Sherlock's hands moved to his waist and started to slipped under his pajama bottoms. Meeting his thrust John swiveling up against him.
Gripping his hips Sherlock ground harder, both breathing faster. His rigid cock pressed hard against him. "Sherlock...fuck...
John shifted to roll over and reached for the lube. He could hear Sherlock keening behind him in anticipation. He couldn't look, there was no possible way he could look. Reaching behind him, he handed the bottle to Sherlock. Then as quickly he could John climbed under the covers and pulled them over his head.
Sherlock pressed against him, hips still moving, breath still fast. "John?"
"Thanks for the massage, that really helped."
"John?"
Pushing his arse to meet Sherlock's still very hard cock John faked coughed, reminding Sherlock that he was still in fact sick.
"You go on ahead and take care of that while I get some sleep. Then you can spend the rest of the day plotting your revenge."
The only response was a low growl.
"Goodnight Sherlock."
- 5
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- 7
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That One Time