AN: So, this happened. I considered two different endings for it, but don't really know how I'd write the other one - and I already had this one written out, so I'm just unna leave this here... Enjoy!

The sky outside was a very pleasant, clear blue. It had been for a while and it was really nice to see it stay that way for so long. John leaned a bit into the air and took a deep breath, pleased that the weather had been so very perfect for so long.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy ruining things. He was glaring at the trees, at the sky, at the weather in general as if it had personally offended him. As if it had taken his favourite pair of shoes and ripped them apart right in front of him, throwing them into a lake afterwards.

"Oh, cheer up, you mope," John said, nudging him. Sherlock stopped walking and gave him a hateful look. John snorted in reply, grabbing Sherlock's arm and pulling him forward so he would continue walking.

They had been walking for a while, however, and their legs were tired. John figured that this was probably why Sherlock was so angry. It couldn't be because of the weather. John glanced at him and saw the way his face looked so fallen and miserable.

Really, he should be pleased. They just finished an insanely interesting case and Sherlock had solved it with literally no help whatsoever from any of the other people involved. John frowned and tried to think of a way to cheer him up.

Luckily, when they reached the flat, Mrs. Hudson decided that it was the right kind of day to make them some soup.

She brought it up to their flat, chuckling and smiling as Sherlock came out of his room in fresh pajamas, putting the soup on their table (that John hastily cleared up for her, moving Sherlock's tubes of - god, was that blood!) John shuddered and glanced up at Sherlock, who was glaring at him, obviously not pleased with his things being touched.

"Come have some soup," John said, getting out two bowls for them. He heard a chime from his pocket and put the bowls down on the counter, fishing his phone out and opening a text from - Sherlock.

Not hungry. -SH

John stared at it incredulously and turned around to look at Sherlock, who was toying with his phone while lying on his back on the couch.

"I don't care if you think you're hungry, you're eating. You haven't eaten in two days." His phone chimed again.

I don't think I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry. -SH

John licked his lips for a second, annoyed.

"You're not feeling hungry, but that doesn't mean your body doesn't need food. It's probably because you haven't eaten in so long. That can happen. You're eating."

No. -SH

"You're gonna eat," John said, glaring at Sherlock who, in turn, was glaring at his phone.

No, I'm not. -SH

"Yes you are!"

No. -SH

"Yes, Sherlock," John snapped, filling up the second bowl with soup. "You're going to eat and you're going to stop texting me while we're in the same area."

Who are you, my mother? -SH

John answered that with a glare when he reached Sherlock, placing the bowls on the coffee table and leaning over. He pulled Sherlock to a sitting position and sat down next to him. Sherlock scowled.

"Be a good boy, now, and eat your soup," John said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who called me your mother. Eat."

Sherlock shook his head, scowling at the soup instead. John put the bowl in his hands.

"Come on, seriously." Sherlock shook his head. "Do you want some tea?" Sherlock shook his head again. He opened his mouth like he was about to give one of his dramatic sighs, but then apparently thought better of it.

John stared at Sherlock for a long moment before Sherlock finally gave in and lifted the soup-filled spoon into his mouth. John picked up his own bowl and began eating as well. His phone chimed again from the kitchen. He looked sideways at Sherlock, but he was simply eating his soup quietly.

John put the soup on the table and went into the kitchen, picking up his phone and opening the text.

Stop slurping your soup like that. It's appalling. -SH

"How did yo- Never mind. I don't care." John took his phone back to the couch and put it on the table, simply glad Sherlock was eating. He picked up his own soup. "Why are you being so damn quiet?"

His phone chimed. He grumbled and picked it up.

I told you that I sometimes don't talk for days on end. -SH

"Yes, fine, but you're usually loud directly after a case. Relieved, happy - you don't seem even slightly happy." John put his bowl down and turned to look at Sherlock with a worried expression.

Sherlock glanced at him for a second before finishing his soup and putting his bowl on the table.

"Sherlock, what's the matter?" Sherlock picked up his phone, but John put his hand on Sherlock's and lowered it. Sherlock gave him a terrible, burning look. John ignored it. "Just tell me."

He shook his head.

John groaned.

"Not this again."

Sherlock looked determined, however. Determined to stay quiet.

"Okay, am I supposed to work it out? Like some sort of puzzle?"

Sherlock snatched his hands away from John and began typing.

I would say that I'm surprised that you don't already know, but you've been particularly moronic today because of the disgusting weather. -SH

John rolled his eyes.

"Yes, thank you. Alright, let's see... You were completely fine when we finished up the case. You were smiling, even. It wasn't until the walk home. Do you hate beautiful weather, or something?"

Don't be a moron. -SH

"Well, come on! Alright... Uh... You-" He was interrupted by his phone again.

You're only listing events. Pay attention to details. All of the details. -SH

"Am I supposed to know what you mean by that?" John asked. Sherlock glared at him. "Fine, fine. You... Kept taking your scarf off and putting it back on. So, that means you couldn't decide if you were hot or cold?"

Sherlock simply watched him, his fingers not moving on his phone.

"Right. And you talked so much that your voice got a bit scratchy," John began talking slower, as if he was realising something. "Come to think of it, you're pale - even for you. Sherlock... Are you sick?"

Brilliant deduction. Idiot. -SH

But John hardly glanced at it before his soup was on the table and his hands were on Sherlock's face, checking for a fever.

"Is this why Mrs. Hudson brought us soup? I thought it was odd of her."

She knew from this morning. Mother's instinct? -SH

"I guess so, yeah," John said, one hand on Sherlock's neck and the other on his forehead and then cheek. John frowned. "My hands are too warm from the soup."

He pulled Sherlock closer, ignoring the alarm on his face, and pressed their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a moment, and John could hear Sherlock's harsh breathing - his throat must be killing him. He grimaced and pulled away.

"You should have told me you were sick."

Unimportant. -SH

"Very important. You need proper rest - I'm making you some tea, too," John said, getting up. "And I'm putting a lot of honey in it. Just warning you now."

John was sure he could feel Sherlock's scowl from across the room. He put some water on to boil and was fairly surprised when he heard dishes being put in the sink. He turned around and watched as Sherlock cleaned the two bowls.

"Why are you doing that? I could do that. You never do that and you're sick."

Sherlock looked at him for a second, as if he had no idea what John was talking about.

"Go sit down. Or lie down. Something."

But instead of that, Sherlock stepped closer to John with a slight grimace on his face.

"Are you in pain, or something?" John deadpanned, watching Sherlock's expression. Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing John's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. "What?" John muttered against Sherlock's shoulder before his arms went around Sherlock.

They stood there for a second before John realised the water was ready. He pulled away, trying to make Sherlock let go. When he didn't, however, John merely moved towards the tea and Sherlock followed, his arms still around John's shoulders, though from a different angle.

If John found this odd, he didn't say anything. If he was uncomfortable, he certainly wasn't going to let Sherlock see that. He poured the tea and put in the honey and bags and stirred. He lifted both mugs and moved them slowly to the living room, Sherlock still half hugging his shoulders.

"Why are you still holding onto me?" John asked when they sat down. Sherlock hugged him tighter. John blinked oddly a few times, licking his lips out of habit. His phone chimed.

I don't know how to say thank you without a voice. -SH

A small smile twitched slightly at the corner of John's mouth before pulling up.

"Hugs work, then, yeah," he told Sherlock. "But we can't drink our tea this way."

Sherlock hesitated, but let go and picked up his tea. He looked at John and watched him pick up his own mug. John smiled at him and he grinned in response.

"You're going to sleep after this," John said into his mug before the tea hit his lips.

Not tired. -SH

"Liar," John said as Sherlock held back a yawn nearly successfully, tears coming to his eyes. Sherlock grinned at him oddly and finished his tea right after John did.

"Right," John said, putting his and Sherlock's mug on the table in front of them. "You're going to bed if I have to lock you in."

My bed's cold and uncomfortable. -SH

John read this a few times over.

"You can... not mean what I think you mean," John muttered at his phone, shaking his head and lifting an eyebrow at Sherlock.

Why not? -SH

"Sherlock, you're not sleeping in my bed. I have to sleep in there."

You can still sleep in there. I'm not stopping you. -SH

"You're not sleeping with me!" John shut his mouth tight and pressed his lips into a tight line at the snicker traced onto Sherlock's face. "I'd get sick. If we're both sick, this flat is going to be an extremely miserable place for everyone."

It would be interesting. -SH

"Ah," John said, pausing. "I see. You want me to be sick so you don't have to be sick by yourself. So you don't have to suffer alone?"

I suppose. -SH

"That's selfish."

And making me sleep in a cold, horrible bed just so you don't get a bit ill isn't? -SH

"Sherlock, shut up." Sherlock smirked.

I'm not talking. -SH

"Fine! Fine, come on, then."

John dragged Sherlock into his room, grumbling the whole time and ignoring Sherlock's triumphant smirk. He quickly changed into his pajamas and turned towards his bed to see that Sherlock was in his spot.

"Sherlock," he said slowly, "I'm really not as stupid as you think I am."

Yes, you are. -SH

John's phone gave an odd chirping noise and shut off, the battery dead. He sighed and plugged it in, leaving it off.

"You're on my side of the bed and you know you're on my side of the bed."

Sherlock glanced down at his phone and the back up at John, frowning.

"You haven't lost your voice, it wasn't even bad when you were talking during the case. Move over." Sherlock shook his head. John nodded once, pressing his lips together.

He turned the light off and climbed into the bed and quickly shoved Sherlock out of his spot, catching the detective by surprise, as he so rarely did. Sherlock shoved John causing John to shove him back, but it didn't do much, since they were already lying down.

"Sherlock, I'm not moving! I don't even know why you won't sleep in your own bed. You've done it before. You don't even seem that sick. You hardly have a fever - if you even do anymore."

Sherlock grinned into the darkness. In the next second, John jumped slightly.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" he asked as Sherlock's hands found their way to John's sides.

"Experiment," Sherlock said in a slightly scratchy voice.

"On... On what?" John asked, slightly anxious at his reaction to Sherlock's hands moving his shirt to be on the bare skin of his sides.

"You." John was turned quickly onto his back and Sherlock was on top of him, smirking down at him.

"Wh-what are you doing?" John asked in a wary voice, very aware of Sherlock's leg between his legs, but trying to ignore it.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Sherlock whispered. He leaned forward slightly and John turned his head away.

"Don't! You- You're sick!" Sherlock gave a bark of laughter.

"Is that really your only concern right now?"

"You're not really sick, are you?" John gave a groan of annoyance when Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"Only a bit. However, my bed is cold and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, you're warm and comfortable and concerned for my wellbeing."

"And that means you can worm your way into my bed and lie on top of me?"

"You care for my well-being because you care about me, but you care about me in ways I've never experienced before from a "friend" and I rather like that you rather like me. In short, yes. It worked very well."

"I suppose," John muttered. Sherlock rolled off of him slightly, still keeping his arms around him and pulling him close like he was some sort of teddy bear for the taller man. John looked sideways at him and Sherlock smiled at him.

"I actually am a bit ill. As much as I'd like to continue experimenting, I don't think you would appreciate it if I fell asleep on top of you. Could result in me waking up on the floor." John smiled slightly as Sherlock's eyes closed and he gave a small sigh of exhaustion.

"Goodnight, then, I guess," John whispered.

"Just go to sleep," Sherlock said with a snort of laughter. John grinned and closed his eyes, letting himself get comfortable in Sherlock's arms.