Title: Sherlock's Sick Day
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: Jim/Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,019
Summary: Sherlock is sick.
AN: Written for the fan_flashworks amnesty prompt: comfort
AN: Mentions drug use but no drugs are used.



Jim was in a car racing down city streets. He cut off a little red sport car and the driver honked, but Jim hardly noticed.

He had been messaging Sherlock for over an hour and still had no reply. His brain wasted no time in supplying images of Sherlock with a needle in his arm and Jim wasn't going to let that happen. He would never admit it to anyone, but Sherlock made Jim's world bearable and if Sherlock managed to kill himself with drugs, Jim would burn the whole of London down just so others would feel his pain.

They might be two opposing forces, but when they came together there were explosions, sometimes literally.

He might have tried to kill Sherlock, several times actually, but that had just been foreplay. Apparently the quickest way to simulate Sherlock's body was to stimulate his brain; the first time they had had sex was after Sherlock had solved a mystery Jim had arranged.

He parked his car and got out. He opened the door to the building and was met by Mrs. Hudson. She wrapped him in a big hug, she always hugged Jim from IT.

'Hello Jim. To what do I owe the visit?' She said as she released Jim from the hug.

'Just checking on Sherlock.'

Her face lit up. 'Oh that's so sweet. I was just going to check on him, I haven't seen him all day. Sherlock certainly is lucky to have you.'

Jim just smiled even though his heart sunk at hearing that Sherlock hadn't been seen all day.

He went up the stairs, taking the stairs two at a time, and opened the door.

If the flat represented Sherlock's brain than it was chaos. The flat was the same as always, a mishmash of objects and furniture, but Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

He walked through the rooms until he came to Sherlock's bedroom and stuck his head through the bathroom door.

His eyes went wide.

Sherlock was laying of the white tile floor. Sherlock was dressed over in a blue silk dressing gown, his feet were bare.

At first Jim thought that Sherlock had indeed overdosed, but then he heard a groan escape the detective's lips. Sherlock gripped the toilet and weakly lifted himself up. His head dropped and he vomited into the white bowl.

Jim found a towel and ran it under cool water as Sherlock slid back down onto the floor. Jim went over to him and knelt down. Sherlock's pale skin was ever paler than normal except for a red spot on each cheek.

He carefully wiped Sherlock's sweat damp skin and Sherlock laid still. Jim would like to say that his mother had done the same for him when he was a child, but most days she had been too drunk to stand and she was certainly too drunk to notice when her son was sick. That was his first lesson in just how cruel and uncaring the world could be.

He brushed Sherlock's dark hair off his forehead. 'Look at you. Caught a bad bug.'

Sherlock spoke in a whisper and yet he managed to sound defiant. 'I don't get sick. I only have a slight case of food poisoning.'

Jim rolled his eyes. He wasn't a doctor, but he doubted food poisoning came with a fever. 'Of course. The great Sherlock Holmes can deduce what the mailman had for breakfast two weeks ago, but he can't deduce when the seafood platter has turned. You want help to bed or would you prefer to hug the floor?'

'Bed,' Sherlock said as he tried to sit up. After several moments Jim gingerly helped Sherlock to his feet and let Sherlock lean against him as the made there way to Sherlock's bed.

The bed was large and covered with a nest of blankets and pillows. For someone who insisted that he only a few hours of sleep a night, Sherlock had a surprisingly comfortable bed.

Jim laid Sherlock on the bed and lifted his limbs into place. After he was done, he went to Sherlock's kitchen and found a big bowl just in case Sherlock needed to vomit again. Walking back into the room, he sat the bowl on the table next to Sherlock's bed and sat down next to Sherlock. Under his head were lumpy pillows that had Sherlock's scent. He wanted to roll over, press his whole face into the pillow and drink in the scent, but he didn't.

Sherlock rolled over and moved close to Jim. He rested his head on Jim's lap and Jim just grinned as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's sweat damp hair.

Jim dozed off and when he woke up he still had his hand in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up.

'Feeling better?' Jim asked.

'Very much so.'

'Good.'

'How should I thank you?'

Jim smirked. 'If you want to thank me we could kiss, but you should brush your teeth first.'

'Is that advisable? Kissing is a very effective way of transmitting illness.'

'I'll take that chance.'

Sherlock got up and went to the bathroom. Jim lifted Sherlock's pillow and pressed it against his face, he breathed deeply Sherlock's scent.

'Should I leave you alone?' Sherlock asked as he walked out of the bathroom.

'Nah. You are much more fun than a pillow. Come here.'

Sherlock moved to the bed and sat down next to Jim. He turned his head and their lips met. Jim brushed his tongue against Sherlock's lips and the detective opened his mouth. As their tongues brushed he tasted toothpaste.

Sherlock's hand came up and ran through Jim hair. He knew Jim hated having his hair played with which was probably why he did it.

Jim responded by opening Sherlock's dressing gown and pinched Sherlock's nipple. Sherlock groaned and Jim just grinned.

As they kissed Jim thought back to Mrs. Hudson's words. Sherlock was lucky to have Jim and Jim was lucky to have Sherlock; they might be mortal enemies, but they seemed to also be two halves that made a whole.