A Study in Sniffles (8/8, COMPLETE) - Sherlock BBC

[Always]

Oops.

I've been meaning to finish this dumb little thing for awhile now, and thought now's a good enough time as ever, so.

Not especially proud of this one, but it's something I thought some of you may enjoy, none the less.

If any of you are interested, then I'll continue this. If not, then, well...it'll just sit here, I guess.

That being said, I hope you enjoy!

--

How long have you been gone? -SH

Three days, Sherlock. I told you that before I left. -JW

And when will you be home? -SH

Today. Quite soon, actually. I told you that, too. -JW

Pick up tissues. -SH

Tissues? What do you need tissues for? -JW

"hhHH'ZZI'SHuh!" A sudden sneeze ripped through the tall, dark haired resident of 221B Baker Street, causing him to drop his phone and frown in it's general direction. He contemplated for a few seconds the benefits of retrieving his phone, but decided John didn't need a response to his blatantly stupid question, and if Lestrade texted him regarding the case, he'd probably have already worked out the "new information" the inspector had to offer, anyway.

Sherlock gave a thick sniffle as he continued to pace around the living room. John said he'd be home soon, but soon could mean anywhere from five minutes to half an hour, and the detective certainly didn't have a single minute to waste. Having been burdened with boredom for well over a week now, Sherlock was eager to take on any case, and happened to luck out when Lestrade offered him a rather peculiar one.

The distant sound of a door shutting simultaneously alerted Sherlock of John's arrival and pulled him out from his train of thought. Sherlock waited patiently, or as patiently as Sherlock Holmes could wait, for his flatmate to climb the two flights of stairs and then finally open the door.

John stepped inside of the flat, tissues under his arm, round nose a pink colour from the chilly weather outdoors, and his hair slightly ruffled. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock would have none of it.

"Right Jodn; there's been five serial mburders across Londodn exacdly three days apardt from onde adother." Sherlock immediately fired off; his clogged nose hindering his pronunciation, "Vicdums have been all young febales between the ages of...of twedey..." Suddenly Sherlock's eyelids began to flutter and his nostrils twitched as he struggled to finish his faltering sentence, "andtwedeyfive--!!" Completely overwhelmed with a sudden powerful need to sneeze, Sherlock pitched forward violently, directing a harsh, "hhH'ISH'Uh!" into the palms of his hands.

"Uh, bless." John squeaked, taken aback by Sherlock's bombarding and surprised that the man had sneezed.

Sherlock ignored John and recovered quickly; continuing his explanation as if nothing had happened. As he spoke, he made his way over to the doctor, pausing only to retrive a tissue and give his nose a thorough blow.

"Much better." Sherlock quipped, happy to be free, if only temporarily, of congestion. He flashed John a satisfied smile and threw the used tissue somewhere onto the floor.

"...You're ill?" John ended up questioning; though he initially only meant to state his observation.

"Brilliant deduction." Sherlock hissed, voice heavy with sarcasm and statement emphasized with an obvious eyeroll.

"Alright, thank you." John snapped back, tossing the box of tissues onto the couch and hanging up his coat, "And here you had me worried." He chuckled slightly, "I thought you'd be using those tissues for experiments, or something. Frankly I'm thankful it's only a cold."

Sherlock, of course, did not find this as humourous as John did, and proceeded to glare harshly at the shorter man. John simply ignored it.

"Right, now, tell me about the case." John sighed as he cracked his back and made his way to his chair, "Something's got to be different about it. You pass up cases like this all the time, why'd you pick this one?"

"I was bored." Sherlock huffed, collapsing onto the same couch the tissues were currently residing. John mearly gave Sherlock a look; one that said, 'oh, come on now, that can't be all.'

"Well that and the fact that each body has been properly drained of blood. Bone dry, not a drop." If Sherlock had still been pacing, there probably would've been a bounce in his step, "There was nothing left at the crime scene. Nothing but one little drop of liquid."

"And it wasn't blood?"

Sherlock shot John another look before snapping, "Not blood John, there was no blood!" He sniffed wetly and raised an eyebrow, "It was nose drops."

"N-what, nose drops?" John chuckled softly, "So, what, we're looking for a murderer with a case of the sniffles?"

"Coincidentally," Sherlock pressed his fingertips together, "yes."

"Well that's...something." John replied with a nod; exceedingly less excited about the case.

"I'll get your coat."

"My coat?" John scoffed as Sherlock jumped from the couch and made a beeline to the coat rack, "Surely you can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious." Sherlock smiled, more to himself than John, and tossed the other his coat, "Now hurry up, before Anderson starts touching things." He scrunched his reddening nose up at the thought.

"You're not going anywhere, Sherlock, you're ill!" The doctor in John lectured as he remained plastered to his chair, coat now laying on his knees.

"That's where you're wrong, John. You see," He swiped a slender finger under his nose as he wiggled into his long coat, "I'm going to a crime scene. Put your coat on if you're coming, I'm not waiting for you." And with that, Sherlock wrapped his blue scarf around his neck and exited the flat.

John remained in his chair, speechless. He almost decided to stay behind just to spite Sherlock, when suddenly a noise echoed through the stairway.

"huh...hA'dSHOO!"

"Oh bloody hell." John sighed irritably and rolled his eyes, pushing himself off of his chair and throwing on his coat. Quickly he grabbed the nearby tissue box and shoved a few of the clothes into his pockets, just in case, "Wait for me, Sherlock you idiot!" John called after the other as he slammed the door of 221B behind him; rushing to catch up with the world's only ill consulting detective.

--

Edited January 4, 2018 by MyOwnPrivateSFC
Edited title to reflect completion

[VoOs]

Always...! This was absolutely wonderful, and beautifully in-character, and, and... Uhuhuh. Sherly.

Continue? Oh yes, pretty please?

[AppleBlossom]

O_O ....uhhhhhh! So amazing!

I love your writing style, and their both adorable with their bickering!

more. More. More! MORE!

[jezebel215]

this is wonderful. i do rather hope sherlock works himself into exhaustion and john's immune system struggles as well... sounds like the crime scenes may be infectious :-)

[pinknose]

This is great! Perfectly in character and with an interesting case to boot. Please continue!

[Parksborn]

Yess~

This is lovely.

Please continue! <3

[obsessed]

Wonderful!

[Spoo]

Damnit! I need to hurry up and watch Sherlock already. I still appreciated this, though. The spellings were just mmm. Excellent writing, too!

[tma]

Oooo!! I the premise, and this is beautifully written. I could completely see this happening.

Oh... and btw- the interruptedness..... :wub: I LOVE that!! *wicked grin*

[LovelyLinda]

Rowrrrrrrr. This totally made my day. I'm begging you to continue this *_*

It's fantastic!!

[Always]

VoOs - Oh wow, thank you so much! I've been an admirer of your art for quite some time now (as I'm sure you've noticed) and to have you enjoy something of mine is, well, flattering to say the least!

AppleBlossom - Oh man, thank you! I was really iffy about how I pulled of their bickering, but I'm really glad you enjoyed it!

jezebel215 - ohohoho~ I guess we'll see what happens c:

pinknose - Thank you very much! Hopefully googling 'how to properly drain a body of blood' will be worth it in the end

xXBittersweetLoverXx - You're lovely. c:

obsessed - Thank you<3

Spoo - Oh yes, please do! It's absolutely brilliant. Glad you liked the spellings, and thank you very much!

tma - Oh man, thank you so much! I'm glad you can actually picture this. And oooooh, interrupted-ness is a favorite of mine! Don't be surprised if you see more of it pop up from time to time!

LovelyLinda - Rowrrrr, beg no longer! And thank you!

--

waaah!

Firstly I want to thank all of you for even reading this I mean wow look at all of you what are you doing here.

And secondly, I want to apologize for taking so long to update and for this chapter being horribly rushed.

I'm just completely not okay with this chapter and the wording and everything about it, but I feel bad for taking so long, so I'm going to throw this out here and then scurry away to type up part three.

It'll be better and definitely less rushed next time, I swear.

ladjalf ahhh

--

"I see you've decided to join me." Sherlock hummed, raising an eyebrow as he watched John bustle down the stairs.

"Well, what other choice did I have?" John huffed as he adjusted his coat, "I couldn't just let you run off by yourself while you're like this now, could I?"

"No," Sherlock sniffled, smiling slightly in John's direction, "Apparently not."

With the small smile still stuck on his lips, Sherlock opened up the door and gestered for John to hurry up and go through. John did just that, but not first without zipping up his green coat and glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He seemed paler than usual, if that was even possible, and almost tired, which worried him more than anything. Yet, he knew there'd be no way he could possibly convince Sherlock to stay in and rest, and decided he'd just keep a watchful eye on him for the time being.

John made his way down the steps as Sherlock shut the door behind them, but upon stepping outside, an exceptionally cold breeze chose that exact moment to strike, catching Sherlock off guard and causing his curly locks and trench coat to whip around in the wind.

The breeze seemed to catch the ill man's nose off guard as well; the drastic change in temperature causing a particularly strong tickle to shoot down it's bridge and rip a sneeze out of the detective.

"huh-hU'ISHOO!" Sherlock hadn't been prepared for that particular expulsion, and sneezed openly into the air before him. He glared to himself and sniffed back the liquid that threatened to drip from the end of his irritated nose.

"Bless you." John frowned up at the other, "Turn up your collar." He instructed, doing the same to his own slightly less-dramatic coat, "It should help with the wind."

Sherlock obliged, but didn't answer.

"We should get a cab..." John muttered to himself. He had no desire to trek to wherever the hell they were supposed to be going going; especially with the fall weather rolling in as quickly as it was.

Sherlock of course was already one step ahead of him, and had managed to hail down a cab in the same time it had taken John to utter his now pointless sentence.

The detective then proceeded to open the cab door for John, and motion for him to step inside, "Hurry up." He said, sniffling against his sleeve.

And John did hurry, because he wanted to get out of the cold wind just as much as Sherlock probably did, if not more so. Sherlock followed not far behind.

The cab ride was quiet, with minimual talking from either man. Occasionally Sherlock would sniffle or muffle a sneeze, and John would follow up qickly with a 'bless' or 'bless you' and promptly offer the other a tissue that would usually get declined. It irked John, but he decided to remain quiet, and just enjoy the ride as best he could.

"Stop here." Sherlock finally spoke as they turned a sharp corner, startling John slightly, "We'll walk the rest of the way."

"We're here?" John questioned, acting slightly like a small child that'd just been awoken from a nap. He had no idea how long they'd been driving.

"Close." Sherlock nodded as the cab pulled to a hault.

"Right, and where are we going exactly?" John questioned as he watched Sherlock rummage through his pockets for his wallet.

"-snrf- The latest victim's flat." The detective sniffled as he pulled out a few notes and handed them to the husky driver. John just nodded.

The two men then exited the cab; Sherlock in one swift, graceful motion, John with more of a wiggle-hop.

"How far is the flat from here?" John questioned, shivering slightly from the sudden change in environment.

"Just there." Sherelock responded, gesturing forwards as he pulled on his black gloves.

"Oh." John hummed, squinting against the fall sunshine. He turned to look at the detective as the man slipped the gloves onto his large hands, "You know," He began, pursing his lips slightly, "We probably could've gotten the driver to take us a bit further-"

"John," Sherlock interrupted, slinking over to John and grasping the sides of the doctor's face in his freshly gloved hands, "I'll have you know that I feel fine despite the circumstances; and am perfectly capable of walking to a flat."

John squirmed under Sherlock's touch, but couldn't escape the other's grasp, "I what- No, no. I just thought that maybe we could've, oh I don't know, Sherlock, stayed out of the cold for a bit longer and-"

"Stop worrying." Came the slightly stuffy reply of the rich voiced man before him.

John opened and closed his mouth, unsure of how to respond. Sherlock had hit the nail on the head; he was worried. Quite worried, in fact, but he had thought he was doing a good job of hiding his concern. Of course, hiding anything around Sherlock Holmes was practically pointless, so John just sighed, shook his head, and grumbled a quick, "Let go of my face."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, but let go of his partner's face and lowered his hands.

They both were quiet for a moment, staring at each other rather intently as the fall breeze whipped around them. Sherlock was the first to speak.

"...Shall we?" he questioned, spinning on his heels without waiting for a reply and hurrying in the desired direction. John followed close beind.

"So...Do we know anything about the victum?" The doctor asked nonchalantly, looking up at his flatmate as they marched down the street, "Like her name, or anything like that?"

"Her name was- hii--" Sherlock's nose itched suddenly and he sniffed hard in an attempt to finish his sentence, "H-her name was--" But he simply couldn't do it. He shook his head and raised a finger, taking another sharp intake of breath. John furrowed his brow.

"heh'ZZZSH!" The detective stumbled from the glutteral sneeze he delivered into a clenched fist. He cursed his actions quietly to himself.

"Bless." John offered, breath visible in the chilly afternoon air. He flashed Sherlock a sympathetic smile, but the other just ignored him and continued to answer the question.

"Her name was Lauren Taylor. Twenty two." Sherlock answered, rubbing a hand over his now sore throat, "Just moved in a week ago, according to Lestrade."

John tutted, "Shame." He wished he could've said more, but he found he was more concerned with making sure Sherlock was well than putting a stop to senseless killings, and that worried.

"Here we are." Sherlock announced as the two men approached a large looking flat. John whistled.

The outside walls were dark and unwelcoming, something John wouldn't have expected a young girl to live in. He turned to Sherlock, "She lives here?"

"Lived, John, she's dead." Sherlock corrected before practically prancing up the steps, eager to enter the crime scene.

John rolled his eyes while Sherlock's back was turned, but promptly followed; what else could he do?

There was no way he'd be letting that twelve year old inspect a crime scene without adult supervision.

--

Edited September 27, 2012 by Always

[VoOs]

You call this rushed? Well, I certainly couldn't tell!

I'm loving this. You write these characters so well, oh my god. You got their "voices" down perfectly.

Oh, and things like this:

The two men then exited the cab; Sherlock in one swift, graceful motion, John with more of a wiggle-hop.

...nailed it.

Excuse me while I fangirl a little. <3

Edited September 27, 2012 by VoOs

[tma]

"Her name was- hii--" Sherlock's nose itched suddenly and he sniffed hard in an attempt to finish his sentence, "H-her name was--" But he simply couldn't do it. He shook his head and raised a finger, taking another sharp intake of breath. John furrowed his brow.

"heh'ZZZSH!" The detective stumbled from the glutteral sneeze he delivered into a clenched fist. He cursed his actions quietly to himself.

"Bless." John offered, breath visible in the chilly afternoon air. He flashed Sherlock a sympathetic smile, but the other just ignored him and continued to answer the question

Gah!!! *melts into puddle* Just... the whole thing...

And I'm still seeing absolutely everything- the descriptions, the dialogue. Mmmmm..... .

Oh... and I absolutely *adored* this line

There was no way he'd be letting that twelve year old inspect a crime scene without adult supervision.

SO perfect!!

[Spoo]

Oh goodness. Their interaction and dialogue are positively PERFECT! Sherlock, why you so stubborn? Haha. I can totally hear their voices in my head. Fantastic story, Always! I'm looking forward to more.

Also, I agree with VoOs. John's "wiggle-hop" was a great image. So cute!

Edited September 27, 2012 by Spoo

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Oooo!! I the premise, and this is beautifully written. I could completely see this happening.

Oh... and btw- the interruptedness..... I LOVE that!! *wicked grin*

^ This, entirely. They are spot on and that makes the interruptedness even better because could totally picture it in an episode.

[jezebel215]

i echo the previous comments - this is wonderful

[AppleBlossom]

It's so wonderfully brillant!

I can't express how utter amazing this piece of gold is! I just want even more now: god, I'm selfish!

Keep writing dear!!

[Salamander]

Grarh, I enjoyed this immensely. I like how you got Sherlock as focused, dedicated, obsessive even but not coming off like he should be in an institution (my pet hate in some Sherlock fics). And your spellings. Dear Gods.

[obsessed]

Great job!

[SomeoneRandom]

I love this! Please keep it up

[MaiMai]

This is amazing!! All your spellings and dialogue and descriptions were perfect!

[sothenthere]

I came out of lurkdom just to say that this story is marvelous. Well written and engaging, and I keep hoping that you will update! Bravo!

[Always]

Holy moly. Firstly I want to apologize 30432940938 times for how long this took me to update. I've been busy lately and just dfs;ldkfjsdf. I actually ended up finishing part three, hating the direction I had went in with it, deleted it all, and started fresh, so, there's that.

I'm also just adding this here real quick, so instead of responding to you all individually, I just want to say one big, extremely grateful THANK YOU to each and every one of you for reading this, and enjoying this, and being patient with me.

And also, to sothenthere, I'm honoured i manged to pull you out of lurk-dom! Welcome (properly) to the forum!

Anyway, I present to you, part three!

//runs and hides

---

The inside of the flat certainly didn't match it's gloomy outdoor exterior, and John couldn't help but stare, "This...seems more appropriate."

Everything was bright, colourful, and almost blinding; it caused a small thumping pain to form in the back of Sherlock's head, making him wince. He tried to do so as subtly as possible, and give his head a quick rub before sniffling thickly and turning to John.

"She's in the living room." He informed, nodding in said direction as he removed his gloves and shoved them into his pockets, "According to Lestrade." John nodded at this, but furrowed his brow when he got a good look at Sherlock.

He looked worse than before, there was no denying. His face was now flushed, John assumed from a budding fever, his nose was running again, and he seemed almost unhappy, which certainly wasn't good considering they were finally at the crime scene.

"Are you sure you're--" John began, but of course, there was really no point.

"Yes." Sherlock hissed, getting more and more irritated by the pounding in his head and his worried flatmate. He was starting to wonder if rooming with a doctor had been such a good idea after all "Though I wouldn't mind a tissue." He added a little less harshly, emphasizing his point with a thick sniffle and a swipe at his runny nose.

John nodded, reached in his pocket, and handed Sherlock the requested cloth. He was starting to wish he'd of grabbed a bit more of them on the way out.

Sherlock snatched it and gurgled into it harshly, causing him to feel a little lightheaded for a moment or two. He was still slightly dazed as he threw the used tissue over his shoulder and began making his way to the living room.

John lingered for a moment to stare at the litter before jogging slightly to catch up with the detective's long strides.

"There you are." Lestrade sighed as the men rounded a corner into the living room, "Nice of you to show up."

"Enough talking, how long do I have?" Sherlock demanded as he accepted a pair of rubber gloves Lestrade offered him and pulled them on with a snap.

Lestrade sighed, "I can give you three minutes. Would've had more time if you'd of showed up earlier."

"I was waiting for John." Sherlock grumbled as he began walking around the drained girl's body.

"What, you can't leave without John?" Lestrade scoffed before turned to the doctor and adding a quick, "No offence." John merely answered with a tight, "None taken."

"He was- hii- picking s-something...upforme--!" Sherlock gasped out, a surprisingly intense irritation forming deep in his sinuses. Quickly he aligned his elbow appropriately and shot forward with a gut wrenching, "H'GgSHH! iIgGSH!" Barely having time for breath in between.

John opened his mouth to bless the other and possibly offer what little tissues there were left, but Sherlock quickly waved him off; John didn't have to wait long to see why.

Two more desperate gasps escaped Sherlock's lips and his nose gave one final quiver before he pitched forward again with an even harsher, "H'gGSHUH!" He finished off with a useless sniffle and a slight sway, feeling dizzier than he had before.

"God, Sherlock, bless you..." John mumbled, brow knitting in concern. Quickly he made his way to the other and placed a hand on his back for support, "...Are you alright?" It was the only thing he could think to ask, and he cursed himself for it, because he already knew what the answer would be.

"I'mb. Fidne."

And there it was. Slightly stuffier than he had initially expected, however causing a frown to form across his lips none the less, "No, Sherlock, you're not fine." John shook his head, "You're not superior to illness no matter how much you damn well think you are."

"Hey, hold on, he's ill?" Lestrade suddenly cut in; his voice a mixture of concern and astoundment.

Sherlock merely shrugged John's hand off of his back and shot Lestrade a look that could kill, "Everyon'd shud up." He all but commanded, "And let be look at the girl."

John hesitated a moment, almost deciding to just pick the damn man up, throw him over his shoulder, and march to the nearest chemist for some sort of cold medication; But instead, he raised his hands in defeat and stepped back. Here they were, finally here at the crime scene anyway. The stubborn detective might as well be allowed to get a quick look. Besides, according to John, the sooner they got out of there the better, and he knew for a fact they wouldn't be leaving until Sherlock got to look at a dead body.

What a weird world he lived in now.

With everyone now a far enough distance away, Sherlock immediately got to work. He stepped over to the girl and stared at her a moment, taking in all of the obvious details.

Now he crouched beside her, getting in close and personal. He picked up a hand and examined her nails, picked up a lock of her hair and gave a gurgling sniff, barely able to smell over his clogged nose. Then he paused, and his brow crinkled in confusion. He was missing something. He never missed anything, yet...

Sherlock winced. The harder he tried to concentrate, the more intense the banging in his head became.

Sherlock began rubbing at his temples, trying to soothe the horrible rhythmic pounding that wouldn't seem to let up. No one seemed to notice. Except for John. John always noticed.

"Sherlock..." John all but whispered, taking hesitant steps towards the detective, his arms folded tightly across his chest, "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment before turning his head quickly towards the other, "There's this pounding in my head and I can't think!" He suddenly shrieked, slamming a fist into the floor with a horrible crack; Lestrade flinched, but John remained grounded.

The doctor stayed quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence properly without causing the detective to react violently. He licked his lips and went with, "It's just a headache, Sherlock."

"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" Sherlock snarled without missing a beat. John paused again.

"...How bad is it?"

"It's not painful," He snapped, lying through his teeth, "Just annoying!" His eyes darted quickly up and down the girl, trying to find whatever it is he might have missed.

John sighed, "We'll stop by the chemists on the way home. Pick you up something that'll help."

Sherlock didn't reply, but John could tell it was a mutual agreement.

Everyone remained silent for a moment before Anderson wandered into the living room after having been attracted by the sound of fist on wood. He was the first to break the silence, "We think the killer's an ex-mortician." He informed rather matter-of-factly.

"Ex-mortician?" Sherlock blinked up at Anderson in mock amusement and raised an eyebrow, "Ex-mortician, why do you think he's an-oh. Oh. Oh, stupid, stupid!" He squished up his face in anger, slapping a hand to his head and causing his headache to pound in objection.

Quickly, Sherlock flopped onto his stomach, bringing his head as close to the victim's neck as he could, "The cut." he murmured, running a slender finger over the slice.

"The cut." Anderson's nasally voice echoed, nodding as if hearing Sherlock say it made his assumption that much more right, "The way the killer drained the blood; it's the way morticians do it. Artery in the neck."

"Don't be stupid, Anderson, anyone with an internet connection could find out how to drain a body." The ill man scoffed before running a finger over the cut again, "It's jagged. Shaky hands, improper knife. We're not looking for a mortician." He squinted at the cut again, "...It switches directions slightly about half way through. It seems the killer paused..." At this, he rose an elbow up slowly and covered his nose and mouth in a sneezing motion, "...before finishing."

Sherlock then rose swiftly to his feet and rushed at Lestrade, bursting the inspector's personal bubble, "There were nose drops, right? You found nose drops?"

"Uh, yeah, yes. One drop, just over th-"

"I don't care where it is, just answer this," Sherlock interrupted staring at Lestrade with such intensity it made the inspector uncomfortable, "You know it's nose drops Absolutely positive?"

"We're positive." He croaked.

"Right." Sherlock clapped his hands together and backed away from the older man, "Look out for any man with a cold!" He shouted, voice echoing off of the walls, "Presumably tall, definitely not a mortician!"

At this, Anderson turned his gaze to Sherlock and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

John licked his lips again and pointed a finger in the direction of his friend, "...It's not him." He verified.

Lestrade ignored the doctor and locked eyes with Sherlock, "And that's all you've got?" he sounded incredibly disappointed.

"He's clever." Sherlock responded as if this was a suitable answer, fighting back a smile.

"But you're clever." Lestrade sighed, causing Anderson to roll his eyes.

"Ooo, aren't I?" Sherlock cooed, ripping the rubber gloves from his hands and throwing them at Anderson. He turned to his partner, "John," Upon hearing his name the doctor straightened up instinctively, "Come along. We're going." John nodded and made to follow Sherlock.

"W-that's it?" Lestrade's mouth hung open in a combination of bewilderment and disbelief, "You're just going to go?"

"You said three minutes." Sherlock sniffled, pulling on his own pair of gloves yet again.

"Yeah, but-"

"Man with a cold!" Sherlock shouted, turning a corner and exiting the flat with a minimal amount of long strides.

"And not a mortician!" John added with a scoff as he jogged along beside Sherlock, leaving Lestrade alone with a dead body, a defeated feeling, and an annoying fellow on forensics.

Oh, what a day.

---

[Quite Contrary]

*sings* Love, love, love...love, love, love for this story, and for sick Sherlock. More please?

[VoOs]

Don't you dare apologize, Always. This was more than worth waiting for. I mean...

"Yes." Sherlock hissed, getting more and more irritated by the pounding in his head and his worried flatmate. He was starting to wonder if rooming with a doctor had been such a good idea after all "Though I wouldn't mind a tissue." He added a little less harshly, emphasizing his point with a thick sniffle and a swipe at his runny nose.

...first of all: Sherlock asking for a tissue is ridiculously sexy, okay?

"What, you can't leave without John?" Lestrade scoffed before turned to the doctor and adding a quick, "No offence." John merely answered with a tight, "None taken."

...Greg.

John hesitated a moment, almost deciding to just pick the damn man up, throw him over his shoulder, and march to the nearest chemist for some sort of cold medication

...this mental image? Is priceless.

John licked his lips again and pointed a finger in the direction of his friend, "...It's not him." He verified.

...Hah!

"Ooo, aren't I?" Sherlock cooed, ripping the rubber gloves from his hands and throwing them at Anderson.

...Baby. And the 'throwing them at Anderson' just made me crack up.

Gah. Everything about this is so -good-. Thank you so much for sharing.