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BBC Sherlock - John and Sherlock get sick (M/M)


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This is obviously woefully incomplete. I'm having trouble with my computer now, so I'm just writing it on here and publishing whenever I can.

Comments/reviews would be lovely, as this is my first ever fanfic or story.

More sneezing to come, of course! But I do love my hurt/comfort, so there will be a lot of that, too. It's just that I've decided that John is a single sneezer. Sherlock will have fits, and he'll get sick soon enough!

"You should go to bed now," Sherlock said, without looking up from his microscope. He was sitting at the table in the dimly lit living room wearing his dressing gown.

John had just entered the flat. He had spent the entire day out, running meaningless errands just to avoid Sherlock. The night before, the two of them had gotten drunk off wine and admitted to having feelings for each other. But nothing had come of it, because John had passed out shortly thereafter. He didn't know what would happen now.

He hovered by the door, confused. "It's eight o'clock."

"Impressed, as always, with your ability to tell time," Sherlock drawled, still pressed against the microscope's eyepieces. "But you're becoming ill, so it's advisable that you get as much rest as possible. Perhaps you can avoid the most distressing symptoms."

John stepped into the living room and took a seat on the couch. "I'm not ill."

"You think the pain in your head is from imbibing last night. An admirable guess for someone of your intelligence level, yes, but incorrect. The headache has not abated, though it should not have remained until this late hour, and you've been drinking enough water that the dehydration that accompanies alcohol consumption can surely not be the cause. And the copious amounts of water have also not fixed your somewhat sore throat."

"How do you --" John began, but cut himself off. Not worth asking how the consulting detective had deduced any of that. "Fine," he said, "I'll go upstairs, but not because you're right." Because I don't know what to say to you now that we've admitted our feelings but haven't acted on them...

"Mmhmm," was Sherlock's bored reply.

John took the stairs slowly the next morning. He head was pounding and his throat was so sore that he could barely swallow. "HAASHOOO!" he sneezed into the open air as he reached the bottom step. He gave two thick sniffles as he padded into the living room in his slippers. He was carrying a box of tissues that had mysteriously appeared on his bedside table during the night.

Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch, reading a book ominously titled "Unsolved Serial Murders of the 19th Century". He looked up at John, smirking.

"Shut up," John said. He plopped himself down in his chair miserably.

"I said nothing."

"You were going to." John sniffled again and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

"I derive no satisfaction from correctly deducing a condition which clearly causes my flatmate pain. Though I'm glad to see you've received my gift."

Flatmate? Really? They were going to stick with that word forever, ignoring the drunken exchange between them a couple nights ago? But John didn't have enough energy to bring up the issue at the moment.

John glanced up and found that Sherlock was staring at him with unsettling intensity. His blue-green eyes were searching John's face, but his expression was unreadable. He set his book on the coffee table and stood up.

"I'll make tea. That should alleviate some of the nasal congestion and the pain in your throat."

Sherlock being... kind? Considerate? How odd.

"I might die of shock, seeing you being considerate, but it's probably best that you just stay away from me. I'm contagious."

"Please, John. You're a doctor. Surely you know that you've been contagious for days before the symptoms appeared? I've already been exposed." Sherlock swept away to the kitchen and began making tea.

John groaned as he stood up and moved to the couch. It was only the first day and already he could tell that this would be one of the worst colds he had had in a long time. He stretched on the couch, positioning the Union Jack pillow under his head and pulling a throw blanket over his legs.

"HASSSHEW!" he sneezed again, his head snapping up and spraying his chest. He groped around for the box of tissues that he had left on the table.

"Bless you!" called Sherlock smugly from the kitchen. John blew his nose in a way that he hoped adequately conveyed his annoyance.

John felt himself being nudged awake. "Hmm," he grunted.


John opened his eyes to see Sherlock kneeling in front of the couch, holding a cup of tea in his left hand. His right hand rested on John's shoulder. There was something soft in his piercing eyes. Concern.

"Come on, sit up," said Sherlock gently. He moved his hand to John's back, slowly guiding him to a seated position.

John took a sip of the tea. It did soothe his throat a bit. Sherlock rose and took a seat next to John.

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I love your comments. I feel all warm inside :)

Update time! Reread the beginning paragraphs of this because it changed a bit from how it ended last time.

John felt himself being nudged awake. "Hmm," he grunted.


John opened his eyes to see Sherlock kneeling in front of the couch, holding a cup of tea in his left hand. His right hand rested on John's shoulder. There was something soft in his piercing eyes. Concern.

"Come on, sit up," said Sherlock gently. He moved his hand to John's back, slowly guiding him to a seated position.

John took a sip of the tea. It did soothe his throat a bit. Without warning, John threw his head forward and sneezed. "HachtkSHEW!" It was directly towards where Sherlock was kneeling before him.

John's cheeks immediately turned red. "Oh, by god, Sherlock. I'b sorry. That took be by surprise."

Sherlock stared impassively. "It's quite all right," he said. He rose and sat next to John on the couch. "What shall we watch on the telly?"

For the next few hours, John sat huddled in his blanket next to Sherlock. The TV was on, playing one inane show after another, but Sherlock never complained. He sat quietly, giving John concerned glances every once in a while, and occasionally handing him tissues when his thick sniffles became desperate.

Somehow, over the course of the day, the pair moved closer and closer to one another. Soon there were a few feet of unused space on one end of the couch, as John was practically leaning against Sherlock. As he launched into a coughing fit, Sherlock reached up and put his arm around John, rubbing his back until John was finished.

This is what normal people do, right? This is comforting. I hope.

John moaned softly and rubbed his aching throat. His heart was beating fast, and he wasn't sure whether it was due to the coughing fit or the attractive detective with arm around him. It didn't matter. He swung his feet up onto the couch and leaned in Sherlock's embrace. He fell asleep with his head pressed against his flatmate's side, as Sherlock softly stroked his fingers through his hair.

When John opened his eyes again, his head had slid down into Sherlock's lap. He was warm and comfortable.

"What tibe is it?" he asked, his voice stuffy and husky with sleep.

"Seven. Are you hungry? I could order takeaway." After Sherlock spoke, John could hear a very slight sniffle.

"No..." John groaned.

Sherlock sniffled again, louder this time, and his eyes scrunched closed, his mouth hung open. He clapped both hands over his mouth and nose. "Hachtssh! Utschh! Hahstchuh!"

John sat up to give Sherlock room as the detective took a deep breath and continued. "HAATSCHH! ECHTSHSH!"

He sighed and sniffled thickly. "Thank you for this marvelous cold, doctor. I do so appreciate it."

John smiled and shook his head. He handed Sherlock a tissue, which he accepted gratefully. His jaw dropped open again and he sneezed into the tissue. "HUHtsch! Tschshh! EckCHOO!"

"You dow, I dod't thigk I've ever seed you sdeeze before," John said.

"It doesn't happen oft--" Sherlock began. "HAHTSHH! EHtschh! Hnngtgsh! --Often, but when it does-- ATSCHH! ATTSHCH!" He blew his nose desperately. "Eshhew! When it does, I just can't stop." He wiped his nose.

John smiled. "Done?"

"For the moment."

Sherlock sighed, leaned back, and took a good look at his flatmate. John's cheeks were flushed, his eyes were glassy, and he was shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket.

"John, I think you have a fever." He reached out and ran his hands over John's cheeks and forehead. "You're burning up."

Sherlock stood up and took John's hands. "Come on let's get you into bed."

As they began walking, John cleared his throat and said in a very small voice, "Sherlock? I-- I don't really feel like being alone right now."

"That's precisely why I'm taking you to my room."

More to come!

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*swimming in warm, fuzzy Johnlock feels* :wub: :wub: :wub:

Too. Friggin'. Adorable.

(Sherlock sneezing in fits = Heaven on Earth. <3)

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This is so adorable! I can't even handle how cute this is! SO MUCH LOVE!

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Part Three

Sherlock led John by the waist, trying to keep the swaying doctor from falling. The two of them sniffled back and forth as if it were a contest. (Sherlock, as always, was winning.)

In his bedroom, Sherlock eased John onto the bed. John was suddenly feeling worse than ever, and just stared at his companion blanky through bleary eyes.

Sherlock grabbed the edge of John's sweater. "Lift," he commanded, and John raised his arms above his head as Sherlock pulled off his jumper. John's eyes began to flutter and he slowly turned his head to the side. "UURSHOO!" he sneezed openly to the air next to him, too weak to bother to cover his nose or apologize to Sherlock for his messiness.

Sherlock patted John's knee and stood up. "Now you lie down. I'll be right back."

In the time that it took for Sherlock to gather the tissue box, a thermometer, and a bottle of medicine, John had fallen fast asleep on top of the covers. Sherlock smiled, pulled the covers over John, and climbed into bed next to him.

Within moments, Sherlock felt a familiar tickle building. His twitched his nose and rubbed it vigorously. .Not now. A sneezing fit will wake John.

But it was no use. With a sharp inhale, Sherlock shot forward and stifled three sneezes. "Hngxt. Hnng. Hnggst!"

This tickle wasn't going away without a fight. He shook his head with regret of what was to come. "Hatschh! HURUSHH! ATTSCH!" he sneezed into the top of his shirt, which he had lifted up to cover his nose.

"Sh'lock?" John said sleepily, his eyes gently fluttering open.

Sherlock let go of his shirt and instead covered his nose and mouth with both hands. "HASCCHOO! AHHtsch. Sorry -- EEHSTSCH! Tsscsh. Didn't mean to-- AAHSSHH. Didn't mean to wake you." He sighed with relief and wiped his nose with a tissue.

"'s'okay. Not your fault," said John, turning toward him. "Umm, Sherlock? Are we ever going to talk about-- about what we told each other?"

"Obviously. But not while you are in the throes of a terrible fever."

"Okay. But, well, if what you said was true, would you mind, you know, cuddling?"

Sherlock didn't mind at all.

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Oh god this is so cute!! Thank you so much for writing! Poor.john is being all feverish...

And sherlock sneezing into hislifted collar is just too much for me t handle.

I already love you and i hope there will be plenty more amazing storywriting from you!!!!

Love, linda

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Sneezy John AND sneezy Sherlock! And sick cuddles! And sneezing fits! And fevers! And FEELINGS!!!!!!!!! THIS IS AMAZING!!!!!!!!

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Part Four

(Bear with me -- there's not much sneezing until later. Just yummy care-taking and feelings-sharing.)

Sherlock woke up at 4 am. He was playing big spoon to John's little one, his right arm slung over John's side, knees curled behind his. He knew he should be warm and comfortable, but instead he groaned and shivered violently. He pressed his aching head against the top of John's back and moaned softly.

"Sherlock? You awake?" John asked, his voice much deeper and rougher than usual.

"Mmm," was Sherlock's only reply before he coughed pitifully against John's back.

John turned on the bedside lamp and flipped over to see his flatmate. Sherlock's eyes were glassy, his face was flushed, and beads of sweat were collecting just under his mop of dark hair. John reached out and gently ran the backs of his hands over Sherlock's forehead and cheeks.

"You're warmer than me and I definitely have a fever." John sighed and brushed his hand through Sherlock's hair. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock sniffled thickly and moaned again. "Everything hurts."

John picked up the bottle of pain killers and the glass of water that Sherlock had left on the night stand. He took two pills for himself and handed two to Sherlock, who kept his eyes closed and barely moved. When they had both taken the medicine, John lay down again by Sherlock's side, shuffling up against him for warmth.

"How long will it be before the drug takes effect, Doctor?" Sherlock asked without his usual smirk.

"Forty-five minutes, I think."

It was quiet for a moment, with only sniffling and coughing breaking the silence, and then John spoke up.



"I meant what I said that night," John said. "I've never... I've never had feelings for another man. But you're... you're Sherlock." Sherlock focused an intense gaze on John while he continued, "Maybe it's just because we're ill, but being this close to you... It's what I want. All the time."

Sherlock reached over and put his arm around John, pulling their bodies together, chest pressed against chest. "Me too," he murmured.

It was unclear who initiated it -- maybe they both did -- but a second later, their lips were touching together, ever so softly. They pulled away after a moment, each a bit flushed from fever and arousal, and they felt asleep wrapped in each other's arms.


The next morning, John awoke with his head on Sherlock's chest.

"Morning," John said. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrific. But better than last night. The fever's gone."

"Same here," John said. Suddenly, he sneezed, "aTSHew!" all over Sherlock's stomach, his face still pressed against him. He scrambled to sit up. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... I feel like I've just been sneezing all over you this whole time, and you haven't complained. It's gross. I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked away from him and became engrossed at picking at a loose thread on his blanket. He took a deep breath and mumbled, "It's quite all right." He paused, still staring at the blanket, and added, "I kind of like it."

"What? You like it when I sneeze on you?"

"You, er, have a nice sneeze. I like when attractive men sneeze."

"You mean it turns you on?" asked John, incredulously.

Sherlock nodded almost imperceptibly.

John considered this for a moment and then burst into laughter. "That's adorable!"

Sherlock finally looked up at him. "What?"

"That's brilliant. Utterly brilliant. Now I know exactly how to turn you on." He smiled proudly. "And I think I can do it again very soon," he added with a pointed sniffle.


Aaand, ladies and gentlemen, now I'm thinking of moving this to the adult section. John has to make Sherlock's fetish-y dreams come true, doesn't he?

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If you move this to the adult section, I will love you forever and always! I mean, I'll love you forever and always anyway but even more so!

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It's because you're validating. You have to be validated (see http://www.sneezefetishforum.org/#IV and the "Read Before Posting" section for details) before you can get access to some of the areas.

If I may make a suggestion, though...perhaps you could continue the story in a non-18+ manner (either by doing a scene-cut or a fade-to-black, or just by having things cool down a bit), post thst here, and then post the 18+ version (or missing scenes, if you go that route) when you get access to the adult boards. That way, the story could continue, and it could be a complete story that even people without adult-board access could enjoy in the future. (And also, I'm really eager to see where this story is going...besides the bedroom, I mean! ;))

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