Sooo, I know I should be updating my Phantom stories BUT one of my best friends was ill lately and I wrote this for her, to make her feel, here's to you Hulabaloo :D

Friday morning and 221b Baker Street was alive with activity. Well, perhaps 'alive' is the wrong word…

John awoke early, his stomach ached something awful and the familiar salty taste invaded his mouth. Pulling back the covers, he made for the door. Taking the stairs two at a time and holding his hand over his face, John barely made it to the sink before he threw up. Keeping his head firmly over the metal basin, Watson took a few deep breaths before the heaving began again.

"John? John, what's all the-" Sherlock stopped below the arch; joining the sitting room and kitchen, and yawned. John didn't move but for his trembling, whitened hands clutching the countertop.

"You're not well."

"No, look Sherlock, I'm fine. It's probably just something I ate…"

"Not likely, I ate the same thing you did," they shared a look, "remember?"

John nodded before another wave of pain shot to his gut, sending more foreign things into the sink. Sherlock stood, fumbling with his violin - he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as Watson convulsed before him.

"Shall I get Mrs Hudson? I'll get Mrs Hudson…" He moved to the door, still clutching the violin.

"Sherlock…wait…no point in waking her - I have you to look after me. Not that you'll probably be very good with sick…"

Sherlock turned and, setting the instrument softly down on the table between them, he began to roll up his sleeves.

"Not very good with sick, hmm?" The next thing John knew, Sherlock was beside him with a beaker of water as offering. John tilted his head up and their eyes met.

"What's been in that beaker before?"

"Nothing harmful, just some chemicals - but that was months ago…"

John pushed the offering aside and another wretch threw him into an unnatural spasm.

"Of course, of course, stupid!" With that exclamation, Sherlock threw down the glass beaker - which went shattering into tiny pieces - and clenched his hands by his sides. "Look, I'm going to call Mrs Hudson…"

John's hand caught Sherlock's as he tried to walk away, as he did another jolt sent his body into a worse state than before and he squeezed Sherlock's fingers, so tight.

"Ahh, don't leave me!"

Sherlock's face softened. His flat palm found Watson's back and, rubbing small circles there, Sherlock slowly tried to soothe the trembling shakes.

"I'm not going to leave you…"

Later that morning…


Finally the landlady came up the stairs and into the kitchen. What she found was Sherlock, stood behind Watson - who was partially covered by the taller man's dressing gown - who was in his underwear, leaning over the sink…well, you can imagine…

John's head peered slowly around Sherlock's tall, thin form, "I'm feeling a bit sick…"

A few minutes later…

"No, I said you can't manage! You carry the bucket!"

Sherlock had John by the waist, his hands were placed tightly upon the shorter man's hips as he guided him across the landing. They headed straight for Sherlock's room.

"But, my room's upstairs…Sherlock, I can't…"

"Upstairs is too far for someone as sick as you, and besides, I don't want to be running up and down all day. You know how lazy I am…"

Unsure, John rolled back the sheet on Sherlock's bed and climbed underneath. The mattress was freezing, telling John that the bed had not been slept in; or if it had, only very briefly. Sherlock came round to tuck John in, taking the bowl from his shaking hand as he did.

"Now, you try and rest alright…Sarah needs you to be good for work tomorrow…I need you…"

"For work?"

"Of course not for work…well, yes for work but for conversation and…" Sherlock paused, trying to word it, "friendship."

Clearing his throat, John tried to hide a faint blush as his cheeks flared hot. Then, unexpectedly, Sherlock leaned in and kissed his forehead gently. After standing tall again, Sherlock could not meet his eyes.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

John tried to sit up but the room was spinning.

"Nothing's wrong with me…no…"

"It's Sarah, isn't it."


John laughed lightly and rolled his eyes. Then a sad half smile graced his face, "she broke up with me…"

Sherlock's eyes flickered. A glimmer of hope flashed eager and wanton within them. "When?"

"Last night…well, I say she broke up with me…"

"When she didn't."


"You broke up with her."


Sherlock almost lost his nerve and jumped for joy but managed to restrain himself. Inside he was dancing.

"Well, why, I thought you were the ideal couple, all lovey-dovey like that, I could see it lasting a lot longer…"



"I thought not…that's why I had to end it. She did say something rather amusing though, right before she slapped me…"


"Yes," John paused and looked Sherlock in the eye, "she said we would be happier without her 'getting in the way of our bromance'"

Sherlock pretended to scoff, like it offended him but looking at John's expression he stopped. He could see the same feelings reflected on the face before him. The statement was true, after all this time.

"Yes, well, you get some rest John…I'll be close by, if you need me…" With that Sherlock left and John slept, or tried to.

That night…

The bedroom was pitch black and Sherlock, though he very rarely did, made an effort to go to bed. He needed the sleep but his side of the bed, the side not already occupied by John, was cold and uninviting. Thinking twice about going to bed, Sherlock got up to leave. As he did, John stirred and rolled over.

"Sherlock? Oh, you've decided to come…go…"


"Yes John, I've decided to come to bed. Though my 'side' is freezing…and I split the hot water bottle while trying some experiment or another…"

John laughed, "the fact that you can't remember which one is proof enough it's late. You're mind is normally so sharp."

"Not when intoxicated…"



A long, deep sigh slipped through John's lips and he smiled groggily. Lifting the covers and getting back in bed, Sherlock sat with his back against the headboard, his mind now reeling.

"Stop thinking and go to sleep."

"I can't, it's not that easy. Without my violin to play or a book to read I'll never be tired enough to sleep…not to mention I've run out of Nicotine patches. AND, and, it's bloody cold over here."

"Just lie back and think of England…"

"What? I'm not a having sex. And I can guarantee that, if we…I…were, I would NOT think of England…what a waste."

A light laugh, "what would you think of then?"

A soft hum, "well, you, obviously, because our 'bromance' would include us making love to one another…I won't go into detail…"

"Well, I'm going to sleep then…"

"What are you saying?"

John groaned and sat up, the world still span but he could put up with it. "I'm saying that if this 'bromance' is going to work, then we need to be honest with each other…"



With that, Sherlock reached a hand out, took John's face - quite forcibly - and brought it to his own.

Sleeping came quite easily after that.


Hope ya liked it! R&R :D