My dear Di has returned! Which means beta-reading is ready :) I hope it's perfect and you gonna like the story this way better :)

This story is deticated to Aliyela as a big 'Thank you-gift' for her awesome comment on 'The Great Game' fic :) You made my day, Sweetie :) I really hope you, and all the others who will read it, will love it at least as much as you did the other fic.I'm pretty terrified now because this (at least the first chapter) is a bit different than all the stories i've ever written...And I'm concerned right now...
Oh, and i'm not a doctor, i'm learning tourism and hotel management, so i have no idea what this illness is. I made it up. So if you notice anything like this on you, go to your doctor AND to your psychologist.

Please enjoy,


PS: This story is also available in Chinese. For the link please visit my profile!

The best medicine

By Lizzy


"Sherlock, you are sick. You have to stay in bed." John shouted as he saw the detective putting on his coat.

"Says who? I won't stay in bed. It's dull. I have a case." Sherlock answered, knotting his scarf.

"Says your doctor. And don't worry about the case, Lestrade will solve it, you gave them enough help."

"You can't be serious, John. Lestrade? Solving a case? He couldn't even catch a criminal if they stood right in front of his eyes. I won't let him screw this up for me." Came the detective's impatient voice from the doorframe."

"Sherlock!" John yelled in vain. The door had already closed behind the black coated man. "Damn you, Sherlock!" He said, grabbing his own jacket.


"Satisfied now?" They had left that morning and since then Sherlock's condition had only gotten worse. John could tell he had a fever just by looking at him.

"Definitely. I caught a killer." Sherlock smiled, pride in his voice.

"You know you have a fever, right?" John asked, driving Sherlock to his room.

"You don't say..."

"You have to lay down, Sherlock. This is going to get worse."

"I'm not going to stay in bed for days, stop saying that! I feel fine."

"Sherlock, for god's sake! You have fever. You were running all around London, while you had a fever!"

"John, I fee- Whoa!" Sherlock turned around to face the doctor but he lost his balance. He almost fell to the floor but John held him steady.

"You don't feel fine, Sherlock. Go to bed." He pointed at the mentioned place.

"I..." Sherlock tried to argue.

"You. To bed. Now!" John finished the conversation.


"So what's wrong with me?" Sherlock asked, finally lying in bed. Even if he tried to deny it, John saw his flushed cheeks, his sweating forehead and the goose-bumps all over his arms.

"Does this hurt?" The doctor asked, moving Sherlock's wrist around.


"Sherlock..." John said warily. He doesn't even look like himself, he thought as he looked at the faint, gray eyes.

"A bit..."

"Strip to the waist and lay down." He ordered. Sherlock gave him an annoyed look but obeyed. Throwing his shirt to the floor, he slid down on the bed and leaned back. John bent over him, putting his stethoscope to the warm skin. Sherlock hissed as the cold metal touched his bare chest.

"Deep breath. Again. Does it hurt?"

Sherlock just nodded.

"How is your head?"


"Sherlock! Take this seriously, please!"

"I'm sorry, Doctor Watson. My head hurts like hell." Sherlock sighed, putting his hands under the back of his neck.

"I'll be back in a moment, until then..." John slid a thermometer into Sherlock's mouth. "Don't take it out."

John went down to his medical bag and grabbed a few medicines. He really hoped he wasn't right and Sherlock didn't have the flu. However, it really looked like that. He went back to his patient. He arrived at the room as the thermometer beeped two times.

He pulled it out from between Sherlock's lips.

102 °F.

"What's the diagnosis, Doctor Watson? Am I going to die? Please, don't tell me I'm going to die. I have a family I have to feed! Who will look after the little Lestrade if I go away for good?" Sherlock wasn't able to hold back his sarcastic smile.

"Congratulations Mr. Holmes, it's the flu. Take these pills, I'll make you tea."

"Oh, so I'm not going to die. What a surprise..."

"I wouldn't bet on that. I might still kill you if you don't swallow those pills..."


It was late at night. John was reading an old book in his favorite chair, tea steaming next to him. He wasn't paying too much attention to the words, he was thinking of the sick man next door. Sherlock's fever hadn't fallen despite the pills. It rose to 104°F. His headache got worse, his breathing too.

He looked at the clock.

Twenty minutes.

He last checked on him twenty minutes ago. Sherlock was sleeping then but who knows, maybe he was up now, needing something. He stood up and walked to the door. He opened it slowly, making as little noise as possible.

When he first looked at him, he thought he was sleeping but then he heard his voice. The detective was whining silently, he lay on his side, hunching himself up, arm around his waist, breathing really hard. John ran to him, leaning to the bed.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, do you hear me?" The answer was only a slight nod. He saw that Sherlock's eyes were closed tightly.

"Sherlock, talk to me, can you tell me what's causing you the pain?" The doctor asked, concerned. With both his hands, he tried to hold steady the shaking body.

"Lungs...c-can't breathe..." Sherlock rattled.

"Alright, Sherlock, listen to me, I know it hurts, but you have to sit up. I'll help you, come on Sherlock." John pulled him up. When he tried to stand up, he felt Sherlock's fists clench into his shirt

"D-don't...go..." Came a whisper right next to his ear.

"It's ok, Sherlock. I won't go away. I will sit behind you, but you have to let me go first."

When he felt the fingers loosen he stood up quickly and sat behind Sherlock. Pulling him to his chest he started murmuring into Sherlock's ear.

"I'm here, Sherlock. Now breathe with me. Come on, in and now out, slow, deep breathes, do it, Sherlock."

His arms went around Sherlock, he held him from behind. As they breathed he felt Sherlock's pulse slow, his breathing became smooth. Sherlock, stretching himself out between the doctor's legs, threw his head back to John's shoulder. He was breathing normally again.

"Are you better?" John's voice was still low as he reached out for a glass of water.

"Much..." He cleared his throat. "Thanks..." Sherlock mumbled taking the glass. "You can go now, I'm sure you're tired."

John climbed out from behind him but didn't leave the room.

"I'm not tired." John lied easily. "I'm concerned about this fever. The seizures are not uncommon things but they are rare in a healthy, grown man, they're rather expected in children and old men. You took the pills I gave you, right? Those should help..." He looked out of the windows, considering the possibilities. "I think you should take a cold shower, Sherlock. That would maybe help your fever fall."

Sherlock gave him a surprised look.

"John, it's 3am. You really think I should have a cold shower, now?"

"Yes. You have a fever because your immune system wants to kill the virus with heat. But, clearly, it's not working; and if your system is exposed to this much body heat for too long that causes more trouble than help."

Sherlock nodded, putting his feet to the ground. He tried to stand up but his knees trembled and he fell forward. John caught him at the last second, lifted him up, holding him for a few minutes in his caring arms.

"Come..." He said as they, grabbing onto each other, lurched towards the bathroom.

John didn't want to switch on the lights, that would just cause Sherlock's headache to worsen. Instead, he leaned the shaking man against the wall saying, "Stay here," and went back to Sherlock's room. He switched on a lamp on the nightstand which would give them enough light in the bathroom to see the shades of the subjects but wouldn't burn out the gray eyes.

He went back to the detective. Sherlock was where he had left him, his head tilted to the side, resting against the cold tiles.

"I'll help you..." John said, his hands at the bottom of Sherlock's shirt.

"No!" Sherlock grabbed the hands then pushed them away from his waist, not releasing them.

"Let me..." The doctor almost begged and when Sherlock let go of his wrists they went back to the detective's slim hips.

Pushing up the blue cloth, John's palm was lightly touching Sherlock's skin. As his fingertips were sliding upward, he felt how hot the other's body was. He couldn't help but look into the gray eyes. He was at Sherlock's breast when the detective raised both of his arms over his head.

John felt the muscles tighten and move under his fingers. He stepped a bit closer to reach higher. He pulled the shirt over the mussed up curls and long hands then threw it to the floor. Holmes' pale skin was shining in the dim light making a stark contrast to the dark tiles.

When he touched his pants, Sherlock groaned.

"Dear god! I can't believe this..." His voice sounded astonished.

"What?" Came the concerned but also surprised voice.

"Nothing..." Sherlock replied, sweeping away the cold fingers again. "I'll handle this...Get out."

"But Sherlock...?"

"Get out. Now. Leave me alone, John."

John obeyed because Sherlock seemed determined and a bit angry, too. He closed the door behind him and waited.


Sherlock stepped naked in the shower stall, turning on the cold water. As the first few drops reached his skin, he hissed. Not so surprisingly, the cold water was cold. Especially on his fever heated body. All of his instincts were screaming to get out from under the icy water but he forced himself to stay.

When he thought of John who was probably standing in front of the door, his heartbeat skipped then went on faster. It wasn't enough that most of his blood was right now not in his brain but much lower, because of the dear doctor's caring fingers, now he was panting again. His lungs felt as if they were burning with every gulp of air and as he started breathing faster, they hurt more. Even though, when his windpipe grew narrow and the fresh air didn't reach his lungs, he felt the flaming inside him. Freezing water was streaming over him but it couldn't cool down the blazing fire inside.

Coughing, he bent over as if a magnet were trying to pull together his shoulders and knees.

"John..." The name was only a faint whisper.

His knees gave out and he fell to the wet ground on all fours. Nails scraped the wall, he tried to breath but he couldn't. Cold water, still running all over his body, made him shiver; he was freezing until he felt something warm pressing at his back. The warmness surrounded him, first on his back then it was over his stomach too, then it moved to over his heart.

The strong arms made him stretch out again, powerfully pulling him back. He closed his eyes and bent back as much as he could, as much as the arms around his chest made him. The cold water, which was falling on his head wasn't freezing anymore, but refreshing, it calmed down his nerves. A few blank minutes later, he started realizing what was around him. Rather who.

He was still kneeling in the middle of the shower stall and John was behind him again, holding him, like in the bed. A hand was across his chest, fingers digging into the soft flesh under his collarbone, another one over his stomach, pulling him close to John, holding him steady. He looked down and saw knees on both sides of him. Even in the darkness, he could tell that John's blue jeans had become almost black from the dampness.

"It's me, Sherlock. Don't worry, I'm here now..." John whispered into his ear. Sherlock turned towards the sound. Closing his eyes again, he buried his head in John's wet neckline.

"It's okay..." John murmured as two hands gripped onto his. He started rocking slightly back and forth until Sherlock regained all of his senses.

They were under the running water for several minutes. Fortunately, there weren't more seizures while they were there. John really hoped that Sherlock's fever decreased from the coldness, too.


Thanks to the icy shower Sherlock's fever fell to 102 °F. He was lying on his side, covering himself to the neck with the blanket. John was observing him from the bedside. He decided to stay in the room until the serious seizures elapsed. He knew that every minute mattered when Sherlock had these seizures. He had to straighten him up, making him breathe without any difficulty or else...

A weird idea came to his mind.

"Would you mind if I sat behind you?"

"What?" Sherlock cast a glance at him. "Like during the first seizure?"

"Yes." John nodded determined.

"Why would you do that?"

"I could react faster during the possible seizure and the position would help you breathe smoother while you are sleeping. Look, I know it would be a bit unc..."

"No. I-it's okay." Sherlock interrupted him, sitting up.

The blanket slid down the bare chest to Sherlock's lap. He shifted on the bed, making enough room for the doctor.

John sat behind him, hoping that Sherlock was at least wearing pants. As Sherlock made himself comfortable, he felt the boxer's thin fabric. Well...more it's better than nothing..., he thought for a moment.

"Try to sleep." He covered both of them with the blanket then placed his hands to his sides. Sherlock nuzzled up to him, his back firmly pressed to John's chest.

Darkness surrounded them as they lay in the bed. There was no light in the room, even the windows were darkened. John listened as his friend fell asleep, as his whole body relaxed. He couldn't sleep, he was too tense.

Now, when Sherlock's warm body burning from fever was pressed to his, he realized the detective was just another human being, too. It terrified him to see Sherlock in that much pain, almost crying from it. He couldn't imagine - he didn't even want to - what could have happened to Sherlock if he hadn't come in the room in the first place.

It hurt him to see Sherlock this weak and fragile. Although John denied this even to himself, he thought of Sherlock as if he were some kind of hero. And it always hurts to see a hero in pain. And when that hero is also your friend it hurt much more.

The day was breaking when Sherlock's back arched as the next seizure came. John held him to himself with one hand, straightening him out, his other went to Sherlock's hair, caressing him, trying to calm him down.

"Sherlock, remember, breathe slowly, deeply and it'll be over soon. Come on, Sherlock, in..." he took a deep breath himself, "...out."

"J-john..." He heard Sherlock's ragged breathing, and John felt as if his heart was ready to burst.

"I'm here with you, Sherlock. I'm here, right behind you... Now, breathe with me, please Sherlock, breathe." He begged. Finally he felt Sherlock doing what he asked. His hand was over his lungs, he felt how his chest went up breath after breath and soon Sherlock was calm again, his panting stopped, and he inhaled smoothly.

"Thanks for staying with me..." Holmes murmured in a raw, husky voice.

"I'm glad you feel better..." John sighed in relief. His hand was on Sherlock's forehead, taking his temperature. "I think you're fever fell a bit while you were sleeping, you will be better now."

"Will there be more..."

"Seizures? I hope not."

"Are you comfortable?" Sherlock asked after a few silent minutes.

"What?" John replied uncomprehending.

"You were in this position all night. Aren't you uncomfortable?" Sherlock explained.

"Oh...No, I'm fine, thanks."

As a matter of fact, he felt very comfortable. His back was leaning against a soft pillow, his right leg tucked up and Sherlock's head was resting on his right shoulder. It was really comfortable. They remained quiet for a few minutes until Sherlock spoke up again.

"Do you mind if I..." He asked, placing his hand on John's right knee.

"Not at all."

John's left hand was lying at his side until he felt Sherlock fold his still shaking fingers around his, moving them over his own chest, like he wanted to cover himself with John's hand. Holmes tilted his head to the left; John could feel his hot breathing against his neck.

"Sherlock...?" John's hand was tangling in the wet curls.

"Yes?" Sherlock said, his hand seizing the doctor's.

"Sleep well..." He whispered into the darkness.

"You too, John..."

TBC :)

So, what do you think? Please tell me...

Did you found anything even a bit erotic here? I meant it to be so I hope you did... o.O

Oh and sorry that i wrote AGAIN about Sherlock (and John) under the shower. But that part wasn't because of the hotness or anything (although i enjoyed writing it very much) but cold shower really helps lower the fever...