This was not right.

John was the doctor. He did this well.

Sherlock was the patient. He did this less than well, but what could he say. It was boring.

But now John had gone and ruined everything. He just had to go and break his ankle (kept insisting it was Sherlock's fault, but he wasn't the one who made him slide wrong on the ice) and force Sherlock to take care of him.

Sherlock was not a good carer. This should have been evident to John, seeing as how he was such an awful patient.

But John had insisted that he needed to help, because it was winter and Mrs Hudson's hip was acting up (and she's not their housekeeper, dears, but just this once) making it difficult for her to help.

And John could be very insistent.

Also, John threatened to hit him with his crutches. Sherlock didn't mind that so much, but when he moved on to threatening his experiments, that's when it got serious.

Which was why Sherlock was now attempting to make tea.

He knew how to make tea of course, that's something that he would never delete, but as to where the tea making supplies and ingredients were located? ... an entirely different story. John had taken to reorganizing the kitchen as he saw fit, pointing out to Sherlock that he was the only one using it for its actual purpose. Sherlock may have been doing an experiment with a cadaver at the time.

No sugar, Sherlock reminded himself. He knew that much. Which meant it was one less thing to find. Milk should be in the fridge, but that hardly meant anything. So, tea.

The noise Sherlock was making in the kitchen seemed to irk John, who's pain medication was wearing off. (The reason Sherlock had to make tea, he reminded himself.)

"The cupboard next to the stove," he called out. "Bottom shelf. Left hand side."

Sherlock scowled. Leave it to John to treat him like a child while lying invalided on the couch.

But he didn't say anything, just made the tea.

He practically threw the cup at John, startling him. He did throw the pills at him, making John swear as he attempted to catch them while not spilling his tea. One rolled onto the floor and John looked at Sherlock pointedly.

Sherlock looked at him innocently.


"Oh, you bloody well know what. Pick it up and stop acting like a child."

Sherlock debated sulking off to his room, but that did seem a bit childish and he didn't want to prove John right.

So he picked the pill up off the floor and held it out for John, who swallowed both at once with a mouthful of tea.

He frowned slightly. But it was just enough for Sherlock to notice.


"Oh... nothing," John waved him off, motioning for him to move the table closer to the couch so he could rest his mug on it. Sherlock obliged, but still waited for an answer. John sighed. "Nothing okay? You just make it differently. It's fine."

Sherlock made a disapproving noise. He didn't quite believe John, as he had a habit of naively trying to spare Sherlock's feelings.

"Can you get me my laptop?"

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock retrieved the desired item.

He paused before leaving.

"Do you... need anything?"

John seemed a bit shocked by this inquiry.

"Erm... some biscuits would be good. And the remote. And maybe another pillow for my leg?"

Sherlock reluctantly set off to fulfil these requests, only sighing once, and rather silently. He picked up one more item that John hadn't asked for, but Sherlock knew he would be needing.

"You can text me if you need anything."

John eyed him and his phone suspiciously.

"You're not... going out are you?"

"No, not now," Sherlock replied vaguely.

He wrapped himself up and settled in his armchair with his violin.

"Any requests?"

John seemed speechless. To be fair, Sherlock had never asked John if he wanted to hear anything, or even if John offered a piece, Sherlock never played it. But he was taking care of him. Things had changed.

"Oh. Yeah. What's that one you were playing last week during the middle of the night. You know, when you thought I was sleeping."

Sherlock remembered that night. He knew perfectly well John wasn't sleeping; he had just woken up from a nightmare. So he had been playing a song that he had noticed to have a calming effect on John. Sherlock didn't say this, and instead just began playing.

John smiled, and laid back, pain medication kicking in, and drifted off.

When Sherlock was sure he was asleep, he disentangled himself from his chair and went off to gather supplies for his new experiment.