"Come on Sherlock," John called, pulling on his shirt collar while examining it in the mirror. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

There was no response from Sherlock, but to be honest, John really hadn't expected one.

He finally left his shirt alone and strode out into the living room.

"Sherlock," he complained. "You're not even dressed."

The consulting detective was draped over the couch face first, one arm dangling off of the end, the other curled up by his side.

Sherlock muttered something into the couch which John couldn't make out.

"Didn't hear you," he sighed. "Please remove your mouth from the cushion and try again."

Sherlock obeyed, scowling fiercely at John.

"Don't wanna go. Head hurts," he said petulantly, returning his face to the cushion once again.

John sighed. "You promised to come with me for lunch. My parents want to meet you and Harry still isn't entirely convinced you exist."

Sherlock mumbled something into the couch again.

"Sherlock!" John scolded, grabbing Sherlock's arm to pull him up off the couch if he had to. It was warm. Far too warm.

He released his arm and knelt down next to his face.

"Are you sick Sherlock? You feel warm."

Sherlock turned his face out of the cushion to scowl at John. He didn't look that much different than normal, but considering he could pass for an albino the rest of the time, that didn't mean much.

John lay a hand on his forehead. "You're warm," he informed him.

Sherlock only sighed and pulled away from his touch.

"Don't wanna go," he repeated.

"Alright," John said uneasily, returning to his feet. "But only because you're not well. But this means no cases for the rest of the week, so if you're faking it, now would be the time to admit it."

There was no response from Sherlock.

"Alright," John sighed. "But you're taking some paracetamol before I leave."

Sherlock only huffed and accepted the pills John handed him a moment later, ignoring the glass of water entirely.

"You have to drink. I don't want you to get dehydrated."

Sherlock glared at him, but downed half the glass in one go.

"Right. Good enough. You should really get some sleep. In your bed," he added, knowing that Sherlock would happily sleep on the couch rather than go to his bed.

Sherlock only hummed.

"Right. I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you feel worse, text me."

Sherlock hummed again.

John stood in the doorway for a moment before leaving, a slight inkling somewhere deep in his gut that something wasn't right.

But Sherlock had been sick before, both real and faked, and he'd turned out fine. And as Sherlock so kindly pointed out, he'd lived alone perfectly fine before John came along.

Still, he figured as he headed down the stairs, he would ask Mrs Hudson to check in on him.

Just in case.