Fic: Spring Fever
Title: Spring Fever
Author: dweo
Words: 691 words
Rating: PG
Characters: Sherlock, John
Pairings: None
Warnings:none
Summary: When John comes home one sunny spring afternoon to find a mysterious white bag, he has no idea that bag is going to save his life.
AN: Written for thegameison_sh The challenge was Spring. Since I hadn't stop sneezing for days I decided to take it out on the Sherlock Characters
Spring fever
The moment the first real rays of sun hit John's face, he couldn't stop a big smile. He loved spring. He loved the fact that everything woke up after the dark. He loved the weather, after the cold of winter, before the heat of summer. He even loved the rain; rain that washed away the dust on the streets and in his mind. That was why he walked home, taking the long way, just enjoying the calming noise of the busy city.
The enjoyment of the spring was chased from his mind the moment he walked into his kitchen.
John looked at the nondescript white bag standing on the kitchen table. It looked innocent, very innocent. So of course John didn't trust it. He approached it very carefully, putting his hands on his back and looking at it from all sides.
It was a simple white paper-bag; the top was folded several times and stapled closed. There was nothing to identify the bag with. In front was a white envelope with his name on it. John didn't recognize the handwriting, so it was probably not from Sherlock, which meant that the change of it blowing up in his face greatly diminished.
He opened the envelope. A small card slid out and John tentatively picked it up between his fingers before reading it.
Dear John,
I hope you do not mind doing me a favour. I would really appreciate if you could give Sherlock the bag. And please make sure he uses it as he is suppose to and does not set it on fire.
With kind regards,
Mycroft Holmes
John left the bag on the table and sat back on the sofa, waiting for Sherlock to return.
Sherlock entered the room with his usual flourish and stopped death in his tracks the moment he saw the bag.
He walked to the table, all the time glaring at the bag.
"When was he here?" Sherlock asked, his voice sounded annoyed.
"Don't know," John replied, "He already left when I came home."
Sherlock opened the bag, looked inside, and let out a disdainful snort. Then, with one fluid motion, threw it at John's head. It was only John's battle honed reflexes that saved him and the bag fell with a dull thud besides the sofa.
Annoyed John moved to pick it up, but was halted by a calm voice.
"I would leave it there, if I were you." John pulled his hand back immediately. Something in Sherlock's voice said he wasn't in the mood for arguments and John was certain Sherlock would find novel ways of punishing John if he did move the bag. John mentally shrugged; it was just the latest thing in the madness his life had become.
It wasn't until two days later when John woke up to a loud sneeze that probably woke up the whole world, he found out what was in the bag.
And suddenly his whole week made sense.
The packets of tissues Lestrade kept giving him with the grave words, "Trust me you're going to need it."
Donovan's rather desperate attempts to make him take a holiday.
Anderson's pitting looks.
And Molly's insistence that they should drink some rather noxious concoction and her parting words of "Pro-biotics, Sherlock, pro-biotics."
On the sofa in their living room was Sherlock, rolled into a small ball, which was not unusual, the trembling, sneezing and rather adorable red nose were though.
Just as John moved towards Sherlock his phone startled them both.
The text message was short and to the point.
Use the bag.
Mycroft
John picked up the bag from beside the sofa and looked inside.
The bag was filled to the brim with all sorts of over the counter and not so over the counter drugs: steroids, decongestants, anti-histamines, and for some unfathomable reason Jaffa cakes.
To his surprise Sherlock didn't scowl at him, but instead, rather meekly, held out his hand for his medication.
Five minutes and several pill bottles later, John looked over at the world's only consulting detective, who now looked like small child munching on his Jaffa cake, and laughed.
Author: dweo
Words: 691 words
Rating: PG
Characters: Sherlock, John
Pairings: None
Warnings:none
Summary: When John comes home one sunny spring afternoon to find a mysterious white bag, he has no idea that bag is going to save his life.
AN: Written for thegameison_sh The challenge was Spring. Since I hadn't stop sneezing for days I decided to take it out on the Sherlock Characters
Spring fever
The moment the first real rays of sun hit John's face, he couldn't stop a big smile. He loved spring. He loved the fact that everything woke up after the dark. He loved the weather, after the cold of winter, before the heat of summer. He even loved the rain; rain that washed away the dust on the streets and in his mind. That was why he walked home, taking the long way, just enjoying the calming noise of the busy city.
The enjoyment of the spring was chased from his mind the moment he walked into his kitchen.
John looked at the nondescript white bag standing on the kitchen table. It looked innocent, very innocent. So of course John didn't trust it. He approached it very carefully, putting his hands on his back and looking at it from all sides.
It was a simple white paper-bag; the top was folded several times and stapled closed. There was nothing to identify the bag with. In front was a white envelope with his name on it. John didn't recognize the handwriting, so it was probably not from Sherlock, which meant that the change of it blowing up in his face greatly diminished.
He opened the envelope. A small card slid out and John tentatively picked it up between his fingers before reading it.
Dear John,
I hope you do not mind doing me a favour. I would really appreciate if you could give Sherlock the bag. And please make sure he uses it as he is suppose to and does not set it on fire.
With kind regards,
Mycroft Holmes
John left the bag on the table and sat back on the sofa, waiting for Sherlock to return.
Sherlock entered the room with his usual flourish and stopped death in his tracks the moment he saw the bag.
He walked to the table, all the time glaring at the bag.
"When was he here?" Sherlock asked, his voice sounded annoyed.
"Don't know," John replied, "He already left when I came home."
Sherlock opened the bag, looked inside, and let out a disdainful snort. Then, with one fluid motion, threw it at John's head. It was only John's battle honed reflexes that saved him and the bag fell with a dull thud besides the sofa.
Annoyed John moved to pick it up, but was halted by a calm voice.
"I would leave it there, if I were you." John pulled his hand back immediately. Something in Sherlock's voice said he wasn't in the mood for arguments and John was certain Sherlock would find novel ways of punishing John if he did move the bag. John mentally shrugged; it was just the latest thing in the madness his life had become.
It wasn't until two days later when John woke up to a loud sneeze that probably woke up the whole world, he found out what was in the bag.
And suddenly his whole week made sense.
The packets of tissues Lestrade kept giving him with the grave words, "Trust me you're going to need it."
Donovan's rather desperate attempts to make him take a holiday.
Anderson's pitting looks.
And Molly's insistence that they should drink some rather noxious concoction and her parting words of "Pro-biotics, Sherlock, pro-biotics."
On the sofa in their living room was Sherlock, rolled into a small ball, which was not unusual, the trembling, sneezing and rather adorable red nose were though.
Just as John moved towards Sherlock his phone startled them both.
The text message was short and to the point.
Use the bag.
Mycroft
John picked up the bag from beside the sofa and looked inside.
The bag was filled to the brim with all sorts of over the counter and not so over the counter drugs: steroids, decongestants, anti-histamines, and for some unfathomable reason Jaffa cakes.
To his surprise Sherlock didn't scowl at him, but instead, rather meekly, held out his hand for his medication.
Five minutes and several pill bottles later, John looked over at the world's only consulting detective, who now looked like small child munching on his Jaffa cake, and laughed.