When Sherlock gazed up at him like that, John felt his breath catch in his throat, swallowing it back and quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "No, only accidentally drugged ones ... which is to say, only you."
When those arms pulled away, John felt instantly cold and missed the loss of his weight. But he had his chance. He hesitated only a moment before sitting up to skip off to the loo to relieve himself. He came back and climbed right back into bed, returning to the warmth of Sherlock to judge his overall health. He may be smiling, but it could be a facade. John felt his cheek, he wasn't overly burning up like before. The sweating had even stopped. He had a few little twitches, but by now it was growing difficult to distinguish the usual tweaks of the detective and the drug ones.
Right now it didn't seem to matter, because Sherlock was staring at him. Right at him, and John was captivated. "You look ... better." He tilted his head to the side just a touch, realizing how plain and boring that sounded. But it was true, he didn't look like death was warming over him any longer.
Sherlock managed a soft chuckle at that, groaning as he stretched out his stiff limbs. He huffed a sigh when John pulled away, tugging the blanket up to his chin to make up for the lost warmth until John returned. He let his eyes fall shut momentarily when John touched his cheek, a slight smile still present on his face as he leaned into the touch. He opened his eyes again, meeting John's gaze with an expression of uncharacteristic but genuine warmth. "I feel better." he replied, unperturbed by the banality of the exchange. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." he said sheepishly, moving his hand to rest it on John's side, flicking his eyes back up to his face as though to make sure it was still okay. "Thank you."
He paused in contemplation for a moment, realizing that he was possibly overstaying his welcome now that the worst was over (at least, for now). He didn't want to go, but John had been more than accommodating already, and he didn't want to put him off when he'd been so understanding. "I suppose I could vacate your bed now, if you'd like."
Their eyes locked and John didn't feel that overwhelming power of Sherlock trying to figure out his intentions. Right now, his only intention was to smile and stretch and enjoy this moment.
When Sherlock thanked him, he realized just how much he wanted to kiss him. "You are very welcome ... the pleasure's been all mine ... " Brushing his curls back from his forehead, John pursed his lips and let his eyes wander to the detective's very distinctive lips. Often, when Sherlock goes on a rant, all John will do is zone out and watch his lips move, because they are some of the most unique lips he'd ever seen on a bloke.
"Mmmn, no. I don't think you can. You look 'terrible' and deserve breakfast in bed. That is, if you feel like tea and toast?" John offering to make them breakfast wasn't out of the usual. What was out of the usual was that it was around 5 am and the sun hadn't come up yet. Making a pre-dawn breakfast was John's specialty. And for Sherlock, he'd make anything if the man was hungry.
Sherlock just kept smiling lazily up at him, nothing on his mind at the moment except for being grateful for the break in the symptoms as well as for John's role in helping him through it. He almost said 'you don't have to lie' as a joking retort to John's words, but it honestly seemed like he was telling the truth. Maybe he hadn't been the only one to get something out of this, though whatever John had to gain he had no idea.
He tilted his head curiously when John refuted his offer, dissolving into a grin when he continued. "I am feeling a little peckish. Be careful, though. There's the distinct possibility that I could get used to this sort of treatment." he replied, not used to having someone jump at the chance to take care of him. Then, he supposed, that was what was so wonderful and surprising about John.
"Heaven forbid, that." His smile was a little brighter as he moved from the bed again, explaining that he'll be back in a jiffy. After about ten minutes, John returned with a tray of toast, jam, tea, and some headache pills. Even if Sherlock wasn't in pain, it wouldn't hurt to head the pain off a bit.
He'd also managed to get the morning paper. If Sherlock didn't have an experiment already growing in the only small vase they had, he would've kipped a flower from Mrs. Hudson's flowerbed and put it on the tray too, if that didn't seem all too cliche of a thing. Good thing John thought of that after he'd already trudged up the stairs with the tray. His shoulder was twinging a bit still, but it was to be expected.
Sherlock laughed lightly at that, wishing only that John didn't have to get up and take his warmth with him, even if it was only for a few minutes. He settled back into bed when he left, closing his eyes and breathing deep the scent of John's pillow that he'd commandeered for the moment. He had become rather taken with his scent during his stay in his bed, to the point where he was sure he would end up sneaking into his bed whenever he got the chance. He tried not to think about how the only chance he'd probably get would be if John stayed with Sarah.
He was grateful that he didn't get time to dwell on that fact, as he heard John trudging up the stairs and he adjusted the pillows so he could sit up and wait for him, smiling warmly when he came into view. "I think Mrs. Hudson will be grateful to hear that we found a proper housekeeper." he teased.
"Oh, ha ha." He set the tray in Sherlock's lap, giving his shoulder a slight shove, "One. Time. Only. You've used up your 'Doctor gives you breakfast in bed' card, can't get that one back. So enjoy this moment for all it's worth." John grabbed up his own mug and grabbed a piece of toast for himself before allowing Sherlock his choice of the rest of the pile of toast he'd made.
John reached under his bed for his laptop, silently cursing himself for giving away its hiding spot to Sherlock. His passwords were getting harder and harder to remember to try and keep Sherlock out. He hoped Sherlock would give him a break and not hack it for once. He set the mug down on his nightstand and flipped open the laptop to check his emails, scooting back up against the headboard. They were shoulder to shoulder then, nearly touching. John had his toast stuck in his mouth, chewing on it idly and using his tongue to pull more of it into his mouth to take another bite, no hands. He was too busy typing.
Sherlock just grinned impishly at him, grabbing a piece of toast and nibbling on the corner. "Well that hardly seems fair, considering you offered to do it." he gibed, raising his eyebrows as he eyed him playfully. He picked up the newspaper and scanned the headlines, searching in vain for something to hold his interest.
He smirks knowingly when he sees John grab his laptop from what he apparently thought was a good hiding spot. He would be safe for the most part if he left it there, considering it was mostly about which laptop was closer to him when he was feeling particularly lazy. Trudging all the way upstairs to get John's would be way too much work, so he would leave it be.
He went quiet as he flipped through the newspaper, sighing theatrically as how dreadfully boring the outside world was today. "Bored." he announced restlessly, tossing the paper back onto the tray. He flicked his eyes over to John when he didn't react at first, sighing pointedly in a bid for his attention. He wasn't above childishly repeating his name to pull his focus from the laptop if he had to. For now, he continued to chew on his toast and just stare at John until he acknowledged him somehow.
Oh, John heard him. He could sense his boredom in his wiggly state beside him. John decided to run a little experiment of his own. How long could he ignore the attention seeking behaviors of his flatmate. That was easy, given his laptop was open and there were plenty of sites he wished to visit. Having barely any hours at the surgery gave him ample time to browse the internet for stupid, funny, dumb shite that amused the hell out of him for some reason.
Then he got the stare. That stare that he always did yet seemed different given the right occasion; the one that made most criminals give up their secrets, made ladies melt, and made Doctor's a little squirmy to say the least. John's cheeks were tingling as he tried very hard not to smile at that.
Five minutes of huffing and puffing, sighing dramatically and, if given probably another two minutes would've resulted in Sherlock flinging his limbs about and stretching, John gave in and laughed. "Yes, I know. You're bored. You are free to leave the bed if you like. I said you could stay, but that doesn't mean you can't leave if you're that bored." John was a slow morning person, particularly now that he didn't have any early shifts to contend with. He looked like a big old sleepy mess right now and didn't care, because he had his tea, he had his toast, and he had his detective.
Grabbing another slice to shove in his gob, John smiled around it when Sherlock turned to give him 'the look.' That look of 'entertain me right this second or I'm going to go burn something in the kitchen.' John could only smile.
Sherlock growled irritably, narrowing his eyes at the doctor who was so determined to ignore him. His sighs and huffs got steadily louder the longer John disregarded him. Sherlock wasn't used to being ignored, and he wasn't sure what to do about it for a moment. He frowned when John suggested getting out of bed, that being the last thing he wanted to do. This may be the one and only time he would be allowed in his bed like this, and he certainly didn't want to cut his time short by leaving now.
He sighed, again, in defeat this time. "Do you treat everyone you sleep with like this?" he asked sardonically, shaking his head admonishingly as he chewed on his toast. He huffed and leaned over to rest his head on John's shoulder to watch what he was doing in hopes that it was something vaguely interesting. At the very least, he would start correcting his grammar to annoy him into paying attention to him again.
Pursing his lips, John blinked rapidly a few times and stilled his hand in mid-type. "Well, I don't normally ... sleep with patients ... " He tilted his head just a touch, eyes flitting away from his laptop to glance at him.
"Besides, you didn't 'sleep' with me ... you just ... slept in my bed. So I'm free to treat you like usual. If you slept with me, well that would be based on how well you performed ... " John grinned, feeling a little devious. He continued typing after a beat, wondering just what Sherlock was going to say about that.
Sherlock looked up when John stopped typing, scoffing at his words. "You're not supposed to." he pointed out. He quirked an eyebrow at him when he spoke again, at a loss for what to say for a moment. He had no idea how adept he was at such pursuits, having never had any interest in such things. On top of that, he never found someone he liked enough to ever get him interested enough to even let it cross his mind.
He supposed John was the one he voluntarily associated with the most, and vice versa, making him the closest thing to someone he would remotely consider sleeping with. He hummed softly as he thought about it, wondering what the pros and cons of such an arrangement would be. The obvious pro would be that he would never have to have John inconvenience him by going off on dates without him. The only con that he noted was the fact that he had never done anything like that before, and as such would have no clue what he was doing or how to start. He surmised the best start would be to see how John reacted to a serious suggestion of that nature.
"We could always see for ourselves, if you'd like." he suggested casually, picking up his mug and sitting up to take a long drink of tea as he waited for John's answer.
"No ... you're not ... doesn't mean I haven't done it ... " Showing the detective a bit of his wild side, John realized he wasn't being frank with his words.
"You're thinking abo-- oh, there! There it is, your thinking face! You're thinking about shagging me, aren't you? Fat chance, that ... " John started to point, eyes going a little wide as he playfully waited for Sherlock to finish his thought. Sure enough, he asked.
John laughed at that suggestion, his smug look was downright infuriating to the doctor, but right now John was a little too giddy to say anything to the contrary. John had finished his own tea and left the answer hanging as he chuckled all the way to the kitchen. He felt the need to tell Sherlock, again, that he didn't swing that way. No matter how much Sherlock was admired in John's eyes, there was just no denying his heterosexuality. At least in John's mind, there was no doubt. He hadn't met resistance to that thought yet. The Army didn't exactly count.
Little did he know that that might all blow up spectacularly in his face. But for now, he busied himself with cleaning out his mug, as usual, and setting it back in its place in the cabinet.
Sherlock's eyes widened slightly for a moment, before settling into a glare when he realized he was winding him up. He huffed in annoyance, returning to his pondering before he was interrupted by John. He furrowed his brow, not expecting that reaction at all. He glared at him as he left, taking obvious offense that John just laughed it off and just left when he wasn't done talking yet.
He waited until John was out of sight before picking up the rest of the dishes and following him. He set the tray down on the table and just stared at the back of John's head as he worked out how to retort. "You don't think that was a bit of an overreaction? It was merely a suggestion." he said quietly, clearing his throat in the hopes of speaking in a tone more befitting of someone who didn't take offense to that. No, certainly he didn't care whether or not John wanted to shag him. But did he have to make his obvious disinterest so apparent? He didn't like how John's reaction had affected him, or indeed that it had affected him at all. He turned on his heel to exit swiftly, to his safe haven of the couch and initiating his standard protocol for sulking by facing the back of the couch petulantly. He found with increasing aggravation that he missed John's bed already.
John was in the middle of putting some clean dishes away when he heard Sherlock slam the tray onto the kitchen table. "A bad suggestion ... " he corrected. It was a bad suggestion, because now John could not stop thinking about it. He cleared his throat and was just about to turn around and say something else when Sherlock spun on his heel, avoiding any chance at eye contact before stomping off to get into one of his moods.
Oops, that certainly didn't go the way he wanted it to go, the doctor feeling the instant twist of guilt. He finished his clean up in the kitchen and returned to the sitting room, taking up a seat in his usual chair. He noticed, however, that the Union Jack pillow was at the other side of the room. "I thought you were 'married to your work'? In my book, that means 'not looking.' I'm sorry if my ... overreaction got to you, but I just-- it wasn't ... expected. At all." John wanted to say he was flattered, but he wasn't sure if it was right. He ran a hand over his face and glanced at the sulking detective's back. He'd been unresponsive this whole time, and suddenly John feared that Sherlock was in his 'silent' sulk. He might not talk for a few days, now.
Sherlock bristled at John's reply, just barely resisting the urge to get the last word in before retreating to the sitting room. He hunches his shoulders when he hears John speak, huffing audibly after staying defiantly silent for a good few moments.
"I am." he snapped back, moments like this being the exact reason for that. As much as he knew about people, they were random and unpredictable at times, John especially. "I was possibly entertaining the idea of reconsidering after certain...events."
Namely, John's helping him through withdrawal and letting him sleep in his bed and making breakfast and so many other little things that he did for him. He definitely felt something unfamiliar that he couldn't quite understand when he woke up in John's arms (both times). It was a strange sensation that left him wanting to stay there curled up against him for as long as he could.
"Just leave it. I made a simple suggestion and you said no. Case closed. Forget I said anything." he added bitingly, finding himself more and more annoyed by this whole situation, especially at himself and the way he kept prattling on. He felt vulnerable, and he hated it.
When those arms pulled away, John felt instantly cold and missed the loss of his weight. But he had his chance. He hesitated only a moment before sitting up to skip off to the loo to relieve himself. He came back and climbed right back into bed, returning to the warmth of Sherlock to judge his overall health. He may be smiling, but it could be a facade. John felt his cheek, he wasn't overly burning up like before. The sweating had even stopped. He had a few little twitches, but by now it was growing difficult to distinguish the usual tweaks of the detective and the drug ones.
Right now it didn't seem to matter, because Sherlock was staring at him. Right at him, and John was captivated. "You look ... better." He tilted his head to the side just a touch, realizing how plain and boring that sounded. But it was true, he didn't look like death was warming over him any longer.
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He paused in contemplation for a moment, realizing that he was possibly overstaying his welcome now that the worst was over (at least, for now). He didn't want to go, but John had been more than accommodating already, and he didn't want to put him off when he'd been so understanding. "I suppose I could vacate your bed now, if you'd like."
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When Sherlock thanked him, he realized just how much he wanted to kiss him. "You are very welcome ... the pleasure's been all mine ... " Brushing his curls back from his forehead, John pursed his lips and let his eyes wander to the detective's very distinctive lips. Often, when Sherlock goes on a rant, all John will do is zone out and watch his lips move, because they are some of the most unique lips he'd ever seen on a bloke.
"Mmmn, no. I don't think you can. You look 'terrible' and deserve breakfast in bed. That is, if you feel like tea and toast?" John offering to make them breakfast wasn't out of the usual. What was out of the usual was that it was around 5 am and the sun hadn't come up yet. Making a pre-dawn breakfast was John's specialty. And for Sherlock, he'd make anything if the man was hungry.
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He tilted his head curiously when John refuted his offer, dissolving into a grin when he continued. "I am feeling a little peckish. Be careful, though. There's the distinct possibility that I could get used to this sort of treatment." he replied, not used to having someone jump at the chance to take care of him. Then, he supposed, that was what was so wonderful and surprising about John.
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He'd also managed to get the morning paper. If Sherlock didn't have an experiment already growing in the only small vase they had, he would've kipped a flower from Mrs. Hudson's flowerbed and put it on the tray too, if that didn't seem all too cliche of a thing. Good thing John thought of that after he'd already trudged up the stairs with the tray. His shoulder was twinging a bit still, but it was to be expected.
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He was grateful that he didn't get time to dwell on that fact, as he heard John trudging up the stairs and he adjusted the pillows so he could sit up and wait for him, smiling warmly when he came into view. "I think Mrs. Hudson will be grateful to hear that we found a proper housekeeper." he teased.
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John reached under his bed for his laptop, silently cursing himself for giving away its hiding spot to Sherlock. His passwords were getting harder and harder to remember to try and keep Sherlock out. He hoped Sherlock would give him a break and not hack it for once. He set the mug down on his nightstand and flipped open the laptop to check his emails, scooting back up against the headboard. They were shoulder to shoulder then, nearly touching. John had his toast stuck in his mouth, chewing on it idly and using his tongue to pull more of it into his mouth to take another bite, no hands. He was too busy typing.
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He smirks knowingly when he sees John grab his laptop from what he apparently thought was a good hiding spot. He would be safe for the most part if he left it there, considering it was mostly about which laptop was closer to him when he was feeling particularly lazy. Trudging all the way upstairs to get John's would be way too much work, so he would leave it be.
He went quiet as he flipped through the newspaper, sighing theatrically as how dreadfully boring the outside world was today. "Bored." he announced restlessly, tossing the paper back onto the tray. He flicked his eyes over to John when he didn't react at first, sighing pointedly in a bid for his attention. He wasn't above childishly repeating his name to pull his focus from the laptop if he had to. For now, he continued to chew on his toast and just stare at John until he acknowledged him somehow.
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Then he got the stare. That stare that he always did yet seemed different given the right occasion; the one that made most criminals give up their secrets, made ladies melt, and made Doctor's a little squirmy to say the least. John's cheeks were tingling as he tried very hard not to smile at that.
Five minutes of huffing and puffing, sighing dramatically and, if given probably another two minutes would've resulted in Sherlock flinging his limbs about and stretching, John gave in and laughed. "Yes, I know. You're bored. You are free to leave the bed if you like. I said you could stay, but that doesn't mean you can't leave if you're that bored." John was a slow morning person, particularly now that he didn't have any early shifts to contend with. He looked like a big old sleepy mess right now and didn't care, because he had his tea, he had his toast, and he had his detective.
Grabbing another slice to shove in his gob, John smiled around it when Sherlock turned to give him 'the look.' That look of 'entertain me right this second or I'm going to go burn something in the kitchen.' John could only smile.
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He sighed, again, in defeat this time. "Do you treat everyone you sleep with like this?" he asked sardonically, shaking his head admonishingly as he chewed on his toast. He huffed and leaned over to rest his head on John's shoulder to watch what he was doing in hopes that it was something vaguely interesting. At the very least, he would start correcting his grammar to annoy him into paying attention to him again.
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"Besides, you didn't 'sleep' with me ... you just ... slept in my bed. So I'm free to treat you like usual. If you slept with me, well that would be based on how well you performed ... " John grinned, feeling a little devious. He continued typing after a beat, wondering just what Sherlock was going to say about that.
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He supposed John was the one he voluntarily associated with the most, and vice versa, making him the closest thing to someone he would remotely consider sleeping with. He hummed softly as he thought about it, wondering what the pros and cons of such an arrangement would be. The obvious pro would be that he would never have to have John inconvenience him by going off on dates without him. The only con that he noted was the fact that he had never done anything like that before, and as such would have no clue what he was doing or how to start. He surmised the best start would be to see how John reacted to a serious suggestion of that nature.
"We could always see for ourselves, if you'd like." he suggested casually, picking up his mug and sitting up to take a long drink of tea as he waited for John's answer.
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"You're thinking abo-- oh, there! There it is, your thinking face! You're thinking about shagging me, aren't you? Fat chance, that ... " John started to point, eyes going a little wide as he playfully waited for Sherlock to finish his thought. Sure enough, he asked.
John laughed at that suggestion, his smug look was downright infuriating to the doctor, but right now John was a little too giddy to say anything to the contrary. John had finished his own tea and left the answer hanging as he chuckled all the way to the kitchen. He felt the need to tell Sherlock, again, that he didn't swing that way. No matter how much Sherlock was admired in John's eyes, there was just no denying his heterosexuality. At least in John's mind, there was no doubt. He hadn't met resistance to that thought yet. The Army didn't exactly count.
Little did he know that that might all blow up spectacularly in his face. But for now, he busied himself with cleaning out his mug, as usual, and setting it back in its place in the cabinet.
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He waited until John was out of sight before picking up the rest of the dishes and following him. He set the tray down on the table and just stared at the back of John's head as he worked out how to retort. "You don't think that was a bit of an overreaction? It was merely a suggestion." he said quietly, clearing his throat in the hopes of speaking in a tone more befitting of someone who didn't take offense to that. No, certainly he didn't care whether or not John wanted to shag him. But did he have to make his obvious disinterest so apparent? He didn't like how John's reaction had affected him, or indeed that it had affected him at all. He turned on his heel to exit swiftly, to his safe haven of the couch and initiating his standard protocol for sulking by facing the back of the couch petulantly. He found with increasing aggravation that he missed John's bed already.
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Oops, that certainly didn't go the way he wanted it to go, the doctor feeling the instant twist of guilt. He finished his clean up in the kitchen and returned to the sitting room, taking up a seat in his usual chair. He noticed, however, that the Union Jack pillow was at the other side of the room. "I thought you were 'married to your work'? In my book, that means 'not looking.' I'm sorry if my ... overreaction got to you, but I just-- it wasn't ... expected. At all." John wanted to say he was flattered, but he wasn't sure if it was right. He ran a hand over his face and glanced at the sulking detective's back. He'd been unresponsive this whole time, and suddenly John feared that Sherlock was in his 'silent' sulk. He might not talk for a few days, now.
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"I am." he snapped back, moments like this being the exact reason for that. As much as he knew about people, they were random and unpredictable at times, John especially. "I was possibly entertaining the idea of reconsidering after certain...events."
Namely, John's helping him through withdrawal and letting him sleep in his bed and making breakfast and so many other little things that he did for him. He definitely felt something unfamiliar that he couldn't quite understand when he woke up in John's arms (both times). It was a strange sensation that left him wanting to stay there curled up against him for as long as he could.
"Just leave it. I made a simple suggestion and you said no. Case closed. Forget I said anything." he added bitingly, finding himself more and more annoyed by this whole situation, especially at himself and the way he kept prattling on. He felt vulnerable, and he hated it.
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