The Not-So-Scientific Method (Sherlock; M)

[Spoo]

I struggled with myself for a VERY long time - as in, this was written a year ago - about whether or not I should post it up. It is 100% fan service (like, the level of self-indulgence is absolutely, disgustingly ridiculous). Full credit, however, does not belong to me! This piece was co-written with a member who [sadly] is no longer active on this forum. She wrote for Sherlock and I wrote for John.

I apologize in advance if it reads strangely since this was originally written in roleplaying format before I reformatted/edited it into something a bit more fic-like. Spoiler-alert: It still reads like an RP at some parts. Whoops. Aside from that…yeaahhhh. If you need me, I'll be dying from embarrassment and hiding under a rock.

P.S. Thank you, VoOs, for the encouragement all those months ago.

- - -

The Not-So-Scientific Method

Giving up had never once been in John Watson's nature. Not even when he was ill. A brutal fever from an even more aggressive cold had attempted to overwhelm him throughout the course of the night, but when morning arrived the brave soldier came out victorious. The high temperature he'd been plagued with had descended into something manageable and low-grade, granting him the ability to awake with an actual sense of coherence.

He recalled the presence of Sherlock in his bedroom the night before (at least, he thought it was Sherlock) but it could have very well been a hallucination conjured by his fevered brain. He supposed the only way to know for sure was to ask his flatmate so…best get up then.

It took a minute, but soon enough he left his room and trudged along at a slow pace. He eventually entered the kitchen (where he'd heard movement) looking as though he'd just tumbled out from a dryer: Hair tousled, expression sleepy, cheeks and nose flushed a rosy hue.

He squinted at Sherlock, not quite believing what he was seeing, before snuffling out a congested stream of words: "Are you…actually baking brehgfast?"

"That was the idea, yes. Eggs. Though I'm not entirely certain they came out correctly," Sherlock answered, frowning at the pan on the stove.

While he was rather adept at toast, actually cooking was something that was fairly foreign to him. The eggs weren't coming out soft and delicious looking. Instead, they appeared to have separated somehow, and the whole lot was a lumpy, congealed mess that was not remotely appetizing.

"Your fever has improved," he continued. "Otherwise, you would have still been confined to your bed."

"So you were in by room last dight," John confirmed, shuffling a little closer to where Sherlock stood.

He sniffed again - the sound no better than a clogged drain - prior to coughing from the effort. Unlike a few days before, his coughs weren't dry. They had turned wet and productive, implying that whatever was in his nose had traveled down into his chest as well (no thanks to the copious globs of mucus he'd swallowed throughout his illness).

"The congestion has obviously settled into your lungs," Sherlock deduced. "You require an expectorant. I can make you one."

"I'b dot sure if thad's a good idea..." John replied, untrusting of the other man when it came to making anything. Sherlock had a tendency to get awfully 'creative', and he wasn't so sure he wanted to go along with it.

The unwell doctor had forgotten to bring a tissue with him, which was rather unfortunate since he could feel his nose beginning to run. The dripping sensation was ticklish, and it had his wide nostrils wriggling in urgent irritation. Suddenly, he succumbed:

"Hh'EDSCHHh'uu!" He pulled back from his steepled hands, trying to sniffle, but another immediate sneeze surprised him. "Hnk'NGSCH'gkt!"

Back into his hands his tormented nose buried itself, squelching the release. Slow-paced fits weren't uncommon for him (even when he was healthy) but they seemed even more prolonged and tedious whenever he was under the weather. Especially in the mornings for some reason.

"I deed to blow by...h-hihh...hah'ETCHhhgkt!"

It was fairly obvious what he was trying to say, so with a dripping sniffle John turned on his heel and stumbled off in the direction of the washroom, sneezing periodically along the way.

Sherlock had grown accustomed to his flatmate's slow fits, even when he wasn't ill, so this one didn't concern him much. He was more interested in John's cough, and the way the congestion in the man's chest clicked slightly on the inhale.

Looking into the pan again, the detective wrinkled his nose at the mess that the eggs had become. With an impatient huff, he crossed to the rubbish bin and tipped the contents inside, then returned to the stove for another go.

If this failed, John was getting toast.

- - -

By the time John entered the washroom and was able to get a wad of toilet tissue pressed to his face, he'd already sneezed six times. The seventh was currently tickling its way out, urging his breath to hitch something horrid. Wanting to hurry the process along, he fiercely wriggled his nose, hoping that the jostling of his sensitive nostrils would extract what was left of the fit (or, at the very least, sneeze number seven).

His efforts were thankfully rewarded not three seconds later. "Heh'ETSCHhhmffff!"

The tissue muffled the tail-end of the outburst while also absorbing the messiness that came from it. John desperately prayed that he was finished, but a quickly rekindling itch let him know that he wasn't done yet. Like before, he began to build up to an inevitable release. His chest expanded with great gasping breaths - each ascending dramatically before they would fall back into a choppy, unsatisfied exhale.

"Oh come'b--hihh!--od," he groaned, willing the sneeze to stop tormenting him. Helplessly, he looked up at the light, feeling that the brightness would assist him (as it occasionally did).

Unfortunately, he received nothing but wet, watering eyes.

Beads of moisture collected on his long, pale lashes as he looked down again, utterly frustrated with himself. His problem had reached a frustrating plateau; it was maddening. All he could do was endure the torture until his nose decided it wanted to cooperate. Though, knowing his colds and their fiendish nature...there was a good chance he'd be left in a sneezy limbo for quite a while.

In the kitchen, Sherlock couldn't help but keep a well-trained ear on John as he dealt with the more annoying aspects of his cold.

"Look at the light," he called.

That sometimes helped coax a sneeze or two out in the mornings when they would get stuck. Sherlock had no idea, of course, that John had already tried this, and had gotten nothing from it.

"Alr--ihhh--eady did!" came the reply, in between hitching breaths.

John even looked at the light again, just to say that he'd tried twice, before it became clear that no amount of light-looking would push him over the edge. Disheartened, he went over and sat on the closed lid of the toilet. He tried aggressively wiggling his nose as he had before, but that only made the sensation worse; the unseen feather that was twirling wickedly in his nasal passages began tickling him faster.

Jesus, this was unfair. He would have sneezed for the rest of the afternoon if it meant getting over his present obstacle.

Attempting another potential solution, he blew his nose. The congestion within had turned rock solid once more, meaning nothing could be blown out at the moment (much to John's dismay). And yet, his nostrils still had the audacity to leak - even though there was nothing else to be done.

Listening to John's hitching breath was beginning to drive Sherlock a bit mad, and it was becoming quite difficult for him to focus on anything other than the breathy noises from the washroom. Sighing, he set his spatula down and moved the breakfast pan off the hob so he wouldn't set the kitchen on fire (again) before walking through to the washroom.

Hovering in the door, he leaned his shoulder against the frame and gazed in at the miserable man within; he lifted a brow cooly at John, his expression carefully schooled into total impassiveness.

"You are extraordinarily distracting when you do that," he deadpanned, his tone as bland as his expression, but not in the least unkind. "I must insist that just sneeze already."

"I've beed tryig to, but ihhhh...w-won't come'b out," John replied, shoving the toilet tissue beneath his nostrils again. "Id's right there." For emphasis, he pointed at the side of his nose, showing where the evil tickle was located. "I cad feel id. I just...hihhh!" The sharp inhale dissolved into a miserable groan. "Ughnnn...cad't."

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sherlock came into the washroom and perched himself on the counter like an overgrown child.

"If it isn't going to come organically," he spoke slowly, pausing when John's breath hitched yet again. Once more, it left the doctor panting and frustrated, and Sherlock continued as if he'd never paused, not missing a beat, "You need only coax it out. Physical stimuli, John, is all you need." He reached up and tapped a slender finger against the side of his own nose, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Right there, inside."

Understandably, John wasn't quite following where Sherlock was going with his solution. He understood the idea of a physical stimuli and all, but...just how was he supposed to go about doing that? As far as he knew the problem was internal, and he couldn't very well get to the inside of his nose from the outside. That's not how things worked.

"I'b dot cuttig oben by dose, if thad's what you're gettig...ahh...at.." he replied breathily, his eyes watering with a fresh batch of irritation-induced tears. He may have hated his situation at the moment, but even hatred wouldn't summon a scalpel.

Now Sherlock did roll his eyes, and he hopped down from his perch next to the sink. "No, you idiot," he said, no venom in his tone.

He reached past John to pluck a few sheets of toilet paper, holding them up in demonstration. This, after all, was something he had been forced to do more than once because of some feline-related allergies in the past; he was practically an expert at it by now.

"You take a tissue -- or something of similar material -- and twist a corner into a fine point. Insert it into your nostril to further irritate your already inflamed nasal mucous membranes. A few twists, and I promise you will sneeze." He'd twisted the thin paper into the aforementioned fine point as he'd narrated the process, and now brandished it at John expectantly. "Try it."

John blinked at the odd tissue creation and actually leaned away from it, as though it were a tiny sword that would stab him (were he to get too close). If the other man thought he was going to poke about in his nose with that...that thing, then he was sorely mistaken.

"I'b dot sure where you get bost of your ideas frob, but I'b dot stickig that," he nodded at the intimidating cone, "ub by dose." For one, he ran the risk of making matters worse. The inside of his nose was already dodgy; he didn't need to cause any more problems.

Sherlock looked at his implement of nasal relief for a moment. He saw nothing wrong with it. It was long enough that it would provide a great range of irritation to a nose, it wasn't rolled so tightly that it would hurt, and his hands were immaculately clean when he rolled it, so there wasn't a speck of dirt, grime, or egg on it. It was perfect, and yet…

John seemed to be afraid of it.

The tall man knelt along the tile floor, long legs bent gracefully so he was closer to John's level. "It won't hurt you, John. Honestly, it works. I've done it myself, many times. Try it." He held his tissue contraption out again insistently.

In spite of Sherlock's explanation, John's apprehension didn't vanish. If anything, it only grew stronger. He shook his head and inched back yet again, frowning.

"Doe. I dod't want to try id," he replied firmly, rubbing his wad of toilet tissue into his extremely ticklish nose. "And you shouldn'd be doig it either. Id's dot...hihh!" He suddenly broke off, so bloody close to sneezing that time, but falling short at the last possible second. A hoarse whine worked its way out of his throat as John slumped his shoulders defeatedly.

Nevertheless, he confirmed: "I wod't." Shoving something up your nose couldn't have been 'okay' by any means, even if it made you sneeze, he thought.

Sherlock sat back on his heels and looked up at John critically, all while twisting the sheet of rolled-up toilet paper between his long index finger and thumb. "Oh, for God's sake. Something that I assure you will provide you with almost immediate relief, and you're not even willing to try it?"

Sensing that some of the unwillingness to try the method of retrieving a stuck sneeze was simply that John was afraid of the unknown, Sherlock sighed again and shook his head. Pushing the sleeves of his dressing gown up to the elbows, he adjusted his grasp on the tissue.

"Very well," he said, the tone of his voice a trifle curt now. "You require proof, so I shall give it to you."

And with that, Sherlock inserted the thin tip of the white cone into his right nostril, which flared immediately in reaction. There was a spot that he knew was particularly sensitive to stimulation, so he aimed there. All it took was a few twists of the tissue, followed by an insistent wiggle, and a crease appeared in the bridge of his nose. His breath wavered, then caught, and his pale eyes fluttered closed. The inducing agent was pulled from his nostril quickly so that he could duck into the crook of his arm.

"Hh'IhhSChhuh!" The sneeze, caught in the sleeve of his dressing gown, was almost instantly followed by a second, wetter and stronger, with only a single shaky inhale to separate it from the first. "Hhuh... Hh'ISSCHhhuh!"

Upon lifting his head, he gave a soft, only slightly runny sniffle, and dabbed the untwisted part of his strip of toilet roll against his nose.

"Satisfied?" he queried, giving another single sniff.

John was left in absolute awe. He stared dumbly, mouth agape, as he witnessed what was probably one of the craziest parlor tricks he'd ever seen. He understood the science behind it - sneezes were caused by irritants, and a twisted toilet tissue definitely qualified as an irritant - but seeing it firsthand and up close...it was oddly brilliant in that bizarre 'Sherlock Holmes' way.

That and he rarely heard or saw the younger man sneeze, so that was always a bit surprising as well.

"If you require another demonstration, or actual assistance, I am willing to provide either," Sherlock continued.

John's dark blue eyes flickered down to the pointed paper tip that had previously been in Sherlock's nose; there was no blood on the clean white. Only wetness, which meant that it was indeed a harmless task. Nevertheless, John couldn't seem to kick his last traces of hesitance. He wanted so badly to sneeze, but...

With a fluttering breath, his watery gaze targeted his flatmate's face. He set both of his hands on his lap, resembling a nervous child who was about to ask for something very embarrassing.

"I swear to God, Sherlock," he began. "You'd better dot bake it worse." He tilted his head back slightly, exposing the wide, pink nostrils that continued to shiver with undeveloped sneezes.

Sherlock only hesitated the briefest of moments before he set to work. Tossing his own rumpled bit of toilet roll in the rubbish bin, he unraveled a few fresh squares and repeated the careful motions of rolling a corner into the formidable-looking pointed tip. The detective consulted this critically for a moment before deciding it was satisfactory, and he nodded again, this time in approval.

"Alright. Lean in," he spoke to John, his deep voice soft and surprisingly gentle. He grasped the doctor's chin in a grip that was as tender as the tone of his voice, and he held the tissue up. "Do you have a preference as to which side I should stimulate? It'll be much easier to coax a sneeze, or several, judging by how sensitive your nose seems to be, from the side that is already in desperate need for release."

John deeply appreciated Sherlock's willingness to solve his problem, but the moment those cool, lengthy fingers were upon his face, holding it in place, he felt apprehension bloom in his stomach. Maybe he should have put more thought into this… Or maybe he was just being unnecessarily concerned.

Well, either way it was his nose, so he supposed he had a right to be cautious about what went on inside of it.

John gave a wet sniffle, his breath hitching slightly, before he replied. "Right side. Defididely the right side." It was there that the irritation feathered along his sensitive inner membranes, like the fine and skittering legs of a insect.

Sherlock nodded again and said, to provide the reassurance John so clearly needed, "This will be painless, if only mildly uncomfortable." Aiming the point of the twist toward the blond's twitching right nostril, he also added: "Do try to warn me before you sneeze, so I might avoid punching you in the nose."

That would be the icing on the cake; a cracked nasal bone and further swelling. With this request made, the nimble-fingered man slowly and gently inserted the tissue into John's nose. A quarter of an inch, then a half, he directed the very tip to the nasal wall. Rolling it in his fingers, he gave a tentative twitch, then a searching wiggle, being just as gentle as he could.

John had anticipated a reaction - a strong one, even - but no amount of mental preparation readied him for the sheer agony that exploded in his nose the moment the twisted tissue was inserted. He coughed and sputtered a little, since the foreign intrusion was something he'd never once experienced before, but once it got to moving about he ceased in the awkward snorts and snuffles.

Tears of irritation rapidly pooled in his eyes, yet they didn't escape the whites of his sclerae. Not even when he shut them in response to the enormous tickle that was growing in his nose. If his breath was hitching before, it was positively gasping now in large, desperate gushes of air.

His spasming nostrils were flaring for what was to come, which was surely going to be quite a show - if his vocalized buildup said anything. "Sh-Sherlock, I…hihhh…gonna…snehhh--hehh--ihhhh…!"

And then...voila.

Everything Sherlock had promised came to fruition. And while the tall man was very light on his feet and surprisingly quick, he did not have time to dodge out of the way of the fine mist that sprayed on his hand at the first sneeze.

"...Heh'ETSSCHHhuih!"

Luckily, John was able to continue the fit on his own and without the need for further inducing.

"Eh'TSCHISHhhuh!--ESCHHhhih!" Four, five, six…and the seventh, the final brute of the lot, bent him towards his lap with its aggressiveness. "Heh'EGSCHHHhh'oo!"

"I have no idea why you doubted me in the first place," Sherlock remarked, discarding the tissue and turning to wash his hands. He then watched as John cleared his nose out in the bundle of toilet paper he'd been holding the entire time.

The full observation began: Pale, but pink in nose and cheeks for obvious reasons. Mussed hair; he'd tossed and turned more than usual due to the fever. Dark circles under his eyes, which were watering. Sherlock had seen John in a great many different situations, but he couldn't remember a time when he looked quite so beaten down. This virus, the foul but tiny little thing, had challenged him, and had thoroughly broken down not only his immune system, but his pride as well.

Feeling an odd twinge of sympathy, Sherlock turned to leave. "I'm going to attempt the eggs again."

Having recovered from his outburst, John looked up and tried to reassure Sherlock that his actions, while appreciated, weren't necessary. "You don't have to do that."

He was more than capable of seeing to his own meals, even if he wasn't in a great state of being to go about doing it. Still, the stubborn soldier in him was once again coming out.

"Really, it's alright--"

But Sherlock had already disappeared, presumably en route for the kitchen. Massaging his fingertips into his closed eyelids, John exhaled and slowly got back onto his feet. The sneezing fit had left him feeling a little lightheaded, which explained why he took a second to center himself. Once properly balanced again, he tossed his crumpled toilet tissue into the rubbish bin and then gradually followed after Sherlock.

A kitchen fire was honestly the last thing he needed. His cold was bad enough.

End.

[AdrianMarx]

There's no need to die from embarrassment, Spoo! Awh, this is so great. I love it so much ahh. It makes my heart all sqishy. It is 4am. I need to go to sleep. I insist you stop posting such irresistible writings. (And can I just say that you fit very well with your partner.) Um. Yes. Gosh I just love it. That is all.

[Quite Contrary]

If this failed, John was getting toast.

Aww, he tried This story was so cute, as usual!

[MoonDuck]

The plot is so cool and I really like how you spelled the sneezes, and how much almost suspense there was

[cally]

Once again you leave me in absolute awe of your writing skills. I shall now be very distracted for the remainder of the morning. At the very least it gives me something to distract myself from in what will most likely be a very tedious meeting.

[VoOs]

Mmmmmm, self-indulgent writing makes for the sexiest fics. *purrrrrr*

Allow me to paraphrase a quote from a certain gif going around on Tumblr. I'll just have to substitute one of the words with another:

Well done, excellent work. Excellent work on the fetishy filth.

[Seniorstatus14]

So cute! I loved the buildup of John's sneezes and how snarky he was

[SneezyRae]

I thought it was fabulous. So glad you posted it and didn't keep it to yourself.

Loved how John was so sceptical of the rolled up tissue

[omgomgg]

Wow this was great!! Nice job!

[AngelEyes]

So adorably cute! And sexy. Loved it!

[Firebrand]

Loooove this so hard!

Poor John, so miserable and exhausted and frustrated. It's very lucky for him that Sherlock is there with his cool level-headedness (is that a word?) to solve his problem. *sigh* I may have to go back and read this again... like right now. XD

[squealofapproval]

GOOD GOD.

I can't even express how AMAZING that was. Just, beautiful.

[Guest]

I agree with what everyone else is saying, you've got no reason to be embarrassed!

I forgot to add (accidently posted before typing the rest XD), this is amazingly well-written and very in character! I love it^^

Edited May 23, 2014 by Spoo

[JulesSneeze]

BEYOND CUTE I'M DYING!!!! Poor Jawwwnnn

And I agree with the others, you are a fantastic writer!!!