Doctor's Orders (BBC Sherlock, M) - Trade with MaiMai

[PuddinPop]

A/N: Okay, so many moons ago, me and MaiMai decided to do a trade. Hers was absolutely SPECTACULAR and just blew my socks off so in return, I have tried to repay the favour ^^ (her awesome fic can be found here~)

Right, so, confession time. I have never written Sherlock before. In fact, I have only seen the first two episodes of Season 1 >.< BUT Mai really wanted some Sherlock action so I wanted to write her something which she would love. She's such an amazing person and has been through a lot of crap lately so totally deserves something which will make her really happy. PLUS SHE WROTE ME AN INCREDIBLE FIC DID I MENTION THAT.

Before I babble too much, I shall post this and hope that it isn't horrific. Please be kind, I really tried I apologise if it's OOC or just generally crappy but I did the best I could with what little knowledge about the show that I have

HERE IT IS.

~Doctor's Orders

His return to the flat was certainly a welcome one. Any time spent outside during this season was far too long and although he had only been gone an hour, it felt like much longer in this traitorous London December weather.

He kicked his boots against the frame of the front door – avoiding conflict with the landlady would have been preferable – ridding them of any snow which clung to them and stepped into the warmth of the building. A slight shiver traced the length of his spine as the instant temperature change, albeit pleasant, took him by surprise.

He surveyed the walls of the hallway which somehow managed to be gloomy despite their bright contrast; he had never understood why someone would pick an interior which boasted dankness and cheer at the same time. One would have thought it impossible, but this décor apparently achieved it.

Making his way upstairs, plastic bags clutched between numb fingers, he entered the room to an unsurprising sight. Sherlock was in the same position John had left him in; his spindly frame stretched across the full length of the sofa, a blanket covering his lower half, the back of one hand draped gingerly across his forehead. The only thing that had changed since John had left were that Sherlock’s eyes were now closed, lips slightly parted and deep, heaving breaths were being emitted in rhythm with his rising and falling chest.

John couldn’t help but utter a wan smile; it was more content at having some solidarity as opposed to affection but it was there, nonetheless.

Making his way into the kitchen, John made a conscious effort to keep quiet, placing the bags down warily upon the table. It wasn’t easy around all the “experiments” that littered the tabletop but he managed it nonetheless, uttering a stifled exhale in relief. Waking Sherlock would be the worst thing that could happen right now; John’s fondness for the man was interminable but being his friend was challenging at the best of times. Sherlock could be difficult when he was perfectly healthy so being laid up with a head cold made him practically insufferable.

John was drawn away from his thoughts when he noticed how eerily silent the flat had suddenly become. It was quiet before, but now it felt like all sound had been sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but unsettling tranquility. Panic struck him suddenly as he thought that he had gone deaf, when suddenly-

“hh’TSCHh! ih’PSHhh!”

“Ah. You’re awake.”

John padded lightly into the entrance to the living room, eyes burning into Sherlock who was now sat upright, blanket hanging limply from one knee, both hands cupped up around the lower half of his face.

Without moving his hands – or his body – Sherlock muttered, his words barely decipherable.

“Did you get everythigg?”

His voice was weak and cracking, each word a clear strain on his vocal chords. If it wasn’t a simple cold then John might have been worried but after witnessing the devastation that he had whilst stationed away, smaller afflictions tended not to faze him. His concern was usually replaced with sympathy when dealing with situations such as this. He knew Sherlock would make a full recovery, but it still sucked in the interim.

Realising he hadn’t answered the question directed at him, his eyes quickly shot up to meet with a pair of glassy orbs staring him down. Sherlock’s hands were no longer enveloping the lower half of his face, revealing a flushed pink hue across his cheeks and an angrier, darkened shade across his nose. His entire skin had a slick shimmer to it and coupled with the bright eyes, John concluded there was a pretty nasty fever manifesting within his companion.

Thank god he practically had the entire contents of a chemist inside the bags.

No longer having to creep around the flat, John ducked into the kitchen before returning with several bags, some almost spilling over with contents. It was like Christmas had come early, John chuckled to himself. He sat in the chair opposite Sherlock as the other man slumped back, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes shut; John couldn’t determine if it was from a congestion headache or an oncoming sneeze so he waited a moment, his head dipped towards the bags as his eyes looked up and focused on Sherlock.

When Sherlock sighed, John took it as an indication that it was safe to proceed so began pulling items from the bag.

“Tea,” John listed the first item.

“Cambobile?” Sherlock’s voice was so laden with congestion it actually took a moment for John to realise what he had said.

“Oh. Chamomile, yes.” He pulled out a blue and white box, placing it on floor in front of him.

“Aspbrin?”

John hesitated a moment before pulling out a small, square box. On any other day, he would have gone into vigorous detail about why aspirin should never be used as a day-to-day painkiller; it caused stomach ulcers in large doses, not to mention it thinned the blood and often caused patients-… people to feel worse than before they took it. Sherlock was insistent, however, and when Sherlock was insistent on something, there was no arguing.

“Tih… tiss-… ih’PSHh’iu! ISCHIih! hh--! hh’TSChh’u!”

Sherlock twisted his body in an uncomfortable looking fashion to the side of him, either in a motion to avoid pelting John with his germs or just in a peculiar way of covering, John was unsure. He took the box from the bag (where there still remained four more boxes – he had witnessed the continuous expulsions for the past two days and knew that they would be sorely needed) and held it out to Sherlock on an upturned hand.

Sherlock was now sat with the back of his wrist pressed firmly under his nostrils, probably hiding the moisture that was beginning run down onto his top lip. He plucked a tissue from the box which John had opened only seconds before whilst keeping his wrist wedged to his nose. Quickly swapping which hand was under his nose, he swiped at the underside of his nostrils with the tissue for a second before balling the tissue up and hurling it across the room where it spiraled around the edge of the bin before landing deftly inside. A faint smile of smugness spread across Sherlock’s face at his victory as his attention was drawn back to John and the bags, eager to continue distributing the goods between them.

“You know, blowing your nose would prove to be much more sufficient.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened almost in disbelief about his actions being challenged. It probably wasn’t the best thing John could have said but he was a doctor and despite Sherlock knowing more than him about – well, about practically everything, really – John knew a lot more about health and medicine.

“Blowigg the dnose doesd’t relieve congestion. It causes mbore irritatiod thad if dnot…”

Wonderful, another life lesson on the history of blowing one’s nose whilst ill.

“…id is provend that repeated blowigg of the dnose does dnothing to rebove congestion, as id is dot caused by mucous.”

“Fine. But it prevents…”

John watched smugly as Sherlock’s expression flickered, his features relaxing as his nostrils quivered.

“hh’TSHHh’iu! DZZS’hh! hih-! h’TDZSh’uh!”

“…that happening.”

Sherlock kept his head to the side but John could feel him glowering. It did little to quash his smugness, however. Sherlock reached a hand behind him, frantically searching for the tissue box which had been knocked to the floor during the cataclysms. Locating it, he snatched it up with one hand and practically tore some tissues from within it, smashing them up against his nose before discarding them. John sighed before sitting back in the chair, the goods momentarily forgotten.

“You should blow.”

“Ndo.”

“Okay, fine, but you’re not going to feel better until you do.”

Sherlock turned his frame towards John, his eyes squinting in annoyance.

“You dknow, for a doctor, your mbedside manner leaves buch to be desired.”

He swiped a tissue under his nose again, blemishing it a shade or two darker than its previous complexion.

“And for a patient, you’re absolutely-“ John stopped himself, looking towards the kitchen. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault he was an insufferable bastard, especially not when sick. John recalled how many times he had been the victim to a fever fueled head cold, remembering how awful it made him feel and softened a little, sighing in sympathy.

He began rummaging around in the bags again, apparently looking for something. He pulled out a small box, roughly the size of a journal and made his way into the kitchen.

“I hope you got chickend,” Sherlock called as best he could from the living room.

John looked down at the box, swallowing loudly.

Potato and leek.

“ih’TISHHuh! ISCHHI’u!”

The sounds coming from the lounge comforted him slightly, though. Sherlock wouldn’t know the difference; he couldn’t taste anything anyway. His skills of observation were impeccable, granted, but if he hadn’t seen the box, then there was no way he would be able to taste the difference.

Just as the soup began to bubble, the sounds of gentle snoring wafted into the kitchen. John smiled to himself, mostly out of relief. If Sherlock had taken the Night Nurse as instructed, then John should have ample time to rush out and grab the correct soup.

He pulled on his boots and jacket before making a swift exit, back into the frozen wasteland of central London.

[MaiMai]

WAAAAAHHHH PUDDIN! I know I flailed at you about this via Skype but now I can do it properly~! (And I may have read it again...twice...too xD)

Any time spent outside during this season was far too long and although he had only been gone an hour, it felt like much longer in this traitorous London December weather.

Can I just point out how much I ADORE fics that are set during Winter?? Because I really, really love them!

He surveyed the walls of the hallway which somehow managed to be gloomy despite their bright contrast; he had never understood why someone would pick an interior which boasted dankness and cheer at the same time. One would have thought it impossible, but this décor apparently achieved it.

THIS IS SUCH A PERFECT DESCRIPTION OF THEIR FLAT THOUGH. Your writing is so immersive and vivid!

John’s fondness for the man was interminable but being his friend was challenging at the best of times. Sherlock could be difficult when he was perfectly healthy so being laid up with a head cold made him practically insufferable.

Without moving his hands – or his body – Sherlock muttered, his words barely decipherable.

“Did you get everythigg?”

THIS IS ALL SO SHERLOCK, I LOVE IT.

His voice was weak and cracking, each word a clear strain on his vocal chords.

This little detail is so adorable! <3

ISCHIih!

I'M LAUGHING SO HARD YOU INCLUDED IT. This makes me so happy because I know pretty much no one else will have the faintest idea what I'm laughing at.

Sherlock’s eyes widened almost in disbelief about his actions being challenged. It probably wasn’t the best thing John could have said but he was a doctor and despite Sherlock knowing more than him about – well, about practically everything, really – John knew a lot more about health and medicine.

“Blowigg the dnose doesd’t relieve congestion. It causes mbore irritatiod thad if dnot…”

Wonderful, another life lesson on the history of blowing one’s nose whilst ill.

“…id is provend that repeated blowigg of the dnose does dnothing to rebove congestion, as id is dot caused by mucous.”

I ALSO LOVE THEIR EXCHANGE HERE. Very in character. Poor John, having to put up with it. And totally the kind of dispute I can see them having!

“You dknow, for a doctor, your mbedside manner leaves buch to be desired.”

I love this line. xDD

Umm yes so basically I love love love all of it!!!

Also:

She's such an amazing person and has been through a lot of crap lately so totally deserves something which will make her really happy.

YOU ARE SO SWEET AND I AM SO NOT THAT GREAT BUT IT HAS MADE ME EXTREMELY HAPPY SO THANK YOU TIMES A MILLION FOR WRITING THIS FOR ME.

[AngelEyes]

Sherlock!!!! I love it. Great job capturing his snarkiness while being miserable. Perfect. Awesome!