Pneumonia is the Excuse for it All "Why are you kissing me?"Pneumonia is the Excuse for it All by The-One-Who-Wanders
"I'm not kissing you, idiot. My lips are more precise heat-sensors than my hands," corrected John as he pressed his lips upon Sherlock's forehead.
"Wouldn't a better bet be a thermometer?"
"You broke it." John sat himself on the coffee table, sitting before the blanket-strewn Sherlock on the couch. "You're hot--"
John rolled his eyes. "So it's clear that your cold's now a fever, but how exactly do you feel?"
"I'm cold; and I sneeze; and I cough; and I feel only slightly nauseous; and I've been feeling like this since yesterday," Sherlock addressed in an annoyed tone.
"And that's all?"
"Yes," he said as he brought his knees to his chin and the blanket to his neck. "But I'll only get worse, isn't that right?"
"You just may. Camping out in grimy, forgotten buildings when
Good Morning? "Yeah, he's working-- just about finishing-- one of his science experiments. I'll go fetch him, and I apologize again for keeping you waiting."Good Morning? by The-One-Who-Wanders
"Sherlock," John whispered but his tone was raging. He barged through the door. "Sherlock Holmes!"
Sherlock was situated with his head at the foot of his bed, the cover on which in a ruffled heap. He bore no clothing, so if he had not been lying on his stomach, he would have given John more of the eyeful he was already perceiving.
"Wake up! Wake up! Oh God, why do you always have to do this?" John grasped Sherlock by his shoulders and raised him to a sitting position, Sherlock still half-asleep. "How many times are you going to treat our clients with such disrespect? Or people in general? Hmm? Oh, get up!" He slapped Sherlock's face so that his head snapped to the left and his eyes opened wide.