Archive of Our Own ^beta

     John walked back into the bathroom with a glass of water, setting it on the counter before crouching down next to Sherlock.

     Sherlock had gotten poisoned on their last case, mild enough to not kill him, but enough to give him a really rough night. 

    During the minuscule break from throwing up Sherlock had shifted backwards to rest and not have his face IN the toilet. His thin frame was only clad in a pair of sweatpants, as anything else he wore kept getting soaked through with sweat.

     John was wearing some very soft pyjama pants, a white t-shirt, and one of Sherlock's dressing gowns. 

     Sherlock shifted where he was sitting, getting sore from sitting on the tile. Sherlock’s bony body wouldn’t last very long on the hard bathroom floor. John exited the bathroom once more, only to come back holding a pillow. He lifted sherlocks body slightly as if to shift it under the detective, but instead he sat down on it firmly and pulled the detective into his lap. John held Sherlock against his chest, supporting him with his whole body.

     Sherlock fell back into John's hold, letting himself relax. He crossed his arms on the toilet seat, resting his head on them. John shifted forward with him, resting his cheek on the bare skin of Sherlock's back.

    Sherlock suddenly tensed, and John took it as a sign that it was going to start up again. John scooted them forward together, so that Sherlock could lean forward. Sherlock tried to support himself with his arms, so he would drop entirely into the toilet bowl, but ended up shaking so hard from exhaustion he couldn’t hold himself up.

     Sherlock made a sound that could only be described as a whimper. John shushed him gently, and rubbed his cheek and then nose against sherlocks bare skin.

     He shifted for a moment, and then supported Sherlock entirely in his own arms. He’s being as careful as possible, trying to hold Sherlock at a good angle to expel anything left inside his body.

     In between dry heaving, spitting out excess saliva, and occasionally expelling small amounts of bile, Sherlock began to sob. Heaving, wracking sobs. Uncontrollable emotional distress making its way out of his body the only way it could. Tears dripped into the bowl along with the rest of his bodily fluids.

     John immediately began to soothe him with shushes, hums, and soft breathy comforting sounds that he pressed into Sherlock with his lips.

     Sherlock eventually calmed, and the bout of nausea fell away with it. He falls back into John's arms entirely, and John slides them back and away to be against the wall. He leaned against the wall, and the detective rested against his warm clothes chest.

    After only a few minutes, sherlocks breathing slowed, and he drifted off to sleep. 

   John waited a few minutes, just letting Sherlock drift. When he was sure he was asleep, John carefully mannered to pick Sherlock up. 

     With slow, deliberate steps, he walked the body In his arms to the bedroom. When he got to the bed, he gingerly set the lanky brunette down, settling him into the bedding. John began to step away, when a tiny moan of discontent sounded from the bed.

     “Shh, s’okay, I’ll be right back,” John soothed as he continued to step away.

     John reentered the room with a warm wet flannel, and walked closer to the body on the bed. 

    “I’m just going to clean you up a bit, don’t worry,” John hushed Sherlock as he shifted at the first touch of the damp cloth.

     John carefully wiped the remaining sweat from sherlocks chest, before moving onto his face. He wiped away his damp forehead, before gingerly cleaning off his mouth and nose. John would have liked for Sherlock to maybe drink some water, but he couldn’t find it in him to make the resting man get up.

   Once he had deemed Sherlock good enough for now, he walked back to the bathroom to drop the flannel in the sink, and returned to the bedroom.

    He slipped off the dressing gown, and moved to lay in the middle of the bed. Before tugging Sherlock to roll and lay half on top of him. He pulled the light duvet over the both of them, holding Sherlock close. He carded one hand through his hair, leaving the other to rest on his lower back.

     It didn’t take long for John to drift off, but he made sure to drop a little kiss in Sherlock’s hair before he did.