My breakfast was interrupted by a loud, strong sneeze coming from Holmes' bedroom. Concerned, I stood and walked toward his
room, standing just outside the door and listened for further noise. I heard nothing, so I knocked attentively and called
out; "Holmes? Are you coming down for breakfast?" Not that it was unusual for him to skip meals. The door was quickly
pulled open and a rather sloppily dressed Holmes stood before me. "ah, good morning." I said, turning promptly and walking
towards the dining area. I was vaguely aware of Holmes' slower-than-usual footsteps behind me.
I took my seat and Holmes took his. He looked rather distracted, staring somewhere above my head for a moment before
turning his attention to the toast and eggs that were laid in front of him. "Are you going to eat?" I prodded. To my
knowledge, he hadn't eaten for a good few days. "Not hungry." Came his hoarse reply. I scoffed. "Holmes, when was the last
time you've eaten-" I was briskly cut off by Holmes. "Watson I have no time for unimportant things such as eating whilst I
am on a c-" His eyes tightened a bit and he pulled out a handkerchief, sneezing rather wetly into it.
"Bless you, Holmes. Are you quite well?" "Fine." Said he, his words punctuated with a harsh, bone rattling cough. "You
certainly don't sound it, old boy." "Watson, you may stop your mother henning right his moment, for I assure you I am in
perfect health." I stood and walked to the door, handing my empty plate to Mrs. Hudson who had appeared in the doorway to
see if we had finished our meal. "Oh, and there's a telegram for Mr. Holmes from inspector Lestrade." She said, handing it
to me before departing. At the mention of Lestrade, Holmes looked up in anticipation.
"I'm not giving you the telegram, Holmes." I said, reading his mind. He stood and made a grab for it before swaying a bit
and falling back into the chair. I put the telegram away in a high place so Holmes could not gain easy access to it.
"Watson, it could be something important!" "well it can wait." I said, walking to him and placing a hand on his forehead
with one hand, the other holding his body firmly in place so he could not move. He tried to struggle, but it was no use. I
was in full doctor mode.
As I expected. I ran over the list on symptoms in my head. Slight fever, sneezing, coughing, achy, sore throat. It all
added up to influenza. "Well, that's it, Holmes. No more working from the next few days, you've got influenza." Holmes
groaned theatrically. "Watson, stop mother henning for three minutes and just give me the bloody telegram." "No, Holmes."
"watsoooooooooon!" He whined. "No Holmes. Bed. Now." He crossed his arms like a stubborn child. "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes!"
"Getting frustrated will get you nowhere, Watson." "Bloody hell, Holmes! You are going to bed this instant, and that is
final!" "You cannot force me."
After hauling Holmes bodily out of the chair and into bed, I stood outside his room and ordered him to dress in his
nightclothes, to which he responded with a muttered, "yes nanny." After he'd called to me and told me he was dressed, I
entered the room with some cough syrup, at the sight of which my friend drew back under his blankets. "Watson, stay away
from me with that foul smelling liquid!" He practically yelled. I rolled my eyes and suppressed an amused chuckle. Here he
was, the world's best and only consulting detective, the man who solved countless, seemingly impossible cases, the man who
braved life threatening danger every day, and yet he could even handle a little cough syrup.
"Holmes, please. It will help you." He scoffed. "It will do nothing but merely put me to sleep!" The sooner the better.
Wouldn't that be nice, Holmes sleeping? I sighed, half in annoyance, half in exhaustion. "Tell me, friend. What can I do to
get you to take the medicine?" Holmes said nothing for a moment, thinking it over. After a while, I thought he'd drifted to
sleep, so I turned to leave, when he finally spoke up. "Lay with me, Watson?" I stopped and looked down at his face, his
sunken eyes, and his cheeks which held a note of pink to them, from blushing or fever I could not tell.
"Will you take the syrup?" Holmes nodded and sat up somewhat eagerly. I poured it into the small medicinal cup and handed
it off to him. He had it down in mere moments, and I could not help but chuckle at the disgruntled faces he made. Needless
to say he was far worse a patient than any child I'd ever treated. "there, Watson I've done what you asked, now it is your
turn." Said he, scooting over in the bed. I climbed into Holmes' sickbed and layed beside him. "Happy now, Holmes?" I
asked. He said nothing, just curled up to me, resting his fevered brow on my shoulder. My hand absentmindedly played with
his hair until my sick little detective fell asleep, and I followed shortly after.