Can I Get You Anything?


“Can I get you anything?”


Sherlock's stare told Greg that he might as well roll right over and die. Sherlock held the stare, unblinkingly, unflinchingly, as he lifted a handkerchief to his nose and dabbed.


Greg tried to not let it get to him, even though the look made his skin crawl. If he'd seen it from one of the suspects brought into the station, it would have rolled right over him. But seeing it from one of his lovers did something to him.


And that something was motivating. “How about a nice, hot cup of tea?”


Sherlock lowered the hanky just to show Greg a curled lip. “Your tea isd't as good as Brs. H's.”


Greg nodded. That was probably true. Their landlady did make an excellent pot of tea.


Sherlock coughed and shivered, pulling at his blanket so it covered his front just a little more.


That cough didn't sound good at all. “How about some Lemsip instead?”


Sherlock glared again. “You're dot a doctor. You cad't give be bedicide.”


Greg sighed softly to himself, sure that a well Sherlock would probably have heard it and understood what it meant. But a sick Sherlock seemed oblivious to it. Greg tried to put aside his feelings entirely; he was actually pretty good at it. After all, this was a man who hadn't even known his first name for more than a year. But that had been before he had moved in with Sherlock and John, before the three of them had become an item.


“Yes, well, John isn't here. I am. I took off from work to look after you. So if there's something you... need... Sherlock?” He didn't need his investigative skills to tell that Sherlock wasn't paying attention to anything but the sneeze that was about to strike.


Sherlock raised his much-used hanky again as his nose started twitching. He was sick but, apparently, not so sick that he couldn't tell when a sneeze was approaching. “h'Ihkshuhhhh!” He fell forward in his chair.


Reaching out to help him, Greg felt another small pang of regret. He reached out to ease Sherlock back up, and Sherlock pulled away from him, shaking his shoulder and shrinking away. “Dod't touch!”


“Sorry!” Greg clenched his teeth and pulled his hand back. Sherlock was hypersensitive from fever. John had told him this earlier that morning before John had to head off for a shift. He'd given Sherlock pills for the fever, and Sherlock wasn't shivering any more, so it had slipped Greg's mind. “Are you sure I can't get you anything? What about a second blanket?”


Sherlock's expression alone said that was practically the worst thing Greg could possibly do. Worse than quitting his job and becoming a ballet dancer. Worse than insisting they all pick up and move to Tanzania. Worse than taking out his gun and shooting up the street.


heh... Ih-Yihshhhuh! IhShuhhh! IhhhhhHIHShuhkhhhh!” Sherlock blew his nose into the hanky and lowered it, wincing.


Greg put a hand on the back of the chair instead of on Sherlock's shoulder. “How about a fresh handkerchief? Would you like me to get one of those for you?”


Sherlock looked down at his extremely used handkerchief, apparently caught up in indecision.


Greg signed again. “Sherlock, is there anything I can get for you?”


Finally, Sherlock nodded. He spoke softly. “Johd. I wadt Johd.”


His heart breaking, Greg moved away. His hand shook slightly as he dialed John's mobile. It rang three times. Then, just as Greg was sure it was going to go straight to voice mail, John answered. “Hello? Greg, is everything all right?”


“Help, love.” Greg swallowed hard. “I can't do this alone. I don't know what to do for him. When are you getting home?” Immediately, Greg heard the jangle of keys and footsteps heading up the stairs.


When John appeared in their living room, Sherlock's face lit right up. He reached an arm out, beckoning. John gave Greg a quick peck on the lips. Then he went to Sherlock, nuzzling his runny nose and cupping his cheek. “Hey there. How are you feeling? How was your day?”


Sherlock kept smiling. “I feel biserable, but Greg has taked such good care of be today.”


Greg took a step back in shock, having not expected that.


“Do batter how terrible I was to hib, add eved though I'b a sdeezy bess, he still tried to look after be.” Sherlock paused to use his hanky to wipe his nose then to catch another sneeze. “IhhKTSchhh!” Sherlock's smile changed, softening. “He really loves be.”


“Course I do, you berk.” Now realizing that Sherlock had just been pretending to refuse everything before, Greg handed the man the clean handkerchief from his own pocket and then grabbed the throw off the back of the couch, draping it over Sherlock's lap. “I'll go make tea.” He gave Sherlock's twitching nose a soft kiss then glanced at John before adding, “Three cups.”


John nodded and walked over to the chair where Sherlock sat. He placed a hand on each of the chair's arms as he bent over, forcing Sherlock to look at him. His tone was stern. “Sherlock, do you remember that little talk we had about you performing your experiments on us?”


The consulting detective actually looked a bit sorry. He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the clean hanky. “I dow, but I was sick. Add I was sooo bored.” He sniffed again. “Forgive be?”


“It's not me you need to apologize to.”


Sherlock smiled and tugged the blanket Greg had gotten him higher up on his chest to keep himself warmer. “Oh, I dow just what to say to Greg.”


 John rubbed his hand over Sherlock's head, fingers stroking through the thick, dark curls. “I have no doubt.”