Characters: John, Sherlock
Disclaimer: As much as I may wish it otherwise, the characters and the show have nothing to do with me.
Summary: “You know, it would be nice if you could use a tissue for just one of these sneezes.” Sherlock has a sneezing attack.
A/N: A fill for this prompt over on sherlockbbc_fic :
I've have just done about seventeen sneezes in a row (I'm talking about two seconds between each. Ah-choo).
So I would very much like Sherlock to have a sneezing fit, maybe at a crime scene with everyone there to veer between awww and LOL. Comfort/tissues/wry smiling from John would be love.
Thank you to flecalicious for grammar beta-ing this for me.
Ster-nu-ta-tion: noun – the act of sneezing
“Ah-choo...oh for god’s sake, this is ridiculous! I c-c-ca-ah-choo... I can’t bloody think properly if I’m sneezing! And you can stop...ah-choo...laughing at me and all!”
Sherlock was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, growing more irritated by the second, or more accurately by the sneeze.
“I’m not going to say bless you anymore; what’s that now, six in a row? Must be nearing a record soon, I’d have thought.”
John was sitting comfortably in the arm chair, medical journal put to one side, watching the world’s only consulting detective continue to rant and sneeze; trying, and failing, to hold in his mirth.
“You know, it would be nice if you could use a tissue for just one of these sneezes.”
Sherlock frowned in response before he was interrupted by yet another sneeze.
“I’m still getting over the fact that the great Sherlock Holmes, whose body is merely transport, has been brought down by a bout of sneezing.” John’s attempts at suppressing his laughter were getting weaker and weaker.
“Oh...ah-choo...shut up—I have no control over reflex reactions, as you very well know Doctor Watson...ah-choo!”
Sherlock gave up on pacing and went to flop down onto the sofa, seemingly exhausted, just as another sneeze forced him to sit upright.
“Alright, alright,” John was still trying to control his humour but the first stirrings of guilt had started to kick in as he laughed at Sherlock’s predicament. “It will stop soon, sneezing doesn’t last forever.”
“Ah-choo! I didn’t think they’d last this long either—ah-choo!”
“Well, since it was probably caused by the dust in this place or one of your mould experiments, maybe in future you’ll tidy up more.”
“Ah-choo! You threw away my mould cultures two days ago, so I hardly think that caused it; and since...ah-choo...dusting just stirs the dust particles up into the air, cleaning would make me sneeze even more.”
John let out a resigned sigh. Sometimes he couldn’t believe that the man who regularly put some of the greatest criminals behind bars could be such a child. Sherlock let out another sneeze from the sofa, followed by a clearly audible groan.
“At least you don’t have a case on at the moment, no-one’s going to die if you can’t stop sneezing,”
Sherlock’s mumbled reply of only me was drowned out by the ensuing sneeze.
“As far as I know no-one has ever died from sneezing, Sherlock, I think you’re safe. A few cracked ribs yes, but death is unlikely,” John gave him a wry smile before turning back to the neglected medical journal. Sherlock just stayed slumped over on the sofa, waiting for the next sneeze.
After a couple of minutes the silence was interrupted by the clacking sound of a keyboard in use. Sure enough when John looked over Sherlock was sat there typing away on John’s laptop, back on the hunt for another interesting case to solve. Well, at least he’d stopped sneezing and wasn’t shooting holes in the walls to relieve his boredom.
John sat back in his chair. When you lived with Sherlock Holmes, even the mundane things in life were never dull.