"I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you." He deadpanned, before groaning when John put the cloth over his head. He closed his eyes, then a moment later he opened them wide and sat up, which meant that the cloth fell into his lap, unheeded by Sherlock.

'You... you've done that for me... before." He said, his voice low and unsure. In the short time they had been flatmate, he hadn't been sick, so John had never had to do it, but there was sometime... before..

Sherlock shook his head. Maybe he'd hit his head on the linoleum floor. He must be going crazy.