Spoo's Drabbles (mostly Mystrade, plus some other fandoms)

[Spoo]

In my head, the reason Sherlock got all freaked out in that last one is because, being Sherlock, he could somehow tell it was Mycroft's cold Greg had and and he didn't want Mycroft cooties XD

This is actually 100% CORRECT.

[Jorm]

In my head, the reason Sherlock got all freaked out in that last one is because, being Sherlock, he could somehow tell it was Mycroft's cold Greg had and and he didn't want Mycroft cooties XD

This is actually 100% CORRECT.

I KNEW IT!

[Spoo]

Nothing to see here, folks. Just MOREEE Mystrade. Because I'm obsessed.

On a side note, this particular drabble is dedicated to dear, sweet Ouroboros, because he fuels my addiction and cackles late into the night about cake with me. I love you, you big crazy.

Last but not least, this is the OFFICIAL prequel to the drabble on the previous page, entitled "Purple".

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Sherlock

Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Prompt: 72 – Remedy

Word count: 700

When Detective Inspector Lestrade walked into the office of one Mycroft Holmes, he expected to find the posh gent hunched over a stack of paperwork, looking as professional and refined as ever. He did not expect to find the man (and his sometimes lover) frozen in place with a handkerchief hovering just in front of his nose.

His red, irritated nose.

Lestrade watched as Mycroft's auburn eyelashes fluttered, his breath hitching, while he geared up for the monster of a sneeze he was about to expel.

"Bless you," he said prematurely, grinning.

And, of course, the sneeze never came. It disappeared entirely, leaving Mycroft teased, annoyed, and significantly more congested than he'd been prior to the event. He didn't bother to hold back the icy glare that he gave Lestrade.

"I hope you realize that after countless disappointments, that one was the closest to developing," he quipped.

Lestrade ignored the snark and planted himself in the chair in front of Mycroft's desk. "Got yourself a cold?"

"A rather impressive one, actually. Do keep your distance," the suit-clad man replied.

The cheeky DI ignored the warning. "Hell, if I'd've known you were ill, I would've brought you something. Soup, or maybe even a slice of that cake you fancy."

Mycroft wiped the chaffed underside of his nose with his handkerchief and issued a damp sniffle. "You are well aware of my diet and what it includes and excludes."

"Yeah? Your diet can sod off, because a bit've cake won't kill you," Lestrade remarked, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the end of Mycroft's desk.

The reclined pose didn't last for long, if only because his prude of a partner edged his feet off with the curved handle of his umbrella. Where Mycroft pulled that thing out from, he'd never know.

"Are you quite finished distracting me? Illness aside, I have an extraordinary amount of work to finish before teatime."

Teatime, Lestrade mused. Who said that anymore? Oh, right. Mycroft did.

"I wanted to ask if you'd have lunch with me," the older man stated, sitting forward in his seat. "But that's clearly not happening, is it?"

"I am afraid not."

"Right," Lestrade replied, slapping his kneecaps before he stood up. "Guess I'll be off, then."

Mycroft nodded and massaged his wet nostrils through the folds of his handkerchief. "Good afternoon, Inspector."

Lestrade nodded and began to head for the door, but before he reached it he realized that he didn't want to leave just yet. On the contrary, he wanted to stay. At least long enough to pester Mycroft a tad more.

He swiftly strode back over to the desk, and instead of sitting in front of it again, he rounded it and stood beside the seated politician. Mycroft didn't look at him, but he did sigh in exasperation.

"This cold will surely be yours if you continue to directly expose yourself to it, Gregory," he warned.

But, again, Lestrade wasn't listening. He turned Mycroft's chair - thus turning the man himself - until he was facing him. Then, wordlessly, he bent down and connected their lips together in a kiss.

He half-expected for Mycroft to pull away, repulsed, but he didn't. In fact, he gradually began to return the gesture with an honest enthusiasm. Naturally, Lestrade didn't hesitate to reciprocate. The two of them went at it for a few seconds and may have even continued, had their noses not brushed together.

The stimulation - while light and harmless - must have been enough to reawaken Mycroft's earlier need to sneeze, for he pulled away quickly and practically exploded into his handkerchief.

"Hh'IGSCHHh'oo!"

Lestrade grinned. "Bless yo--"

"Hh'IGSCHHhish!…hih'IGHSCHh'oo!...hh!---IGTSCHhhhh!"

"Christ, Myc. I think you've made your point."

Mycroft broke his strict posture in favor of leaning back into his seat; the violent fit left him flushed and spent, as though he'd just experienced some demanding form of intercourse.

"I should have you removed from my office at once," he rasped.

His bothersome guest shrugged. "I was just trying to make you feel better."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed slightly. "Since when is kissing a credible remedy?"

Lestrade laughed. "Since it got you to sneeze when you couldn't before."

[Meala]

UGH THIS. ugh <3

[Jorm]

[Spoo]

You know what? I'm just not going to say anything anymore. Once again, major kudos to Ouros for throwing ideas around with me~ He is very much the Mr. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll. Orrrr…maybe it's the other way around.

Also…this is really long for a drabble. Unnecessarily long, even, but I got carried away…so yeah. Mega!drabble alert.

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Sherlock

Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Prompt: 16 – Three

Word Count: 1261 (oops...)

Greg Lestrade wasn't often impressed, but when he stepped out of the car - the car that had been specifically instructed to bring him over - and viewed the home he'd be dining at, he couldn't help but stare in awe (and maybe a little fear, too). The place itself was utterly massive, and it made his measly flat look like a mouse hole at best.

Deciding it was best to actually get on with it, Lestrade strolled forward. He and Mycroft had been officially dating for a month when it was proposed that they have dinner at the man's house. There hadn't been much room to suggest otherwise - mostly because there was a finality to Mycroft's tone that indicated there simply was no "declining".

And so here Lestrade was, tugging at his dress shirt and sifting through his hair like a nervous teenager…all in front of the security camera he noticed hanging in the archway of the front door. Brilliant.

Well, at least he didn't have to knock.

The door soon opened to reveal Mycroft Holmes in all of his perfect, polished glory. One would think that the gentleman would wear something much more subdued in the comfort of his own home, but oh no, he was dressed as impeccably as ever in his usual three piece suit.

"Good evening," Mycroft greeted, standing aside. "Won't you come inside?"

"I'm not gonna get screened, am I?" Lestrade joked, kissing Mycroft lightly on the lips as he crossed the doorway.

"No, but if you would prefer to take that precaution, I would be more than willing to search you myself."

The older man looked over to find the younger one staring at him with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, implying that he had been quite serious in his offer. Though, said seriousness went away when Mycroft gestured to the long hallway that led out of the foyer.

"Would you like the grand tour to acquaint yourself with the finer aspects of my home?" he asked.

Lestrade nodded and followed after Mycroft. "Yeah, sure. Wouldn't want to get lost going to the loo."

The DI was shown through the first part of the house, which consisted of the sitting room, the study, and the biggest dining room Lestrade had ever seen. His paycheck was relatively decent for an individual of his career, but it was clear that he made breadcrumbs compared to whatever Mycroft's salary was.

Especially since some of the politician's furniture looked like it belonged in Buckingham Palace...

The two men were presently making their way over to the staircase when a flash of orange captured Lestrade's attention. He turned on his heel and looked to his right, only to find something that made his blood run cold.

"Myc?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the furry creature that returned his stare, albeit snootily.

His host stopped walking and turned around. "Yes?"

"You've got a cat?"

"Ah. I see that you have met Elizabeth," Mycroft said, smiling at the elegant tabby that began licking her paw. "Perhaps you will also meet Victoria. She generally prefers to be upstairs."

"Two cats," Lestrade corrected.

"I doubt that you will see Mary, however. There are days where even I myself do not see her."

Three cats. Mycroft had three bloody cats. The more Lestrade thought about it, the more his skin began to crawl. Things were going to start playing out very poorly very soon if he didn't get a hold of some antihistamines. But…

"Is something wrong?"

Lestrade blinked out of his stupor. "What? No, it's only… You've never spoken about having cats before."

"Yes, well. I do try to keep the details of my personal life a mystery," Mycroft replied, smirking. "I also find it irrelevant to speak of my little queens when you and I are swept up in much more engaging affairs."

Lestrade could see reasoning in that, but even when they were being intimate and he had the pleasure of removing Mycroft's many layers of clothing...

"I've never found a single cat hair on you."

"And I assure you that you never will. Come, let us finish our tour before dinner is ready."

As hesitant as he was to follow, Lestrade headed up the stairs and tried not to groan when he felt his eyes start to itch.

- - -

By the time Mycroft had shown off the second level of his home and they were back in the sitting room, settled about a plush settee, Lestrade was the very definition of uncomfortable. He was fighting the pressing urge to scrub at his eyes and nose, which were both giving him a fair amount of grief.

God, and if he didn't need to sneeze…

An abrupt chime had Lestrade instinctively reaching for his pocket, but he was surprised to see that the noise hadn't come from his phone. Mycroft was quick to pluck his mobile from his trousers before he eyed the screen with an arched brow. He exhaled.

"My sincerest apologies, Gregory," he said, and then added: "But believe me when I say that it is better if I do not ignore this."

The tall man breezed out of the room, leaving Lestrade alone. Good thing, too, since it was at that particular moment that his nose decided it was finished behaving.

"Hk'GXKT! Ngh'KGXT!--hg'IGXT!"

It took effort, but he managed to contain the forceful explosions between the pad of his thumb and the curled knuckle of his index finger. He reckoned he would have continued sneezing, too, but something brushed against his ankles and successfully distracted him.

Looking down, he noticed a cat that hadn't been amongst the two he'd met earlier that evening. She was quite large in size, but she was also long-haired, much to Lestrade's dismay. He could practically feel her dander catapulting into his nose.

He tried gently shooing her away with his foot, but she seemed determined to stay by his side. Mycroft must have taught her better than to jump on the sofa, for she remained on the carpet, looking up at him with emerald green eyes.

"Hhh'RDSCHHhkgkt!"

That one, unfortunately, hadn't been squelched until the very end; the sound was loud enough, Lestrade feared, to be heard wherever it was that Mycroft had disappeared to. To make matters worse, his nose was now running more than a casual swipe of his sleeve could fix.

He needed a tissue. Badly.

"What a rare spectacle to behold," Mycroft's voice returned as he reentered the room.

He was surprised to see the most reclusive of his felines sitting before Lestrade, as if she'd chosen him as her own personal suitor.

Lestrade, however, knew that he'd had enough. Manners and politeness and his own pride be damned. He stood up and turned around to face Mycroft, ready to come out with the truth, when he noticed the man handing something to him.

"For your allergies," Mycroft insisted, gesturing to the small package that happened to be the exact brand of allergy medication Lestrade bought from the chemist. "I feel that you have suffered enough."

"How did…?"

"Oh, come now. Your attempt at discretion was admirable, as well as endearing, but I was aware of your cat allergy not a minute after you'd entered this house," Mycroft chuckled.

"I should've bloody known," Lestrade sighed, shaking his head. "You're a…Ho-hh…hh'RDSSCHHhh'uh! 'RDSCHIISHhhish!"

"A Holmes, yes," Mycroft finished for him. "Now, if you would be so kind as to take your medicine, darling, we can finally sit down for dinner."

[Vongola Undicesimo]

MYSTRADE!!!!! *goes to casually slip this into season 3 script* I think Moffat would appreciate your lovely torment of these lovely characters.

[Jorm]

I love the idea of Mycroft knowing the entire time (of course, he's a Holmes) and deciding it's more fun to see just how long it will take being Lestrade admits it. And of course there would never be a hair on him! He's not just a Holmes, he's MYCROFT Holmes, cat hair on his perfect suits simply would not DO!

[Dusty15]

Mhmmm LOVE the cat allergy one! Hilarious and adorable!

[Spoo]

Some lazy Mystrade because I was in the mood for it~

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Sherlock

Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Prompt: 69 – Fuck

Word Count: 567

Lestrade awoke in the early hours of Sunday morning. Somewhere outside a bird was chirping, signaling the brightening arrival of dawn, but he was far more focused on the soft sound of breathing coming from the sleeping individual in his arms. He was pleased to find that Mycroft had remained there throughout the course of the night, providing an immeasurable level of both warmth and comfort.

It was the little things that left the Detective Inspector so ridiculously content, and after an exhausting divorce he was eager to cling to any bits of happiness he could find. Luckily, Mycroft presented plenty of opportunities in that department.

Not yet wanting to rouse from bed, Lestrade shut his eyes and burrowed the lower part of his face into Mycroft's soft ginger hair - an action he found soothing. He breathed in the clean scent of the politician's no doubt expensive shampoo and sighed out through his mouth. Intentions to fall back asleep signaled through his brain, but so did something else.

A disturbance arose from his previous repositioning, particularly in his nose. The strands he had nestled into tickled his nostrils, sending tiny spikes of irritation coursing throughout his dormant nasal passages. Such a thing wasn't uncommon, really, since Lestrade had a routinely sensitive nose in the mornings (a hot shower remedied this, but only after a few sweeping sneezes itched their way out).

Even then the telltale tingle was implicative of what was to come. Lestrade attempted to thwart the irritation by wrinkling his nose, but that only served to catalyze the initial tickle. Hoping not to disturb the peacefully slumbering Mycroft, he removed one of his arms from around the younger man and guided the curled knuckle of a finger to press against septum; it didn't always work, but he was sometimes able to stop a sneeze when he caught it early enough.

Unfortunately, the feathering sensation didn't disperse - not even with the consistent pressure of Lestrade's thumb. He could only hope that he wouldn't wake Mycroft when the–

"Huh'NgtSCHhh!"

–sneezes eventually came–

"Ngh'TSCHhhgkt!"

–out.

Stifled as they'd been and nowhere near as powerful or throaty as his normal ones were, he had still tensed and trembled from the admirable effort of containment. He sniffed dryly in the aftermath and nipped at the bulb of his nose with the side of this thumb. Mycroft hadn't so much as stirred, which foolishly led Lestrade to believe that he was in the clear.

That was, until a sleepy voice rumbled into the quietness of the bedroom.

"God bless you…"

"Fuck," Lestrade huffed through a chuckle, dropping his hand from his face. "Thought I'd gotten away with it."

Though awake now, Mycroft made no attempts to move. He remained cozied up against Lestrade's bare chest - the same bare chest that he pressed a lingering kiss to.

"Was it my hair?" he inquired, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," his lover yawned. "Got up my nose."

"My sincerest apologies."

Lestrade readjusted slightly and sought out the very locks that had led to Mycroft's untimely awakening. This time, however, he rested his jawline against them to avoid another incident. He sniffed again.

Mycroft spoke after a few seconds. "Good morning, darling."

A corner of Lestrade's mouth quirked. "Morning, Myc."

[Garnet]

Ooh Spoo I thought I was wholly burned out on Sherlock, and I don't even ship Mystrade, but I'm eating all those drabbles up like candy. So good. Throaty spellings are a particular weakness of mine, so Lestrade is Especially hair-induced ones. Thank you for posting!

[Tassielli]

Mmmmmmm. Sneezy Lestrade. It's like chocolate covered strawberries and Belgian waffles. This was amazing.

Please DO continue, my dear

[Spoo]

Thanks for the comments, guys!

Soooo. I like to think that Lestrade and John go out for pints every once in a while. With that in mind, I present some platonic/bromantic Johnstrade with a not-so-sneaky Mystrade implication~

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Sherlock

Character(s): Greg Lestrade, John Watson

Prompt: 87 – Hypocrite

Word count: 934

The small pub was uncharacteristically busy that night, making it difficult to spot where his mate may have been sitting. Having not been blessed with height, John stood on his tiptoes to try and see over the heads of the taller blokes, but he found that a pointless venture when he still couldn't see a damn thing.

Huffing, he decided to just cruise around on foot until he eventually ran into who he was searching for, which thankfully happened a minute later. Truthfully, it had been a tad strange at first (meeting with Lestrade outside of cases) but it didn't take long for the two to discover that they genuinely enjoyed one another's company.

Sometimes, it was just nice to get out and have a pint whilst laughing over whatever rubbish they could vocalize.

"Greg," John greeted, slipping onto the barstool beside the Detective Inspector.

Lestrade tipped his head at him. "Hello, John. Glad you could make it."

He then flagged down the bartender, and soon there were two new pints sitting on the bar top. John looked at his drink for a second, as if debating something mentally, before he slid the mug forward and lightly sipped into the froth.

"What've you been up to, then?" Lestrade inquired sometime after they had had a few sips each.

John didn't bother suppressing the groan that traveled up his throat. He also didn't suppress the cough that followed, though he did politely muffle it into his shoulder. "Long day," he replied. "Had a shift at the surgery and then came home to find that Sherlock nearly burned down the kitchen. Again."

"More of those 'experiments' of his, yeah?" Lestrade asked, his lips sporting a knowing smile.

Before John could provide a response, there was a loud explosion of commotion behind the two of them. The pair turned around to find a group of younger men gathered below a hanging telly, whooping and hollering over the Manchester United and Chelsea match. It was clear that they were all heavily intoxicated - something that could have led to trouble, depending on which team won.

Lestrade chuckled. "D'you think I could arrest them on the grounds of being obnoxious Man U fans? Or should I wait for an actual murder?"

And by the current score, such a thing was definitely a possibility (if Man U didn't take the lead in what was left of the match).

"Might be better not to take any chances," John tossed in, turning around to face forward again. He had lifted a hand to paw at his nose, which was alternating between sniffling and wrinkling.

Eventually, however, it was clear what was going to happen.

Leaning away from his friend, and the bar altogether, he burrowed his face into the elbow of his coat. "Heh'EKSCHhhhuh!"

"Mm," Lestrade hummed, having been sipping at his pint when the sneeze occurred. He pulled away and added: "Bless."

"Thanks," John answered, sounding a little stuffier than he'd been previously.

Lestrade watched as the doctor reached into his back pocket, presumably looking for a handkerchief, yet he stopped halfway into the act and frowned; it was clear he'd forgotten to bring one along.

"Here," the older man offered, reaching into his own back pocket and withdrawing a folded purple handkerchief. "It's just been washed, so it's clean."

John accepted the cloth with a grateful nod and brushed it under his nose, where a drip of dampness had gathered. In the process he caught a familiar scent radiating from the handkerchief, but he couldn't place its origin for some reason. All he knew was that he'd smelled this cologne before on someone else…

"You alright?" Lestrade asked, freeing John from his contemplations. "Sounds like you're getting a cold."

"A bit of one, yeah," John admitted, feeling another sneeze develop. "I've got great timing. Just–hihh–brilliant, really––ETSCHhhhuh!"

Lestrade could relate. He, too, seemed to always get sick whenever his schedule was the most occupied. Apparently, the same applied to John.

"You shouldn't've come out if you felt ill," he mused. "You're better off staying in with some Lemsip."

"Says the man who came to a crime scene with a filthy cold a month ago," John countered, causing his companion to duck back down into his pint. "Does that sound familiar?"

"I'm not a total hypocrite. It was just that day," Lestrade corrected, recalling the event . "I spent the rest of the week in bed, blowing my nose and watching crap telly."

That was something John wasn't looking forward to. His colds tended to torment his nose with frequent sneezes and impossible congestion - both of which left him thoroughly miserable and useless. Not to mention the irony of a 'sick doctor' was something he never heard the end of when he was under the weather.

"Tell you what," Lestrade abruptly continued, fishing out his wallet. "I'll pay for your pint and give you a lift back to the flat. How's that?"

John looked like he wasn't sure whether to agree or disagree, but he found himself ultimately agreeing when Lestrade set down payment and downed the rest of his pint in one go. He did the same with his own pint, though his pace was a bit slower since his stuffy nose wasn't having breathing and swallowing at the same time.

A sudden roar from the group behind them went off again, signaling that the match had come to a disappointing end. Colorful swears filled the air, along with gloating crows from the winning team's fans.

"Come on, let's get you home," Lestrade said, ushering John through the drunken crowd. "Before I really do have to arrest someone."

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Aw, poor John! I loved the line about John's colds "tormenting his nose with frequent sneezes". I liked the Mystrade hint, too: even though it's not my pairing, it was a fun little detail.

[Spoo]

Are you surprised to see more Mystrade? I'm not. This drabble is based on THIS amazing fanart (also featured in my signature). I couldn't help but write a little scene for it. Lestrade looks so miserable.

Here's hoping these two men actually interact on screen in season 3!

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Sherlock

Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Prompt: 44 – Tissue

Word count: 427

"Are you quite certain that this is wise? I should think it best to wait until you are in a much better state of health," Mycroft pointed out, turning to look at the man that trudged a step or so behind him.

The very, very ill man that trudged a step or so behind him.

Lestrade sniffed deeply and swallowed the thick glob of mucus he'd pulled from his aching sinuses. "No," he protested firmly. "We've had this planned for weeks now, and I'd rather not let some sodding cold ruin it for us."

It was true that they'd had their lunch date planned for some time (which was necessary, given their [especially Mycroft's] schedules) but the politician felt as though they could have postponed the event until Lestrade could at least breathe through his nose. The poor thing.

Even so, he knew that wasn't going to happen. The DI was stubborn - almost as much as his dear younger brother was - and it seemed better to go through with their date instead of debating why it wasn't a good idea for the next hour.

After all, it was incredibly rare that they were able to spend an afternoon together.

A short walk later, and just as the two men were about to enter the bistro, Mycroft heard his companion sneeze behind him; it had been a messy sneeze, surely - the kind that was expelled more from the nostrils than the mouth. Without even turning to look, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a portable packet of tissues.

Mycroft would have offered his handkerchief instead, but depending on how long his hayfever medication decided to remain effective, he may have needed it later. That and he'd brought the tissues for Lestrade in the first place, having picked up on the fact that the man would not only require them, but also that he'd failed to bring any along himself.

Having stopped walking, he turned to offer the packet while wearing a knowing smirk. Lestrade had a hand covering his nose and mouth, but it slowly lowered back down to his side when he glumly took note of the tissues. As usual, Mycroft was always prepared.

He tried to ignore the sheepish heat in his cheeks and ears as he accepted the offering and went about opening it, just in time to catch another congested sneeze with one of the quickly extracted tissues.

"Hhh'RDSCHhhh'tsch!…ugh, Christ."

Mycroft's satisfied smirk could only widen as he opened the door to the bistro for them. "Blessings, Inspector."

[Jorm]

*giggle*

[Spoo]

Hark! A Pacific Rim drabble!

I pretty much fell in love with Newt and Hermann while watching the movie (their bickering is the best) and decided to write up something. I may do some more drabbles, just because they're super fun to write for.

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Pacific Rim

Character(s): Newton Geizsler, Herman Gottlieb

Prompt: 13 – Care

Word count: 497

Sniff. Sniff, sniff. Sniiiiiiiiff.

With each one of those infernal noises, the tightly-clutched chalk in Hermann's fingers would connect loudly against the blackboard. He was attempting to write down some formulas that were essential to his current theory, but it appeared that even that was asking far too much from his inconsiderate, unbearably annoying lab partner.

From his perch upon the ladder, he turned and glared at the shorter man across the room. Dr. Geizsler was elbow-deep in Kaiju what-have-you, though every few seconds he would cater to that atrocious sniffling. With an audible scoff, the scientist went back to his equations and tried to pretend that he was working with someone who wasn't so incompetent.

Tick, tick, tick went the chalk.

Sniff, sniff, sniiiiiff went the imbecile.

By the fourth consecutive minute (and not a moment sooner) Hermann had officially reached his limit. Not even bothering to hide the intense irritation that fueled his intolerance, he finally addressed the sniveling elephant in the room.

"Will you stop that? Some of us are actually trying to be productive."

Newt returned the gaze, though his expression seemed to be lacking the usual ridiculous enthusiasm it embraced. He did, however, hold the same look that foreshadowed an upcoming disagreement about how his task was just as important, just as meaningful, and just as contributory to their goal as Hermann's was.

Though, as he went to provide what was bound to be one of his longwinded retorts, he became distracted with something else - something he smothered against his upraised shoulder, seeing as his arms were buried beneath a pile of fluorescent entrails.

"Hht'ngkt!--ngh'xt--hh'gnschxt!"

When he was able to surface from the fit, he exhaled deeply and turned back to Hermann; his eyes were damp beneath his glasses, and his nose had taken on a distinct crimson hue.

"Dude," he began, sniffing yet again. "My allergies are kicking my ass today. I'll stop leaking when plants stop producing pollen."

Repulsed by the choice in words - really, he didn't need to hear about any sort of 'leaking' - Hermann abandoned his numbers and began descending the ladder. An incoherent mumble came from his downturned mouth as he grabbed his cane and hobbled over to where Newt stood. Once he was close enough, he reached into his pocket and withdrew an unused handkerchief.

"Then for God's sake," he complained, thrusting the cloth at the other man, as though it were essential to his existence. "Use this."

Newt looked at the offering wordlessly. Then, smiling, he cooed: "Awww, Hermman. You do care."

"Nonsense," the uptight German huffed, going pink at the ears. "What I care about is my work, and that is clearly something I cannot continue when you insist on disrupting me. Now, do us both a favor and blow your blasted nose."

As Hermann staggered back towards the blackboard, Newt called: "I still think you care!"

His response came some seconds later in the form of furious chalk scribblings.

[Anonymouse]

You know I haven't seen this but I LOVE Charlie Day with the passion of a thousand suns (wtf does that even mean sorry I'm drunk) so I had to read this.

Tick, tick, tick went the chalk.

Sniff, sniff, sniiiiiff went the imbecile.

I don't know much about this Hermann guy but I think I'm a fan of him. I love how condescending his internal dialogue is. And calling Newt "the sniveling elephant in the room"

"leaking"... I for one am quite pleased with that word choice.

ahhmygod I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THIS FING MOVIE

[VoOs]

Awww! Newt and Hermann!

That was adorable and hilarious and now I can't stop smiling. :wub: I love those two idiots, and you have written them beautifully. <3

[iety]

I'm kind of ecstatic about this, you portray their dynamic wonderfully!

[Spoo]

Thanks for the feedback, ladies! I'm always pleased to know that I'm keeping my victims inspirations in character~

Here, have another Newtmann drabble. This one is set sometime in the future…? Orrrr perhaps just an AU where they're in a committed relationship and occasionally stay at one another's places in between scientific escapades? Something like that, yeah.

Also, THESE are Newt's "ridiculous slippers" that Hermann often gripes about. Let's pretend they're Kaiju feet instead of Godzilla feet. Though, I bet he'd have multiple pairs from multiple monsters.

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Pacific Rim

Character(s): Newton Geizsler, Herman Gottlieb

Prompt: 53 – Blanket

Word count: 589

It was probably the fever - no, it was the fever - that tampered with Hermann's internal thermostat. He was warmly dressed in embroidered pajamas, wool socks, and a flannel robe, yet that didn't stop an awful series of shivers from raking their way down his long spine. He did his best to ignore the chilly tremors as he poured hot water into a chipped mug, soaking the grainy sachet that floated towards the rippling surface.

He was unaccustomed to making tea this way, seeing as his regular method involved loose leaves and a strainer. Because he happened to be staying at Dr. Geizsler's apartment and not his own lavish townhouse, however, he was prepared to embrace the lesser comforts.

That and he, or rather they, were ill, so he would gladly accept convenience over proper tradition.

Taking advantage of the steeping period, he reached into the pocket of his robe and retrieved his handkerchief; it had once resembled a pristine and perfect pocket square, but it had since then taken on a much more crumpled appearance. It was also damp. Disgustingly damp.

Hermann blew his nose, which produced a severely unattractive gurgling noise. He managed to successfully dislodge a loosened patch of congestion, but aside from that one small [hardly celebratory] victory, he was left disappointed.

Disappointed and tingly. Tingly and ticklish. Ticklish and–

"Heh'EGSCHhhhmfff!"

It was all very repetitive, you see.

Surfacing from the now unsanitary handkerchief, he folded the soiled cloth and pocketed it again for later, much-needed laundering. Hoping that the sneeze would remain a solitary nuisance (he did so detest fits) he reached for the mug of tea. He would have taken it back to the bedroom, but the scraping shuffle of those ridiculous slippers prevented him from carrying out his task.

Considering he and Newt were the only two inhabiting the home, it was fairly obvious who had decided to join him in the kitchen. Either that or, in his delirium, Hermann had conjured a mysterious third presence. He was inclined to believe the former, though, when his thin body was suddenly engulfed from behind by a large blanket.

Grateful as he was for the shared warmth, he felt it almost compulsory to say: "I would not have been much longer."

"I know," Newt snuffled, pressing his hot forehead into Hermman's back. "I got lonely."

"You were alone for less than seven minutes," the taller scientist sighed, trying to remain composed.

"Sue me. I'm needy when I'm sick."

"You are needy when you're healthy."

Newt made a sound that was decidedly a whine. "Can you just come back to bed?"

"Yes, alright," Hermann agreed, grabbing his tea and securing his grip on his cane. "But I won't be going anywhere if you intend on keeping me imprisoned in this…this cocoon."

"Yeah, well. This 'cocoon' is pretty sweet," Newt countered, muffling a cough into his partner's robe. "And it's keeping you warm."

"That is negotiable," Hermann insisted, but they both knew it was true. "Now, if you would be so kind as to release me."

The overgrown child behind him groaned, but he obeyed the request nevertheless. He moved away with reluctance and then wrapped the blanket around himself, as he'd originally had it. He then shuffled after Hermann at a slower pace, yet stopped halfway down the hall when two harsh sneezes bent him at the waist.

"Hh'ITSCHhhiue! Hh--ihh'GSCHHhiue!"

An annoyed chastising came from the bedroom: "Cover your mouth!"

"Seriously, Herm?" Newt called back, sniffling. "It's a little late for that, dude."

[VoOs]

These make me so happy, you have no idea.

Precious, prickly Hermann. <3 I might just melt. <3 <3 <3

[Elle]

Squee!! Thank you for writing Pacific Rim fanfic! I love me some sneezy Newt!

[Spoo]

I don't know about you guys, but I've been sucked into the awesome show that is Sleepy Hollow. It's a super cool take on Ichabod Crane/the Headless Horseman. I really like the dynamics and interaction between Abbie and Ichabod, which is why I've finally decided to do a bit of experimental writing with the two of them.

I know I've already covered 'Cough', but consider this a 2.0 of the prompt. That's probably not allowed, but…ohhhh well.

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough(x2) :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

~*~

Series: Sleepy Hollow

Character(s): Abbie Mills, Ichabod Crane

Prompt: 10 – Cough (2.0)

Word count: 587

In spite of her applaudable effort to remain virtually soundless, the floorboards of the rustic cabin creaked beneath Abbie's boots as she entered. The lieutenant winced at the squeaky noise and then glanced over towards the sofa; she could see a pair of large feet propped up on the armrest, implying that Crane had yet to move from where she'd left him an hour before.

Unfortunately, a low groan soon informed her that her entrance had woken him.

"Sorry," she called, abandoning her attempt at courtesy and shuffling over to the table to unload the supplies she'd recently purchased. "How're you feeling?"

"Miserable," a deep voice replied before it was taken in a fit of coughing.

"You definitely sound miserable," Abbie agreed, grabbing a sealed package and heading to where her sick partner lay. "I've got some Robitussin to help with that."

Now that she was closer, one thing became very obvious: Crane looked absolutely pathetic at the moment.

He was huddled in one of the old fleece blankets Corbin left behind, his face pale and his straight nose a very unhappy shade of red. His hair was left uncombed and loose, which encouraged some of the longer strands to do whatever they pleased.

Basically? The guy was a mess. A sick, fevered mess.

"May I presume that this 'Robitussin' is an effective elixir of this time?" Ichabod inquired, clearing his throat.

"I guess you could say that," Abbie reasoned with a shrug. "It's a cough suppressant."

"How peculiar," the ill man acknowledged, watching her remove the strange tonic while simultaneously shielding his face with a corner of the blanket. "…Hrh'IDSCHHhhuh!"

"Bless you. And hey, you'll be thanking me when you can actually sleep tonight."

"Indeed I shall," Ichabod sighed, recovering from the sneeze with a wet sniffle. "The previous evening was close to unbearable. I was unable to obtain any sleep whatsoever due to my consistent--"

"Coughing," Abbie finished, just as he launched into another helpless paroxysm.

She patiently waited until he was finished to hand him the small plastic cup she'd filled with the syrupy liquid. He accepted it, though the look on his face implied that he wasn't all too thrilled about the potential flavor.

"Were you always this picky about taking your medicine?" Abbie asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"No," Ichabod emphasized. "Though, I suppose I can attribute that to rarely falling ill. When I did manage to contract an ailment, I simply allowed it to run its terrible course." He paused, swishing around the medicine thoughtfully. "Although, there were certain individuals that did not recover from what I am presently experiencing, so perhaps I should consider myself fortunate."

It went without saying what the Englishman was getting at, but it still made Abbie feel a little uncomfortable. At the same time, she also felt immensely grateful that modern medicine was around to stop people from dropping dead (as they must have done in Crane's time when colds took an unexpected turn for the worse).

She snapped out of her thoughts long enough to watch him down the Robitussin in a swift swallow. He choked slightly, yet she assumed that that was more from the taste than another ill-timed coughing fit.

"Was that so bad?"

"Not nearly as wretched as the energy drink you once offered me," he replied, giving her the empty cup.

"Good," Abbie responded. "That should knock you out for a while."

"Not another two-and-a-half centuries, I trust?" Ichabod teased, already a bit drowsy.

Abbie smiled. "Let's hope not."

[kestrel]

This. Is. ADORABLE! Excuse me while I go dissolve into a puddle of giddy fangirlish glee at your awesome writing!