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

[Spoo]

There's been some Mycroft!torture afoot, and I wanted to toss in yet another contribution. If I could write a book on how much I utterly adore Mystrade, I so totally would. Also, as much as I love the idea of Mycroft having contained, stifled sneezes, I also love the idea of said contained sneezes escaping his gentlemanly restraints and being absolutely explosive.

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: Sherlock

Character(s): Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes

Prompt: 63 – Control

Word count: 1070 (I'm really bad at keeping these 'drabbles'...)

Lestrade occasionally found it hard to believe that he and one Mycroft Holmes, British Government, were in an actual committed relationship. Didn't seem very likely after his messy divorce and Mycroft's natural Holmesian "charm". But somehow - miraculously enough - they made it work with little to no concerning disagreements (Lestrade was determined to get Mycroft into football, but so far his efforts at persuasion were proving fruitless).

As he waited for his very posh partner to come home from running the country, he made himself comfortable on the sofa. Well, one of the sofas. Mycroft had several depending on which part of his lavish townhouse you were lounging in. There was the sitting room sofa, the living room sofa, the tearoom sofa…

Christ, it was an awful lot to remember when you weren't accustomed to such an upscale lifestyle.

Having arrived earlier that evening, Lestrade had been able to relax for a while. He'd helped himself to some wine, turned on the telly, and kicked up his feet on the table. It was a habit of his, kicking back like that. Being cozy resided rather high on his list of personal preferences.

However, the very millisecond he heard the sound of the front door opening sometime later, he quickly set his feet back on the floor (where they belong, Mycroft's chiding voice said in his head).

His other half had a strict routine when he got home (coat and umbrella hung, shoes off, post collected and sorted, tea made) so he understood that it would be a mo' or two before he actually, physically saw Mycroft.

Although, now that he was listening something seemed…off.

Lestrade's brows furrowed as he sat up straight on the sofa; he continued to listen to see what exactly he was hearing. Whatever it was, it was muffled. Muffled, though still loud enough to have him slowly gathering himself onto his feet and curiously heading to the source.

After venturing to the front door, he was surprised to find Mycroft standing there, still fully dressed, with the lower part of his face buried in his handkerchief. He seemed to be in the middle of something. Now that Lestrade was closer, though, he could see that it was one of the man's infamous sneezing attacks.

Strange. It was not yet hayfever season (which usually brought the attacks on in the first place), and last he checked Mycroft wasn't coming down with a cold.

There soon came a reprieve where the poor bloke was able to lift his face, which only confirmed the ongoing suspicion that pointed to an allergic disturbance: Mycroft's eyes were red and watering, and his nostrils were so red and itchy-looking that it tempted Lestrade to saw a finger beneath his own nostrils in sympathy.

"You okay?" he asked, to which he received a near-glare.

"Quite obviously not," Mycroft quipped, though there was no real bite behind his clipped tone of voice.

Lestrade folded his arms across his chest. "What's got you like this, then?"

"Caron's Poivre," Mycroft sniffed, dabbing his landmine of a nose delicately to avoid setting it off again. Another fit was inevitable, he knew, but if he could stave it off for a while longer, then he most certainly would.

"Caron's wott?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"It is a French fragrance that for, whatever reason, chooses not to agree with me. I tend to avoid any who…hihhh…!"

There he went again, Lestrade observed, watching as Mycroft surrendered to another wave of unrestrained sneezes. He never did bother to be polite about them when his allergies were flared as severely as they were.

"Hih'IGSCHHh'oo! Hh'IGHSCHh'hh!--hh'GNSCHh'oo!"

Feeling rather awkward just standing there, Lestrade moved forward to try and help. It was an odd thing to do (with the sneezing going on) but he took off Mycroft's coat, hung it up, and then crouched down to untie the laces of those fancy, imported shoes.

By the time he stood back up again, Mycroft seemed to be finishing up. When Lestrade felt that he was done - or nearly done - he finally said: "Bless you, Myc."

Mycroft's soft 'thank you' was sighed into his handkerchief before he pulled it away from his face again. This time, there was wetness glistening around the circumference of his large nostrils, yet not enough to drip thankfully.

"I'm guessing you were around that stuff today, though not by choice," Lestrade continued, looking at Mycroft as he stepped out of his shoes and started to walk with him towards the sitting room. He wrapped an arm around his lower back to guide the taller man along.

"A colleague I spoke to earlier regarding an upcoming conference brought along his wife who, consequently, happened to be wearing it," Mycroft explained, bringing his handkerchief back to his nose for another cautious dab. It was tickling so incessantly. He could hardly stand it.

"You couldn't say anything about it?" Lestrade questioned, seating them both where he'd previously been relaxing along the sofa.

"And what, pray tell, would you propose I should have said, Gregory? 'I beg your pardon, but would you kindly remove your tremendously expensive fragrance? It is appalling my nose'."

Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his dark eyes. "Well, I dunno. Wouldn't the sneezing have given you away?"

Mycroft begged to differ. "I managed to postpone the reaction until I--ihhh…hh'IGSCHISHH'oo!" Sniff. "Excuse me. Until I was able to remove myself from their immediate proximity."

Lestrade seemed genuinely impressed. "Blimey. That must've taken some serious control. Since you're this allergic to it."

"Naturally," Mycroft agreed, on the verge of yet another sneeze.

He wrinkled the long bridge of his twitching nose and blinked back the screen of tears that flooded his eyes. It seemed to work in banishing the urge, though the both of them could already tell that it would return in the next few seconds or so.

"I'll put on the kettle and get you something for all of this," Lestrade offered considerately, leaning in to press his lips against Mycroft's impeccably styled hair before he stood up.

He knew that his lover wasn't at all fond of doting or coddling, but in his current condition he didn't think Mycroft would bother with protesting. Especially since he seemed to be caught up in his affliction once more, lashes fluttering, breath hitching, handkerchief ascending, aaand...

"Hih'IGHSCHHh'oo!"

Right. A cuppa and antihistamine tablet it was.

[cally]

*flails* This was brilliant and the characterisation- perfect!

[TheCakeIsAlive]

If I could write a book on how much I utterly adore Mystrade, I so totally would.

I'd read it! (about a million times and squee so high-pitchedly people will think the fire alarm went off)

That was absolutely, wickedly, perfect.

[squealofapproval]

Hmm... Uhm... That was...

I have no words for how much awesome that just was. I'm so into Mystrade right now it's my new Johnlock! Well, since, you guys know what happened.

[Spoo]

I'm so into Mystrade right now it's my new Johnlock!

Mystrade was honestly a pairing I never saw coming (for obvious reasons in the show) but it's honestly weaseled its way into my heart. I've never had so many feels for a couple before. It's...almost frightening.

And thank you cally and Siggy!

[Spoo]

I should honestly just make a separate thread for my Mystrade drabbles, because they're pretty much all I write anymore. I'm very sorry for those of you who find them redundant or eye roll-worthy. On that note, if there's another fandom in this thread that you'd like to see more of, feel free to make mention of it! I'd be happy to write something else if the interest was there.

That aside, it's time for some shameless Lestrade torture. Because Rupert Graves is ruining my life with his silver fox charm. Ugh. Also, this will be a two-part drabble. I'm going to continue with another prompt at some point, which will focus on the events post-flight~

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: Sherlock

Character(s): Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes

Prompt: 100 – Airplane

Word count: 669

If he tried, Lestrade could probably think of a few things that were worse than flying with a cold. Nonetheless, that didn't take away from how absolutely miserable the experience was. The constant shifts in pressure whenever the airplane changed altitude was enough to practically constrict his throbbing sinuses until they begged for mercy.

He'd thus far spent the majority of the long flight leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed; his brows were furrowed in obvious discomfort, though they would occasionally take on a desperate slant when his nose decided that it didn't want to cooperate with him anymore.

The result was always the same.

"Hhh'RDSCHHHhhh!--hhr'RDDSCHHhhhuh!"

Of course, in the small and confined cabin of the private aircraft, his already thunderous sneezes were practically miniature explosions. Most of them he was able to contain in a borrowed handkerchief, but there were a few that snuck up on him so unexpectedly that he was forced to use an upraised shoulder as a means of covering.

He was presently resurfacing from the damp folds of the cloth when he felt a pair of eyes on him - just like every time he was overcome by a symptom of his sodding illness.

Lestrade sniffed mightily and cleared his throat. "No, I wasn't going to stay home, and yes, I'll manage through it. It's not as bad as it sounds, Myc."

From his placement across the lush interior, Mycroft released a soft sigh and resumed reading the novel that sat in his hands, though not before belatedly saying: "God bless you."

The two of them had planned a short holiday to escape their respective careers. What they hadn't been planning was for one of them to catch cold in the week leading up to the leisurely excursion. To be fair, Lestrade was in the last days of being sick, where contagion was no longer a problem and his body had regained most of its energy.

The only inconvenience that remained was a ticklish nose, lingering congestion, and the nasal undertone to Lestrade's otherwise grizzly voice.

"We could have easily rearranged our schedule," Mycroft pointed out, turning a page. "I can only imagine how uncomfortable the fluctuating amounts of pressure are when combined with your illness."

Lestrade had always been an individual of pride, which explained why he felt it incredibly necessary to reassure Mycroft that he was just fi--"Hh'RDDSCHHHhhhh'oo!"--fine.

"God bless you."

Once again the older man came back up from the depths of the handkerchief that hadn't left his grasp since they'd taken off. "Thank you. And it's alright, okay? Really. I don't want you to keep fussing over me."

"I am hardly 'fussing', Gregory."

"No, you are. You're fussing in the way that Sherlock fusses over John when something's gone wrong with him. Sarcastically," Lestrade pointed out bravely. There were few that could say such a bold thing to the posh face of Mycroft Holmes, and he was one of them.

Sharp eyes glanced up again, though they carried a notable trace of amusement as his lashes batted. "Are you implying that my brother and I actually share something in common?"

Lestrade could clearly envision the look of horror on Sherlock's face, were he to hear what Mycroft had just said. "What I'm implying is that you're making it seem like I should have listened to you, that you're right, and that I'm an idiot for disagreeing."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mycroft sighed, shutting his novel and setting it on his lap. "Unlike Sherlock, I choose to acknowledge the fact that you and I are involved with one another - that there is something that transcends mere 'friendship'."

Lestrade managed to grin, even as another sneeze was brewing in his tingling nose. "So we're friends, yeah?"

"Certainly not. We are acquaintances," Mycroft corrected with a teasing smirk.

Acquaintances, friends, sometime lovers, and even boyfriends - Lestrade didn't care about labels. What he did care about was Mycroft and their impending holiday. His cold be damned.

[TBC]

[cally]

Oh bloody hell. Are you trying to do me in? Between the video clip of asdkjhasdkjas from yesterday and these drabbles by you and VoS and HoneyBunny . . . I may expire in the next hour.

[VoOs]

Oh, Lestrade...

He is (or rather, Mr Graves is) such an irresistibly magnetic man. One of those people who are impossible to take you eyes off when you see them in action.

This was a wonderful read (this entire thread is!). Here's to your OPT!

[AngelEyes]

Oh so lovely! Developing a definite affinity for Mystrade!

[Anonymouse]

omg Greg's sneezes are just perfect for him. Can't wait for more.

[Spoo]

We interrupt your regularly scheduled Mystrade to bring you a brief [and creepy] interlude of Jimcroft. Or would it be called Myriarty…? Well whatever it's called, I've been looking forward to getting this written (if only because the idea would not leave me alone). That being said, there's no 'scandalous relationship' or anything (but omg can you even IMAGINE this as a legitimate pairing??). It's strictly [and literally] business~

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: Sherlock

Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Jim Moriarty

Prompt: 21 – Pollen

Word count: 856

Although he hadn't walked into the interrogation room yet, Mycroft could see James Moriarty on the other side of the two-way glass, staring at nothing. The criminal swayed from side-to-side lazily, as though he hadn't just committed a series of serious and highly punishable crimes.

Every so often, he would stop in his seemingly nonchalant actions to turn his head and stare through the glass, straight into Mycroft's eyes - as though he could somehow see him when, in fact, he could not. Every meeting thus far had proven relatively successful, yet this one, Mycroft speculated, may have gone a bit differently.

It was incredibly rare that he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by forces outside of his immediate control, yet for as much power and international override as he possessed, he could not prevent the process of pollination. And seeing that he was inescapably allergic to pollen, this posed a problem.

He had taken medication that morning to combat the relentless symptoms of his atrocious hayfever, but the evidence of Mycroft's struggle was still apparent: The edges of his long nostrils were faintly red, courtesy of countless encounters with his handkerchief. The same went for his eyes, which even then had the faintest layer of wetness glossing his sclerae.

To anyone else it was virtually invisible, but to James Moriarty? It would be apparent the very moment he stepped within the small room; he may as well have been wearing a giant sign on his forehead that read 'HAYFEVER' in bold, red letters.

Nonetheless, and in spite of his personal wishes to remain absolutely impenetrable, he knew that he would have to 'take one for the team', so to speak, in order to obtain the information they so desperately needed. With that in mind, Mycroft retrieved his handkerchief for what felt like the seventieth time that morning and sniffed into it, ridding his nose of whatever nonsense he could before he faced the most dangerous man in London.

Finally ready, he nodded at a fellow suited man (a fellow suited man who was equipped with a gun) to open the heavy door. When that happened, he strolled inside and approached the table that Moriarty was seated at.

As expected, those dark, dismal eyes slowly looked up, meeting his gaze. Mycroft said nothing as he sat down across from the fiend and neatly folded his hands upon the cold table.

"And so, it would seem that here we are again," he began, speaking as articulately and clearly as the nasal undertone to his voice would permit.

Moriarty said nothing and only continued to stare; he typically refrained from saying anything until his topic of choice was broached.

"I would rather not repeat myself, as it tends to become tedious," Mycroft continued, resisting the pressing urge to wrinkle his nose. The appendage was tickling most inconveniently, alerting him of an impending interruption. "You are well aware of my expectations - of what I require. And as always, your cooperation will be highly appreciated."

It was a pointless thing to say, really, but it fell within the scripted performance that Mycroft was obligated to present. Now that he'd put that out there he could sit back, relax, and engage in what was essentially an adult version of the 'quiet game'.

Sadly, Mycroft soon accepted that he wouldn't be the victor.

His nose was determined to ruin him, it appeared, by demanding his immediate and undivided attention. Such became an unavoidable reality when he reached for his handkerchief and promptly muffled an extremely restrained sneeze into its folds.

"Mmh'pffshh!" He didn't expect a 'bless you' from his current company, but that didn't stop him from politely excusing himself. "Apologies."

The man across the table seemed to have gained some interest in that, Mycroft noticed; he saw Moriarty sit a little straighter. This was confirmed when he finally spoke.

"Does Sherlock suffer from hayfever as well?"

The lofty Irish lilt was almost boasting in a way, as though he were a child asking a question they already knew the answer to. For the sake of obtaining his desired results, Mycroft intentionally humored him.

"Yes. Though at a much lesser severity than I do," he replied.

"Oh, but there isssss something," Moriarty singsonged. "Somethiiiiing that doesn't quite agreeeeee with him."

"Cats," Mycroft confirmed, sniffing wetly.

"How ordinary," Moriarty dismissed, tilting his head to the side. "You Holmes' are becoming so boring. Especially you, big brother. It's no wonder Sherlock doesn't call you for help."

Mycroft was prepared to answer, but another restrained sneeze had him yet again using his handkerchief. "Mm'phffshh!"

There was an irritating wetness that now embraced his sniffs - a wetness that Moriarty instantly targeted.

"It's raining," he sang. "It's pelting. The Iceman is melting."

Ignoring the taunt that related to his running nose, Mycroft sniffed once more and folded his hands back on the table with his handkerchief resting beneath his flattened palms.

"Perhaps I shall endeavor to be less 'boring'," he proposed. "Now then. I do believe we were discussing Sherlock?"

"Of course," Moriarty agreed, a manic smirk upturning his dry lips. "It's my favorite subject in the whole world…"

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Ooh, interesting. I love how you managed to convey Moirarty's speech pattern to well to script. And poor, peeved Mycroft.

[VoOs]

"It's raining," he sang. "It's pelting. The Iceman is melting."

Hahhh. So good. So good.

I love this, Spoo. I love your Moriarty. And I love Moriarty asking about things that doesn't quite agreeeee with Sherlock.

[cally]

Ok, that was really creepy, but I could literally *hear* Moriarty's voice as I read that. Wow.

Also, poor Mycroft. *pets*

[Spoo]

Ooh, interesting. I love how you managed to convey Moirarty's speech pattern to well to script. And poor, peeved Mycroft.

Thank you! And hah, Mycroft is indeed a bristly kitty when he's not his usual, perfect self. Especially in front of baddies.

Hahhh. So good. So good.

I love this, Spoo. I love your Moriarty. And I love Moriarty asking about things that doesn't quite agreeeee with Sherlock.

Eeep! Thank you so much, VoOs! Having your approval on anything Sherlock-related always means the absolute world to me. And Moriarty is very curious about those sort of things - like, can't you picture him waiting for Sherlock to come back to the flat, sitting in John's chair, and stroking a long-haired cat on his lap? "Welcome hoooome."

Ok, that was really creepy, but I could literally *hear* Moriarty's voice as I read that. Wow.

Also, poor Mycroft. *pets*

Hee! I'm glad my Moriarty voice was believable. I've actually written him quite a bit; I've just never posted anything on this particular forum. Poor Mycroft indeed. He needs another dose of antihistamines.

[AngelEyes]

That was brilliant! I could totally hear Moriarty's voice in it.

And Moriarty is very curious about those sort of things - like, can't you picture him waiting for Sherlock to come back to the flat, sitting in John's chair, and stroking a long-haired cat on his lap? "Welcome hoooome."

Evil! And so much necessary.....

[Galaxy]

Ohhhhhhh sweet lord I came for the Mystrade and stayed for everything else that was painfully cute about this!

I love how you write for the Sherlock characters; I can just hear them all so perfectly in my head! The characters are all so spot on. And oh gosh, oh gosh, I love how you write Greg as having these huge sneezes---oh gosh oh gosh it's so painfully perfect. I personally have never been into Mycroft, but woooooow I think that's certainly going to change if you keep writing these amazing drabbles

I'm going to check this thread frequently, it's wonderful!

[Spoo]

Ohhhhhhh sweet lord I came for the Mystrade and stayed for everything else that was painfully cute about this!

I love how you write for the Sherlock characters; I can just hear them all so perfectly in my head! The characters are all so spot on. And oh gosh, oh gosh, I love how you write Greg as having these huge sneezes---oh gosh oh gosh it's so painfully perfect. I personally have never been into Mycroft, but woooooow I think that's certainly going to change if you keep writing these amazing drabbles

I'm going to check this thread frequently, it's wonderful!

Galaxyyyyyyy.

Thank you so much, dear! Your compliments mean a lot. I'm glad you enjoy Greg's massive sneezes (believe me, I enjoy them too ). There's definitely more to come! ...Eventually.

[Garnet]

I second that, Spoo :q I'm not even a member of the Sherlock fandom, but your spellings for Lestrade trip all of my triggers, I look forward to those drabbles.

[Spoo]

And so cometh part 2 of the "Airplane" drabble, which can be found further up this very page.

I've given it some thought, and I think I'm going to eventually migrate all of my Sherlock drabbles from this thread (since there's a notable amount) into a new thread that'll be just for Sherlock material. That way, this thread can hopefully start to get more drabbles from other series. For the time being, though, I'm sticking this here. Enjoy some domestic fluff!

PS: I've always written Greg as 'Lestrade' in my drabbles, but now I think I'm just going to start writing him as Greg.

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: Sherlock

Character(s): Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes,

Prompt: 26 – Suspicion

Word count: 1584 (Spoo, these are drabbles, honey. NOT fics!)

Truthfully, Greg hadn't been too fond of Mycroft's suggestion that they spend the first two days of their weeklong holiday in their hotel room, so that Greg could shake off what remained of his cold. He was actually pretty against the idea yet, as always, Mycroft got his way (looking back, Greg supposed it was silly of him to think he'd actually win that one).

Fortunately for him the bed of their luxurious suite was ridiculously comfortable with its memory foam mattress and cozy duvet; it was easy to simply lay about for hours and watch telly without being bothered to move a muscle.

And that's exactly what Greg had been doing.

Dressed in comfortable track bottoms and an old t-shirt that advertised the Yard's football team (something he'd put together a few years back at a local park to try and promote comradery between the divisions), he was laid atop the covers with his ankles crossed. A tissue box sat next to him at the ready, even though he already had two crumpled tissues clutched in his right hand.

He didn't consider himself very ill anymore, but he could not - for the absolute life of him - shake the sneezing and its accompanying congestion.

Greg would have thought that it was his hay fever playing up had he not already known that it was the remnants of a cold that was making his nose miserable. One thing was for sure: He most certainly would not be sorry to see it go.

The sound of the bathroom door opening drew his attention over. A freshly showered Mycroft emerged in one of the two dressing gowns the suite provided. He ran a fluffy towel over his dark auburn hair as he crossed the spacious room and headed over to where they kept their luggage.

"Have a nice shower, love?" Greg inquired with a thick sniffle.

"I did, thank you," Mycroft replied, collecting the neatly folded square that was his silky pajamas. "You ought to have one as well. The steam would prove quite beneficial to your congestion."

Greg considered it and knew that it was a good point. And really, he didn't doubt that a hot shower would work wonders on his stuffiness. Thing was, that required movement and actual effort - two things that his lazy arse wasn't too keen on doing. Besides, with the aggressive way he was sneezing he'd probably end up losing his balance in the slick tub and have a nasty fall.

Speaking of…

The balled-up tissues in his hand were quickly cupped against his nose as he geared up for what was bound to be a waist-bending sneeze. They'd all been thus far.

"Huhh…Hhr'RDDSSCHhhh'uh!"

Just as he'd predicted, Greg found himself jolted forward, shoulders hunched. Christ, they were strong.

"God bless you," Mycroft said politely, having changed into his pajamas and hung his dressing gown back in its proper place.

"Thank you," the older man replied, plucking another tissue from the box to mop up the mess his nostrils had so generously decided to expel. "I hope I don't give you this cold, Myc. It's a nightmare."

"Nonsense. I remain impeccably immune. Now, would you like me to fetch you another handkerchief?" Mycroft offered, noticing the abandoned one that sat on the nightstand beside the bed. It was obvious to him that Gregory had rendered it useless with the frequency and alarming wetness of his beastly sneezes.

"It'd be the third I've taken from you," Greg noted sheepishly. "Honestly. At this rate I'll've gone through all of them by tomorrow."

"Then it is a good thing I thought ahead to pack more than necessary."

Returning to his luggage, Mycroft unzipped a flat compartment and retrieved a royal blue handkerchief. Then, standing again, he walked over to their large bed and perched himself along the edge of it.

"Here you are, darling."

"Thanks, love. Dunno what I'd do without you."

Mycroft smirked. "Clearly run out of handkerchiefs."

Greg huffed amusedly at that and then gave his nose a single rub with it; the appendage was a bit sore from constant swipes of the less than soft tissues he'd been using (gorgeous suite, bloody awful complimentary tissues).

Feeling less sneezy - for the time being, anyway - he lowered the handkerchief and looked up at his lover. Mycroft's hair was uncombed, allowing that errant curl of his to rest freely along his forehead. Greg was tempted to reach out and brush it affectionately, but he was suddenly distracted by a small damp sniff that came not from his nose, but from the nose of Mycroft himself.

Had Greg's ears still been clogged, he would have surely missed it. But no, he'd heard it just as it was: A liquidy intake of air through Mycroft's nostrils, which, he noticed, had also given the tiniest of twitches.

Greg was no Sherlock Holmes, but he suddenly felt that Mycroft was keeping something from him. Asking the British Government for answers when it involved a potential weakness never seemed to be the most successful course of action; Mycroft was impressively evasive when it came to questions he didn't wish to respond to. Because of this, Greg figured that he'd have to resort to a more physical means of sleuthing.

Okay. Here went nothing.

Setting his handkerchief onto his lap, he extended his now free hand out, as though he were affectionately going to cradle Mycroft's jaw in his palm (he often did such a thing so there wasn't anything peculiar about it). Conveniently, Mycroft leaned into the touch. Brilliant. That was just what Greg had wanted.

Greg's fingers began gliding across smooth, freckled skin until they took a discreet descent. Unfortunately, Mycroft deduced Greg's true intentions a moment too late and was unable to pull away before those clever fingers touched the swollen lymph node along his neck.

Damn.

"So I have given you my cold," Greg concluded, pulling his hand back and folding his arms across his chest unhappily.

Mycroft sighed. "I had rather hoped to spare you of this knowledge."

"Bollocks. What you had 'rather hoped' was to hide it from me."

Everything made sense: Why Mycroft had left for an hour that afternoon to supposedly "visit the business center" of the hotel, and also why he'd taken an impromptu evening shower when he normally took one in the mornings. No doubt he'd used the steam to help loosen him up, as well as relied on the running tap to cover up however many bloody sneezes he'd stifled. Greg felt like an idiot for not piecing it together sooner.

"Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies," Mycroft began, removing the metaphorical mask he'd worn for the past day and a half. With said removal came another sniff - this one deeper and wetter than the first had been. "I only wished not to concern you with my impending illness, which, I might add, is still relatively tame."

"For now," Greg countered. "Give it a day or two and you'll be knackered from it."

Again, Mycroft sighed. This time, the sigh was accompanied by a pinch to the bridge of his nose - a simple enough gesture, yes, but it was also an attempt to keep an abrupt fluttering tickle subdued. "Do understand that it was not my intention to further inconvenience our holiday."

Greg would have snorted if his nose wasn't so full. "It's not an inconvenience if you're ill, Myc. Especially since I'm the one who got you sick in the first place."

Mycroft's lips parted, though it wasn't with a response. A shaky, hitching breath escaped his mouth as his attempt to keep any and all sneezing at bay failed miserably. The fingers that had been pinching the bridge of his nose quickly relocated to cage around his nose and mouth as he bent into the sneezes.

"Ih'GSCHHh'kt!--hih'IGSCHH'gkt!"

Greg noticed the intentional (and perhaps habitual since Mycroft been doing it from the moment they'd arrived) stifling and reached forward to gently rub Mycroft's heaving back. "You don't have to suppress them anymore, love. It's alright."

He wasn't sure if Mycroft heard him, but the next round of sneezes were much less contained.

"Hih'IGSSCHHh'oo!…hih'GNSCHHhhh!…ihh…hh-h…! IHGSCHHH'oo!"

"God bless," Greg sympathized, continuing with his rubbing along Mycroft's back. "Here, I've barely used it."

Mycroft accepted the handkerchief he'd originally brought for his partner. "Than'gk you, Gregory."

There was the congestion, Greg heard.

As Mycroft worked on clearing out his nose, the man beside him readjusted along the bed. He pulled back the goose feather duvet and made some room (not that they were limited on space with a king-sized mattress, mind you). When everything was ready, he looked over at his companion and said:

"Right. You're getting in bed."

Loath as he was to admit defeat, Mycroft knew that it was for the better if he did get into bed. The shower had provided temporary relief to his flooding sinuses, as did the cold medicine he'd purchased and taken during his "visit to the business center", but he was definitely beginning to feel distinct malaise settling in.

Sniffling, he pulled his long legs onto the bed and slid in the slot Gregory had created; he positioned himself closely, choosing to lay his head along his other half's chest. Almost on instinct Greg began stroking Mycroft's hair soothingly, though he stopped when he was asked a question.

"However did you see through me?"

Greg smiled. "Had a sneaking suspicion."

[cally]

You my dear, did not disappoint. It seems poor Gregory has passed on his poor beastly sneezy cold to Mycroft. What a shame.

I look forward to seeing how it progresses.

[TheCakeIsAlive]

"Thanks, love. Dunno what I'd do without you."

Mycroft smirked. "Clearly run out of handkerchiefs."

I can just see the eyebrows raising and the completely dry tone in which he would confer this.

"Do understand that it was not my intention to further inconvenience our holiday."

You bloody marvellous idiot. :wub:

Mycroft accepted the handkerchief he'd originally brought for his partner. "Than'gk you, Gregory."

That's just evil. The British Government should not be this... adorable. Can I steal him, just for a little while?

[Garnet]

Ahahah oh my god, I love the "cradling your jaw but surprise, actually going for your lymph nodes!" maneuver, I am shamelessly going to steal that for a future fic. Adorable work as ever, Spoo <3

[Spoo]

Thank you so much, ladies! I appreciate your lovely feedback~

Ahahah oh my god, I love the "cradling your jaw but surprise, actually going for your lymph nodes!" maneuver, I am shamelessly going to steal that for a future fic

By all means, steal away! It's definitely a sneaky method of getting desired results.

[Galaxy]

Christ, they were strong.

Christ, so is my love for these drabbles. /)o(\ Dear Lord, just---oh, dear, Greg with a beastly cold is just the best image, especially with how wonderfully you write it! And Mycroft--- cold, fancy-pants Mycroft all cuddled up with Greg---how dare you make me feel these things in my heart.

Ahaaaaa, they're just---precious. Both of them. Precious babies, and you write phenomenally for them!