Matilda's Drabble Thread II (Sherlock)

[matilda3948]

Ouch! Right in the feels! Such an amazing piece, but I don't think I was emotionally prepared enough to handle that trauma.

Didn't mean to bum everybody out!! I am going to come back to that story line and write a follow-up but I thought I'd go with something much less dramatic tonight

#1 Allergic

John was already halfway through the paper before Sherlock got up that morning.

“Morning,” John said. Sherlock grunted.

“Coffee?”

“Still hot. Your cup’s on the counter.”

“We’re out of milk.”

“Bought fresh last night,” John said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Breakfast?”

“Pastry next to the coffee.” Sherlock flipped open an unmarked cardboard box and found an assortment of different pastries. He grabbed a scone and sat down at the table across from John with a satisfied sigh. Mid-bite an odd sensation suddenly assaulted Sherlock’s nose—a deep tingling feeling right at the bridge. He sniffed once and rubbed a curled finger underneath. He barely had a chance to swallow his food before the tickle swelled and

HehhNGKTss! KNTSCHH!

“Bless you,” John said. Sherlock didn’t answer, not because he was ignoring John, but because he was overwhelmed by the urge to sneeze again.

hhKTSHH! HuhTSXSHH!

This time John looked over the top of his newspaper, frowning.

“Bless you again. Alright?” he asked, noting the way Sherlock’s nose was twitching against the finger he still had firmly in place.

Ntsschh! Ktsschhh! Tisshh! KTSSHHH!

“What’s going on with you, huh?” John asked, getting up and grabbing a couple napkins for Sherlock. After giving him a moment to blow his nose, John assessed his friend. “This came on suddenly?” Sherlock nodded, not trusting himself to speak without sneezing. “Based on that and how red and watery your eyes are, I’d say you’re having an allergic reaction to something,” he said.

#20 Anticipation

“Ehh excellent observation huhh doctor…hehh HehhNGtshhh! Kitssshooo! Hitsschhh! Knsttchhh! huhTSSCHH! KITSCHHH! TSSCHHHH!

An impressive rapid fit of sneezes came tumbling out of Sherlock’s irritated nose. John smirked.

“Can’t even be snarky when you’re sneezing so much. Bless you, but the way.” He sat back down across from the table. “Haven’t changed soap or laundry detergent, right?”

“No.” Sherlock rubbed his eyes and gave a wet sniffle.

“Haven’t been experimenting with molds or pollen?”

He shook his head, nostrils flaring in anticipation of more sneezing.

“I cleaned last week so it can’t be dust,” John said. “You didn’t sleep with the window open or anything did you?” Sherlock shot him a withering glare. “Just brainstorming,” John said.

“Were you with hehh huh…whatever your current romaahh romantic interest is named?” He rubbed his nose against the back of his wrist.

“Yes and her name is Kristen. You’ve met her three times.”

“They’re all the same.” Sherlock got up and came around to John’s side of the table. He leaned down, put his nose down close to the collar of John’s shirt and inhaled deeply. The effect was almost instant

“What the—” John started to ask but Sherlock spun away and suddenly began to sneeze.

huhNTsschh! Tsschh! Kitsschhh!

He gripped the edge of the table, doubling over with increasingly violent sneezes.

HuhhTSCHHH! huhKTSHHeew! hhSNTSCHHeew!

“Bless you!” John suddenly realized what the problem was and got up and took several steps away from Sherlock. “She gave me a bottle of cologne last night.” Sherlock nodded.

huhhAHHTSSCHHHeew! huhRAHHHTSSCHH! hahhSSSCHHeeew!

“Bless you, Sherlock. Christ, I’m sorry. I’ll go wash it off right now. You going to be okay?” Sherlock waved John off and grabbed another couple napkins off the counter, pressing them to his nose.

huhhKTSSSCHHHH! huhAHHTSCHHHHeew!

John showered thoroughly for the second time that morning, not wanting to risk setting off Sherlock’s allergies again. He threw the cologne away and changed into fresh clothes before grabbing an antihistamine and a box of tissues for Sherlock. He felt a bit guilty; he hadn’t seen Sherlock have an allergy attack that severe since that time they encountered a cat in a murdered woman’s house. John came downstairs bracing himself for a tantrum (not totally undeserved this time) and stopped short at the entry to the sitting room. Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa, arms and legs everywhere, balled up tissues and napkins all over the floor, and snoring through his congested nose.

“Sleep well, mate.”

[cally]

Oh, poor Sherlock.

(Who am I kidding that was brilliant and delicious! )

[Seniorstatus14]

Awww that was adorable!!! Hehehe John is so concerned for Sherlock that it makes me swoon watching (or in this case reading) about their friendly affection

[AngelEyes]

Wow. I go away for a day and come back to mass emotion. Everybody wants to make me cry tonight! Poor dear John. I want to just hold him forever! And Papa!Strade is so wonderful!

And allergic!Sherlock with massive fit? Total love!

[SneezyRae]

No John you don't need to shower

[matilda3948]

Wow. I go away for a day and come back to mass emotion. Everybody wants to make me cry tonight! Poor dear John. I want to just hold him forever! And Papa!Strade is so wonderful!

I know! Just want to snuggle poor John.

I don't think this part is as sad as the first half, but it's still pretty angsty. Two things I want to note: First, emetophobes might want to skip the first two paragraphs. It's light, but still deserves a warning. Also, I'm pretty sure I use a quote from the Sherlock Holmes movies (not the BBC show) in here at one point, but it was too perfect not to include. Okay, enough rambling

#74 Humiliated

Greg winced and shook his head as he heard the sound of John getting sick in the bathroom. He wasn’t terribly surprised though—John had been near blackout drunk last night. He grabbed a glass of water and knocked on the door.

“You alright?” he called, venturing to open the door a crack. John had just flushed the remnants of last night’s stupidity and was standing on very shaky legs.

“Here.” Greg handed him the water and wet a washcloth in the sink. “Sit down, John.” Once John was seated on the edge of the bathtub, Greg sat next to him and pressed the cool washcloth to the back of his neck. John sighed and let his head bob forward. “How are you feeling this morning?” Greg asked.

“Bit humiliated,” John said. His nose was beginning to run and he sniffed hard.

“Happens to the best of us every now and then.”

“Still. Thanks for letting me sleep it off.” John’s nose twitched and he turned his head, sneezing into his hands.

huhahhSSHHHoo! HuhhTSCHHHooo!

“Bless you.”

“Ugh. Thags. I hope I’m not catching a cold on top of everything.” John stood up and washed his hands in the sink before splashing a bit of cool water on his face. When he looked up he saw Greg’s reflection in the mirror. “What?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” John repeated.

“You’ve got a miserable cold. You had a fever and were sneezing your head off all night.” John looked confused, then shook his head like he was trying to clear the fog from last night.

“Thought I was just huhh hungover. huhahhSSHHHoo! TSCHHHooo!"

“Bless you. Hangovers don’t make you sneeze, mate. Come on,” Greg said, standing up and clapping John on the back. “Let’s get some food into you.”

The short walk to the kitchen seemed to take all of John’s energy and he all but collapsed in the nearest chair at the kitchen table. He was surprised to see that Lestrade had already cooked some bacon and made a pot of coffee—two smells that could usually rouse John Watson from the deepest sleep but he couldn’t smell anything through his stuffy nose. Greg put a hot cup of coffee and a clean handkerchief down on the table in front of John, then went back to making toast. A few sips of coffee and John’s head (mercifully) began to clear. His nose was not so lucky.

“What tibe is it?”

“Bit after ten.”

“Oh God! I’m late for work!” John sprung up from the table only to have to room tilt sideways and have to sit back down.

“John, relax. I called the clinic and told you were sick and might be out a couple days.”

#99 Smothered

“Oh. And you’re off today, too?” Greg nodded and didn’t feel the need to explain that he’d also taken an impromptu sick day so that he could stay back and take care of whatever John needed. It was quiet for a moment before John’s nose began to itch. Now that he thought about it, he felt awful—sinuses were throbbing, head full of congestion, and both his nose and throat were irritated and tickling. He picked up the handkerchief and held it close to his face.

Huh…hehh huh ahhMFTSHHHooo! huhhFTSSCHHHHooo! MFSSCHHHoo!

He smothered a series of sneezes into the fabric.

“Bless you, John!”

“Thag you.” He made a futile attempt to blow his nose, the air barely making it through his swollen nasal passages. Greg put a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast down in front of him and then put a second plate down for himself.

“Little grease and protein will do wonders for the hangover. Once there’s something in your stomach I’ll get you some cold medicine too.” Greg sat down and refilled both of their coffees.

“Thanks for this, Greg. You didn’t need to go through so much trouble.”

“What do you remember from last night?” Greg asked as he started in on his breakfast. John shrugged.

“Not much honestly. Remember coming in and waking up this morning, but everything in between is pretty fuzzy.”

“Hmm.” He wasn’t surprised that John couldn’t remember much. “Why were you at the bar?” he asked, noticing the way John slowed down and carefully swallowed his food.

“Just wanted to get out for a bit,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. He could feel Greg’s eyes on him—sharp and worried. It had been a while since John had felt himself under such scrutiny—not since…well, it had been a while.

“Why’d you feel the need to get so drunk last night?” Greg asked quietly. John shrugged.

“Guess I just lost track of how much I’d had.” He moved the food around on his plate with his fork, refusing to look up at his friend.

“We’ve got to talk about it, John. We’ve got to talk about him.” Greg’s voice was low and made John’s chest tighten. He’d never been so glad to have to sneeze in all his life.

huhMFSSHHoo! hhSFSSHHHoo!

“Bless you.”

He started to lower the handkerchief but he dissolved into another fit of sneezes.

hhSNMSSHHoo! hehMPHHSHHHoo! TSSCHHoo! hhGMFSSHHHooo!

“Bless you again.” John nodded and blew his nose into the sodden handkerchief. Greg frowned and got a clean cloth out of his pants pocket. “Here. That’s got to be useless.” John took it and dabbed at his nose.

“Excuse me.” His voice was thick and hoarse from sneezing. He took another sip of coffee and went back to eating his breakfast. Greg felt the corners of his mouth twitch—the avoidance strategy was so like Sherlock it was uncanny.

“John?” he prompted.

“Yeah?”

“How are you handling Sherlock’s death?” This time John froze, his eyes fixed on his plate. Greg let the silence settle while John digested the directness of the question.

hehhTSCHHH! hhNTSCHHHoo! huhMFSSSCHHHOO!

“Bless you. Are you actually allergic to the topic of conversation?” The joke had its intended effect of breaking the tension and John huffed out something between a laugh and a cough. He sat back in his chair and finally looked across the table at the older man. He truly had the patience of a saint—an explanation wasn’t an unreasonable request.

“I’m not uh…not doing well,” he said.

“No kidding,” Greg said, but there was nothing but sympathy in his voice.

“I just…I think I preferred the shock to this. At least then I was numb.” He sniffled and cleared his throat.

“That what the drinking’s about?”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Normally I see the obvious facts,” John said.

“Nothing more elusive than an obvious fact,” Greg said with a nostalgic smile. John smiled too at the familiar phrase.

huhhNTSCHHHoo! He grabbed the handkerchief, nose twitching as his breath hitched. Hehh huh ehh…huhhMFSHHHHoo! MFSSHHHoo! hhTSSSCHHOO!

“Bless you.”

#33 Harsh

“Thags.” He coughed harshly into his fist.

“You sound awful, John. Let me get you those cold pills.” Greg grabbed the box off the counter and handed two pills to John. He swallowed them with a drink of cold coffee then looked up at Greg with an off expression on his face.

“Did…did I try to hit you last night?” John asked. Greg gave him a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I was willing to let you forget that one,” he said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” John groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Forget it. Wouldn’t want to take a punch from you sober, though.” John looked embarrassed. And tired. And sick. But perhaps a little less burdened. Greg tilted his head towards the living room. “Why don’t you go lay back down for a bit? I’ll give you a lift home this afternoon.” He cleared their plates off the table and followed John into the living room. The younger man sat down with a yawn and shivered, grabbing for the blanket from last night. As he stretched out on the sofa another thought occurred to him.

“What do I owe you from last night? I know I was too drunk to pay the bill.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can pick up the tab for both of us next time.” Greg reached down and checked John’s forehead for fever then he answered the unasked question. “Yeah, both of us. No more getting drunk alone, okay?”

“Okay.”

hhKTSSHHOOOO!

The first sneeze snuck up on him and John barely had time to turn his head. Greg grabbed some tissues from the box he’d put out last nights and slipped them into John’s hand.

“ThaahhKTSCHHH! hehhTSCHHH! hhNTSCHHHoo!”

“Bless you, John.” He nodded his thanks and blew his nose, dissolving into a harsh cough. Greg frowned. “You don’t sound well.”

“M’alright.” He yawned.

“I’ll let you sleep.”

“Hey, Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for everything. I’m sorry to be like this. I mean…you lost him too,” John said, quietly. Greg nodded, not quite trusting his voice in that moment. He settled for reaching down and squeezing John’s shoulder.

[cally]

Poor John. He just sounds so miserable in all. Good thing he has Greg to help him through this. <3

[AngelEyes]

“Bless you. Are you actually allergic to the topic of conversation?”

Awesome. It was all awesome. Such good friends.

[SneezyRae]

Poor John. I just want to wrap him up and take all the hurt away (but not the sneeziness )

[matilda3948]

Thanks all!!!

Time for a little "Mycroft looking after a sick Anthea." One of my favorite things.

#43 Contagious

The moment he came into the office, Mycroft felt something akin to guilt when he caught sight of Anthea. Despite her best efforts to conceal it, he knew she was ill. What’s worse, he knew she’d caught it from him. He’d had a miserable cold last week and, despite being contagious, insisted on coming into work. Anthea had been a marvel—rearranging meetings, bringing tea, keeping boxes of tissues in multiple locations around the office, and doing it all without making a fuss.

Now she was paying the price.

He softly cleared his throat but it startled her anyway.

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Holmes,” she said, standing up from behind her desk. “I trust this morning’s meeting went well.”

“Quite. Thank you.” He swung his umbrella slightly. “And how are you this morning?”

“Fine, sir.” She picked up a file folder and brought it to him. “Here’s the call list for today as well as briefings on several situations we’re monitoring.” He took the folder, but his eyes were scanning her face. Her voice was slightly congested and she was a bit pale, the edges of her nose a touch pink.

“Thank you, Anthea. Tea?”

“Right away, sir.”

“I’ll make it this morning. I simply wanted to know if you’d like a cup,” he clarified.

“Thank you, sir.”

#66 Stifle

As soon as he walked out of her office, she sighed. He knew she was sick. Sometimes she didn’t know why she bothered trying to hide things like this from him. While he hadn’t openly acknowledged it (yet) he rarely made tea. Anthea sat down at her desk and opened her desk drawer, pulling out the box of tissues she’d hidden there earlier that morning. She saw no reason to try and hide it any longer. Plus, her nose was tickling like mad and she was going to start sneezing at any moment. She held a couple tissues to her nose and paused, her breath growing uneven. She stifled three quick sneezes.

ahhNGTss! NXTssh! ahhGXTSHH!

“God bless you.” She resisted the urge to groan when she heard his voice from the doorway. Of course that was the moment he returned. And of course she couldn’t answer because she was going to sneeze again.

HahNTSHH! Tsschh! TSSCHHH! AhhTSSHHoo!

The final sneeze was too strong to stifle and she blushed as she was forced to grab another tissue to blow her sensitive nose.

“God bless you again,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. My apologies.”

“No need,” he said, putting a cup of tea down on her desk. “In fact, if anyone should apologize, it’s me.” When she didn’t seem to understand, he clarified. “I’m quite sure you caught this cold from me.” She didn’t know what to say, so she just took a sip of tea. Sensing her discomfort, he moved towards his office, but not before adding, “You know you are welcome to go home whenever you like today. Perhaps some rest will help you feel better.”

“Thank you, Mr. Homes but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

#67 Frustrated

Mycroft was having a hard time concentrating. His PA was feeling worse by the hour and it was proving distracting. Sentiment was getting the better of him and he couldn’t help but feel concerned and guilty…and frustrated about feeling concerned and guilty. Anthea was sneezing, on average, 3.4 times every eight minutes for the last three hours. Since lunch he’d also noticed that she was stifling much less frequently and having to blow her nose and cough more.

At 3:12pm she was officially twelve minutes late in delivering the 3pm foreign conflict memos. Anthea was never late, so he opened the door separating their connected offices and found her asleep at her desk. Mycroft frowned—this would not do. She was going home as soon as she woke, but in the meantime, Mycroft decided to let her get what rest she could. He muted her desk phone and her mobile, then took off his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders before returning to his office.

About an hour later Anthea stirred and looked around her. She was mortified that she’d fallen asleep at her desk, made worse by the fact that her employer had obviously noticed and taken pains to make sure she was as comfortable as possible. She rubbed her temples; she’d woken up with a miserable headache, completely congested, and with a fierce tickle deep in her sinuses. She quickly grabbed a few tissues.

hhGNSHHoo! Ahhtsschhoo! TSSchhoo! Ktsschhoo! ahhSNSCHHoo!

“God bless you, Anthea.” Mycroft was at her side and held a handkerchief out to her.

“Thaahh Ahh…thank you,” she gasped and continued to sneeze into the soft fabric.

AhhTSHHoo! Tsschhoo! TSSCHHOO! hahNTSHHH! ahhGSNsschhooo!

“Good heavens, Anthea. God bless you,” Mycroft said. He’d never seen her carry on like this before—it was most disconcerting. Anthea blew her nose and blushed.

#100 Gratitude

“I’b so sorry for that outburst,” she said.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. You’re unwell and you’ve certainly seen me in a similar state…recently if I recall correctly,” he said in reference to his own previous ill health. She nodded and Mycroft placed a hand on her shoulder. “You need to go home and get to bed, Anthea.” She nodded and stood up, shivering when she took off his jacket. Mycroft grabbed her overcoat and held it so she could slip her arms into it.

“Thag you, Mr. Holmdes.” She cringed at the thick congestion in her voice. Mycroft’s frown deepened slightly.

“I’ve taken the liberty of clearing your schedule for the next ten days,” he said.

“Ten days?” She looked shocked and ready to argue, but he raised a hand.

“A few days to tend to your cold and then some time to take a holiday,” he said. “It’s been nearly two years since you’ve taken a proper vacation; you’ve more than earned it.” Mycroft put a file folder in her briefcase. “Reservation details for a villa in France that I think you will find most satisfactory. The jet is at your disposal barring any last-minute diplomatic travels on my part.” For once, Anthea was absolutely speechless—something Mycroft found to be even more satisfying than thanks.

“Uh…I um…”

“A small sign of my gratitude, Anthea,” he said.

Ahhtsschhoo! TSSchhoo! Ktsschhoo!

“God bless you. Now I must insist you go home. There’s a car out front and I’ll be checking in later,” he said as he unmuted her mobile and handed it back to her.

“Thag you, sir.”

“Take care, Anthea.”

[cally]

Awwwww this was the sweetest thing ever! I love how he feels frustrated and worried and then feels bad about feeling that way; so Mycroft!

[Oolia]

Omg reading this entire thread has nearly killed me. Don't mind me, I'll be over there in a corner, in a giant puddle of melting goo.

You are so good at writing these, it's just...

[AngelEyes]

I love Mycroft being all distracted and disconcerted. And of course he has her pattern timed out completely. LOL. He really is sweet. Even if he is uncomfortable about it.

[matilda3948]

Hi all!

I decided to go back to the Sherlock/Irene story line from a page or two ago. The one where Irene bribed Mycroft to tell her when Sherlock was sick so she could indulge her sneeze fetish. So...yeah, we're picking up there.

#78 Massage

Irene woke up before the sun the next morning. Her plan was to be out of Baker Street well before Sherlock woke up. She’d had her fun, watching him sneeze and sniffle, but as she looked down at him she felt something…uncomfortable tug in her chest and it was something she couldn’t afford to indulge in in the same way. The price was just too high.

As she slid off the bed, she felt her head swim. Irene winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. Sherlock hadn’t moved or opened his eyes, but suddenly his deep baritone broke the silence.

“Sneaking out through the window like a common cat burglar?” he asked.

“Meow.”

“Hmm. That’s appropriate. I’m terribly allergic to cats.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” she said, slipping into her shoes. Sherlock opened his eyes and lifted his head.

“You’re sick.”

“What?”

“You’re sick,” he repeated, rolling over and grabbing the box of tissues off the nightstand. He pulled out several before tossing the box on her general direction. Sherlock sneezed several times.

hehh huhNGTSHHH! SNTSSHHH! SNGSSHHOO!

“Bless you,” she said. He looked up over the top of the tissues pressed to his nose and squinted.

“You too,” he said. Seconds later, Irene turned to the side, took a single deep breath and succumbed to a fit of rapid, ticklish sneezes.

Ahhktsschh! Ktsshh! tishh! ktisshh! Ktsshh! Ktsshhew!

Sherlock watched with curiosity as Irene pressed a finger to the underside of her nose to try and keep from sneezing again but the minute she lowered her hand,

Ktsschh! Tsschh! ktisshh! Ktsshh! Ktsshhew!

#84 Polite

“Bless you,” Sherlock said, nudging the tissue box towards her. She thanked him and politely dabbed at her nose. “This is what you get for cobing over here to ogle me whed I’b sick,” he said.

“Worth it.”

“Lay back dowd,” Sherlock said, yawning.

“I need to get going,” Irene said with a wet sniffle.

“You’re lying and you feel awful. I kndow. I had this cold first, remember?”

She was honestly conflicted for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth without realizing it. Sherlock’s head hurt too much to try and figure out what was making her uncomfortable no matter how interesting it was. Irene Adler didn’t do nervous very often—even when she probably should. He, however, was still feeling fairly miserable and grabbed a handful of tissues.

huhhNGSHHH! HuhNTSSCHHoo!

“God bless you, Sherlock.” He nodded and blew his nose.

“I’b going back sleep. Stay. Go. Use the door, window, fire escape. I don’t care.” He switched the bedside lamp off and scooted down in the bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin. A moment later he felt the bed dip as Irene laid back down next to him. He didn’t have to touch her to know her body was rigid and on edge; nothing like the languid feline postures he’d come to associate with her. He gave a frustrated huff. “What is it?” he asked.

“What is what?” she asked.

“You. Why are you being so…strange?”

“Don’t know whaahh…what you’re ahh talking about.”

Ahhktsschh! AhhKtsshh! Tishh! ktisshh! Ktsshh! Ktsshhew!

“Bless you,” he said.

#4 Light

“Thanks.” Sherlock examined all the available evidence he had about the Woman. As far as he knew there was only one thing that had changed since last night. Admittedly, sexual attraction was something he only understood in the academic sense, but perhaps that was what was making her act strangely.

“Do you find your own sneezing arousing?” he asked.

“No. Do you?” That snappy retort sounded a bit more like the Irene Adler he knew.

“No and you know I’m not interested in that sort of thing.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she said. He coughed into his fist and then yawned. Irene rolled over so she could face him, barely making out his face in the dim pre-dawn light. She brushed the hair from his face and pressed her hand to his forehead. “You’re feverish. Go back to sleep, Sherlock. I’m sorry I was behaving strangely. Just not feeling well I guess.”

“Liar,” he whispered, eyes growing heavy. She ran her fingers through his hair and just as he was almost back to sleep she pinched her nose.

hhNKT! Ktsh! Ktshh! hhNKTss! huhh-ahhKTSHHHEEW!

The final sneeze echoed through the room.

“For God’s sake!” Sherlock cried, opening his eyes. “I’d rather listen to a dozen of those little petite sneezes than another one of those.” He threw the tissue box at her. “Don’t stifle like that again. Last thing I need is a ruptured ear drum.” Irene blew her nose.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Hmf.”

A moment later, he felt Irene shiver. Sherlock tugged on the blankets and tossed them over her body. She smiled and snuggled down deeper in the bed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Go to sleep, woman.”

Sherlock woke up several hours later, mid-day sun lighting the bedroom. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was gone. He glanced to his left and saw the perfect imprint of red lips on his pillow case—like she’d kissed it before slipping out of the flat. Sherlock shook his head.

“That’s never going to come out.”

[cally]

“That’s never going to come out.”

LOL! I have no idea why I find this so terribly amusing!

I love their banter and Sherlock chiding her over how she was sneezing was priceless.

[Seniorstatus14]

So funny! Loved it! Irene and Sherlock's banter is too perfect!

[VoOs]

“This is what you get for cobing over here to ogle me whed I’b sick,” he said.

“Worth it.”

Totally.

It's always a treat to read your writing about these two. <3 Fun, fun, fun!

[SneezyRae]

“That’s never going to come out.”

LOL! I have no idea why I find this so terribly amusing!

Me either, but yep lol @ domestic Sherlock worried about lipstick on his pillow.

Love fetishy Irene and Sherlock happy to indulge her. Such an odd combination that shouldn't work but does

Fabulous writing as always

[bangbang]

Aww, I love Mycroft's awkwardness when taking care of Anthea. And lovely how he's guilty because he's the one who passed on the cold; he does seem the type to work through an illness and then afterwards realise that he's probably infected the entire office with his stubbornness. And fetish-y Irene is everything I never knew I wanted.

[matilda3948]

Hi my dears! A decent update tonight because it's been nearly a week since I posted. The John/Mary one may be kinda sad. It's post-Magnussen and John is...a bit unwell. I haven't proofread because I'm tired and wanna go to bed. Sorry for the errors--I'll try and fix them tomorrow.

#41 Nervous

Mary sat in the NSY lobby waiting for John to finish giving his statement. She chewed her bottom lip—a nervous habit she only resorted to in the most stressful times. John had been in there for hours The scene at Magnussen’s was chaos and she knew John was in for a long night of interviews. She glanced at her watch; now a long night and morning of interviews. She wasn’t sure whether to bless or curse Sherlock. Right now her focus was on her husband…well that and her aching back and swollen ankles. She wasn’t leaving until John was done though. She was worried. Worried about Sherlock. Worried about John. Worried about she and John and if Magnussen’s death would change their newly minted peace.

It was another two hours before John emerged from the interrogation room. His face was ashen and there were dark bags under his eyes. She stood up and put her hands on his shoulders, her eyes full of sympathy.

“John?” she whispered. He just shook his head. Mary put one hand on the side of his face and brushed her thumb against his face, which was definitely overdue for a shave given how long it had been since he’d been home. John’s face crumpled and she thought he might be about to cry, but then he turned his head and sneezed into his fist.

hahRUHHSHHOOO! HahAHHSHHOO!

“Bless you.” Mary got a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

#79 Head Cold

He leaned against her during the silent cab ride back to their flat. She took his hand in hers and could feel him shaking. Mary stroked her thumb across the back of John’s hand. They were a couple blocks from home when John sniffled wetly before turning towards the window and doing his best to stifle his sneeze in the enclosed space.

hhNGTSHHF! hhMFSHH!

“Bless you, John.” He nodded and Mary frowned. He still hadn’t said a word.

When they got home she immediately hung up her coat and went to click the kettle on to make a much-needed cup of tea. She came back to find John standing in the entryway staring off into space.

“Come on, love,” she whispered. “You need to get to bed. It’s been almost two days since you slept.” She took his jacket off, took his hand, and pulled him towards the bedroom. John sat on the edge of the bed while Mary turned the shower on, letting the water heat up.

HuhSSCHOOOO! huhRAHHsschooo!

“Bless you.” She grabbed a handkerchief from the bureau and handed it to him. “You sound like you’ve got a bit of a head cold on top of everything else.” Mary wasn’t sure her words were even registering at this point—John seemed utterly lost in his own head. “Hey. Look at me,” she said quietly. Finally he lifted his eyes. “Go clean up a bit, put on something warm, and come to bed. I’ll bring you tea. Are you hungry?” He turned a bit green at the mention of food and, although she really would have preferred he eat something, Mary couldn’t blame him after what he’d just seen.

#63 Haze

The hot shower did him some good, helping John regain a little bit of his focus. From the moment the gun went off an unusual haze seemed to settle in his brain, making everything feel slightly out of focus. That was almost 36 hours ago. He’d been questioned both at the scene and then interrogated later for almost 24 straight hours. His head was pounding, his nose itching, and his body ached. He dried off and changed into flannel pants and a thick sweatshirt, towel-drying his hair.

hahRUHHSHHOOO! HahAHHSHHOO!

John grabbed the handkerchief off the bathroom counter where he’d left it, blowing his nose and coughing lightly. When he came into the bedroom he found Mary sitting on her side of the bed, eating several slices of toast and drinking a large cup of tea. His was sitting on the bedside table as well as a new box of tissues, and a couple ibuprofen.

Mary watched him carefully. His eyes looked a little clearer, but he was still shaking and looked incredibly exhausted and ill. He sat down on the bed with a deep sigh and picked up his tea. John seemed surprised by the tremor in his hands.

“It’s the adrenaline,” Mary said. John nodded. He should have known that. The adrenalin surge from the last day and a half was finally fading—of course he was shaky. He managed to drink most of his tea and took the pills his wife had put out for him.

“Thank you,” he said. Mary gave him a slight smile and brushed the hair off his forehead.

“Of course,” she said. “John, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it.” She saw nearly a dozen emotions flash across his face: relief, anger, happiness, grief, and resignation just to name a few.

“We’re safe,” he whispered before grabbing for the tissues.

huh HuhRahhMFSHHoo! huhhNGFSSHHOOO!

“Bless you,” she said. He shivered and Mary rubbed his back. “You know that when you want to talk about it I’m here.”

“I kndow.”

Hehh huh…HUHSSCHHooo! huhMFSSHHOOO! hehuhRAHHTSSCHHOOO!

“Aww, bless you.” Mary pulled the duvet up and slid down in the bed “We’ll talk later. Right now you desperately need to sleep.” John yawned and laid down, drawing the blankets up to his shoulders. A moment later, he turned onto his side and moved towards Mary. He buried his face in the bend between her neck and shoulder and she kissed the top of his head. Mary picked up one of his hands and let it rest on her pregnant stomach, covering it with her own. She wasn’t surprised when she felt a few tears drip onto her neck. “Shh…sleep John. Just sleep.”

#9 Finally Alone

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Holmes but we’re needed back at the office,” Anthea said, after handing her boss a slip of paper. Mycroft nodded and turned to the other government officials gathered around the conference table.

“Apologies ladies and gentlemen. A situation has arisen that I need to see to,” Mycroft said, standing and leaving the room without waiting for a response. Anthea was at his heels, texting and walking with remarkable dexterity. The car was waiting out front and the moment they were finally alone, Mycroft sneezed suddenly before he could even draw his handkerchief from his pocket.

HuhNGttssshhh! hhNDSSSHH! huhNGT’shh!

“God bless you, sir.” Anthea pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and held it out to her boss. If he wasn’t so mortified by his outburst she might have laughed (or at least smirked) at the way he was blushing.

“Thaahh Ahh—huhNGT’shh! HuhMPHSHH! MFSHH! huhMFSSCHH!”

“God bless you again,” Anthea said, frowning.

“Thag you. By apologies.” He scowled at the congestion in his voice and turned towards the window to blow his nose.

“Would you like to stop for anything on our way back to your house?”

“No thank you,” Mycroft sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his seat.

“Sir, it wouldn’t be inappropriate to close your eyes for a few minutes,” Anthea said without looking up from her mobile.

“Thank you, Anthea. I believe I will.”

#15 Control

A few minutes later, Anthea chanced a glance at her boss. He was asleep with his head tilted towards her. Mr. Holmes had been under the weather all week but, despite her best efforts, today’s meeting simply couldn’t be rescheduled. She’d made sure her employer took cold medicine just before the meeting started, but as the afternoon drug on she started to notice signs that he was feeling worse. While she was sure the other officials at the table hadn’t notice, Anthea had become attuned to the many subtleties of Mycroft Holmes. As the meeting entered its third hour she knew the cold medicine would be wearing off soon, so she began planning their emergency exit. When she heard Mr. Holmes audibly sniff and rub his nose, Anthea texted to have the car brought around front. She knew he would be horribly embarrassed to sneeze in the middle of the meeting—losing control in public was tantamount to a cardinal sin. She tore a sheet of paper off her legal pad and wrote, “There’s a code 7 that requires your immediate attention,” folded it up and slipped it to him. “Code 7” was their secret language invoked for getting out of meetings because of illness, boredom, negotiation impasse, dinner reservations, theater tickets, etc. A slight nod of his head gave Anthea the green light to interrupt and extract Mycroft from the meeting.

The car pulled up in front of the townhouse and Anthea laid a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder

“Mr. Holmes?” she called gently. He blinked several times and took in his surroundings.

hhKNGTchh! NTGSCHH!

“God bless you, sir.”

“Thag you, Anthea. I believe I forgot to thank you for removing me from that meeting as well. I sincerely appreciate it.”

“Always happy to invoke a Code 7,” she said with a slight smile. “Would you consider taking tomorrow off?” She noticed the look on his face and amended, “Or perhaps you could work from home?”

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning. Take care this evening.”

#35 Making Dinner

Greg smiled as he heard the familiar sounds announcing Mycroft’s arrival: close the front door, reset the alarm, hang up his umbrella, then his coat. Tonight’s routine had the added sounds of sniffling and throat clearing. Greg frowned. Mycroft hadn’t been feeling well for several days and it sounded like tonight was going to be more of the same. He wiped his hands on a towel and left the kitchen, finding Mycroft in the sitting room.

“I wasn’t expecting you home so soon,” Greg said. He came around and gave Mycroft a hug; he was surprised when Mycroft sighed and rested his head on Greg’s shoulder. Greg tightened his hold and brought one hand up to massage the back of his partner’s neck. “You feel warm,” he said quietly.

“Hmm. Anthea had to pull a Code 7 to get me out of a meeting today.”

“We need to send her a nice bottle of wine.” Greg felt the huff of Mycroft laughing. Then the younger man pulled away and stifled a sneeze into the bend of his arm.

HuhNGTssh! huhNKTss!

“God bless you, dear.” Greg got a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to him. Mycroft nodded his thanks and then sneezed again.

HuhMFTsschh! huhmffSTCHH!

“Bless you again,” Greg said, frowning.

“Thank you, Gregory.”

“Why don’t you get changed? I’m nearly finished making dinner. We’ll eat and then turn in early.” Mycroft nodded and turned to go upstairs. He was halfway up the staircase when he paused, and grabbed the banister with one hand, clutching the handkerchief to his nose with the other.

HuhKTSHH! hhMFSHH! huh Huhh…HehNMFSSHHHooo!

“God bless you,” Greg called.

[AngelEyes]

John feels. So much feels. Runs to Mystrade. LOL. Code 7. I love it!!! Bless dear Anthea as an Angel.

[SneezyRae]

The update was definitely worth the wait Fabulous as usual. Poor John and poor Mycroft.

[cally]

All the feels. Poor John (for more reasons than one).

Oh Mycroft. Poor lamb. Good for Anthea and her code 7!

[bangbang]

I absolutely love the way your Mycroft and Anthea take care of each other. And Mycroft managing to hold it back until they're alone and then just exploding is lovely.

[matilda3948]

Thank you!! So glad you all liked them! Been a while since I made Greg suffer so that's what I've got tonight

#88 Jealousy

It may have been a miserable, damp, chilly, rainy morning but Sherlock was in high spirits. He was crouched over an oddly posed corpse, a smile tugging at his lips as he catalogued clues. He took a train ticket out of the victim’s coat pocket, then sniffed the paper.

“Hmm.”

“What?” Lestrade asked from behind him.

“Nothing.”

Greg resisted the urge to sigh. He wasn’t feeling well and this weather wasn’t helping. He was hoping Sherlock would be able to solve this homicide quickly so he could go home, take a healthy dose of cold medicine, and spend a couple days sleeping it off.

“Patience, Lestrade,” Sherlock said. He moved to the other side of the body and picked a thread off the victim’s coat, holding it up to the light.

“Sorry. Just ready to get in out of this weater,” Greg said as the rain picked up even more.

“And you’re ill,” Sherlock said, never taking his eyes off the soles of the victim’s shoes which he’d bent down to examine. As if determined to make this situation even worse, Greg’s nose twitched with irritation and he sneezed violently into his hands.

HuhhRAHHssshhoooo! RahhhSSSCHHOOOOOO! huh huhh…RuhhAHHTSSCHOOOO!

He sniffed thickly and dig through his pockets looking for a handkerchief.

“Do you mind?” Sherlock snapped. “I’m trying to solve your case here.”

“Sohuhh…huh Huh…sorry,” he managed before sneezing again.

huh hhAHHTSSCHHooo! huhRAHHKTSSHHHooo!

He doubled over with a pair of enormous sneezes, resisting the urge to groan. Much to his surprise Greg felt a hand grip his arm, keeping him steady.

“Bless you,” Sherlock said quietly. “You shouldn’t have come out today.” Greg straightened up, the dizziness having passed. He rubbed his nose.

“Didn’t feel that bad this morning.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. He went back to the corpse and pulled a handkerchief out of the man’s pocket. “Here.”

“Ndo! Absolutely not.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Seeing as it was his boyfriend who killed him, I doubt he’ll be jealous of you taking one personal effect.”

“Put. It. Back.”

#47 Wool

After Sherlock explained the homicide, Greg was left to oversee the final details at the scene. He felt a rush of relief when he saw the familiar black sedan pull up. Lestrade gave Donovan instructions to finish up and she seemed ready to see her coughing, sneezing boss get as far away as possible. Greg opened the car door and sighed heavily as he sat down. He turned and was immediately met with a deeply concerned British government.

“Sherlock?” Greg asked. Mycroft nodded.

“Messaged and said to come collect you. He must have been worried.” When Greg scoffed, Mycroft continued. “Contrary to what you may think, he doesn’t interfere without reason. Since he’d already solved the case, the only reason I can deduce is concern for your wellbeing.”

“I guess it’s possible,” he said. Mycroft turned in his seat and cupped Greg’s face.

“I think if you could see yourself you would understand why, my love. You look unwell.” He brushed his thumb along Greg’s jawline. “And you feel a bit warm.” Greg knew lying was pointless and didn’t really have the energy to try.

“I’m glad you came to get me. It’s bloody freezing outside.” His voice faltered at the end of his statement and he quickly found a crisp, white handkerchief pressed into his hands.

huh Huhh huhRAHHssschhhooo! HuhhSSSHOOOOO! huh RAHHNDSSCHHoooo!

“God bless you, Gregory.” Mycroft frowned as the older man blew his nose.

“Thag you.” Greg shivered, still chilled from his day outside. Mycroft took over his scarf and looped it around his lover’s neck. The dark red wool was still warm and smelled of Mycroft’s fine cologne. This time when Greg sighed, it was full of contentment. “Thank you,” he said again.

“Anything to help you feel better, Gregory.”