Matilda's Drabble Thread II (Sherlock)

[matilda3948]

You can also get a cold/sinus infection from almost breaking or completely breaking your nose. This happens because of the disruption inside your sinuses...

It's like you read my mind

Thank you all sooo much for the comments Here's a continuation...

Drabble Prompts: Sore, Asleep, Pressure

Predawn light was filtering through the windows of the flat when Molly opened her eyes. She’d fallen asleep with Sherlock’s head in her lap but now she found herself on her side, a blanket draped over her body. She sat up and looked around the flat. Sherlock was sitting in his chair reading something on his laptop.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Molly.” He nodded without looking up from the computer.

“Sorry. I don’t remember falling asleep last night.”

“It was late.”

“Thanks for getting me settled on the sofa. I’d have had a sore neck if I’d slept sitting up like that,” Molly said. He didn’t say anything and she got up and walked over to him. “Did you sleep?” she asked. Sherlock shrugged. Molly frowned and looked him over—he certainly didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep. “How’s your face?” she asked.

“Better.” He snapped his laptop closed. Molly crouched down and tilted his head from one side to the other. The line of his nose was perfectly straight and the swelling was almost completely gone. His eyes were slightly blackened but she was surprised they weren’t worse. “There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he said.

“Brilliant!” Molly hopped up and went to fix herself a cup. She was in the process of adding sugar to her cup when she heard Sherlock sneeze.

huhAHHktschhhoo!

“Bless you,” she called. “Need a warmup?” she asked, sticking her head out of the kitchen. “Aw, Sherlock, you alright?” His head was tilted back slightly and even though his hands were just a few inches from his face, Molly could still make out the way his nostrils flared with each rapid inhalation. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to hold back the sneeze or if it was stuck. She spotted a box of tissues on the desk and went to get them while Sherlock continued to battle the tickling sensation in his sinuses. After an agonizing series of false starts, he finally swept forward with a fit of sneezes that tumbled out nearly one on top of another.

huhAhhtschhhoo! hhktssschhooo! AhhTSSHHHooo!

“Bless you! You’re still sneezing as badly as you were last night?”

“Seebs that way,” he said thickly. He took a couple tissues from the box she was holding out to him. He tentatively blew his nose, testing to see how painful it would be on his healing nose. After he felt the way pain echoed over the bones he opted for gently rubbing his nose in the tissue.

“Sherlock, you should go get an x-ray today if you’re still sneezing. I mean, I think I set it correctly but now that the swelling’s down you shouldn’t be having those fits anymore.” Molly twisted the hem of her jumper as she spoke.

“I’b fide.”

“You sound all congested,” Molly said. “You should make sure there isn’t a secondary fracture or nerve damage in the—”

“Molly, stop.”

“I will not stop,” she said. “You can cause permanent damage if you don’t—”

“Molly, I’m ill.”

“Wait. What?” Sherlock sighed and rubbed his temples.

“I’m not sneezing from the broken nose, or from a complication from the broken nose. I’ve got a cold. Felt it coming on a couple days ago but I sort of lost track of it while…well, I lost track.” He gave an exasperated huff as his nose seemed determined to underscore his point.

Huh hhAHH…huh huhahhktsschhh! hhKtsschhooo!

“Bless you.” Molly sat down in the chair across from him—John’s chair. He nodded his thanks and waited for the pressure in his head died down. He looked at Molly sitting there with her legs tucked underneath her and an odd look passed over his face.

“How long?” he asked.

“What?”

“Last night. You said I had to give John time. How much time? How long will it take?”

“Well…I mean, you were gone for two years so, like, more than 24 hours.” Molly watched that information genuinely confuse the smartest man she’d ever known. She leaned forward. “Sherlock, he grieved, hard, for two years. He’s not going to get past that overnight.” Once again, she saw that what she said wasn’t computing. It wasn’t common to see Sherlock perplexed, but she could see the deep lines between his eyes that he always got when he was trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. “What did you think was going to happen, Sherlock? That everyone would just go about their lives like it was nothing?”

The moment his eyes dropped she knew and tears instantly pricked her eyes.

“You thought everyone would just go about their lives like it was nothing,” she whispered. “Oh Sherlock. You brilliant, stupid fool. He took it so hard. Everyone did. Nothing was ever the same after you…after you died.”

Huhahhtschhhoo! hhAHHktschhhooo!

“Bless you again,” she said. Molly got up and stretched. “I need to get home and change before work. You going to be okay? Do you have cold medicine in the flat?”

“I’m sure there’s something,” he said, still looking confused.

“Call me if you start to feel worse or if you…you know…just want to talk.” She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. “Take some paracetamol; you’re a bit warm. Get some sleep and think about what I said, yeah?”

[cally]

I can't really be more prolific than that I am afraid.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Oh, Sherlock! *gently pets the prickly thing* And Molly, of course; I love the way you write her.

[VoOs]

Brilliant, stupid fool indeed. *small, cooing noises*

I love these. I have a soft spot for fics that continues/ties into actual scenes of a series. Also angst. Angst is good.

[AngelEyes]

Once again, she saw that what she said wasn’t computing. It wasn’t common to see Sherlock perplexed, but she could see the deep lines between his eyes that he always got when he was trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. “What did you think was going to happen, Sherlock? That everyone would just go about their lives like it was nothing?”

The moment his eyes dropped she knew and tears instantly pricked her eyes.

“You thought everyone would just go about their lives like it was nothing,” she whispered. “Oh Sherlock. You brilliant, stupid fool. He took it so hard. Everyone did. Nothing was ever the same after you…after you died.”

Yes. Exactly. People do love you, even if you don't understand that.

[rockblock706]

Matilda, thank you so much for writing this fics with Sherlock! I do enjoy other Sherlock fics, but they're mostly Greg and Mycroft fics but this is Sherlock!!! Great job working the sneezing into the plot!

[Zuki]

Awww! Poor Sherlock! He just cannot catch a break then, can he?

was the pun intentional?

Anyway, I've been haunting this thread for weeks, and thought I'd better sign in and say how awesome they are and I'm glad you write them! I can't get enough of poor Sherlock *sighs dreamily*

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Awww! Poor Sherlock! He just cannot catch a break then, can he?

was the pun intentional?

No, actually! But only because, at the time, we (the readers, I mean) didn't know he was sick.

[matilda3948]

I can't really be more prolific than that I am afraid.

That's when I know I've done a good job

Oh, Sherlock! *gently pets the prickly thing* And Molly, of course; I love the way you write her.

Sweet Molly! She's so marvelous and loyal (though I do love that she's growing a backbone).

Brilliant, stupid fool indeed. *small, cooing noises*

I love these. I have a soft spot for fics that continues/ties into actual scenes of a series. Also angst. Angst is good.

Angst! Yes, more angst!!

Once again, she saw that what she said wasn’t computing. It wasn’t common to see Sherlock perplexed, but she could see the deep lines between his eyes that he always got when he was trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. “What did you think was going to happen, Sherlock? That everyone would just go about their lives like it was nothing?”

The moment his eyes dropped she knew and tears instantly pricked her eyes.

“You thought everyone would just go about their lives like it was nothing,” she whispered. “Oh Sherlock. You brilliant, stupid fool. He took it so hard. Everyone did. Nothing was ever the same after you…after you died.”

Yes. Exactly. People do love you, even if you don't understand that.

Nothing confuses him more than love.

Matilda, thank you so much for writing this fics with Sherlock! I do enjoy other Sherlock fics, but they're mostly Greg and Mycroft fics but this is Sherlock!!! Great job working the sneezing into the plot!

We have such marvelous Greg and Mycroft writers. I kinda like working with the others

Awww! Poor Sherlock! He just cannot catch a break then, can he?

was the pun intentional?

Anyway, I've been haunting this thread for weeks, and thought I'd better sign in and say how awesome they are and I'm glad you write them! I can't get enough of poor Sherlock *sighs dreamily*

Thanks so much for commenting! It always makes me smile when I have comments.

Okay, so this is a direct continuation of the previous thread. More angst, more care-taking, more TEH-related content.

Prompts: Caught in the Act, Tears, Listless

Molly opened the front door and nearly ran into Greg Lestrade. He steadied her with a hand on each of her arms.

“Whoa. Hello Molly,” he said.

“Sorry.” She blushed and pulled away from him. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure he’s really back and that I haven’t just had a total mental breakdown,” he said. Molly bit her lip. Even though Greg’s tone was light she couldn’t help but feel guilty over the whole bloody mess.

“You haven’t gone crazy,” she said quietly. “He’s alive. Upstairs nursing a cold and a broken nose. John,” she added when the DI looked confused.

“Ah. Yes, I’m familiar with the conflicting desire to hug him and hit him,” he said. Molly could feel the words bubbling up and she said it before she could stop herself.

“I helped him, Greg.”

“I’m sure you did. I’ll pop up and have a look at him too. Try and get him to eat something and—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I mean before…on the roof of St. Barts. I helped him.” Her voice waivered and the color drained from Greg’s face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he absorbed another shock. Of course she’d helped him. He probably needed someone inside the hospital—of course it had been Molly. Greg wanted to be angry, wanted to be furious that she’d lied, but then he remembered how unwell she’d been in the months after Sherlock’s death. Molly had been depressed, anxious, frequently ill. He remembered going to her flat one day about five months after the funeral. She hadn’t shown up to work for two days and wasn’t answering her phone. He’d never seen someone cry as hard as she had that day and she seemed to apologize with every other breath. He thought she was apologizing for being so upset; now he knew better. Greg had chalked it all up to grief. His anger was suddenly replaced with a wave of sympathy thinking about how much she suffered keeping that secret to herself. He opened his eyes and saw her standing there with tears in her eyes expecting an angry tirade. Molly gasped when he suddenly pulled her into a crushing hug.

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know that?” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “It killed me but I couldn’t tell you. You have every right to be angry.”

“Hard to be angry when you helped save his life,” Greg said. Molly pulled out of the hug and wiped her eyes. She gave him an unsure smile and he placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know what magic you worked to keep him alive, but thank you.”

Suddenly a loud sneeze echoed down the stairwell, followed by breaking glass, and a nasty coughing fit.

“Well, that sounds like my cue,” Greg said as he began climbing the stairs. Molly smiled and stepped out into the cold morning air.

hahh Ahhngtssshhh! HaahhNktsschhooo!

“Bless you,” Greg said, coming into the flat. Sherlock lifted his head from the bend of his arm and scowled. It was hard to look threatening with two bruised eyes and a red, irritated nose.

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure this was real—that you were real.”

“Yes, well you can see now that I ab so you cad be od your way.” Sherlock snatched up a tissue as though it had personally insulted him and blew his nose. He hissed in pain; his nose was still incredibly sensitive thanks to John’s welcome home present. Greg hung up his coat and walked over to Sherlock. He tipped his head towards him and assessed the younger man.

“You look okay for a dead man,” he said. “Bit peaky and thin,” he added. Sherlock remained silent, save for a single sniffle. “Why don’t you go sit and I’ll make you some tea?” Greg patted him on the back and Sherlock immediately gasped in pain. “Whoa. Sorry. What did I do?” Sherlock shook his head, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line. “What hurts?” Greg asked. It took a moment before Sherlock opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked away from the very concerned face of the silver haired man and gingerly sat down on the edge of the sofa.

“Didn’t you say something about tea?” he asked.

“Right. Tea.”

Greg went into the kitchen and soon saw what the breaking glass was from earlier. A shattered mug was still laying in pieces on the kitchen floor. After he switched the kettle on, he swept up the mess. He fixed them both a cup of tea, sweetened Sherlock’s the way he liked it, and came into the living room to find Sherlock twisted around, with his shirt raised slightly, trying to look at something on his own back. He hadn’t heard Greg come in (which was odd) and looked embarrassed when he found he’d been caught in the act of examining himself.

“Might as well save us both the hassle of you lying about being hurt and just let me take a look,” Greg said.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Your body language says otherwise.” It was true. Sherlock’s movements were stiff and hesitant. He didn’t even turn his body away from Greg when he had to sneeze.

heh ahh HahhNGSHHoo! hhNgsschhhoo!

“Bless you. Here,” Greg pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and Sherlock gingerly pressed the cloth to his nose, sniffling wetly. “Your head must be killing you,” Greg said. “Broken nose is miserable enough without a cold. Have you taken anything?”

“I have some pills in my room.” He took a sip of tea and sighed as the warm sweet liquid eased down his raw throat.

“I’ll get them,” Greg said already walking down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom. He found a small vanity case sitting on the dresser and unzipped it. Inside Greg found a number of different prescription pills. His worry increased with each label he read. Pain pills, anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, sleeping pills, and several topical treatments as well. He gathered everything up and returned to the living room, a dense feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Greg put all the medications down on the coffee table and then sat down next to Sherlock. “Tell me,” the DI said quietly. Sherlock sighed deeply and rubbed his aching head.

“There was work to do,” he said. “It took time and it was…messy on occasion.”

“You were hurt?” Greg asked. Sherlock huffed a sarcastic laugh but he didn’t answer. “You’re still hurting now.” This time it wasn’t a question. Sherlock wanted to deny it, even felt the words on the tip of his tongue when he felt his nose begin to tickle again. He sighed and applied as much pressure as he dared to the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help though and he cupped his hands in front of his face.

huhAhhTSChhooo! hhNGTsschhhooo!

“Bless you.”

Sherlock nodded, but his nose was so full he couldn’t answer and was forced to blow his nose causing pain to spike through his skull. Greg opened the prescription pain pills and fished one out. He didn’t say anything about the tremor in Sherlock’s hand as he took the pill and downed it with a mouthful of tea. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands with a tired sigh. Greg looked at him and saw something on the back of Sherlock’s neck that made his stomach churn. He was just able to make out a bandage peeking out from under the collar of Sherlock’s shirt.

“Let me look at your back, Sherlock.”

“Go home, Lestrade.” He didn’t raise his head and there was a weariness to his voice that Greg hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

“Come on. I know you’re hurt. Let me take a look.”

Slowly Sherlock sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. He looked up at Greg one last time as if to confirm that this was truly what the man wanted. Greg gave him an encouraging nod, but before taking his shirt off, Sherlock turned completely around so he wouldn’t see Greg’s face.

Greg felt a wave of nausea hit him when the fabric finally fell away and revealed Sherlock’s tortured back. His skin was stitched together in at least fifteen different places. Other, deeper wounds were covered with gauze. These injuries were fresh—no more than a week old. It took him a moment to find his voice.

“When did—where?”

“Serbia. Mycroft pulled me out six days ago.” His voice was flat and dull.

“Christ, Sherlock. I’m so sorry.” Greg couldn’t tear his eyes away from the grotesque scene in front of him. “You’ve seen a doctor?”

“Mycroft’s people.”

“You’ve pulled some of these stitches.”

“My reunion with John,” he said quietly. He shivered, then sneezed suddenly.

huhahhKTsschhhoo! hhngtschhhOO!

“Bless you.” Greg shook off the shock and cleared his throat. “Lay down and let me take care of some of these.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sherlock, I know you’re supposed to be putting these ointments on those scars and changing the dressing a couple times a day. How exactly are you going to do that by yourself?”

hhAhhNKTschhhoo! hahNGTSSHHooo!

“Bless you.”

“There’s gauze in the bathroom,” Sherlock said.

When Greg came back in he found Sherlock laying face-down on the sofa, his eyes closed but clearly not asleep.

“Tell me if you need a break, okay?” Greg said as he sat down on the edge of the sofa. First, he gently removed the bandages covering the worst of the cuts. He bit back a curse as he realized it was likely a whip that had torn up Sherlock’s back so badly. He had a dozen questions but didn’t say a word as he read the directions on the topical medications and began the slow and painful work of cleaning Sherlock’s many wounds. On occasion Sherlock would flinch or twitch, but he was resolutely silent. The quiet of the room was stifling and finally Greg asked the one question he couldn’t stop. “Are they dead?” he said in a near-whisper.

“All of them.”

“Good.”

“Wait,” Sherlock said just as Greg was getting ready to start back up again. Recognizing the look on the younger man’s face, Greg reached behind him and snagged the box of tissues. Sherlock plucked a couple from the box and brought them to his nose.

hhAHHNGSSHHoo! hehhNGSHHoo! heh Ahh…huh AHHNTsschhooo!

“Bless you, Sherlock.”

Greg smoothed antibiotic ointment and a numbing cream over each and every cut. Then he bandaged the deepest cuts and stood up to go wash his hands. He splashed some cool water on his face for good measure. When he came back he found Sherlock still lying there looking listless and weary. It looked like it took nearly every last ounce of energy he had to turn his head and cough into his pillow. Greg pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa and carefully draped it over Sherlock’s body before sitting down on the floor near Sherlock’s head. He smoothed the young man’s hair back and could feel how warm his forehead was.

“You need to sleep,” Greg said.

“I know.” He still seemed to be fighting to keep his eyes open though, dragging his eyelids open and refocussing on Greg’s face.

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Greg said quietly.

“Done what?”

“You crash on a sofa while I look after you. It’s been a long time.” He could watch Sherlock drifting off as he spoke, so he just kept up a one-sided conversation. “Remember that time you showed up at my house on my anniversary, strung out on who knows what and sick as a dog? And I was drunk because my wife wasn’t answering my calls and we ate a cold dinner sitting on my living room floor. You were burning up and when I finally came to my senses you slept on my sofa for nearly 24 hours straight. I spent a good part of that night just like this.” He was certain Sherlock was asleep; if he wasn’t Greg probably would have left that last part out. But those wide blue eyes opened with tremendous effort.

“Not a dream, right?” Sherlock whispered.

“Nope. Not a dream. You’re home.”

[Zuki]

Ugh, my heart.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Ohhhhhh. Darn it, Sherlock! I know it's partly because you're you, but how can someone who sees everything so clearly be so blind as to how your friends see you?!

[mystic-chibi]

What a touching piece! I particularly loved the bit with Molly and Greg. You never do see much of their relationship.

[Seniorstatus14]

Awww my heart! That was so amazing and sweet! I absolutely adore this story line! Please let John forgive Sherlock

[VoOs]

I just want to wrap him in my arms and hold him.

(So much delicious angst. Thank you for sharing this. )

[ID2006]

I so hope you write a piece where John sees the wounds as well. Gah I'm a sucker for angst and sick Sherlock and caretaking.

[SneezyRae]

Just been catching up. Poor miserable Sherlock. He needs his John to come and take care of him but then Mary is likely to be a bit bitchy about that

[AngelEyes]

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know that?” he said.

Never a truer statement. I like to think that occasionally, briefly, this occurs to him.

“Go home, Lestrade.” He didn’t raise his head and there was a weariness to his voice that Greg hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

Always pushing away those who care about you, afraid if you hope they'll stay they actually won't and you'll be disappointed? Expressed perfectly here!

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Greg said quietly.

“Done what?”

“You crash on a sofa while I look after you. It’s been a long time.” He could watch Sherlock drifting off as he spoke, so he just kept up a one-sided conversation. “Remember that time you showed up at my house on my anniversary, strung out on who knows what and sick as a dog? And I was drunk because my wife wasn’t answering my calls and we ate a cold dinner sitting on my living room floor. You were burning up and when I finally came to my senses you slept on my sofa for nearly 24 hours straight. I spent a good part of that night just like this.” He was certain Sherlock was asleep; if he wasn’t Greg probably would have left that last part out. But those wide blue eyes opened with tremendous effort.

“Not a dream, right?” Sherlock whispered.

“Nope. Not a dream. You’re home.”

This is so lovely and sentimental and beautiful and perfect.

[cally]

Oh Sherlock.

[matilda3948]

The wonderfully talented bangbang wrote a fantastic piece with Molly and Mycroft and it got me thinking about how these characters would interact with each other. So this is the beginning of a set of drabbles that will put the sweetest and prickliest Sherlock characters together for a bit Hope you like!

Prompts: Lonely, Rest

Ahh AhhehhTsschheew! Molly sniffled miserably and grabbed another tissue from the box on her desk. She blew her nose and winced at how tender the skin around her nose had become. She felt horrible—a head cold that had been dragging on for nearly a week and showed no sign of letting up any time soon. She put her head in her hands and felt a wave of sadness wash over her. It had been eight months since Sherlock had “died” and Molly had been struggling ever since. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so lonely. The weight of the secret she carried driving her back to the antidepressants and anxiety medications she thought she’d left behind many years ago. She couldn’t bear to watch John and Greg grieve the loss of their friend; the guilt was overwhelming and so she pulled away from the very people she was trying to protect.

AhhSCHHeew!

She groaned and rubbed her throat, grabbing a lozenge from her desk drawer as her mobile chirped.

Black sedan at the loading docks. –MH

Her heart jumped into her throat as she read Mycroft’s message. He hadn’t contacted her since Sherlock’s death. What could have happened to make him reach out to her now? Molly tried not to panic as she threw on her coat, grabbed her purse, and rushed out of the morgue. As promised, a black car was waiting at the loading docks of the hospital. Anthea got out and held the door open for Molly, slipping in beside her as the car pulled out into traffic.

“What’s happened?” Molly asked. Anthea raised an eyebrow as she took in the young woman’s appearance. She almost felt sorry for Doctor Hooper. She was obviously ill, anxious, and in desperate need of a long, uninterrupted rest—her employer was right to bring her in.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any news on the younger Mister Holmes,” Anthea said.

“So what does Mycroft want?”

“You’ll need to ask him yourself.”

Molly huffed. She didn’t dislike Anthea, but she felt like the mysterious woman wasn’t telling her everything. The whole thing made her head throb. Molly resisted the urge to rest her head against the cool window. She would have if Anthea hadn’t been sitting next to her. A tickle in her sinuses threatened to erupt in a sneezing fit and in her rush to leave the office she’d forgotten to bring any tissues. Molly pressed her index finger against her tender nostrils and sniffed quietly. Unfortunately it didn’t help and she was forced to stifle a violent set of sneezes by pinching her nose.

ahhngtxs! Ngxts! hhNXKTss!

“God bless you,” Anthea said.

“Sorry. Bit under the weather.”

“I know. Here.” Anthea had dug a travel pack of tissues from her briefcase. Molly gave her a small grateful smile and brought a tissue to her nose.

“Thaahh Ahh thank you,” she managed before sneezing. AhhNTsshheew!

“Bless you, Doctor Hooper.” A moment later the car stopped. “We’re here,” Anthea said. Molly looked out the window and saw an opulent two-story townhouse to her left.

“Thanks for the ride, I suppose,” Molly said.

“Good luck.”

[cally]

Ooooh. Here's a pairing I never, ever thought of! Anthea and Molly= absolute brilliance.

[AngelEyes]

Poor Molly. Needs hugs. And what is Mycroft up to???

[Wildwood]

Ohh Mycroft. Ever the mysterious man behind the curtain. (Or should I say under the umbrella?)

I love love love your drabbles, Matilda!

[matilda3948]

YAY!!! I'm so glad you guys liked this pairing. They're tricky to write, but really fun and I always like writing "missing scenes" from actual episodes (or the gaps between episodes). Okay, so here's the wrap-up.

Prompts: Gratitude, Office, Polite

Molly paused at the front door, straightened her jacket, and squared her shoulders. She found Mycroft Holmes intimidating when she was at her best…and she was a far cry from her best. She cleared her sore throat and rang the bell, a bit surprised when Mycroft opened the door himself; she always assumed he had people to do that sort of thing for him.

“Good evening, Doctor Hooper,” he said, holding the door open. “Please come in. I appreciate you coming to see me on such short notice.”

“Was it optional?”

“Not really, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Why don’t we go into my office?”

Molly suspected this was another (not really) optional suggestion and followed him down the hallway. His house was warm, both in tone and temperature and Molly could feel her nose beginning to run after her brief stint outside. She reached into her pocket and pulled one of the remaining tissues from the pack Anthea had given her and wiped her nose. It was a poor substitute for what she really wanted to do—blow her nose over and over until she could breathe through her nose…preferably from the comfort of her own bed…in her warmest pajamas. She was so preoccupied that she nearly walked into Mycroft’s back when he stopped to open the door to his office.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, hating the way she blushed under those intense eyes.

“Please come in.” He walked into the office and sat down behind his desk. Molly followed along and sat down in a chair across from him. Mycroft folded his hands on the desk in front of him and seemed in no rush to speak first.

“Is Sherlock okay?” she blurted out.

“I believe so.”

“What does that mean?” Her patience was wearing thin—her limbs heavy, head aching and her nose beginning to itch once again.

“It means that when he last checked in, he was fine. That’s been several weeks, but I have no reason to think that he is trouble.” Molly felt her stomach twist with worry.

“Several weeks? Isn’t that a bit long to not hear from him? You’re not worried?” She sniffled and reached in her coat pocket, grabbing the tissue she knew she was going to need any moment now.

“I would like to answer your questions one at a time if I may.” He stood and picked up a silver tray with a teapot and cups before returning to his desk. He poured a cup for himself then glanced at her. “Tea?” he asked.

“No thank you.”

“Come now, Doctor Hooper. I believe this is your favorite.” In fact, he’d already begun to pour her a cup, adding a spoon of honey from the small silver jar that matched the rest of his tea service. Molly couldn’t hold out any longer and turned as far from Mycroft as possible, drawing one of the last tissues from her pocket.

AhNGTX! hhXKTs!

“God bless you,” Mycroft said, sliding her tea over to her.

“Thags. Sorry.” She sniffled as much as she dared, suddenly very aware of how quiet Mycroft’s study was.

“To answer your earlier questions,” he said, “Yes, it has been three weeks since I’ve last heard from my dear little brother. No, that is not unusual. He communicates every 4 – 6 weeks depending on his availability.” He paused when it was obvious that Molly was going to sneeze again.

ahhNGTss! hhNXKTss!

“God bless you again, Doctor Hooper. As to your final question, I am concerned but not about Sherlock.” Molly lowered the tissue from her reddened nose and looked at him. Mycroft took a sip of tea before continuing. “Sherlock’s success depends on the integrity of the story and the story is only as strong as its weakest link.”

“And you think I’m the weak link?” Raising her voice made her cough, clawing at her throat until her eyes watered. God, she felt awful. And angry. “I have been doing everything I was supposed to do. I am not a weak link!”

“My apologies,” Mycroft said. “All I meant was that you’ve been thrust into a situation better suited for people who are calculating, ruthless, and cold and you are none of those things, Doctor Hooper.” It almost felt like a compliment and Molly almost let her anger dissolve if it wasn’t for what he said next. “You’re obviously struggling. Your work at St. Bartholomew’s is suffering. Your supervisor called you in just last week to discuss it.”

“What did you do? Hack the security cameras at the hospital?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Mycroft said. “I have people who do that work for me. I also know you’ve had to resume seeing you psychiatrist after your anxiety disorder resurfaced.” That was the final straw. Molly jumped to her feet and did her best to storm out of the room. Her head swam and spots danced in front of her eyes and she was forced to grab the back of her chair to steady herself. Mycroft was at her side in an instant and eased her back down. He placed a hand on her forehead and frowned. He knew she likely had a fever but he hadn’t realized it was so high. “I was trying to be polite and not mention the fact that you’re miserably ill, but I see now that may have been a mistake. Please stay here for a moment. I’ll get you some water.”

Molly put her head in her hands and waited for the world to stop spinning. The pressure in her sinuses was nearly unbearable and she was almost relieved for the opportunity to sneeze without Mycroft in the room so she wouldn’t need to stifle.

heh AhhTSCHHeew! hhKtsschhheew! hah AhhNGSHHeew! ahh Ahh…ahhSNTCHHeew!

“God bless you.” Mycroft came in at the tail end of her fit and put a cold glass of water down on the desk in front of her and then placed two white tablets and a clean, pressed handkerchief next to it. “Ibuprofen to help with your fever.” Molly downed the pills and drank most of the water before she answered.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Mycroft sat in a chair next to her instead of across the desk and loosened his impeccable Windsor knot.

“My intent was not to make you angry. Nor was it my intent to invade your privacy, believe it or not,” he said. “You should never have been put in the position that you’re in, Doctor Hooper. While you have my immense gratitude, I’ve been concerned about the damage that holding this secret might cause you.”

AhhNGTK! hhngtss! ahhNXTshh!

“God bless you. There’s no need to stifle your sneezes like that—your head must be splitting.” He was right of course and Molly was rapidly growing too tired to care. She took the handkerchief and gave her nose a gentle blow. It certainly felt softer on her battered nose than the tissues she’d been using all week. “Have you seen a doctor?” Mycroft asked.

“I am a doctor.”

“You work with the dead.”

“And the nearly dead,” she said.

“Touché.”

“Mycroft, why did you ask me here tonight?” She shifted in her chair so she could look him in the eye.

“I wanted to assess how you were handling the pressure and offer any assistance that I could. I thought it might be…pleasant to have a cup of tea with someone that you didn’t have to lie to—someone else that knows how lonely it can be to know the skeletons in the closet.”

Molly sighed and rubbed her forehead. Her thoughts were fuzzy and she was nearly asleep sitting up, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the elder Holmes.

“You could have just said that, you know.”

“Yes, well this is one of very few areas where I am not an expert,” he said, shifting in his chair. “God bless you, dear,” he added as Molly’s face scrunched up and she grabbed for the handkerchief.

AhhMNTchhew! hhmntsschheew! ahh AhhNGTsschheew!

The last sneeze immediately dissolved into a harsh cough. She wished she’d remembered to grab her cough drops when she left the office—the pain in her throat spiked every time she coughed like this.

“Here. Take a sip when you’re able.” Mycroft’s voice registered and she opened her eyes to see him holding out the glass of water he’d brought her earlier. Molly was surprised to also feel his hand resting between her shoulder blades and a distinctly worried frown on his face.

“Sorry,” she finally rasped.

“No need to apologize. You’re ill and I’ve kept you here too long. Allow me to have a car take you home.” She reached out and grabbed his arm before he had a chance to get up.

“Mycroft?” Despite her feverish, red-rimmed eyes, there was a sincerity that stopped him cold. “I will never do anything that will endanger Sherlock. No matter what happens or how bad things are for me, I will not be the weak link.”

“I know that,” he said.

“And when I don’t feel so completely wretched maybe we could meet for tea on occasion. You’re right—might be nice to share the burden for a bit.”

“Consider it a standing invitation, Doctor Hooper.”

“You have to ca—Ahh…hahh call me Molly…” AhhNTsshheew! hahNGSHHeew! Ktsscheew! AHHNKTSHHHeew!

“God bless you, Molly.”

[coldcure08]

I logged in at exactly the right time it seems! YAY for MYCROLLY! It was super cute and a wonderful conclusion. Thank you!

[cally]

“Don’t be absurd,” Mycroft said. “I have people who do that work for me

I laughed SO hard at this you don't even know. I have coffee all over my pyjamas now.

“God bless you. There’s no need to stifle your sneezes like that—your head must be splitting.”

Pot, kettle, black. See how you feel the next time someone points that out to you, Mycroft Holmes.

This, this was such a wonderful little drabble. I loved the interactions and the story. Totally plausible as well, and would obviously have fit right in into a mini-sode somewhere.