Matilda's Drabble Thread II (Sherlock)

[cally]

Irene watched his face contort with the teasing itch. Hehh…Huhh Finally she had mercy on him and ran her fingernail across the bridge of his nose. Hehh huhhITSSCHHHooo! She kissed his temple.

“Bless you, my poor sneezy Sherlock.”

Holy hell, Matilda!

Yeah, I'm done. /faints

[matilda3948]

Holy hell, Matilda!

Yeah, I'm done. /faints

Thanks There will be more fetishy Irene in the future but, tonight it's all about a sick John Watson.

#57 Flu

John rubbed his nose in his sleep and rolled over in “his” bed. He’d come back to Baker Street temporarily to clear his head after Mary’s…revelation. He didn’t even have to ask; just showed up one day and found that his old bedroom was ready for him, complete with clean sheets on the bed—a task likely suggested by Sherlock and carried out by Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock sat in the chair by John’s bedside and watched his friend toss and turn in a restless sleep. It was nearly 4am and John would be due for medication soon. A few days ago they thought he had a cold when he started sneezing and sniffling like mad, but when he spiked a fever that night it was clear John had the flu. The chills and aches soon followed and John had gone to bed early. Unfortunately as soon as the medicine wore off, his fever rose, and he woke up freezing and uncomfortable.

Sherlock was in his “thinking pose,” fingertips together, resting at his lips. Right on schedule, John began to wake up, clearing his throat several times and finally breaking out into a full cough.

“Water’s next to your bed,” Sherlock said. John took a couple slow sips and sat up in the bed. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained and weak,

“How long have you been sitting there?” Sherlock shrugged.

“A while. It’s 4 in the morning. You need more paracetamol before your temperature elevates any further.”

“Why aren’t you sleep ehh hehh…sleeping?” Hehhtsschhooo! hhhntsshhchhooo! John grabbed some tissues from the box on the bedside table.

“Sleep is boring,” Sherlock said.

“Ad watching be isn’t?” John asked from behind a fistful of tissues.

#91 Chill

Rather than answer, Sherlock opened the bottle of pain relievers and shook out two for John. As soon as he swallowed them he scrambled for the tissues again.

HehhMFSSHHooo! HehMFNCHHHooo! He struggled to blow his nose before sneezing again. Hehh hhhN’Mphhshhhoo! HehhSCHHooo! John groaned and began to blow his nose again. When he opened his eyes he found Sherlock sitting in the chair, eyes closed, deep in thought.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Shut up. Mind Palace.” John was too tired and too ill to question what information Sherlock was trying to access in the middle of the night. He settled for getting up and grabbing another blanket to try and keep the chills at bay.

January 22^nd. He’d been terribly ill—sore throat, sneezing, congestion, fever. What had John done? Sherlock scrolled through images and scenes from that week. Water. He had that. Tea. He could make tea. No, wait. It was the middle of the night. What did John do to make him feel better at night? Medicine. Already did that. He reviewed scenes of John pressing a cool compress to his forehead, rubbing his sore shoulders and neck. That wasn’t it though. What was it John had done that finally put him at ease when he felt so terrible? His eyes opened suddenly. That was it.

#48 Tissues

“Figure out…whatever it was you were trying to figure out?” John asked, getting back into bed with a sigh.

“Of course,” Sherlock said and promptly left the bedroom. John shrugged and propped another pillow behind his head, hoping to fall back to sleep as soon as the medicine kicked in again. In the meantime, he was shivering and sniffling and generally feeling miserable.

Hehhn’tschhooo! hehhktsshhooo! Hehh’AHHSNSSCHHOOO! John sneezed violently.

“Bless you,” Sherlock said, coming back into the bedroom. John nodded his thanks, already feeling another set of sneezes approaching.

hehh…hehuhhh…HehhNTsschhoo! HehAHHSNGsshhooo!

“Bless you, John.”

“Thag you.” John shot him a questioning glance as Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed. He put the box of tissues on the bed next to John and then placed a cool, damp towel across his warm forehead. Even though he knew it would help lower his fever, it chilled him even further. Sherlock put his legs up on the bed and positioned himself so his shoulders were about level with John’s head. He made sure the blankets were spread out over his friend and then he slowly began to run his fingers through the sick man’s short hair. John lifted his eyes in question. “Who are you ad what have you done with Sherlock Holmbes?”

Though he rolled his eyes, Sherlock suddenly doubted himself.

“You did this for me last January when I was ill. It eased my discomfort immensely and I thought…but I can stop.”

“No. Feels good. I just…”

“I know. Get some sleep, John.”

It didn’t take long for John to fall asleep, but when Sherlock felt him shiver again, he slid down in the bed and very slowly draped his arm across John, ready to jump back if he showed any sign of waking up. But John sighed and seemed to settle into a deeper sleep. Sherlock reached over with his other hand and felt John’s forehead. Satisfied that the fever was easing, he let himself close his eyes for a few hour’s rest.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Awww!!! *melts*

I think we need a "melting into a puddle of goo" smiley. Seriously.

[cally]

Thanks There will be more fetishy Irene in the future but, tonight it's all about a sick John Watson.

That's the theme of the week. Great minds think alike.

Oh, poor John. Those sneezes sound just terrible.

[ID2006]

Yay, possibly my favorite theme at the moment, sick John and caring Sherlock.

[sadie22233]

omgggg so cute!

[matilda3948]

Yay, possibly my favorite theme at the moment, sick John and caring Sherlock.

Mmm...good stuff, right?

This has more HLV spoilers (in case there's anyone who hasn't seen that episode about a dozen times already).

#99 Smother

Almost four hours exactly since he took his last dose of medicine and John began to stir. Light was filtering through the curtains but he felt as tired as if he'd just gone to bed. Gradually it dawned on John that he was not alone. A long, thin arm was draped across his shoulder, pale fingers splayed out against his chest in a protective manner. Bits and pieces of the previous night came back to him. Sherlock going to his Mind Palace to find a suitable way to make John feel better, repeating actions that he'd found comforting despite how anxious they made Sherlock. No doubt, there was little that the high-functioning sociopath wouldn't do for him...and that was one of the many things that had been spinning around in John's mind until illness forced him slow down.

Speaking of illness, John was going to have to sneeze. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, then felt his breathing start to hitch. The box of tissues was just out of his reach.

"Sheehhh hehh Sherlock?" But his friend remained soundly asleep. John was just about to toss his friend's arm off of him, when the tickle became overwhelming and he quickly turned his face into his pillow in an attempt to smother the messy sneezes. By the second one Sherlock was awake, sitting upright, and then reached over John's body to grab the tissues for him.

hhhMFSSSHHHHH! huhh hehNMFsschhooo! HuhhEHHMFSSHH! John drug a tissue under his nose and groaned.

“Ugh. God.”

“Bless you,” Sherlock said. He got up and straightened his rumpled clothes. “Tea?”

“Lovely, thag you. I’ll—” John held up a finger and grabbed another several tissues. HehuhhNMFsschh! ehhhFMSCHHooo! He blew his nose and sniffed a couple times to make sure he was done sneezing. “I’ll cobe downstairs in a few minutes. I’b going to take a shower first, try ad clear by head a bit.”

#86 Shower

John stood underneath the showerhead and let the hot water beat down on his achy muscles. He could tell he still had a fever and it wouldn’t be long before his energy disappeared again. As the steam began to loosen the congestion clogging his sinuses, John rested his forehead against the shower wall and let the sneezes build.

Sherlock heard nine sneezes come from upstairs as he made tea—ten if he counted a double that was so rapid they were basically on top of one another. He put the tea on the table by the sofa and picked up his violin. No. John has a headache—no violin. His cell phone vibrated and he checked his message.

Fancy coming out to look at a corpse with both his thumbs cut off? –Lestrade.

Sherlock smiled at the prospect of an oddly mangled body but heard John coughing as he came downstairs.

Can’t. Busy. –SH

#45 Temperature

John looked like he barely had the strength to make it to the sofa. His face was white, except for a high flush on his cheeks and some red, raw skin around his nose.

“Your temperature is up again,” Sherlock said, handing John his tea.

“Took some more medicine before I came downstairs,” John said, his voice deep and gravely but slightly less congested. “Thank you for looking after me last night.” Sherlock waived a hand in dismissal.

“You’ve certainly done it for me.” Sherlock watched John drink his tea. Even sick, something was troubling John. Normally he’d try and deduce the answer, but John didn’t look well enough to withstand an interrogation. “John, why don’t you just ask me what it is you want to know,” Sherlock said. John raised his eye. Hmm, this is serious, Sherlock thought.

“Mary,” he said. “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Sherlock asked.

“Did you know…what she was?” John shook his head and tried again. “When did you know what she was? Before we got married?”

“I had no idea until the night she shot me,” Sherlock said. John huffed and then immediately began to cough. He took a sip of tea and pressed on.

“You always know, Sherlock. Always.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You’re Sherlock Holmes. You know everything about a person minutes after meeting them. How could you not…hehh…ehhuhh..not know?” HehhTsschhoo! ehhuhhSNCHHoooo!

“Bless you. Here.” Sherlock handed him a handkerchief and waited until John had blown his nose.

“How did you dot kndow?” There was an urgency in John’s voice that made Sherlock very uncomfortable. He stood up and paced the living room.

“I didn’t know Mary was lying. I swear to you. It was partially because she was that good,” Sherlock said. John dropped his head and rubbed his aching head. “The other part of it,” Sherlock added, forcing himself to sit back down, “was because I truly believe she’d intended to leave that part of her life behind. I didn’t detect deception because she didn’t believe she was lying. She appeared genuine because she was genuine—in her new life, her career, and…and her love for you.” John leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You need to be healthy before you try and do anything. Elevated body temperature and disrupted sleep patterns impede upper level cognitive function. Decongestants have been shown to slow problem solving and reasoning skills to—”

“Got it,” John said, bringing the handkerchief to his red nose again. HehhNTSCHHoo! HehhAHHKTSSHHHooo! hehh huhh…HehhUHNNTSCHHHooo!

“Bless—”

HehhTSSCHH! hhNTSCHHooo! hehhuhh…HehhAHHNGSSHHHHooo!!

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John nodded.

“Bless you.”

[Spoo]

ANGST!! God, that was a really good one, Matilda. Really enjoyed their dialogue (and John's sneezes! ).

“I didn’t know Mary was lying. I swear to you. It was partially because she was that good,” Sherlock said. John dropped his head and rubbed his aching head. “The other part of it,” Sherlock added, forcing himself to sit back down, “was because I truly believe she’d intended to leave that part of her life behind. I didn’t detect deception because she didn’t believe she was lying. She appeared genuine because she was genuine—in her new life, her career, and…and her love for you.”

Loved that bit. Ughhhh.

[ID2006]

Words cannot adequately describe my feelings for this fic

[cally]

Oh the angst! And John, the poor lamb.

[matilda3948]

Thanks all

Just some random drabbles tonight.

#79 Head cold

Of course the first time he comes by the morgue in weeks was when she was in the throes of an absolutely miserable head cold. Sherlock tossed his coat down and immediately sat down in front of his favorite microscope. He glanced at the pathologist, eyes narrowing, but declined to say anything.

“Coffee?” Molly asked.

“I’ll get it myself. I’d prefer you not touch anything that’s coming remotely near my mouth given your current ill health.”

“Right. Sorry,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Do you want any?” he asked, standing.

“Any what?”

“Coffee,” he huffed. “Or tea, perhaps.”

“Oh! Yeah, tea would be lovely. Thanks.” As soon as Sherlock left the lab, Molly hurried to grab some tissues and blow her nose—she’d be mortified to do so in

front of him. The only thing worse would be sneezing. “Oh hell,” she mumbled. She was definitely going to sneeze. Molly pulled three tissues from the box on her desk and rubbed her nose in them. Hehh Ahhh Her nose wrinkled and twitched hahhihh…Hihh Molly’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips parted as the tickle slowly but steadily grew more intense until, finally, ahhhihhhTSSHHHeew! ahh’tishhhEEEW! She snapped forward with the force of the sneezes, gasped, and was immediately hit with two more: hahhIHHHtssschhheew! AhhhtihhssschhhEEEW!

#97 Honey

“Bless you, Molly,” came the familiar deep baritone.

“I’b sorry,” she whispered, her throat raw from the unforgiving sneezes.

“Drink this,” Sherlock said, handing her a paper cup of hot tea. She took a couple small sips and smiled.

“Honey?”

“Helps soothe sore throats and inhibits bacterial growth. There’s lemon as well; thins the mucous.”

hehh heh HehhIHH’ktsschhheeew! Molly doubled over with a violent, messy sneeze.

“Which sounds like it would be particularly helpful for you,” Sherlock added. She wiped her nose roughly in the tissues and then picked up her tea again.

“Thanks for this,” she said.

“Does St. Bartholomew’s not allow for sick days?” he asked.

“Already took three. This is my first day back since Friday.”

“You’re obviously still ill,” he said, taking a couple steps towards her.

“It’s better than I’ve felt in almost a week.”

“This is better?” he asked, waiving a hand in her general direction. “You’re practically dripping.” He pressed a hand to her forehead. “Mild fever, inflamed larynx based on your speech, hypersensitive—”

hehhahhhktsschhhEEEW!

“hypersensitive nasal passages. Bless you, by the way.”

“Thag you.” She turned her head and gently blew her nose. Sherlock grimaced and continued,

“Substantial mucous production.” He pressed his long pale fingers against her forehead and noted how she flinched. “Likely the start of a sinus infection. I can ask John to call in some antibiotics.”

“I work at a hospital,” she said.

“He won’t mind,” Sherlock said, already mid-text.

#46 Terrible

Greg knew Mycroft had terrible hay fever, but he hadn’t yet personally witnessed what the onset of spring did to his lover. All it took was four consecutive warm days and the trees began to green. Mycroft had been in his home office working for at least two hours before Greg even got out of bed. He grabbed a cup of coffee and wandered into Mycroft’s office.

“You know, it’s supposed to be our day off and you’re in here—” He abruptly stopped when He caught sight of Mycroft. He had a handkerchief inches from his face and was stuck on the verge of sneezing. His breath was coming in rapid gasps. Greg immediately frowned with concern. “You alright?” Mycroft nodded.

“Eehhh excuse me…” He turned his chair and sneezed. hhhntschh! Ktschh! Tschh! KTssshh! hhhsschhew!

“Bless you,” Greg said, but Mycroft shook his head, never lowering the handkerchief. A few seconds later and he launched into another fit of rapid, ticklish sneezes. Hihhtschh! tschhoo! hhhksshhoo! hehhSSHHoo! TSCHHOOO!

“Christ, bless you Mycroft!”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, giving his nose a quick blow before turning back around. Greg finally got a good look at him and he was not happy with what he saw. Mycroft’s eyes were red and glassy, always on the verge of tearing up, his nose was pink around the edges—clearly this was not the first sneezing fit he’d suffered that morning.

“You weren’t kidding when you said your hay fever was terrible,” Greg said.

#84 Polite

Mycroft dabbed his nose with the handkerchief.

“No need to look so worried, Gregory. I assure you I am quite used to it after all these years.”

“What can I do?” he asked, reaching down and massaging Mycroft’s shoulders.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to do be done,” he said with a watery sniffle, prompting a cringe of disgust. “I apologize. I am quite…repulsive at the moment.” Greg stifled a laugh.

“You are no such thing, I promise.” He kissed the top of Mycroft’s head and immediately felt his shoulders tense. Greg was afraid he’d crossed a boundary, but he quickly realized Mycroft simply had to sneeze…again. hhhNTschh! Tsshhoo! KTSCHHOOO!

“Bless you.”

hehhtsshhh! Tsschhooo! KSSCHHHoo!

“And again.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Mycroft said.

“Always so polite. No need to stand on ceremony with me,” Greg said. “Why not lay down for a bit?”

“Out of the question,” Mycroft said.

“I’d be coming with you, of course,” Greg said with a grin. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that.

“Well in that case.”

[cally]

*snuggles your drabbles tight*

[Spoo]

No need to look so worried, Gregory. I assure you I am quite used to it after all these years.”

“What can I do?” he asked, reaching down and massaging Mycroft’s shoulders.

OhmyGod shoulder massages I can't even.

That is like THE SWEETEST thing. Ughhhhghghg. I love it when these two are adorably domestic with each other - especially when it applies to some sort of [cold/allergies] comforting. And awww! Greg being afraid he crossed some kind of boundary. Poor baby! You have to worry about those things when you're dating someone like Mycroft. Guhhhh.

I'm so insanely happy that Mystrade has become a regular thing on this forum.

[matilda3948]

Thank you! It's super fun writing for you all. I'm going with a different character pairing: Greg and Molly. Not romantic, just some friendly, fluffy TLC for our favorite overworked pathologist

#63 Haze

Normally, he didn’t like to rush Molly or call in favors, but Lestrade knew time was not on his side with this particular homicide investigation so he decided to drop by the morgue and ask her to rush the autopsy. The lights were on but he didn’t see her.

“Molly?” the silver-haired inspector called. “You here?” Maybe she’d just stepped out, He decided to wait a few minutes. When he turned the corner he saw the young pathologist asleep at her desk, her head resting on folded arms. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Molly, can you wake up?” He rubbed her shoulder and suddenly she jerked awake. Greg held up his hands. “Just me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Molly still seemed to be in a bit of a haze, so Greg pulled a stool over and sat at eye level. “You okay? Nightmare?” She shook her head.

“Um…no. I just…” She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath and started over. “I’m sorry. You need your autopsy report don’t you?” She started digging through the pile of reports on her desk. He may not have been a Holmes, but Greg was not without his own powers of observation and he could clearly see something was amiss with Molly. He put a hand on her arm, stilling her motions.

“It can wait a minute. Molly, stop. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just so behind on things and…” her voice trailed off and she turned her head away from Lestrade, bringing both hands up to her face. AhhTschheew! Ahhktschhheew! heh’AhhTshhhhEEW!

“Bless you!” Greg said, getting a handkerchief out of his coat pocket. “Here, take this.” Thick, he thought to himself. Asleep at her desk, disoriented, pale. He should have realized she was sick before she started sneezing.

“Thank you,” she said, pressing the soft cloth to her nose.

#65 Under the Weather

“You’re a bit under the weather, aren’t you?” Greg said.

hhhKTSHHeew! hehAHHtsshheew!

“A bit,” she said.

“Bless you. Why not let me give you a lift back to your place?” Molly shook her head.

“No. I still have reports to file. I have three autopsies to finish by tomorrow and everyone wants theirs done first and—”

“Shhh…stop. Molly, stop.” He felt a twinge of guilt because he’d come to do exactly what everyone else had been doing—asking her to prioritize his project. She wiped away a tear and dropped her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Greg had a hunch and reached over, placing a hand on her forehead.

“Damn. You’re burning up. Come on, Molly, you should be in bed. You can’t be the only pathologist in this hospital. They’ll get someone to cover.” Greg stood up and waited for her to do the same. She moved slowly and he wasn’t sure if it was because she was dizzy, achy, or both. She picked up a file folder from her desk and held it out to him.

“This one’s yours. Time of death was hehh…ahh…” she quickly grabbed the handkerchief. ahhhTSCHHeew! hhtsschhEEW! AhhktsschhhEEW!

“Bless you,” Greg said, putting a hand on the small of her back when she swayed slightly. Definitely dizzy.

“Thag you. What was I saying? Oh, time of death—”

“Molly, I can read the report. Can we please just get you home?”

#100 Gratitude

“Yeah. Alright.” Lestrade helped her into her coat and waited while she gathered her purse and keys. Once she was settled in the passenger seat of his car, he pulled out of the hospital and drove towards her house.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “We could stop at the chemist’s on our way.” When she didn’t answer, he glanced over and saw she had fallen asleep again, her head resting against the cool glass. Deciding to err on the side of caution, he stopped at a shop around the corner from her flat and was in and out without even waking her. When they were in front of her flat, he turned off the car and woke her up for the second time that day. “You’re home,” he said when she opened her fever-glazed eyes. She immediately wrinkled her nose and sneezed hhhntschheew! ahhNTschheew! “Bless you,” Greg said. She nodded her thanks and got out of the car.

She unlocked her front door and immediately dropped down onto her sofa. Greg shut the door behind him and put the bags down on the coffee table before sitting down next to her. He began unpacking the contents.

“Okay, we’ve got tissues, throat lozenges, orange juice, tea—which I’ll make for you shortly—and, most importantly, the strongest cold medicine I could find.” He lined everything up on the table. He was shocked when Molly leaned over and hugged him, tears in her eyes again, but this time they were tears of gratitude.

“Thank you so much,” she sniffled. While he was initially shocked, Greg returned the hug. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with an ill, emotional Molly Hooper. He was worried about how ill she was, worried about how she’d been pushing herself at work, that she was so moved by a small act of friendship. In short, just worried.

“It’s no trouble, Molly.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Why don’t you go change while I make some tea? We need to get some medicine in you to bring your fever down. You’ll feel better once we deal with that.” She nodded and opened the tissues, wiping the tears from her eyes. She was halfway down the hall when she sneezed.

hhktschhheew! ahhntschhEEW! HehhAHHssschheeew!!

“Bless you,” Greg called.

TBC? Bring in the other boys?

[cally]

TBC? Bring in the other boys?

Awww poor Molly.

Definitely continue! Bringing in anyone else (John, perhaps) depends on where you want to go with it I would say. If she gets her fever down with the medicine, than I think you could stick with Greg. I do love seeing different pairings that aren't normally explored in the show, even (and especially in some cases) if it's just a friendship pairing, like this one. If she can't get the fever down, then I can see him texting John, asking his advice. Of course that ultimately means Sherlock gets involved b/c, well he's Sherlock.

There are so many routes you could go with this as well; leave it as a standalone, or add a few more, make it a more contagion filled adventure, have them all troop out on some wacky case Sherlock has invented for his own amusement (kidding).

[HoneyBunny]

I meant to comment on these for a while, but now that I finally got round to it, I'm a rambling drooling mess again! So for now just let me say that your drabbles are freakin' AMAZING! My favourite story arcs were Sherlock in the hospital (being in pain from sneezing, gnfff) and fetishist!Irene.

Thank you so much for writing these

[AngelEyes]

Been away a couple days. So nice to come back to such wonderfulness. Much love!

[VoOs]

*swoons over ill!Molly drabbles*

Ugh, she is so cute it hurts.

[matilda3948]

*swoons over ill!Molly drabbles*

Ugh, she is so cute it hurts.

I'm so glad you agree. She's such a sweetie surrounded by such silly boys

#73 Annoy

John’s mobile beeped as he and Sherlock were in the back of a taxi headed to…to wherever it was Sherlock was interested in going—John had learned not to ask.

“What does Lestrade want?” Sherlock asked. John scrolled through the text and frowned.

“He stopped by St. Bart’s and found Molly was sick. He took her home and was asking my advice.” Sherlock leaned forward and gave Molly’s address to the driver. “What are you doing?” John asked.

“Are you really going to trust Lestrade to take care of her?”

“You don’t give him enough credit,” John said.

“And you give him far too much. If he kills my pathologist it will take me months to train a new one. Do you have any idea how annoying that will be?”

“He’s not going to kill her!” John rolled his eyes at the melodrama.

“No, he’s not because we’re going over there.”

#69 Attack

If Greg was surprised when John and Sherlock arrived, he didn’t show it. If anything, he was a bit grateful that Doctor Watson was going to be able to take a look at Molly.

“How’s she doing?” John asked.

“Sleeping. I got her to take some medicine, but her fever still seems too high. That’s why I contacted you.”

“You said she was at work today?”

“Yeah, found her asleep at her desk and when I woke her up it was clear she was sick. Pale, feverish, bit disoriented, sneezing quite a bit.” John nodded.

“Sherlock, can you—Sherlock? Where’d he run off to?” John said.

The missing consulting detective was sitting on the side of Molly’s bed. He wanted his own data, not trusting Greg’s opinion when it came to his pathologist. He gently pressed a large, warm hand to her forehead to find the skin far too hot for someone who had already taken medicine. He picked up the box and read the contents—at least Lestrade had managed to buy the right pills, but that raised his concern even more. Next, he worked his long fingers along her neck and noted that her glands were swollen. She stirred and sniffled.

“Molly, can you wake up?” His low, deep voice floated over her. “John’s going to take a look at you. Come on, Molly.” Her eyes fluttered open. “That’s my girl,” he said quietly.

“Sherlock?”

“Greg called John and we came over.” She reviewed the succinct answer.

“He took me home from work,” she said.

“You should never have gone in the first place.” She nodded, but couldn’t answer because her nose was tickling too much. He took a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and handed it to her.

tschheew! Ahhtschheww! hehhAHHktschheew! Ktsschheew!

“Bless you,” he said, frowning deeply as it was clear the sneezing attack wasn’t over.

hehh ahh…AhhNSCHeeew! hhsnsschhEEW! hehAHHnscchheew! ahhTSSCHHeeew! HahhNTSCHHHeew!

“Bless you,” came a pair of voices from the doorway.

#74 Humiliated

She groaned out of a mix of humiliation and how miserable she felt. Sherlock stood up.

“John, swollen lymph nodes, fever of about 39 degrees despite medication, and the obvious,” he said, waving a hand in her general direction. “Come on, Graham, show me that autopsy report you brought with you and I’ll find you a killer.” Greg huffed and rolled his eyes, following Sherlock out of the bedroom.

John turned to the young woman in the bed.

“Sorry to trouble you,” she said. “I didn’t know Greg would call.”

“I’m glad he did,” John said, sitting down in the place Sherlock had recently vacated. He asked a series of questions and did the best exam he could without his medical bag. “I’m going to call in some antibiotics for you. You’ve got a pretty bad infection going on—sinuses, maybe strep—but I’d prescribe the same thing either way. No work for a few days though.” He saw the look in her eyes. “I’m serious, Molly. Rest, lots of fluids, and rubbish telly is about the only thing on your schedule for a bit.”

ahhTSCHHH! hhhTSCHHeeew! hehh AhhSNTCHHeeew! John winced in sympathy as an attempt to blow her nose set off another little fit of sneeze. KTSCHHEEW! ahhNCHHeew! hahehhTSSCHHEEEW!

“Bless you,” he said. “Lay back down,” he said, bringing the blankets up to her shoulders. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

#22 Drugs

“Where’s Greg?” John asked, coming back out into the living room.

“He went to go arrest an ex-wife for murdering her husband. Took me three minutes with the autopsy report and a quick check of the local train schedules. Boring. Molly?”

“Calling in some antibiotics now,” John said, pulling out his cell phone. “Definitely an infection. She’ll be fine, but if I can get her fever down a bit, she’ll be more comfortable.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock got up and went into the kitchen. “Cool compress, then?” he called. John nodded. Sherlock filled a bowl with cool, but not cold, water and took a washcloth from the linen closet. John rolled his eyes and shook his head as Sherlock went back into Molly’s bedroom. He’d given up trying to figure out that relationship. It was slightly puzzling before Sherlock’s “death” but now it was just strange and a little endearing.

“Bless you,” Sherlock said just as Molly sneezed.

Ahhtsschheew! hhTSCHHEEW!

“Thanks,” she whispered. He put the bowl of water down on her bedside table and tossed his jacket off to the side, and rolled up his shirt sleeves before soaking the washcloth and wringing out the excess water. He laid it on Molly’s head and she shivered violently.

“I know, but it will bring your fever down,” he said. After a moment, he pressed the cool cloth to one side of her neck and then the other before rewetting it and starting the process over again. He paused when she turned her head suddenly. Ktsscheeew! AhhNTSCHEEEW! “Bless,” Sherlock said. “John’s calling in some medication. You’ll feel better when you get some drugs in your system.”

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this, but I appreciate it,” Molly said, her eyelids growing heavy.

“I could do this a hundred times and still be in your debt,” he said quietly, wringing out the washcloth again. She smiled and yawned as he blotted her forehead and neck again.

“And if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing,” she said.

[cally]

Oh the poor thing, so sick, so sneezy.

“Come on, Graham, show me that autopsy report you brought with you and I’ll find you a killer.” Greg huffed and rolled his eyes, following Sherlock out of the bedroom.

And of course, I love how he can't get his name right. Ever.

“I could do this a hundred times and still be in your debt,” he said quietly

*melts*

[AngelEyes]

Sherlock, "My pathologist." My yes.

John rolled his eyes and shook his head as Sherlock went back into Molly’s bedroom. He’d given up trying to figure out that relationship. It was slightly puzzling before Sherlock’s “death” but now it was just strange and a little endearing.

True.

[matilda3948]

A little something for the Mystrade fans

#24 Headache

Greg woke up with a throbbing ache between his eyes. He sat up on the side of the bed and massaged his forehead and bridge of his nose.

“You alright?” Mycroft asked walking through the bedroom.

“Just a headache. How long have you been up?”

“A few hours,” Mycroft said, his eyes narrowing. “You looked tired so I reset the alarm after I got up.” Greg suddenly lurched forward with an enormous sneeze.

huhhRAHHDSHHHOOOO!

“Bless you, Gregory.” He handed the sniffling silver haired a handkerchief. “You caught that pathologist’s cold.”

“You know her name,” Greg said. “And she needed some help yesterday.”

“And that someone just had to be you.”

“She’s my friend, Mycroft. It’s what friends do,” Greg said.

“Hmm…sentiment,” Mycroft said, going into the bathroom. Greg buried his nose in the handkerchief and sneezed again.

huhhrahhhhSSHHHOOO! huhhRAAHHHdschhooo! huhhRahhhNTSCHHOOOO!

“Goodness, bless you.”

“Thag you.”

“Blow your nose and then I want to see how high your temperature is elevated.” Greg tried not to smile and complied with his lover’s wishes. When the thermometer beeped he handed it back to Mycroft, who was standing in front of him, arms crossed like a general. “No work, today,” he said firmly.

“Mycroft, I’m fine. Just a bit of—”

“You are most certainly not fine,” Mycroft said. “You have a cold and are running a fever and I do not want you out chasing the scum of London.”

“I think you’re romanticizing my job a bit,” Greg managed to say before sneezing again. Huhhraarschhooo! RaahhhSNSSHHOOOO!

“Bless you. I don’t want to see you as ill as Ms. Hooper.”

“That almost sounds like sentiment.”

#89 Pills

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Get back into bed and I’ll bring you some cold pills and some tea. Are you hungry?” Mycroft asked, knowing that Greg’s appetite was usually the first thing to go when he wasn’t feeling well.

“Not terribly,” he said with a sniffle. Mycroft frowned but nodded.

Twenty minutes later and Greg found himself medicated, with a hot cup of tea, and several clean handkerchiefs. Huhh…hehh huhhRAHHSSCHHOOOO! HuhhAHHscsshhoooo! RahhhSNSSCHOOOOO!

“My goodness, God bless you Gregory.”

HuuuRAHHSSHHOOOO! huhhRARSSCHHOOOO!!

“And again.”

huhh…HUHahh…hhhAHHNTCHSSHHOOOOO!

“And again. Are you quite alright?” Mycroft asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Greg nodded but rubbed his throat. Mycroft handed him the tea and waited until he’d taken a couple sips. “Would you like me to reschedule my meetings and stay here with you, today?” Greg looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “You don’t sound at all well,” Mycroft said.

“That’s a very a kind offer, but I’m okay. I’m just going to sleep all day, maybe watch some television. Stop worrying and go to work.”

“I don’t promise to stop worrying, but I will go to work only if you promise to call if you need anything.”

“Promise. And I have no doubt you’ll text regularly.”

[Spoo]

A little something for the Mystrade fans

Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!

“And again. Are you quite alright?” Mycroft asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Greg nodded but rubbed his throat.

Guhhhh. Because his huge sneezes hurt his poor throat! Poor baby.

I love the care-taking in this. Especially since Mycroft is the one looking after Greg. It gives me a case of the fuzzies!

[ID2006]

And more Lestrade sneezes for the day... how lucky am I... very

[AngelEyes]

I love the play on sentiment in 24. Too cute.