Matilda's Drabble Thread II (Sherlock)

[cally]

Poor Sherlock and those poor, wretched sneezes.

/incoherent thoughts/

[VoOs]

Dat fit though.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

[AdrianMarx]

Gosh I love all of these! I really like the ones with Irene. She's just a devil, isn't she?

But I adore Molly. There isn't enough poorly Molly Hooper in the world. And I really did love the whole Lestrade/Molly thing. Also, doctor!John is what I live for and you write so much of that. Thank you for all your wonderful drabbles!

[matilda3948]

Dat fit though.

Yeah...I liked writing that. We need more of that don't we? I think so

#72 Muffled

The next morning John woke up before his alarm. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep but he heard a strange noise—probably what woke him up in the first place. He closed his eyes and about a half minute later, the same sound. Less than a minute later he heard it again and it finally clicked: Sherlock. He got out of bed and went down to his friend’s room, knocking on the door as he cracked it open.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

mmpfsshhh!

John opened the door to find Sherlock sitting upright in bed with a handkerchief clamped over his nose and mouth. His hair was sticking up in every possible direction and he had no color to his face. Worse than that was he seemed to be in the midst of another prolonged sneezing fit. He sat completely still except for the occasional nod of his head as he inhaled sharply, eyes shut tightly and deep creases etched on his forehead. After a long, exhausting buildup his body would snap forward with a muffled sneeze and he would immediately straighten up already fighting with the next impending sneeze. Each one seemed to take ages to build. Sherlock would have far preferred an allergy attack where he sneezed ten times in two minutes and then was done; the energy involved in a sustained, slow sneezing fit like this was awful.

hhmfSHHHooo!

John frowned and came and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Bless you. How long have you been carrying on like this?”

“Seehhh hehh seved binutes ahh and twenty three seconds hehh give or take,” he managed. John rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“How do you feel apart from the sneezing?” he asked. Sherlock struggled to complete a sentence as his breath hitched in preparation for the next sneeze.

“Hehuhh congested, heehh headache, possibly feverish… hehhntsshhooo! hehh huhh…”

“Bless you. Must you be an overachiever at everything?” John asked, getting up and going to Sherlock’s bureau. He opened the top drawer and grabbed a couple fresh handkerchiefs. “Here. That one’s got to be useless by now.” For the first time that morning, Sherlock lowered the handkerchief from his face. John winced when he saw how red his nose was. His eyes were glassy and the only question John had was exactly how high Sherlock’s fever was. Well that and why the poor man couldn’t stop sneezing.

hehh huh huhhgnsschhooo! hehuhh ahh…

“Blow your nose and see if that helps,” John said. When he didn’t receive a venomous glare for such an obvious suggestion John felt even more worried. Sherlock must be desperate. The only difference was that the sneeze that followed was perhaps a little less messy.

hehhtsshhooo! ahh…hehh

“Bless you.”

“Thihh this is absurd! Whaahhh what do I do?”

“I’ve honestly never seen anything like this before,” John said. “Bless you.”

hehhmsschhhooo! hah ahh… Sherlock tossed his phone to John.

“Do sobe research. I caahh can’t do adythiihhh adything but sdeeze hehahh.”

John went to Google and scrolled through a couple pages of suggestions for “how to stop sneezing.” Most were about managing allergy symptoms but he found a few sites that offered some interesting suggestions.

“You’re a genius and I’m a doctor. I can’t believe we’re seeking advice from strangers on the internet,” he said.

#93 Remedy

hehh ahh ahhGNssschhoo! huhh…

“Bless you. Point taken.” John stood up. “Okay tilt your head back.” Sherlock complied and John pinched the skin directly between his eyebrows. He kept applying pressure until Sherlock lurched out of his grasp.

ahh hehhntsschhoo!

“Okay, try pushing your tongue against your upper front teeth,” John said, trying the next strange suggestion on the list. They waited, Sherlock still in pre-sneeze misery…

huhTSHHooo! heh…

“Bless you. Alright, um…let’s see.” John sat back down so he was at Sherlock’s height and reached out and lightly rubbed his earlobe.

“Whaaahh what are you—”

“You’re the one who told me to look for remedies on the internet,” John said.

hehEhh hehh huhhtschhooo! ahh…Sherlock groaned. He was exhausted, his head was throbbing and even his stomach muscles were beginning to ache from sneezing so much.

“Bless you. Give me one of your hands.” Sherlock dropped one hand into John’s lap and used the other to tend to the handkerchief that now seemed like a permanent fixture. John pinched the skin between Sherlock’s thumb and index finger. Ten seconds…twenty…thirty…

heh huhh HuhhTSSHHooo! hehahh…

“Oh, Christ I’b hehh dever going to stob.”

“Bless you. Yes you are. We just haven’t found the right thing yet.” Doubting the collective wisdom of the internet, but out of options himself, John tried the next thing on the list. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and gently tugged at the hair near the crown of his head.

Hehh huhh…

John repeated the process, again drawing his hands up and pulling the hair not nearly enough to hurt, but enough to be noticeable.

Ahh…huh…

Sherlock sniffed and exhaled. Both men seemed afraid to move. Half a minute went by and Sherlock decided to try blowing his nose. He succeeded and did not trigger another sneeze. He took a couple deep breaths.

“I think…I think that may have done it.” His voice was thick and hoarse, but he was able to make it through an entire sentence without nearly sneezing.

“Yeah?” John said, disentangling his fingers from Sherlock’s hair. Again, both men were still as if even the slightest movement might jinx their success. Finally Sherlock nodded. “I’ve never seen anyone sneeze like that before,” he said. “Are you alright?”

“Exhausted,” Sherlock said.

“Understandable. Would you eat a bit of something before you go back to sleep?” Sherlock shrugged.

“Not really hungry.” He saw the look on John’s face and sighed. “Some toast?” he suggested as a compromise.

“Sure. Don’t…you know, start up again when I leave.”

“I’ll do my best.”

[cally]

"You're a genius and I'm a doctor. . ." That line killed me. Actually this in its entirety broke my brain. Oh Sherlock. you poor lamb.

(The banter, the buildup .....).

[AngelEyes]

Eeeeep! That was just...oh my. I might melt now. That was just so desperately hot. Just the desperate..killed me.

[lalalalahi]

If you wrote a Prentiss and JJ one (Criminal Minds) I would die

[matilda3948]

If you wrote a Prentiss and JJ one (Criminal Minds) I would die

I promise that I will eventually get back to my Criminal Minds stories as soon as I get this Sherlock obsession out of my system...because that can happen...right?

Okay, tonight sick and injured John. Mmm...poor John

#26 Dog

John clenched his teeth and hissed in pain as Sherlock helped ease him down on his bed.

“I’ll go get your pain medication,” Sherlock said quietly. Not that he’d admit it (even to himself) but he felt a bit guilty. John had been under the weather and Sherlock had insisted on dragging him out on a case anyway. “In and out in an hour,” Sherlock had said. Eight hours later they were chasing a murder suspect around the back alleys of London. When the man hit a dead end, he turned on Sherlock and John. The doctor was just a half second too slow and that was all it took for the suspect to land a blow directly in the center of John’s chest. At first, he thought he was okay. Once the killer was subdued and handed over to DI Lestrade, they hopped in a cab and headed towards home. But when the cab hit a bump in the road and John practically yelped in pain, Sherlock redirected the driver to the closest A&E. Diagnosis: two cracked ribs.

John downed the pills that Sherlock gave him and gingerly held his aching side.

hhtssshhhooo! “Ow!” John winced from the pain.

“We should ice your ribs” Sherlock said. John nodded, rubbing his nose against this wrist, desperate to hold off another sneeze.

hehhtsschhoo! Sherlock heard the sneeze echo down the hall. He opened their freezer and assessed his options. Obviously he started with the ice cubes, but there weren’t enough to make a large enough compress to cover all of John’s injury. Sherlock dug through the contents.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing a frosty bag. His arms were full when he got back to John’s bedside. He dumped everything on the floor and sat cross legged next to the bed.

hehhtsshhoo! John grunted and clutched his side.

“I miss the days when we wrapped cracked ribs,” he sighed.

“Constricts the breathing and increases the likelihood of pneumonia. Given that you already have a cold, that would be an incredibly unwise decision.”

“Yeah I know that—I am a doctor.”

“Those pills will kick in soon—they gave you good ones.”

“That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” John asked, suddenly looking worried. Sherlock shook his head.

“I assure you if I wanted pain pills I’d have no trouble getting them.” John supposed that was true. “Okay,” Sherlock said, “I’ve got a couple ice packs ready.”

“Hahh hold on…” John pinched his nose and tried holding his breath but the moment he lowered his hand the tickle came back. hehhtsschhoo! hhntsschhooo! “Sorry. Go ahead.”

Sherlock wrapped a bag of ice in a towel and laid is against John’s side. He reached for another one and John grabbed his wrist.

“What is that?” John asked.

“Just let me put it on your ribs.”

“Sherlock, tell me it’s not that bag of canine pancreases that’s been in our freezer for a year.”

“They’re fine.”

“I do not want dog organs as an icepack!”

“I double bagged them,” Sherlock said.

“Oh yeah, that makes it completely okay.”

#95 Soft

The ice (and other frozen things) pressed to his ribs did help alleviate some of the pain. The pills probably helped too. John was still having a hard time getting comfortable though. When he took the pressure off his ribs, it was hard to breathe through his congested nose. When he shifted so he could breathe better, his ribs hurt. Sherlock frowned as he watched John struggle. To make matters worse, he was going to sneeze again.

“Here,” Sherlock said, passing John a couple tissues.

hhntschhoo! hehhgnsschoo! HEHHtsschhooo!

John pressed his lips together in a thin line as he waited for the pain to stop spiking through his chest.

“Bless you,” Sherlock said, frowning. “Can you mix cold medicine with the pills you’ve already taken?”

“Probably shouldn’t,” John said. Sherlock’s frown deepened. He didn’t like to see his friend in pain…pain that could have been completely avoided if Sherlock hadn’t been so…Sherlock-ish. He ran a hand through his unruly black hair and sighed.

hehh…ehh John sniffled and rubbed his nose in the tissues. heh ehh hhhntschhooo! hehhtssshhhoo! He shuddered and yawned. Wordlessly, Sherlock moved around John’s bed gathering any pillows that the doctor wasn’t currently using. He put a hand on John’s shoulder and tilted him slightly.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying something,” Sherlock said. He slid a soft pillow behind John’s shoulders, then another at the middle of his back, and a third near his hips. After a quick trip to his own room, Sherlock came back with three more pillows. “Your medicine is finally working,” he said, taking a look at John’s distant, glassy stare.

“Yeah…like that medicine.”

“I’m sure you do,” Sherlock said. He tucked a pillow behind John's leg's and another overtop of the ice packs that were resting on his ribs basically immobilizing his body but leaving his head was unrestricted. “How’s that?” he asked. An ever-so-slightly-high John smiled widely.

“That’s better,” he slurred before sneezing openly. hehtschhooo! tschhooo!

“Bless you. Here,” Sherlock said, handing him a couple tissues.

“I don’t want those,” John said.

“Trust me, you need them.” John blew his nose and sneezed again. hehhtschhoo! TSSHHooo!

“These must be the softest pillows ever,” John said. “Didn’t even hurt to sneeze that time.”

“That has very little to do with the pillows,” Sherlock said, spreading the blanket over John and switching out the overhead light. “Get some sleep, John.”

[ID2006]

Awe... cuteness

[cally]

Awwwwwwww *snuggles John gently*

[matilda3948]

Awwwwwwww *snuggles John gently*

Thanks!

Time for a bit of sick Sherlock I think...

#52 Snuggle

John had just finished a long day at work and was ready to unwind. He assumed Sherlock was out—it was blissfully quiet and John decided to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He fixed himself a drink and sank down in his favorite chair, sighing happily as he let the stress of the day melt away. A few minutes later his “doctor” ears perked up as he heard coughing coming from down the hall. Hmm…maybe Sherlock was home. He got up and went straight to Sherlock’s room, cracking the door.

“Hey, you okay in here?” he asked. When John didn’t get an answer he came over to the lump of blankets he assumed was Sherlock. He pulled the comforter back and winced. His roommate was sick—sound asleep, breathing through his mouth, and a high flush on his pale face that suggested he was running a fever. John quickly retrieved his medical bag and grabbed his tympanic thermometer, trying his best to get an accurate temperature reading from Sherlock’s inner ear without waking him. Over 39 degrees. John frowned. Now he really had to wake his friend and get some medicine and fluids into him. He seriously doubted Sherlock had taken proper care of himself before passing out in his bed. John gently rubbed his friend’s shoulder.

“Sherlock…come on mate, wake up,” John prodded. Sherlock groaned and slowly opened his eyes, blinking up at John. He tried to ask a question but all that came out was a gravely rumble that dissolved into a harsh cough. John helped him sit up in the bed. “Christ, how did you get this sick in a day?”

“What time is it?” Sherlock finally asked.

“A little after six. I just got home from work. Have you been up here all day?” Sherlock nodded but quickly brought his hands up to his face, catching a series of wet sneezes behind his long fingers.

hehGXTshhhoo! hhSNGshhoooo! huhhIHHNGSCHHooo!

“Bless you!” John said, getting a travel pack of tissues from his bag. After giving Sherlock a moment to clean himself up, John repeated his question from earlier. “Did this just come on today?”

“I’ve felt poorly for three days now.” John looked shocked, mentally reviewing the last couple of days.

“I didn’t notice anything was off.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Sherlock said. hehhSNsschhoo! hhNGTSCHHoo!

“Bless you.” John decided he’d try and figure out why Sherlock was hiding being sick later. He’d deal with the more immediate issues now. “What did you eat or drink today?”

“Tea this morning.”

“How about medicine?” John asked. Sherlock shook his head no. “Sherlock,” John sighed in reprimand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You need anything else?”

“Tissues.”

“Okay.”

“Another blanket?”

“Sure,” John said.

Two paracetamol, one very large glass of water, six sneezes, and four tissues later and John was finally less worried about his sick roommate. Sherlock yawned and shivered.

“Still tired?” John asked.

“Exhahh huh…exhausted…” hehhTSCHH SNGsshhooo!”

“Bless you.”

hehh huhSNSHHoo! huhSNSHHoo!

“Bless you,” John repeated. Sherlock nodded and blew his nose. A violent shiver ran through his body again—he looked miserable. “Move over,” John said, toeing off his shoes. He leaned against the headboard and let Sherlock snuggle up against him. John sighed as the Sherlock/blanket cocoon shivered again.

#58 Phone Call

The two men were quiet except for Sherlock’s frequent sniffling and clearing his throat. Just as he was starting to settle in, Sherlock gasped suddenly, cupping his hands over his nose and mouth and sneezing.

EHHsntsschhhooo! SNGSSHHooo! hhNTSCHHooo!

“Sorry,” he rasped, before blowing his nose and coughing.

“Bless you. Here,” John handed him the water after easing Sherlock into a sitting position. A few sips of water helped calm the tickle in Sherlock’s throat and he all but collapsed back against John.

“You are so sick,” John muttered, running his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad earlier this week?”

“Didn’t want to trouble you,” Sherlock said. Of all the answers he was expecting, that wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list.

“Sherlock, I work with ill people all day.”

“Exahh hahh…exactly.” hhNTSCHHooo! hehhSNsschhoo! hhNGTSCHHoo!

“Bless you. Sherlock, you getting sick doesn’t bother me. You not eating, not drinking, not taking medication bothers me a little.” He felt Sherlock stiffen and he just patted his arm. “Only a little,” John said. “Sherlock, on any given week we chase murders, dodge bullets, go days without sleep, and live in a flat with a refrigerator with more body parts than edible food. If none of these things bother me, why do you think this would?”

“Sick is boring.” John rolled his eyes.

“Boring—the greatest of all sins,” John said sarcastically. Sherlock’s phone rang and John grabbed it off the bedside table. Sherlock stuck his hand out. “No phone calls today,” John said, pushing the “talk” button. “Hello, Greg,” John said.

“John? Sorry, must have hit the wrong contact. Thought I was calling Sherlock.”

“I’ve just got his phone. He’s um…a bit under the weather,” John said.

“Too sick for a consult?” Greg asked. Sherlock threw his blankets off, excited at the prospect of work. Unfortunately, the shock of cold air and sudden movement made him shiver and his head swim. hhGNSHH! hhGNSHHoo! hehhSNTCHHoo! hehhSNTSCHHooo! The sneezes were immedialy followed by a harsh, rattling cough. “Christ, definitely too sick for a consult,” Greg said.

“Yeah, he’s out of commission for at least a few days,” John said. Sherlock managed to stop coughing just long enough to glare at John. “Oh you’re a wreck and you know it,” John said, causing Greg to laugh and Sherlock to sigh and flop down on the bed again.

“Right, you need anything?” Greg asked.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it under control for now,” John said.

“Call if you need reinforcements, swat team, something like that. Tell him I said to feel better.”

[cally]

Oh poor Sherlock. What a terrible rotten cold to have, and not to be able to work either.

[AngelEyes]

Sherlock-ish! Boring, the worst of all sins. Oh dear dear Sherlock. Poor love.

[ID2006]

*dances around happily with her Johnlock goggles on

[VoOs]

I want to hold the poor darling in my arms. Too adorable.

[matilda3948]

I want to hold the poor darling in my arms. Too adorable.

I know! I thought I was done with this one, but I had to add one more drabble...just couldn't resist. In the second one, Molly has to pay a visit to Doctor Watson because I just love Molly

#61 Accent

It was a long night for John; Sherlock’s fever continued to bounce back and forth until early that morning when it finally broke. John kept up a steady pattern of medicine, water, and cool compresses, catching snippets of sleep whenever he could. The sun was up when John opened his eyes and found that Sherlock actually seemed to be sleeping soundly—the poor man had tossed and turned and struggled to get comfortable all night. If it wasn’t the fever bothering him it was the coughing or sneezing. He looked slightly less miserable this morning—still pale, deep purple circles under his eyes, and his nose had definitely seen better days.

John slid off the bed and went down the hall to fix himself some breakfast. He ate, answered a few emails, and was reading the morning paper when he heard coughing coming from Sherlock’s room. John was quickly on his feet. When he came in, Sherlock was propped up on one elbow coughing into his fist. John helped him sit up straight and patted Sherlock on the back between his shoulder blades. The coughing subsided and Sherlock took a moment to recover his breath.

“Thank you, John,” he whispered.

“You sound awful,” John said. The dark haired man nodded and ran a hand over his face.

“Feel aahh hah awful,” he managed. He grabbed a couple tissues to catch a volley of messy sneezes. EHHsntsschhhooo! SNGSSHHooo! hhNTSCHHooo! ahhSNTSCHH! ahhSNTSCHH!

“Bless you, Sherlock!”

After blowing his nose, making sounds that even caused John to cringe, Sherlock moved to lay back down. John hauled him back up into a sitting position.

“Hold up a minute. You need to put on fresh clothes and let me change the sheets first.” Sherlock groaned. “I know, but you had a high fever last night and sweat through everything.” John took another look at the woozy consulting detective and got up. “Stay here. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.” He got Sherlock clean flannel pants and a soft, long sleeve shirt. “You need help?” John asked, handing him the clothes. Sherlock shook his head and slowly made his way to the bathroom. John made quick work of stripping and remaking the bed, listening for any signs of distress from the bathroom. Sherlock managed to change without incident and even washed his face and brushed his teeth before dragging himself back to the bed. “I’m going to take a quick look at you then you can go back to sleep if you want.” He started by taking his temperature for what seemed like the hundredth time. A little high, but not bad. “How’s your breathing?” John asked, grabbing his stethoscope.

“Fide. Ndo indication that it’s developing into pneubodia.”

“That’s quite an accent you’ve acquired,” John teased. Sherlock look disgusted and grabbed a few tissues. Blowing his nose seemed to aggravate his raw, sensitive nose, causing him to sneeze suddenly.

SNGSHH! ahhSNSCHH! hehAHHsntssschhooo!

“Bless you,” John said. “You done?” Sherlock nodded and John quickly checked his breathing. Satisfied that his lungs were clear, John helped prop Sherlock up in bed. “I’ll get you more medicine and refill your water. How about something to eat?”

“Dot hungry.” John had suspected as much, but figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Tea?”

“Tea,” Sherlock confirmed.

John made short work of gathering what Sherlock needed, standing by as he swallowed the pills and accepted a hot cup of tea.

“Grabbed you a couple of these too,” John said, putting several handkerchiefs on the bedside table. “You nose looks downright painful.” Sherlock didn’t respond—unusual even for a sick Sherlock. John frowned and sat down on the bed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. Sherlock cleared his throat several times.

“Thank you for staying last night. I don’t remember much, but I know I was quite ill and…well, thank you.”

“I think you overestimate how much I did,” John said.

“And you underestimate.” It was quiet, but John heard it. “I’m still feverish, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, putting his teacup on the nightstand and grabbing a handkerchief.

“A bit,” John confirmed. Sherlock slid down in the bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin.

“Mycroft says I get sentimental when I’m ill. I believe he may be right. Don’t tell him that though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John said. “Shall I stay or would you like me—”

“Stay.” His breath caught on the single word. hehNTSHHoo! hhSGSHHoo! ahhTSSCHHoo! ahhTSSCHHOO! He blew his nose and yawned.

“Bless you.” John resumed his spot on the bed next to Sherlock. Truth be told, he could use a nap after their restless night. “Need anything?” he asked, watching Sherlock’s eyelids starting to droop. He shook his head. “Sleep well,” John said.

#17 Doctor

Doctor Watson came back from lunch and grabbed his patient list for the afternoon, doing a double take when he saw Molly had booked a 2pm appointment. He grabbed her file and knocked on the exam room door before opening it.

“Hi Molly,” he said.

“Hello John.” She was seated on the exam table, wrapped in a thick sweater. She looked very young without her white lab coat.

“You could have just called if you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t need to make an appointment.” He sat down on his rolling stool and dropped her file on the table next to him.

“I didn’t want to trouble you—thought it best to just come in.”

“You sound a bit congested,” John said. “What’s going on?” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Um, I’m having a hard time shaking this cold and this morning I woke up feeling a bit short of breath so I thought I’d…” her voice rose suddenly and she raised her arm, sneezing into her elbow.

ahhKTSHHeew! hahksshheew!

“Bless you,” John said, handing her a couple tissues.

“Thank you,” Molly sniffled.

“How long’s this cold been hanging on for?”

“Bit over two weeks.” John frowned—that was a long time.

“Hmm. Okay, let’s take a look.” He started by taking her temperature which he found to be slightly elevated. Then he examined her ears and throat. “Doesn’t look like strep, but your throat does look sore.”

“It is. I’ve been coughing quite a lot the last couple days.”

John nodded and grabbed his stethoscope to check her breathing. Her lower lungs were good, but he didn’t like what he heard when he got to her upper chest. He definitely heard a wheeze, especially when he listened from the front. He moved the head of the stethoscope once again, but Molly grabbed his wrist. He looked up and saw that she was about to lose the battle with an impending sneeze. He took a step back.

ahhTSSHHeew! KTSSSHHH! ahhNTSSHHeew!

“Bless you, Molly.” She nodded, but started coughing. Her eyes watered as the coughing stung her throat and it took a while before she was able to stop. She struggled to catch her breath and John went back to listening to her breathing. Finally he’d heard enough. He sat back down on his stool and grabbed his prescription pad.

“Sorry,” she rasped. John dismissed her apology.

“Are you kidding? You gave me warning. Most patients just sneeze and deafen me while I’m listening to their lungs.” He got a throat lozenge out of a jar on the counter and handed it to her. “I’m glad you came in,” he said. “You’ve definitely got bronchitis, a few more days and you probably would have had pneumonia in your left lung.”

“I knew I wasn’t breathing right this morning,” she said. He handed her a couple slips of paper.

“Antibiotics, cough syrup with codeine for before bed, and a decongestant. I also wrote you a note for work—you need to stay home the rest of this week. Try hot showers, spicy foods, a humidifier if you have one and, of course, lots of fluids.”

Ahh…ahhnsshheew! Ahhntschheew! KTsschhheew!

“Bless you.”

“Excuse me.” She got down off the exam table and grabbed her purse. “Thank you, John.”

“Of course. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, but if you feel any worse please call, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Feel better, Molly.”

[cally]

Oh Sherlock. You need a hug.

Poor Molly, someone needs to look after you.

[AngelEyes]

“Mycroft says I get sentimental when I’m ill. I believe he may be right. Don’t tell him that though.”

Awwww. Adorable!

[matilda3948]

Poor Molly, someone needs to look after you.

You know who else may need a bit of looking after? Anthea. Cally, this is entirely your doing; you've made me love this mysterious character and want to see more interactions between her and the British Government

#47 Wool

“And I’ve confirmed your Tuesday appointment with the Prime Minister. Wednesday is a series of security briefings with six different agencies and I’m still waiting for confirmation on Thursday’s cabinet meeting.” Anthea rattled off Mr. Holmes’ schedule with her normal efficiency.

“Thank you,” he said without looking up from his desk.

“Do you need anything, sir?”

“A copy of the MI6 report filed last week on activity of known targets in Southeast Asia.” When she didn’t immediately answer, Mycroft lifted his eyes just in time to see her raise her head after silently stifling a sneeze.

“Yes sir,” she said, immediately leaving the room. A bit odd, he thought. But he supposed even Anthea was entitled to an occasional sneeze.

The moment she made it to her outer office, Anthea grabbed a tissue and held it to her nose. She didn’t dare sniffle in case her employer heard her or it triggered additional sneezes. She’d woken up feeling a bit under the weather and by this afternoon was reluctantly accepting the fact that she might be coming down with a cold. She shivered and looked longingly at her wool overcoat hanging by the door. As much as she wanted to slip into her jacket she knew it might be more subtle to simply hang a sign around her neck saying “I’m sick” in bright red letters—such was the life of Mycroft Holmes’ Assistant. Instead she squared her shoulders, gave her nose one final swipe, and began pulling the information her boss required.

She managed to make it the rest of the afternoon without incident, only having to go to the ladies’ room twice to sneeze and blow her nose. But now she was seated next to Mr. Holmes in the car as his driver took them both home. She kept her face down, fixated on her mobile, to avoid making eye contact. Nothing unusual about that of course, but the sniffle that she couldn’t stop was.

Mycroft added the sniffle to his growing list of Anthea’s suspect behavior. Something was amiss with her and he was simply waiting for enough evidence before confronting her. If anyone rivaled his distaste for attention and obsession with privacy, it was his assistant. However, when he heard her fingers slow their quick-paced texting, then stop altogether, he glanced over at her. In a single tightly controlled motion, she raised a hand, turned her head as far away as possible and stifled a barely audible sneeze, a faint hntS! the only sound.

“God bless you, Anthea,” he said.

“Thank you. Excuse me, sir.”

“Not catching a cold, I hope,” he said, despite knowing that she absolutely was catching a cold.

“No sir. I’m fine.” She did allow herself one single sniff before picking up her phone once again.

#66 Stifle

When Mycroft got into the town car the next morning, he found Anthea to be anything but fine. Beneath her artfully applied makeup he could detect an unusual paleness to her skin, darkened circles under her eyes, and a faint redness around the edges of her nose. All this before he’d even shut the door.

“Good morning sir,” she said, handing him a file folder. And a touch of congestion, he added.

“Good morning, Anthea.”

“Today’s schedule and fact sheets for your 9am meeting.”

“Thank you.” They rode in silence for a few moments, Mycroft reading the file and Anthea reading emails on her mobile. She sniffled quietly every few minutes and Mycroft found himself itching to give her a handkerchief, but knew she’d be mortified. Playing dumb wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he could force himself when the occasion called for it. Mycroft was able to feign ignorance until Anthea was forced to stifle a sneeze. She turned her head toward the window, pinched her nose, and jerked forward with a restrained hhntgss!

“God bless you, Anthea.”

“Thaahh hhGNXTss! Excuse be, sir.” When she turned her head back around she found Mr. Holmes’ outstretched hand holding a crisp handkerchief. She blushed a brilliant shade of scarlet, but took it and pressed it to her nose. “Thank you, sir. My apologies.”

“What exactly are you sorry for? Getting sick or getting caught being sick?”

“Bit of both, I suppose,” she mumbled before raising the handkerchief to her twitching nose again. hhNXTchh!

“God bless you again."

"Thank you."

"Anthea?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Kindly look up from your mobile for a moment.” Mycroft might as well have asked her to jump off the top of a very tall building based on the apprehension he saw in her eyes. He sighed. “My dear, we have worked together for many, many years. We are not in the midst of an international crisis…for now…so why would you not simply stay home if you were ill?”

“You wouldn’t,” she said. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw a smile pull at the corners of his mouth but it was gone almost as quickly as it arrived.

“I suppose not,” he conceded. It was true that as long as he could remain upright (and sometimes even when he couldn’t) Mycroft would come into the office regardless of any illness. After making a customary request to clear his schedule (which he always declined) Anthea would simply go about trying to minimize his discomfort as he trudged through the day. “Would you like to return home?” he asked.

“No, sir,” she said, her voice rising as the tickle in her nose began to flare up once again.

“Very well.”

HehhNXTss! NXTchh!

“God bless you. Anthea, now that the cat’s out of the bag so to speak, do stop stifling your sneezes like that. It sounds excruciating.”

#80 Clinic

There was a certain freedom in simply acknowledging that she was sick. No need to run off to the ladies’ room to blow her nose, no surge of panic when she felt an oncoming sneeze, and (as Mr. Holmes pointed out to her utter humiliation) no need to stifle her sneezes. He was right of course—it was terribly painful causing her sinuses to throb. He gave her a surprisingly menial task to complete while he was in his morning meetings instead of having her accompany him. A ruse to give her a break and a bit of privacy, but one she was still grateful for. The trashcan next to her desk was rapidly filling with tissues and even the basic assignment she was working on was proving almost more than her cold-muddled brain could manage. She snatched a couple tissues and sneezed. hihhTsshhew! Tishheew! TISHHeew!! She sighed and rubbed her temples. Mr. Holmes would be back any minute, so she touched up her makeup and doubled her efforts to focus on the work in front of her.

Mycroft came back into the office with something in addition to his usual briefcase and umbrella—two large cups of tea from the shop around the corner. He placed one on Anthea’s desk, startling her as he did so.

“Apologies,” he said.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“Tea,” he said, nodding to the cup. She blinked in surprise. It wasn’t that Mr. Holmes was unkind—far from it—but he certainly wasn’t the type of boss who had time to stop and get tea on his way to the office.

“Thag you, sir.” Mycroft frowned and sat down in the chair across from her, causing Anthea to fidget. Meetings were held in his office, never hers. She took a sip of tea and waited for him to speak.

“Anthea, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, sir—just a mild cold,” she said. Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Come my dear, it’s time drop the game I think. We’ve known each other long enough that trying to outmaneuver one another is futile. I’d hoped that by giving you an easy schedule you’d feel better—or at least no worse—by the time I got back. Am I correct in assuming that is not the case?”

“You are, sir.”

“If you are amenable, I would like to propose the following.” Mycroft paused as he saw the young woman reach for a tissue, her nose crinkling at the bridge.

hehTsshheew! hihhTSHHeew! hihhntsschheew! heh KTSHHeew! KTSNSSSHHeeew!

“God bless you, Anthea!”

“By apologies, Mr. Holmbes. Please contidue.”

“Yes, as I was saying, I propose that we pay a quick visit to Doctor Watson at his clinic before taking you back home where you will stay until you feel better—at least until your fever breaks or there’s some sort of national crisis that absolutely requires your presence here.”

“We?”

“Yes, Anthea ‘we.’ You need to see a doctor and get some rest. While I’ve little control over the latter, I will ensure that you see to the former.”

[Spoo]

Now I have an overwhelming case of Anthea feels. Mycroft is very considerate in his own way, and it makes me all warm and fuzzy to know that he cares about someone who's been working for him for so long.

Let's only hope that her employer will won't catch her cold...

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Oh, my! I've just returned from a week of unintentional exile, and for those Sherlock drabbles to greet me....

[cally]

You know who else may need a bit of looking after? Anthea. Cally, this is entirely your doing; you've made me love this mysterious character and want to see more interactions between her and the British Government

Oh my goodness, I bloody love you! These were so, so lovely. <3

[matilda3948]

Aww...thanks so much! It's very fun to write a different set of characters. So, it's rainy and awful today, so I've just been writing and napping. Thus, more drabbles...

#77 Spring

John was reading a patient file when he opened the door to his private office.

“Hello, Doctor,” Mycroft said, causing John to jump high enough he might have been on springs.

“What the?? How did you?” John took a breath and his shock was replaced by frustration. “I have a front door to my clinic! I have a perfectly good door to a lobby and a receptionist who will sign you in. Why do you insist on making everything more difficult than it has to be? No, you know what? Don’t answer that. I know why. You’re a Holmes, that’s bloody why. Now why did you break into my office?” John demanded.

Once Mycroft was satisfied that John had gotten his rant out of his system, he stepped aside and revealed a shivering, horribly embarrassed Anthea. Immediately John softened as she mouthed “I’m sorry,” behind Mycroft’s back.

“No need to apologize to John,” Mycroft said. “If he didn’t secretly enjoy this sort of thing he’d have killed my little brother ages ago.” John rolled his eyes. “Now, Doctor, would you be good enough to take a look at my PA?” Since Anthea was sitting in his chair, John dragged a second one over while Mycroft stood against the wall, hands perched on his umbrella. Unfortunately, her nose selected this particularly silent moment to protest having a cold. She rubbed the tip of her nose back and forth before cupping her hands in front of her face.

hihhTSHH! hihhTSHHHeew! TISSHHEEW! TISSHHEEW! KTSHSCHHeew!

“Bless you,” John said, grabbing her a few tissues.

“A moment, Doctor. She’s not done,” Mycroft said. Indeed, Anthea was on the precipice of another sneeze, her eyes fluttering, breath hitching, until…hehh hihhNTchh! TSCHHew! TSCHHeew! hihTISCHHeeew!! “God bless you, Anthea.” She opened her eyes, looking equal parts dazed and humiliated and took the tissues from John.

“Thag you. I’b very sorry,” she whispered. John tapped her on the knee until she looked up.

“No need to apologize. You alright?” She nodded. “Good. Let me take a look at you,” he said, grabbing his stethoscope. Anthea always suspected that she could like John Watson—Mycroft seemed to hold him in high regard (to the extent that he ever held anyone in high regard). He was professional, compassionate, and thoughtful in his examination. “I need to do a throat culture to confirm, but my bet is on strep,” he said, clicking off his light. Anthea felt her stomach lurch at the mention of the throat culture. “I’ll be right back. Just need to grab a rapid response kit.”

#90 Interrupt

As soon as the door clicked behind him, Mycroft abandoned his spot against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, but she could feel tears building in her eyes. She mentally scolded herself for such a slip.

“Anthea…” his voice made it clear he was waiting for an explanation.

“I don’t like the throat culture.”

“Well no one likes—”

“It scares me,” she interrupted. The both seemed surprised by the force behind her words. Mycroft was even more surprised when a tear splashed down her face. She angrily swiped it away and tried to regain her composure. “My apologies, sir. I’m fine.”

“No,” he sighed. “You’re not.” He quickly catalogued the things a person might associate with a simple throat culture—gagging, choking, drowning, asphyxiation—none of them pleasant. He assumed this was an association formed before coming to work for him, from one of her other jobs in other dark corners of the government. Another mystery. John reentered at that moment and could clearly tell he interrupted…something, but hadn’t the faintest idea what. He may not have been a Holmes, but John didn’t miss the way she stiffened as he unwrapped the cotton swab.

“I’ll be quick,” he said. “Open up.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to submit to the test. The instant she felt the choking sensation, she felt panic overwhelm her. John just managed to finish the swab before she pushed back, gasping and coughing. He reached but she just scooted back even more.

“May we have a moment, Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Takes about five minutes to get results anyway. I’ll be back.” John closed the door and shook his head in total confusion. What was it about the Holmes men and their mysterious women?

Mycroft immediately took the seat John had vacated. In a low, firm voice he tried he called her name.

“Anthea, listen to me. You are safe. Open your eyes, Anthea.” It took a while, but she finally did. “Keep your eyes on me and breathe as deeply as possible.” Simple and pragmatic instructions, that was what she needed. A minute or two later and she uncurled her fists, revealing fingernail marks in her palms. Mycroft held her gaze until she nodded, the panic subsiding finally.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I…I um…”

“Anthea, if you wish to tell me you may, but you are under no obligation to explain yourself to me. We all have secrets we’d rather not share.” She looked relieved.

“Thank you, sir.” When it was clear she had no intention of revealing whatever it was that suddenly came back to haunt her, it was Mycroft’s turn to look relieved. They’d already well exceeded his level of sentiment for the day. Both seemed thankful when John came back into the room.

“Strep throat, I’m afraid,” he said, handing her a prescription. “This should clear it up in a few days, but the cold might linger a bit.”

“Thank you, Doctor Watson,” she said, standing and taking the slip of paper. “I truly appreciate you taking the time.”

“As if I had a choice,” John said, looking directly at Mycroft. He gave Anthea a small smile though. “Feel better.”

“Thank you, John. Give my regards to Sherlock,” Mycroft said.

“Use the front door next time.”

#76 Bath

The brief walk out into the cold London air made her sinuses prickle. She held on to the open car door to steady herself and sneezed hehhNTSCHHeew! ihhSHHHeew! Ktssschhheew! Ktssschhheew! heh hihhTSSCHHHeew!

“God bless you!” Mycroft said, getting a handkerchief from his coat pocket. She nodded her thanks and dropped into the car. Her boss came around the other side and got in, giving the driver her address. “I’ll drop the prescription at the chemist’s and have it brought to you when it’s ready.” She looked at him, eyes narrowing.

“I’m the one who does those errands.”

“Yes, well, you’re going to be at home hopefully getting some much needed rest.”

“So who does those things if I don’t?”

“You needn’t worry. I have any number of people at my disposal.” He noticed the way she frowned and added, “The lot of them combined still doesn’t come close to you, Anthea. You are indispensable.”

He walked her to her front door and gave her strict instructions that she not do any work unless he called and told her otherwise, reminding her that he had access to her mobile network and could see if she was using both her computer and her phone.

“I expect I won’t see you until Monday, but keep me apprised of your progress, please,” he said.

“Thank you for today, sir. I appre ehh…appreciate hihh it…” hihhNTchh! TSCHHew! TSCHHeew! hehNTSCHHeew!

“God bless you, my dear. Now please get inside where it’s warm.”

A couple hours later and Anthea woke up to a knock on her door. When she answered she found a private courier standing on her doorstep with three brown paper bags.

“Compliments of Mr. Holmes,” he said, setting the bags just inside her doorstep before turning and going back the way he came. She locked the door and took the bags into her sitting room. Well, it certainly more than her medication, though that was on top of one of the bags. That bag contained tissues, cough drops, paracetamol, and a heating pad. The second contained her favorite tea, and takeaway from two of her favorite restaurants—enough to last her several days. Anthea smiled and reached for the third, not knowing she’d saved the best for last. This bag contained a very expensive jar of eucalyptus and jasmine bath salt, a half dozen fine, silk handkerchiefs, and perhaps the softest cashmere blanket she’d ever seen. Apparently Mycroft Holmes even did illness in fine style. Her nose tickled madly and she grabbed one of the new handkerchiefs.

hehTsshheew! hihhTSHHeew! hihhntsschheew! heh KTSHHeew! KTSNSSSHHeeew! She blew her nose and marveled at how gentle the silk was. Anthea pulled the dark blue blanket from the bag and a slip of paper fell at her feet. She recognized Mycroft’s handwriting and picked it up.

Dear Anthea,

I hope the enclosed items provide you some small measure of comfort as you recover. Please do not hesitate to contact me if there is anything else you need. You are at my disposal 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Please allow me to return the favour for the next few days. I hope you like the blanket—I do know how you tend to get chilled when you’re under the weather.

Take care,

MH

[cally]

I'm squealing in delight over here. These are simply gorgeous and so loving and caring and awwwwwwwwwwww all warm fuzzies and everything.