Matilda's Drabble Thread II (Sherlock)

[AngelEyes]

Really, Mycroft thought. The two of them scheming together was insufferable.

They do tend to do that, don't they? In their defense he spies on Greg on CCTV. So fair's fair, right?

Greg's whole tirade at Mycroft. Awesome! Well deserved and well written! Love it! And Mycroft not knowing what it was about but knowing he didn't like it was just adorable.

[matilda3948]

I'm soooo glad you all liked those!!!

Greg's not mad anymore because Mycroft is too sick and miserable to stay mad at him

#58 Phone Call

The next morning Greg woke up to the blaring of their alarm clock. Usually Mycroft immediately turned it off and was out of bed in a matter of seconds, but his lover hadn’t stirred. Greg yawned and reached across Mycroft’s body and switched off the alarm. He gently ran his fingers through the younger man’s hair to try and rouse him.

“Come on Mycroft. Time to wake up.” Very slowly, the sleeping man began to stir. “Good morning, love,” Gregory said, leaning down and kissing him on the forehead. Mycroft opened his mouth but no sound came out. He frowned and tried to clear his throat but even that produced nothing more than a gravely rumble. Greg helped Mycroft sit upright and frowned when he broke out in a strained, dry cough. “Christ, Mycroft, you sound awful,” he said. Once again Mycroft tried to answer and this time managed a raspy,

“Apologies, Gregory. I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are,” Greg said, but with a smile. “You need tea and I need to make a phone call.” He got out of bed and stretched, grabbing his mobile off the bedside table. He was about to ask Mycroft if he needed anything else, but saw that the man in question was preparing to sneeze. Gregory shook his head—even Mycroft’s sneezes were hoarse, as though he didn’t even have enough voice to carry through to the end of the sneeze.

hehhntsschhh! hhTsschhhh! Hehhntssschhhh!

“God bless you,” Greg said. Mycroft winced and clasped his throat, simply nodding his thanks.

While Greg waited for the water to boil to make tea, he called John. He quickly filled the doctor in on Mycroft’s condition and asked for advice.

“Does he have a fever?” John asked.

“Mild, I’d say.”

“How was his voice last night?”

“It was on its way out, but this morning it’s like he can barely manage a whisper,” Greg said, pouring the boiling water into the teapot.

“I definitely need to come take a look at him,” John said. “Give me about an hour?”

“Thanks, John.” Greg hung up and carried the tea upstairs. Mycroft was coming out of the bathroom and headed back towards the bed. That wasn’t a good sign. He laid back down, shivering and pulling the blankets back up. Greg came around to that side of the bed and sat on the edge. “Here,” he said, handing Mycroft a hot cup of tea.

“Thank you,” Mycroft whispered, taking a couple sips and letting the warm liquid soothe his raw throat. “I told Anthea I’m staying home today. I’m not of much use to anyone like this.” Greg’s frown deepened as he listened to Mycroft struggle to get his voice to work. He reached up and cupped Mycroft’s face.

“I am sorry you feel so poorly. I’ve asked John to come by, okay?” he asked. Mycroft nodded as his nose began to twitch. Greg took the cup of tea from his hands and replaced it with the last clean handkerchief on the bedside table.

heh ehh hehh hhNtsschhuh! hhkssschhhhh! heh Ehhtssschhh!

“Bless you!” Greg said. Mycroft reached for the tea and took a couple sips before even attempting to answer.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking over the two little words. There was a knock on the door and Greg got up to go let John into the house.

“Morning, Greg,” John said when the silver haired man opened the door. “How’s the patient?”

“Quiet.”

“Always a troubling symptom with a Holmes,” John said. “Don’t worry. We’ll patch him up,” he added when he saw how genuinely concerned Greg was. Both men climbed the stairs and went down the hall to the master bedroom. Mycroft was busy catching another series of strained, grating sneezes into his handkerchief.

Hehhssnsschhhh! HehSNTSCHHH! HehSNTSSSHHH!

“Bless you,” both men said. Mycroft waited until the stinging sensation subsided a little before looking up.

“Thank you. Good morning, John. I’m sorry to inconvenience you this morning.” John couldn’t help but wince when he heard the way Mycroft’s voice cut in and out of a hoarse whisper while he spoke.

“You sound terrible, Mycroft,” John said, sitting down on the side of the bed and opening his medical bag. “Does it hurt to swallow?”

“A bit.” Mycroft glanced towards the bedroom door. “Sherlock?”

#93 Remedy

“I managed to convince him to stay home,” John said, smiling when he saw Mycroft’s relief. “Doesn’t really seem like a fair fight when you can hardly talk. I’ll have you know it cost me a pretty penny—Greg, I’m going to need your help delivering on some promises I had to make to keep Sherlock at Baker Street.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft whispered. John nodded and instructed the elder Holmes to open his mouth. John kept up a quiet monologue as he completed his examination.

“Hmm, throat’s irritated but doesn’t look like strep. Lymph nodes are swollen and you’re running a low-grade fever. Sinuses don’t appear to be infected which is very good news. Seems like—” John stopped when he saw Mycroft’s face dissolve into a desperate pre-sneeze expression.

heh ehh hehh Ehhtssschhh! Ntsschhuh! heh Hehh…hhkssschhhhh! Hehhssnsschhhh!

“Bless you,” John said.

“God bless you, love,” Greg said, bringing him a couple clean handkerchiefs.

“Apologehh Hehh…apologies.”

heh ehh…hehhssnsschhhh! HehSNTSCHHH! HehSNTSSSHHH!

“Bless you,” both men said again.

John put his things away and zipped up his bag.

“Well, you’ve got a severe head cold and a pretty impressive case of laryngitis,” the doctor said. “Both should clear up on their own but there are some decent home remedies I can recommend.” He stood up and Greg immediate took up the vacated spot on the bed. “First thing is to rest your voice and when you do talk, don’t whisper. Seems counterintuitive but whispering puts tremendous strain on the vocal chords. Lots of warm liquids—tea with honey and lemon, ginger boiled in hot water, cayenne pepper in hot water if you can manage it, throat lozenges or hard candy. Gargling with salt water and sitting in a steamy bathroom will both help too. Call if it gets any worse or if your fever spikes, but otherwise, rest and let it run its course.”

“Thanks, John,” Greg said. “I feel better knowing it’s nothing too serious. And let me know whatever it is I need to bribe Sherlock with.” Mycroft cleared his throat a few times and said,

“Thank you, John. I appreciate hehh huh…” He turned his head.

heh Hehh…hhkssschhhhh! Hehhssnsschhhh! heh ehh…hehhssnsschhhh! HehSNTSCHHH! huhehhktsschhhh!

“Bless you. Save you voice,” John reminded him. “I’ll let myself out, Greg. Feel better, Mycroft.”

“Thanks again, John,” Greg said. When he heard the front door close, he turned back to Mycroft. “Well, could have been worse,” he said. Mycroft scowled in response causing his lover to laugh before leaning over and kissing his forehead. “I know but I’m not on call today so at least you have me while you’re stuck in bed.” Mycroft smiled and opened his mouth but Greg put his index finger to his lips. “Shh. Learn to follow directions.”

[Spoo]

Doctor Watson to the rescue! But awwww, Mycroft. I hope the poor darling feels better soon. With Greg's care, though, I think that's a strong possibility!

[cally]

Oh poor Mycroft. I've been that sick and it certainly isn't fun. (also it's very hard to be a teacher and have laryngitis at the same time).

“Like hell you are,” Greg said, but with a smile. “You need tea and I need to make a phone call.” He got out of bed and stretched, grabbing his mobile off the bedside table. He was about to ask Mycroft if he needed anything else, but saw that the man in question was preparing to sneeze. Gregory shook his head—even Mycroft’s sneezes were hoarse, as though he didn’t even have enough voice to carry through to the end of the sneeze.

hehhntsschhh! hhTsschhhh! Hehhntssschhhh!

This. You've explained it so well; how impossible it is to sneeze in that condition.

Please, never stop writing them.

[AngelEyes]

So beautiful. Poor Mycroft! Sweet John. Love that he had to bribe Sherlock to stay away!

[matilda3948]

Sorry I've been gone for a bit. My house flooded and I've spent the last several days trying to get things cleaned up. It's been awful Finally getting things under control though and all I wanted to do was check out from the real world and read/write fanfic.

#36 Impatience

Sherlock rubbed his nose and sniffled, but barely blinked as he surveyed the body in front of him. This was a good one—a seven, maybe even an eight. A body in the middle of an open field with no indication of how it got there. No tire tracks, drag marks, or indication that it had been dropped from above. It was as though the body had just appeared. Unfortunately, the location where this intriguing body had appeared was far outside the city and Sherlock’s hay fever was flaring up the longer he was outside. He gave a liquid sniffle and rubbed his eyes, crouching down next to the body.

Stray purple thread—cotton. Owned a small dog—terrier mix. Ithcy. He shook his head slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clean shoes, minimal wear. Going to sneeze. Sherlock turned and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Hhgntxs! Ngtshh! hhXKTss!

“Bless you,” John said. He’d been standing off to the side with Lestrade, allowing Sherlock time to work. The consulting detective ignored him and got back to work.

Clean fingernails, faint tan line from wedding ring—recently divorced, possibly cheating. Nose tickling, eyes burning. He gave a frustrated sigh and refocused. Only child. Strained family relationships. Expensive watch but poorly tailored suit. Intense sinus irritation. Impending sneezing fit.

He stood and turned away from the body, his long coat trailing behind. He brought both long hands up to cover his trembling nose. HehNTXs! hNGTss! Hhgntxs! Ngtshh!

“Bless you,” John and Lestrade both said.

“You alright?” Lestrade added, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket.

“Hay fever,” John supplied since Sherlock was otherwise occupied.

HehNtsschh! hhKXTss! NGtsshh! hehNGTsshh! KTsshh! hehhNTtsshh!

“Christ, Sherlock! Bless you,” Greg said. Sherlock nodded and blew his nose, then wiped his watery eyes with the back of his hand.

“Step mother poisoned your victim last night. She found out he was embezzling from the family business. So was she and didn’t want too many hands in the same pot of money.” Hehntsschh! hehNGTsshh! Hhgntxs! Ngtshh! “Good day, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said turning and walking towards the car.

#2 Desperation

John trudged up the stairs and dropped his bag and coat by the front door. He flopped down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. He felt absolutely awful—limbs heavy as lead, head full and aching, and his nose in a near constant state of irritation. He really needed to take some cold medicine and go to bed, but he just didn’t have the energy to get up yet. He decided to rest for just a minute.

John wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, not long he suspected. It was the whistling of the tea kettle that roused him. He winced as he sat up straight and opened his eyes.

“I take it you were infecting more people than you were curing,” Sherlock said, coming out of the kitchen with two cups of tea. He put John’s down on the table next to him and surveyed the doctor. His roommate was quite ill by the look of him.

“That was my concern,” John said, reaching out for his tea. “Thanks for this.” Sherlock nodded as John took a couple sips.

“What would you like to eat? I’ll order in,” Sherlock said.

“I’m not hungry,” John said with a wet sniffle.

“You need to eat.”

“That’s rich coming from you. You never eat.” This time John coughed harshly into his fist.

“You’re not me,” Sherlock said when he’d stopped.

Hehh hehh…hehhh-AHHHTSSHHHHHeew! hehh’YIHHHKTSSSSHHHHHeeew!! John doubled over with a pair of loud, violent sneezes. Sherlock frowned. That wasn’t the way John normally sneezed—these were wrenching, desperate sneezes, far from the former Army doctor’s normal “perfectly average” sneezes.

“Hmm, perhaps you can eat later,” Sherlock said. John finally hoisted himself off the sofa.

“I just want to go to bed.” He shivered and his breath caught again. hehh huhh… His head nearly hit his knees as he lurched forward, catching the messy sneezes in his hands. HuhhEhhhNGTSSSSHHHHHeew! huh-EHHgntSHHHHHHHEEEW!! John felt an arm loop around his waist. “Ugh,” he sniffled wetly, straightening up and opening his eyes. He glanced at Sherlock with confusion. “What are you doing?” John asked.

“You got dizzy and were going to fall.”

“Was not.” But when John looked around he realized he was a good five feet to the right of where he’d been standing.

“Bed, John.”

“Right.”

Sherlock stayed a step behind John as he slowly made his way upstairs. He turned the heat up a few degrees while John got ready for bed and then grabbed a box of tissues from the hall closet. John’s sneezing echoed down the hall.

hhAHHKTSSCCHHHHEEEW! heh huh…hehhAHHHSNTSSCHHHHEEEW!!

Sherlock came in just as John lost his balance and fell onto his bed.

Hehh YihhAHHKTSSSHHHHH! huhh HihSNTSSSHHHHHeeew!

John held his head in his hands, waiting for the room to stop spinning. He opened his eyes to find Sherlock standing in front of him, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Told you.”

“Shut up and give me those,” John said, nodding towards the tissues. He took a handful and blew his nose. The sound caused Sherlock to make a face that fell somewhere between disgust and concern. “Sorry,” John said.

“Do you need anything?” Sherlock asked. John shook his head no, but couldn’t answer due to the impending sneezes.

hehhh-AHHHTSSHHHHHeew! hehh HIHHHKTSSSSHHHHHeeew!!

“Bless you, John.”

[VoOs]

Uhm. Sherlock's hayfever symptoms interrupting his deductions like that is just insanely sexy, okay?

I need a cold shower...

[AngelEyes]

I Love that Sherlock's observations about his personal state were just lumped in there with his observations on the case! Hotness! And totally how his mind would process. Then he spills the goods and is like That's it, outta here, good day. Lol!

Poor John! The conversation about eating. Priceless. Sherlock knows eating is important and wants to help John. While totally still keeping up the I'm above eating nonsense. Lol! And their dialogue. I could totally hear Johns voice. Perfect!

[cally]

I love how Sherlock has an inner monologue going (mainly b/c personally I do that all the time). And his poor, ticklish sneezes. (Also, everything VoOs said. )

I love caretaking!Sherlock. And how he describes John's normal sneezes as "perfectly average," meaning he has a scale for that sort of thing, which is intriguing.

[Seniorstatus14]

I love these!! They're amazing!!

P.S. Sorry about your house! Hope everything gets back to normal for you soon!!

[matilda3948]

Aww...thanks all! Here's a continuation of the sick John story line and a pre-John sick Sherlock drabble.

#12 Loud

Sherlock went back downstairs but found it difficult to focus on anything. Loud, violent sneezes would steal his attention every few minutes until it seemed that John eventually fell asleep. Still, Sherlock was restless. He paced. He flopped into his chair, paced some more, reorganized the fingers and toes in the refrigerator, resumed pacing. Sherlock wandered upstairs and paused outside John’s bedroom door. He nudged the door open and was surprised to see that John was awake—curled on his side, blinking rapidly before sneezing.

heh huh…hehhntssschhhhEEW! HhhSGNSHHHHeew!

Sherlock came into the bedroom and stared down at John.

“What?” John sniffled thickly. Sherlock didn’t say anything, but put pressed the back of his hand to John’s forehead. He frowned when he felt how warm the doctor was.

“What have you taken?” Sherlock asked. John looked embarrassed when he realized that he’d forgotten to take any kind of medication before going to bed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to the bathroom to find something to bring John’s fever down. If he hadn’t been so sick, the strange role reversal might have struck John as ironic or even funny, but he was just too miserable to notice. He pulled several tissues from the box on the bedside table and blew his nose, dissolving into a wracking cough. That was the state Sherlock found him in when he came back in, carrying a number of different things. Thankfully, one of them was a bottle of water. John gratefully accepted the water and finally managed to calm the spasms. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He handed John a couple paracetamol which he took without question. Then Sherlock shook up a bottle of prescription cough syrup.

“Don’t want that,” John said.

“Not a request.” Sherlock poured some into the plastic cup and held it out. John shook his head and Sherlock huffed. “Honestly, who is the doctor and who is the petulant child? I didn’t realize this cold affected your maturity and common sense, John. How many times have you forced me to take this vile concoction in the past?”

John’s attempt to stare Sherlock down was half-hearted at best (not that he could win that game when he was well). His resolved quickly crumpled as his nose and sinuses swelled with an overwhelming tickle.

HuhhEhhhNGTSSSSHHHHHeew! huh-EHHgntSHHHHHHHEEEW! hehhh-AHHHTSSHHHHHeew! hehh HIHHHKTSSSSHHHHHeeew!

His body shook with the force of each sneeze, causing him to curl in on himself. He couldn’t stop the small groan that followed.

“Bless you, John.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed with concern. “There’s codeine in this cough syrup—it’ll help you sleep.” John considered that fact. “You really need to rest, John,” Sherlock added quietly. It was the tone of voice that finally convinced John to extend a shaky hand and take the dose of medicine his friend had measured out for him. He grimaced and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps you’ll have more sympathy the next time your force that revolting stuff on me.” John managed a weak smile.

“Maybe. Thanks, Sherlock.”

#39 Pillow

Sherlock stood there, somewhat awkwardly. John propped another pillow behind his head to help him breathe better. He yawned and cast a glance up at his hovering nurse.

“Sherlock? What are you doing?”

“Contemplating.”

“Contemplating what exactly?”

“Why your discomfort is causing me such restlessness.” John was pretty sure that even if he wasn’t sick he still would have no idea what Sherlock meant.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain,” he said. Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I haven’t been able to focus for the last few hours. My mind is restless and scattered. I even reordered the toes, which always helps settle me, but not this time. It’s most…most unsettling. Even now, I’m not sure if I should go downstairs or stay here, despite the fact that I have no idea what I would do to occupy my time here anymore than—” Sherlock stopped when he realized the John was laughing. “What?” he demanded.

“You! For a genius sometimes you can be incredibly thick. You’re worried about me.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” John said, reaching for a tissue. “You came up hehh huh up here to chehhehh check on me…” He turned his head and sneezed.

heh huh…hehhntssschhhhEEW! HhhSGNSHHHHeew!

The second sneeze immediately transformed into a harsh cough. It took a moment, but finally John managed to stop coughing. He took a sip of water and looked up at Sherlock.

“It’s possible I’m a little concerned,” he admitted. John smiled fondly.

“I’m fine,” John said. “Just a bit under the weather.” He coughed again and amended, “Maybe a touch of flu, but nothing to worry about.” Sherlock nodded but looked unconvinced. “Look, why don’t you go get your laptop and work up here for a bit? That medicine’s starting to work—suspect I’ll be able to sleep through about anything.”

“If you insist.”

#22 Drugs

Lestrade felt a surge of anger rush through him the moment he laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes. The young man had been “assisting” on crime scenes for a while now—doing a phenomenal jobs seeing details even his most trained assistants missed. Greg had quickly taken a liking to Sherlock, despite his abrasive and often juvenile attitude. He gave Sherlock a pretty long leash and hadn’t been disappointed yet.

There was, however, one condition that was nonnegotiable and Greg was certain that Sherlock had just violated their agreement. Lestrade took one look at Sherlock’s bloodshot eyes and pale skin and he grabbed the younger man by the upper arm and hauled him away from the crime scene.

“What exactly is your problem?” Sherlock asked.

“What are you on?” Lestrade demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know this look,” Lestrade said, gesturing towards Sherlock’s face. “You’re pale, look like you haven’t slept in ages—eyes red, sweating, shaking. You cannot be high at a crime scene.”

“I’m not high you idiot.”

“Sherlock you’re a wreck! If you’re not high then—”

HehhNGTss! Ktsschh! hhNTssshh!

Oh. Greg raked a hand through his hair and sighed. He should have seen that.

hehhTSHH! KTSHHH!

“God bless you,” Greg said, searching his pockets for a handkerchief. He found a couple clean tissues in his outer coat pocket and handed them the sniffling man in front of him.

“Thag you,” Sherlock sniffled before turning and blowing his nose. Now that he didn’t think Sherlock was using again, Greg found himself a bit worried. Sherlock really looked unwell.

“Listen Sherlock, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“You had plenty of reason to,” Sherlock said. “It’s fine.” He shivered and drew his coat tighter around his slim body. “It was the husband, by the way. He strangled her after finding out she was sleeping with the gardener.” His eyes fluttered shut and he pressed a long finger against the underside of his nose, sniffling hard.

“Alright?” Greg asked. Sherlock nodded, successfully fighting back the sneeze.

#70 Listless

Greg tilted his head as he looked at the rather miserable looking man in front of him.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked. Sherlock shrugged. “How about sleep?” Another shrug, but this one was followed by a sneeze.

hehhNTSHH!

And another…

Heh hhNGTSSHHH!

And another…

huhAHHsntsschhhoo!

“Christ! Bless you Sherlock! Come on, you can come back to my place and warm up and sleep for a bit.” Greg was also going to try and get some food into Sherlock—who was looking practically gaunt—but getting Sherlock to eat was a challenge on the best of days, so Greg decided not to press his luck. He tugged Sherlock’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Greg poured hot water into a teapot and grabbed two cups before going back into his living room. Sherlock was curled up in a corner of the sofa, his eyes feverish and listless. Despite the fact that he was swimming in one of Greg’s sweatshirts and had a blanket over him, he still shivered periodically. He had a handful of tissues clutched in one hand and was rubbing his forehead with the other. Greg shook his head—he looked miserable and so, so young. A wrinkle settled across the bridge of his nose as Sherlock prepared to sneeze for the millionth time that day. He brought the tissues up to his nose, tilting his head back slightly as he took two deep, audible breaths before falling forward with an exhausted fit of sneezes.

hehhNTSHHoo! hhSNGTSHHHH! hhNTssshhoo! Ktsschh! Ktssschhoo!

“God bless you.” Greg winced as Sherlock coughed into his fist. He poured them each some tea and sat down on the sofa next. Sherlock took the cup Greg held out to him and wrapped his hands around it, trying to soak up whatever warmth he could.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, sipping the hot tea.

“It’s no problem. Want to watch a movie or something?” Greg asked.

“Whatever you want is fine.” Greg frowned—Sherlock always had an opinion. Plus, he hadn’t mentioned the obvious fact that Greg’s wife had left him, which either meant Sherlock was too sick to notice or too sick to comment. Both possibilities were troubling.

“I was just trying to be nice,” Sherlock said as though he’d read the older man’s mind. “But I am sorry she left,” he added quietly.

“It happens I guess,” Greg said. He sighed and stood up. “I’m thinking a comedy.” He put a DVD on and sat back down.

Ktsschh! hhNTssshh! HehhNGTss!

“Bless you. Maybe you should see a doctor. You sound awful.”

“M’alright.” Sherlock coughed into his fist. “Can I have more of that?” he asked, nodding towards the teapot on the table.

“You don’t have to ask,” Greg said, reaching over and topping off both their cups. “Just relax and make yourself comfortable.” If anything, this only made Sherlock less comfortable. That was something Greg had never seen from the younger man before. He shook his head and sighed, reaching around and gently squeezing the back of Sherlock’s neck. He rubbed the tense muscles and slowly Sherlock began to relax. He actually thought Sherlock might drift off sitting upright on the sofa, but the poor man couldn’t seem to catch a break.

hehh AhhSNGSSSHHoo! HehhNTSHHH! KTSSCHHHoo!

“Bless you.”

“Thags.” A violent shiver ran through his body and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Greg put one of the sofa pillows on his lap and patted it. Sherlock looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head.

“It’s what people do when they’re sick, Sherlock,” Greg said.

“Not me.” It was both his words and his tone that made Greg frown. Had he really never had someone look after him properly when he was ill? Hmm. Another piece of the Sherlock Holmes puzzle.

“Come on. Lay down,” Greg said. Oh so hesitantly, Sherlock laid his head down and curled up on his side. Greg spread the blanket over the sick man and rubbed his arm to try and warm him. It took a few minutes but the shivering subsided and Sherlock’s breathing evened out. “Sleep well mate,” Greg whispered.

[AngelEyes]

I love Sherlock worried about John but not knowing what to do about it or even really admitting it. Adorable!

Love how Lestrade has become the early Sherlock rescuer/father figure. Awwww!

[Seniorstatus14]

Awww, cute! I love how worried Sherlock is over John and I especially love how Greg took Sherlock home and took care of him!

[cally]

I hope John is feeling better soon. He sounds miserable; those sneezes of his.

Oh poor, poor Sherlock. He sounds absolutely miserable. I hope Lestrade can get him to rest and eat!

[ID2006]

These might be some of my favorite drabbles yet. I love sick John and caring/fretting Sherlock and Lestrade caring for Sherlock is so heartwarming.

[matilda3948]

Love how Lestrade has become the early Sherlock rescuer/father figure. Awwww!

Yes, I think it's fun that this is evolving as another one of our themes here.

Awww, cute! I love how worried Sherlock is over John and I especially love how Greg took Sherlock home and took care of him!

Thank you!

Oh poor, poor Sherlock. He sounds absolutely miserable. I hope Lestrade can get him to rest and eat!

He's gonna

These might be some of my favorite drabbles yet. I love sick John and caring/fretting Sherlock and Lestrade caring for Sherlock is so heartwarming.

Aww, yay!! I'm so glad they're not getting stale.

Okay, so I'll probably circle back to the sick John/awkwardly caring Sherlock thread, but the Sherlock/Lestrade story was nagging my brain. For purposes of these drabbles, Sherlock hasn't moved to Baker Street yet. Tried to stay as in-character as possible, but it was tricky since this is a totally manufactured pre-series relationship. I just love the idea of a paternal Lestrade looking out for a struggling Sherlock

#23 First Time

Sherlock slept through the entire movie and showed no sign of waking even once it was over. Greg decided to let him sleep—he looked terrible. It was the first time Greg was able to just observe Sherlock without having to deal with his antics. He knew the young man had a brilliant mind, but he was troubled. Everyone had their demons but Greg suspected Sherlock’s were worse than most and quite possibly due to that brilliant mind. Even in his sleep Greg suspected his brain was running a hundred miles an hour. Sherlock brought a hand up and pawed at his red nose but the itch was strong enough that it was forcing him awake. He blinked a couple times before stifling a couple sneezes against his wrist.

hhngtsshh! Ngktss! huh-ehh…hhSNTSHH!

“Bless you,” Greg said. He resisted the urge to smooth back Sherlock’s unruly hair—he knew that wouldn’t go over well—so he settled for easing the man off his lap until he could sit upright. Sherlock sniffled, yawned, and then sniffled again. “I didn’t think you could sound worse than you did before you slept, but I think I was wrong. How are you feeling?”

“Same,” Sherlock said. Greg nodded and stood up, stretching after being in one position for so long.

“What sounds good to eat?” he asked.

“Dot hungry.”

“You gotta eat something, Sherlock. Your body needs some fuel. Soup?”

“Ndo.” Greg shook his head and put a box of tissues directly onto Sherlock’s lap. His consonants were lost in a sea of congestion. After giving Sherlock time to blow his nose, Greg continued his line of questioning.

“I could get take away. Thai or Chinese?”

“No.” Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, his long, delicate fingers coming up to rub his temples.

“I could make eggs and toast.” Sherlock shook his head. “Grilled cheese?” Sherlock paused massaging his head; Greg took that to be a good sign. “Why don’t I make that? If you don’t like it we can try something else. You want more tea?” he asked. Sherlock lifted his eyes, glanced up at the silver haired man and nodded. Greg wasn’t sure how to label Sherlock’s expression. All he knew was it made something in his chest ache a bit. “Okay. You can stay here or come into the kitchen with me. I won't be long,” Greg said.

He’d only been in the kitchen a couple minutes when Sherlock came in behind him. He sat down in one of the dining room chairs, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. Greg didn’t think it was possible to fold a body into that position, but Sherlock seemed comfortable enough. Greg wasn’t sure what to say and since Sherlock barely seemed to have enough energy to hold his head upright, he opted for a semi-comfortable silence while he moved around the kitchen. It was periodically interrupted by sniffles and muffled coughs. Really need to get him to see a doctor, Greg thought. As if Sherlock was trying to reinforce that worry, he ducked his head down sneezing into the small space between his chest and bent legs.

hhNTssshhoo! Ktsschh! Ktssschhoo! hehhNTSHHoo! hhSNGTSHHHH!

Greg winced, blessed him, and grabbed a couple paper towels off the roll in the kitchen. Sherlock unfolded his lanky body and took the rough paper, giving his nose an even rougher blow. He shivered and resumed his earlier position, resting his head against his knees and coughing.

#30 Scent

Soon the scent of fresh grilled cheese filled the kitchen, not that Sherlock could smell much. Greg had made some soup for good measure, but thoroughly expected to be the only one who ate any. He put the food on the table, poured Sherlock another cup of tea and then sat down across from him. Greg was hungry and got to work on his sandwich and a bowl of chicken soup. Sherlock tore off the corner of his sandwich and chewed it slowly. He repeated this process three more times before finally unfolding his legs and sitting up at the table. He picked up half the grilled cheese and actually took a bite…then another. Greg smiled but didn’t say anything. He was just glad to see the younger man eat something and didn’t want to risk even a little good-natured teasing.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?” Greg asked. “I can make up the guest room.”

“I’ll go home,” Sherlock said, starting in on the second half of his sandwich.

“You’re welcome to stay. Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mind.” He’d been to Sherlock’s flat once before. It was a dank one-room space filled with books. If he lived there he’d probably wander the streets of London all day and night too. Maybe he’d encourage Sherlock to look for a better place once he was feeling better. Thinking about Sherlock’s house reminded Greg of something else. “Is the heat working at your flat?”

“More or less,” Sherlock said.

“What does that mean?” Sherlock held up a finger, indicating that he needed a moment. He grabbed his napkin and turned from the table.

HehhNGTss! Ktsschh! heh…hhNTssshhoo! HehSNSSHHHoo!

“Bless you, Sherlock.”

“Thag you.” After a moment it was clear Sherlock had no intention of answering Greg’s question, so he repeated it. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It means it’s technically in working order but not currently producing heat.”

“You didn’t pay your bill and they shut your power off?” Greg ventured.

“Perhaps you’re not as stupid as you seem.” Ah, there’s the bite, Greg thought but he didn’t take the bait. Most of Sherlock Holmes was a mystery to him, but Lestrade knew a defense mechanism when he saw one.

“Stay here tonight. Tomorrow I’ll loan you the money to get your power back on.”

“I don’t hehh ehh…deed money heh huh…” His head tipped back, nostrils twitched and huhNTSSCHH! NTSSCHHH! huhEhhTSSCHHoo!

“Bless you.” Greg got up and cleared the dishes away. “So you have plenty of money, you just didn’t feel like paying your bills?”

“Boring,” Sherlock sniffled.

Of course.

Greg couldn’t help himself. He came around to Sherlock’s side of the table and took the young man’s face in his hands.

“How can you be so brilliant and so incredibly stupid at the same time?” He didn’t wait for an answer—based on Sherlock’s stunned expression it might take a while anyway. Greg just tugged his arm. “Come on. You’ve got a fever and need to get to bed.”

[cally]

“How can you be so brilliant and so incredibly stupid at the same time?” He didn’t wait for an answer—based on Sherlock’s stunned expression it might take a while anyway. Greg just tugged his arm. “Come on. You’ve got a fever and need to get to bed.”

Oh Sherlock. You poor, poor lamb.

[indigo]

These are glorious! Young, sick Sherlock and caring Greg especially

[Spoo]

I have the biggest weak spot for Papa!strade. Helping Sherlock even though Sherlock is less than enthused about it. Awwww.

[ID2006]

These are glorious! Young, sick Sherlock and caring Greg especially

Yeah, what she said. And lots more words like amazing, brilliant, inspiring, and more words I'm too lazy to think up or type.

[AngelEyes]

“How can you be so brilliant and so incredibly stupid at the same time?” He didn’t wait for an answer—based on Sherlock’s stunned expression it might take a while anyway.

Awww. So true! I just love this. Sweet Papa!Strade as Spoo put it. Dear Sherlock, you better get used to being cared for. There's plenty of it in your future....

[matilda3948]

Thank you all sooo much for reading! One continuation of Papa!Strade and a couple with Mary and Sherlock (because I adore them).

#89 Pills

The next morning Greg got up and went straight to the guest room to check on Sherlock. He smiled when he got a look at his patient. He was curled up on his side, the thick blankets pulled up to his chin, snoring lightly. As much as he wanted to test his forehead for fever, Greg didn’t want to risk waking him—he knew sleep was a rare commodity in Sherlock’s world. Instead he went to the kitchen and fixed himself a fresh pot of coffee. He was halfway through the morning paper when he heard signs of life from the guestroom. Of course, it came in the form of a sneezing fit but still. A few minutes later Sherlock came into the kitchen, a fistful of tissues in one hand and his hair sticking up in every possible direction.

“Morning,” Greg said, getting up from the table. “Coffee or tea?”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock sat down at the table. Greg decided to let it slide for the moment.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“M’fine.” His nose seemed more than willing to contradict that statement however. Sherlock took two tissues from the handful he’d brought with him and sneezed.

hhntsschh! Ntsschhh! hehkitsschh!

“Bless you.” Greg raised an eyebrow. Sherlock sniffled and shrugged.

“Better than yesterday,” he said.

“That’s good.” Greg pressed the back of his hand to Sherlock’s forehead. “No fever this morning either. Still think you should take some more cold medicine,” he said, putting two pills on the table. He got Sherlock a glass of water and handed it to him. He downed the pills without argument. While he may have been feeling better than yesterday, he was a long way off from healthy.

Hehhngtshhh! NGtsschhoo! heh huhh…hehhNTCHsshhoo!

“Bless you, Sherlock.” He nodded his thanks and blew his nose. “You should eat something,” Greg said. “What do you like for breakfast?”

“I don’t want anything.” Greg sighed. This was an all too familiar conversation.

“Come on, Sherlock. You really need to put something in your stomach. Doesn’t have to be much, just something. Toast? Oatmeal?” Sherlock shook his head no to each option. “I could make you grilled cheese again,” Greg teased. To his surprise, Sherlock’s eyes perked up a little. Greg laughed and went to get the bread. “Knew you had to have some kind of weakness,” he said. “Never thought this would be something as simple as a grilled cheese sandwich.”

#73 Annoy

John's mobile chirped four times in quick succession. He'd left it at home by mistake that morning. Mary glanced at it and saw they were all from Sherlock.

Need you at Baker St. --SH

Come at once. --SH

John? --SH

I'm dying! --SH

Unlikely, but not completely impossible, Mary decided, grabbing her keys.

Ten minutes later she was quietly making her way up the stairs. The door was unlocked and she slipped inside the front entry without making a sound.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked. He was sprawled out on the sofa, one leg dangling off to the right, his hands folded and resting on his stomach.

"Heard you were dying," she said.

"I ab and why isn't John here?"

"He forgot his phone when he left for work." She looked down at him. He looked a bit unwell—pale with a bit of a flush across his cheeks. "Can you describe the manner in which you're dying?" Mary asked. Sherlock scowled.

"I want John."

"Well, you're stuck with me," she said with a smile. A (no doubt) scathing retort was on the tip of his tongue, but he suddenly turned his head and sneezed.

hhNTGsshh! HehNTSCHH! Kitsschhoo!

"Bless you, Sherlock." Mary frowned; he was sick. Sherlock dug a crumpled tissue out of the pocket of his dressing gown and wiped his nose. "How long have you been feeling bad?" she asked, sitting down on the floor by his head. He shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"A few days," he said. She reached over and put her hand on his forehead finding he had a decent fever. He swatted her hand away but it just made her laugh.

"I'll make you some tea," she said, getting up.

"I don't deed you here," he said.

"Then why'd you text?"

"I didn't text you." He sneezed.

hhNTSSCHHoo! hhSNTsschh! hehKTissschh!

"Bless you!" she called in a cheerful voice, only deepening Sherlock's annoyance.

#53 Asleep

Mary came back in with a cup of tea for each of them.

"Come on. Sit up," she said. He huffed but didn't move. The fact that his antics didn't seem to faze her was all the more irritating. Mary just stood there patiently, a hint of a smile on her lips. Finally he heaved himself up into a sitting position and took the tea from her. She sat down next to him and patted his leg (earning herself another scowl in the process). He sipped his tea and gradually became less hostile.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," she said. "Have you taken anything?" He shook his head, but couldn't answer because of the impending sneeze.

HehhNGSSCHHooo! hhSNTsschhooo! TSSCHH! KtsschhOOO!

"Bless you." He nodded and pulled the same battered tissue from his pocket and rubbed his nose in it. Mary rolled her eyes and got up from the sofa. A quick trip around the flat and she came back with a new box of tissues, a packet of cold medicine, and a blanket. She sat back down and gave him the pills first. He swallowed them with a mouthful of tea. Next, Mary opened the box of tissues and handed him a good handful. Sherlock finally gave his nose a proper blow but it triggered a terrible itch in his nose.

heh Ehh…hhSNTSSCHH! TSCHHooo! HehTSSHHHooo!

"Bless you, Sherlock!" He shook his head, already gearing up for more.

HehhNGSSCHHooo! hehTSSCHHooo! hhNTSSCHHH! SNTSSCHHHooo!

"You poor thing! No wonder you wanted John." He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

"I don't feel well," he whispered. She reached over and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know. Don't worry, I left John a note to come over when he got back from work. He should be here in a couple hours. In the meantime you need to get some rest." He lifted his head and looked at Mary.

"Are you going to stay?"

"MmHm."

He started to ask her a question, but stopped himself. Mary took a guess.

"Because you're unwell and I care about you, that's why," she said. Mary scooted to the end of the sofa and put a pillow in her lap. "Come on. Put your head down and rest for a bit." He was too tired to give it much thought, so he put his head in her lap and pulled the blanket over himself. Mary smoothed it out then checked his forehead again. "Still a bit warm," she said quietly. She brushed his hair back off his face and rubbed his back until he fell asleep.

[Seniorstatus14]

Oh my goodness!!! As much as I liked the Papa!Strade one, I think you really outdid yourself with the Mary and Sherlock one and I hope you continue It was fantastic! Mary and John are going to be fantastic parents. They've had a lot of practice with Sherlock. You write them all incredibly well!!

[AngelEyes]

Awww. Papa!Strade. Love.

Mary. Such amused patience. He's such a petulant child and she's just like, yeah, yeah Sherlock, get over it, you're stuck with me right now. LOL. I agree with SeniorStatus. Her and John will make brilliant parents after taking care of Sherlock!

[cally]

Sherlock is too adorable when unwell. All sleep rumpled and grumpy.