Cally's Sherlock drabble thread #1 442/442

[cally]

I am giggling like crazy, I'm sorry! There's something super vulnerable about falling in the shower but all in all for some reason this is the FUNNIEST drabble you have ever written. There are just so many throwaway little things! Like Sherlock being the root of Mycroft's phobia. Sherlock Holmes - causing emotional trauma since the 1980s. And Greg being like yeah, only six *snort*

It definitely was meant to be hilarious. I mean, serious in yes it can happen, but funny all the same.

Mycroft holding back his terrible, ticklish sneezes until he's safe is super hot. Love how he's fussing with a towel when he still intensely needs to sneeze; it's so true to his character! And aww, Greg needs to provide some reassurance for Mycroft's fears. He's not gonna let you die in the shower, Mycroft!

He had to wait until he was safe and on carpet. And with a towel. He's such a worrier!

Oh my gosh this was hilarious! I can totally see a young Sherlock being all "of course it was because she sneezed, Mycroft, as ever you see but do not observe."

THIS! (even though there was absolutely no indication of that in the show whatsoever, but even from a very young age Sherlock knew exactly which buttons to push!)

Oh dear. This is fabulously wonderful. The whole thing is just So Mycroft! He does have such odd little quirks and phobias. And I love his offhand, It was only 6, nothing to worry about. Because he's so used to endless fits!

6, that's nothing!

Hmmm. Is he just fussed over the shower, or is there more going on? Intrigued to see how/what Greg finds out.

Oh, there's more.

170. trouble

Now dressed for bed, Gregory wasn’t any closer to figuring out the cause of Mycroft’s troubled mood. He knew something definitely was bothering him; he had been on the same page of the novel in his lap for at least five minutes.

Mycroft couldn’t follow the simple plot line in the book he was reading for love or money. He was terribly, terribly preoccupied now; worried about what would have happened if Gregory had found him in the shower, unconscious or worse.

His thoughts rapidly went from his demise to Gregory’s. What if something happened when Gregory was on a case, or a convicted criminal came after him after being released or even just something like an embolism; he could be a walking time bomb right now and neither of them would know. A strangled, muffled sob broke loose, uncurling from deep within his chest. He made an attempt to cover it up with a soft cough, and forcefully blinked away the tears that burned the back of his eyes and threatened to fall.

He felt the bed dip and shift as Gregory sank down on the mattress beside him. Mycroft put the book on the bedside table, and turned off the light. He was about to turn over on his side when he felt a warm, strong hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong love?” His voice was soft, but Mycroft could hear the undercurrent of concern and worry.

“It is nothing my dear. Please do not trouble yourself. Good night.” He moved to burrow himself under the duvet.

“Mycroft, please don’t shut me out.” Gregory rubbed his shoulder gently. He waited quietly and patiently for his lover to speak.

Mycroft sighed. How was it possible that he was graced with this man in his life?

“While you were downstairs so kindly preparing my juice, I was in the shower. As I said, I inadvertently managed to get some soap too close to my face with the inevitable conclusion. What you don’t know is that I had to employ a fair amount of mental control to keep from sneezing while in the shower itself.” Mycroft paused with a slight sniffle, as if the mention of the very word was enough to set off his sensitive nose.

Gregory patiently continued to wait; he knew there was a bit more to this story.

Mycroft wriggled a knuckle under his nostrils for a moment and then went on. “Sherlock was a very precocious child, as I have told you before,” Mycroft said.

Gregory had to keep from rolling his eyes; he should have known.

“When he was still quite young, he had a penchant for American medical dramas. I have no idea why. At any rate, in one of these dreadful dramas there was a minor character that slipped and fell in the shower when she was home alone. She suffered a brain aneurism and died. Sherlock told me it was because she had sneezed and that had caused her to slip. I later discovered that this was something that Sherlock speculated on his own, but the damage had already been done.” Mycroft’s voice trailed off quietly and he gave a slight sniff.

“Oh, love,” Gregory said and he put an arm around Mycroft ‘s shoulders, pulling him close.

Mycroft tried to fight the embrace, but not for the reason that Gregory thought. The younger man was suddenly pitching forward with an ill-timed set of very restrained sneezes. Gregory could feel his body shake and tremble with the effort of holding back the paroxysms.

Heh’Mmmmpfx! Mmmmmmpfch! Mmmphmfp! Mmmmmmpfx!

“God bless you, love.” Gregory had a feeling that asking him to not stifle so harshly wouldn’t be taken well, so he let it go.

“Thank you, Gregory. My apologies.” Another faint sniff escaped, and he gave his septum a fierce rub.

Gregory placed a kiss on Mycroft’s head. Smiling, he said, “You’re welcome.” He thought a moment. Mycroft had been awfully worked up; there had to be more to the story.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, Mycroft continued speaking. “After tonight’s near miss, I got lost in a rather disturbing train of thought. I began to worry about what would happen if you found me in such a situation and from there I went on to worry about what would happen if something were to occur while you were on a case. You know, I do worry constantly.” Mycroft rubbed his traitorous nose fiercely, so much so, that Gregory reached over and plucked a tissue from its box and handed it to his partner.

Mycroft rubbed his nose in the tissue, but the feather-light touch of the soft material set his sensitive nostrils twitching. A few breathy intakes later, he sneezed.

Heh . . .heh…MmmmpfTISH! MmmmINGHtigh’sh!

“God bless you, again!”

“Mmmm, thank you my dear.” He gave a gentle blow, and then balled up the tissue and put it to the side.

Gregory caressed Mycroft’s face, turning it toward him so he could look into his grey eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, love. And I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll get an in-the-tub safety bath mat for you if that will help alleviate your fears. I will do whatever is in my power to see you safe for the rest of our lives, ok?” Gregory pressed a kiss onto his forehead, wishing he could do more to alleviate the rampant fears that plagued his lover. For now, Gregory turned off his bedside light, and pulled Mycroft close to him and held him tight.

[Wildwood]

Awwww! Greg, how kind...!

I love them both so so so much for abandoning their respective strong-willed personalities when it comes to those they love.

[AngelEyes]

Oh, there's more.

Yippee!

Seemingly reading his thoughts, Mycroft continued speaking. “After tonight’s near miss, I got lost in a rather disturbing train of thought. I began to worry about what would happen if you found me in such a situation and from there I went on to worry about what would happen if something were to occur while you were on a case. You know, I do worry constantly.”

Understatement much, dear sweet man?

“Mycroft, please don’t shut me out.” Gregory rubbed his shoulder gently. He waited quietly and patiently for his lover to speak.

Mycroft sighed. How was it possible that he was graced with this man in his life?

Greg is the Best!

I love how Mycroft starts the story then has to interject this and Greg's all, Of course!

Mycroft wriggled a knuckle under his nostrils for a moment and then went on. “Sherlock was a very precocious child, as I have told you before,” Mycroft said.

Gregory had to keep from rolling his eyes; he should have known.

And Greg's reassurance at the end. It's ok Mycroft, Greg will make everything ok.

[matilda3948]

This was really sweet. I love how Greg works his way through Mycroft's anxiety and calms him down.

[bangbang]

Oh God, Mycroft! You poor thing! I love love love Greg being all comforting and knowing that telling him to stop stifling would not go down well at that stage. And I really love the bit where Mycroft is almost crying and Greg is like what's wrong bb and Mycroft's like NOTHING GOOD NIGHT because it is so ridiculous because Greg loves you! Let him in! Do you really think he's going to turn the light off and let you lie there in misery?

[cally]

This was really sweet. I love how Greg works his way through Mycroft's anxiety and calms him down.

He's so, so good at that.

Oh God, Mycroft! You poor thing! I love love love Greg being all comforting and knowing that telling him to stop stifling would not go down well at that stage. And I really love the bit where Mycroft is almost crying and Greg is like what's wrong bb and Mycroft's like NOTHING GOOD NIGHT because it is so ridiculous because Greg loves you! Let him in! Do you really think he's going to turn the light off and let you lie there in misery?

I know! "Everything is fine. Don't look at me, I'm not crying, I'm fine, Gregory." Mycroft needs to realise Gregory isn't going to let him suffer or leave him. Poor dear.

171. missing

When they got the word that Sherlock was missing, Mycroft resisted the urge to go out and search for him immediately. It may have had something to do with the terrible head cold he was suffering from, or it may have been purely annoyance at his younger brother’s antics. He had no idea if Sherlock was “undercover” on a “case” or had just given up, broken down and returned to drugs.

He sent minions off to check his boltholes around London, but when they came back all clear, with no sign of Sherlock having been in any of them, he was left with no choice but to search for him. As much as he despised legwork, especially when he was under the weather, he set off on foot, while Gregory took the car to the opposite side of the city on his own search.

Mycroft started at St. Paul’s Cathedral and then made his way down the Strand. It was a cold day; the sky was slate gray and dismal. He shivered and pulled his collar all the way up. He had left his umbrella behind; he didn’t want Sherlock to see it before he saw him. He hoped he found his little brother before the rain started.

Heh’Mmmmpfx! Mmmmmmpfch!

Mycroft muffled a pair of sneezes into the sleeve of his wool coat and scowled in disgust. He fumbled for his handkerchief and hastily blew his nose. With a heady sniffle, he continued on and headed toward the Thames.

By the time he reached the river, a heavy drizzle was falling and Mycroft regretted leaving his trusted umbrella behind. He stood along the Embankment and sighed, wondering just where Sherlock had gotten off to.

His mobile buzzed; it was Gregory.

“Anything,” he asked.

Gregory sighed. “No, no sign of him anywhere.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, the action only serving to dredge up a fit of sneezes he hastily stifled into his wrist.

Hehhhh…….Mmmmpfx! Mmmmmmpfch! Mmmphmfp! Mmmpftish! MmmmINGHtigh’sh! INGH’ish!

“Jesus, Mycroft! God bless you! Where are you? I’m going to come and get you. Walking around in the rain can’t be helping your cold any.”

Sniffling, Mycroft sighed. “Thank you, Gregory. That will not be necessary. I still have ground to cover.”

“Damnit Mycroft, this isn’t worth you getting pneumonia over! Now where the hell are you?”

Resigned to the fact that Gregory was right, he rubbed his nose before speaking. “I’m at Embankment, about a ten minute walk to Westminster.”

Gregory smiled into the phone. “I’m not that far from you. See you in a few. Try to stay dry.”

By the time Gregory drove the short distance, the rain had picked up steadily. Mycroft was disheveled and close to sopping wet. Shuddering from the chill of the day, he got into the car.

Mycroft sank into the seat with a heavy sigh and a deep, chesty cough. Gregory frowned, but said nothing as he began the drive to their home. They stopped at a traffic light, and Gregory finally had a chance to get a better look at his partner. He looked miserable, shivering from cold, and had his index finger pressed intensely under his nostrils as if it would keep him from succumbing to the ticklish sneezes that were desperate to escape.

Mycroft made a breathy sound and his eyebrows rose as his breath quickened. He quickly cupped his hands around his nose.

Heh’INGHtighsh! MmmpfTIGisssshh! TNSGH’ish! HDSCHHhhhh! Heh’INGTISH! Heh’IMPFTIGHsh!

“God bless you,” Gregory said quietly. While still managing to keep an eye on the road, he fumbled about in the glove box and pulled out a crumpled travel packet of tissues.

With a concerned frown, Gregory passed the packet over. “I know it’s not much,” he remarked, as he turned the heating up to max.

Mycroft sniffled wetly. “Thag you, Gregory. They will be fide.” He pulled out several and blew his nose, a wet, squelching sound that had both men wincing. This went on until all the tissues were used; the packet empty. Mycroft coughed hoarsely and leaned back in the seat, his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his long nose. He felt wretched; exhausted and beyond stressed, not to mention ill.

He was terribly grateful when Gregory pulled into the drive. Strong arms helped him from the car and into the townhouse. Gentle hands removed his overcoat, hanging it on the stand in the foyer. The same loving hands led him upstairs to their bedroom and undressed him slowly, removing each damp layer of wool and silk. He was redressed in his warmest pajamas and led to the queen sized bed. He slipped beneath the warm duvet, closing his eyes, but remaining awake.

He could hear Gregory also changing his clothing, and then he heard him leave the room. Mycroft was unsure if he dozed, but he was fairly certain not much time had passed when Gregory returned with a tray laden with tea, biscuits, tissues, and a packet of cold medicine.

Muffling a yawn, Mycroft sat up in order to accept his tea. His sinuses protested the movement; with ragged, heaving breaths he grabbed rapidly for the tissues, pressing them to his feverishly twitching nostrils.

Heh’INGHtighsh! MmmpfTIGish! Heh……huh’mmmmpTNSGH! HDSCHHhhhh! Mmmmmpch! Heh’IMPFTIGH’ish!

“God bless you, Mycroft! And again, and again for good measure,” Gregory said, his voice dripping with concern. “That sounded terribly painful.” His wish that Mycroft would stop stifling was subtext that he knew Mycroft would pick up on.

Mycroft snuffled into the thick handful of tissues. His sinuses were throbbing from that prolonged fit of sneezing. “Thag you, by dear,” Mycroft croaked out, his voice filled with congestion. “Hab you heard ady news?”

The DI pulled his mobile from his pocket and checked for any missed messages; none. He shook his head, frowning.

Mycroft nodded and then dipped his head into the waiting tissues and gave a strangling blow. “If by dear brother is dot dead, I will persodally see that he is killed,” Mycroft grumbled in annoyance.

Despite the severity of the situation, Gregory laughed. He sank onto the bed next to his lover. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Mycroft shook his head, tissues still pressed to his nostrils. He looked miserable, and very, very tired. Gregory pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll find him.”

[bangbang]

Well, this ticks every box I have. Mycroft being wet and sick and getting sicker as he gets wetter? Yes please. You always have such delicious descriptions of his sneeziness, and I really liked the misery he's suffering here. And you know, my headcanon is that Greg carries around tissues for his constantly sneezy partner, so that was such a lovely detail. And awwww. The poor thing! He's so wet and chilled and sniffly.

Goddamn you Sherlock! Why must you torture your brother like this?? *shakes fist at sky*

[AngelEyes]

Shame on you Sherlock! You better have a good excuse for causing such distress! My favorite part is that Mycroft leaves his umbrella behind to go undercover. Because Mycroft without umbrella is not Mycroft. LOL!!! Poor sopping wet sneezing Mycroft is lovely. Greg to the rescue! Take good care of your bb. He needs love.

[Wildwood]

Well, this ticks every box I have. Mycroft being wet and sick and getting sicker as he gets wetter? Yes please. You always have such delicious descriptions of his sneeziness, and I really liked the misery he's suffering here. And you know, my headcanon is that Greg carries around tissues for his constantly sneezy partner, so that was such a lovely detail. And awwww. The poor thing! He's so wet and chilled and sniffly.

Goddamn you Sherlock! Why must you torture your brother like this?? *shakes fist at sky*

This!!!!! Haha, my intended words seem to always be spoken by someone else

[SneezyRae]

So it has taken me several days to catch up with this dribble thread, but OMG it was worth it. Well written yummy sneeziness so from the Baker St boys and co. Reading lots all in one go was delicious. Thank you

[cally]

The poor thing! He's so wet and chilled and sniffly.

He was. Poor lamb, so sick but still out there searching for Sherlock.

Shame on you Sherlock! You better have a good excuse for causing such distress! My favorite part is that Mycroft leaves his umbrella behind to go undercover. Because Mycroft without umbrella is not Mycroft. LOL!!! Poor sopping wet sneezing Mycroft is lovely. Greg to the rescue! Take good care of your bb. He needs love.

Mycroft without an umbrella isn't Mycroft. So true!

This!!!!! Haha, my intended words seem to always be spoken by someone else

same here!

So it has taken me several days to catch up with this dribble thread, but OMG it was worth it. Well written yummy sneeziness so from the Baker St boys and co. Reading lots all in one go was delicious. Thank you

Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed!

172. missing, part 2

Mycroft wanted nothing more than to sleep; it was pure stubbornness that was keeping him awake at this point. He had long abandoned the rougher tissues for a silk handkerchief, in hopes it would be gentler on his overly abused, reddened nose. With a sigh, he dabbed at the offending appendage as he scrolled through his messages. He still had not heard anything about his missing sibling, which was worrying.

Sniffling wetly, he put his mobile to the side and rubbed his temples. His headache was increasing by the minute, and he once again cursed his body for the betrayal, as he was unable to summon the energy to fetch an analgesic.

He was ever so grateful for Gregory who had been fetching him tea, soup, and tissues all afternoon and into the evening while the search continued throughout the city of London despite the treacherous weather conditions.

Mycroft felt his nose twitch and suddenly he was pitching forward with a pair of fierce sneezes; it seemed this cold was hell-bent on keeping him from restraining them as properly as he would have normally done.

Huh’mmmmpTNSGH! HDSCHHhhhh’ooo!

“God bless you,” Gregory called as he walked down the hallway toward their bedroom.

The older man was surprised when he didn’t get his customary apologetic remark. He quickly discovered why.

Mycroft was sitting up in bed, hair uncharacteristically mussed. His eyebrows were practically meeting his hairline, and his breath was coming in short but quick pants. The silk handkerchief fluttered in his hand, which was hovering right in front of his long nose, the pink nostrils of which were flaring rapidly.

Gregory frowned. He hated seeing Mycroft suffer so; this cold seemed to have worn him out completely with its exhaustive properties and frequent bouts of sneezing.

Heh’hi-TISSSHH! Heh’INGHtighsh! MmmpfTIGish! MmmmINGHtighsh! Heh……huh’mmmmpTNSGH! HDSCHHhhhhooo!

“God bless you again!” Gregory sat down another cup of honey-laden tea, and perched on the edge of the bed, looking worried.

“Thag you by dear. By abologies,” Mycroft croaked out. There was very little left to his voice; it was no more than a hoarse rasp.

“Save your voice, love,” Gregory said, and reached out to squeeze Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft frowned from beneath the silken cloth. He looked like he was about to object, but instead he gave a barely audible and rather hoarse gasp and buried his nose back into the cloth.

Heh’INGTISH! Heh’IMPFTIGHshooo!

“God bless you!”

Mycroft nodded his thanks and wiped his nose. He sank back against the pillows, exhausted and frustrated.

Gregory reached out for Mycroft’s hand again, and ran his thumb across the top as gently as possible. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing. There were dark shadows under his pale eyes; he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Gregory frowned at the action. “Headache?”

Mycroft nodded, the lines of his forehead etched in pain and worry. With a final reassuring squeeze, Gregory got up and headed into the ensuite, returning with pain medication.

Gregory wanted to pace and throw things; he was so worried about Sherlock being missing, not to mention Mycroft being so ill. Instead he sat down next to his lover and took his hand in his once again.

[Wildwood]

Aghhhhh CALLY!!! your writing makes me want to squee and sob at the same time.

[Skyler]

I finally caught up I can't remember if I've ever commented on these drabbles before, but I love them! I don't even watch BBC Sherlock, yet you pull me in anyway. I feel like I know the characters quite well!

[matilda3948]

Heh’hi-TISSSHH! Heh’INGHtighsh! MmmpfTIGish! MmmmINGHtighsh! Heh……huh’mmmmpTNSGH! HDSCHHhhhhooo!

“God bless you again!” Gregory sat down another cup of honey-laden tea, and perched on the edge of the bed, looking worried.

“Thag you by dear. By abologies,” Mycroft croaked out. There was very little left to his voice; it was no more than a hoarse rasp.

“Save your voice, love,” Gregory said, and reached out to squeeze Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft frowned from beneath the silken cloth. He looked like he was about to object, but instead he gave a barely audible and rather hoarse gasp and buried his nose back into the cloth.

Heh’INGTISH! Heh’IMPFTIGHshooo!

“God bless you!”

Mycroft nodded his thanks and wiped his nose. He sank back against the pillows, exhausted and frustrated

Ugh...soooo great!!! There's something about him sneezing until his voice goes that is just delicious!

[bangbang]

^100% agree. And Greg being sympathetic about his long, laboured fits is lovely.

[cally]

Aghhhhh CALLY!!! your writing makes me want to squee and sob at the same time.

Thank you. You have NO idea how much reading that meant to me.

I finally caught up I can't remember if I've ever commented on these drabbles before, but I love them! I don't even watch BBC Sherlock, yet you pull me in anyway. I feel like I know the characters quite well!

You need to go and watch, STAT!

Ugh...soooo great!!! There's something about him sneezing until his voice goes that is just delicious!

Thank you! He's just so, so ill at this point and every cough or sneeze is utterly painful and wrenching.

^100% agree. And Greg being sympathetic about his long, laboured fits is lovely.

He hates to see Mycroft like this and would take it from him in an instant if it would make a difference.

Thank you everyone for all your kind words. They've meant so much this week. I've been really quite down lately and writing is usually my outlet. I've been unable to even do that, really, and coming back to see these comments . . . . means so so so so much.

I hope to write the final part to this soon, I've started it actually, but I promised myself that I need to do some actual work before I can finish.

[Wildwood]

I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that we're all here for you, cally! Stay strong. I believe in you. *sends Sherlock character of your choice for cuddles*

[AngelEyes]

Hugs, dear! As always you are brilliant!

[cally]

I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that we're all here for you, cally! Stay strong. I believe in you. *sends Sherlock character of your choice for cuddles*

Thank you!

Hugs, dear! As always you are brilliant!

Thank you!

173. missing, part 3

Heh’TISSSHH! Heh’INGHtighsh! MmmpfTIGish! MmmmINGHtighsh!

Mycroft sat up with an irritated sigh. Every single time he tried to get some much-needed sleep, he would be about to doze off and his nose would tickle fiercely, causing him to sneeze.

“G’bless,” mumbled Gregory sleepily, for the hundredth time it seemed.

“Thank you.” Mycroft’s voice was barely a whisper. Careful not to disturb his sleeping partner, he slipped out of bed and into his dressing gown and headed downstairs, shivering. There was no point in trying to sleep at this juncture, and this way Gregory could sleep uninterrupted without his frequent hoarse coughing and sneezing to further inconvenience him.

Once in the sitting room, Mycroft poured himself a small scotch, despite the amount of cold medicine running through his bloodstream. Perhaps it would finally allow him to sleep, he thought. He picked up his copy of Great Expectations, long abandoned earlier, and returned to where he left off in hopes that the alcoholic beverage and a good book would lull him into some semblance of somnolence.

Mmmmmpftish’ish! Mmmmmpfch!

He stifled a pair of sneezes into his wrist and sniffed wetly in their wake. He pulled his handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket and dabbed gently at his sore and reddened nose. Just as he was about to return to his novel, there was a soft clicking sound coming from the entryway.

His illness temporarily forgotten, Mycroft rose to his feet and headed toward the door. He was about to reach for his umbrella, when a familiar silhouette crossed the threshold. Mycroft debated whether or not to brain Sherlock with his umbrella anyways or pull him into an uncharacteristic embrace.

He did neither, just stood silently for a moment as Sherlock closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. Mycroft took all of this in: Held captive for several days, dehydrated slightly, has not slept or eaten in 72 hours, broke free from his captors when they could not go without sleep as long; amateurs obviously.

The older brother was brought out of his internal monologue of deductions by several harsh, throat-wrenching sneezes.

Heh . . .heh…MmmmpfTISH! MmmmINGHtigh’sh! INGH’ish! Heh’TSSSCHH!

Sherlock opened his eyes and studied his brother intently for a moment while Mycroft attended to his now dripping nose. Mycroft was too exhausted and far too ill to care that he was completely weak and vulnerable in front of his younger sibling.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Bless you. You sound absolutely disgusting.”

Mycroft glared at him from the depths of his handkerchief. “That may be the case, brother mine. I have had more pressing matters to attend to,” he hissed in a hoarse, weak whisper.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to deliver some scathing remark, when a voice at the top of the stairs drew their attention away from each other.

“Mycroft? Are you down there?” Gregory called out.

“Where else would he be?” Sherlock grumbled, irritated.

“Sherlock?” Gregory ran down the stairs and came to a standstill when he saw the Holmes brothers standing there; one looking weak and ill and one looking exhausted and in need of a good meal, not to mention a shower.

Not caring about the state of Sherlock’s hygiene, Gregory pulled the younger Holmes into a hug. Sherlock awkwardly patted him on the back and half returned the embrace, glancing over at Mycroft, as if to ask for help.

“Are you ok?” Gregory asked as he pulled back from the hug.

Grateful to be free from the uncomfortable hug, Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft shooed Sherlock in the direction of the spare bedrooms. “Do go and bathe, Sherlock,” he rasped. He could smell the stench radiating from his brother through his thick congestion. Sherlock rolled his eyes again, but headed upstairs nonetheless.

Sherlock was immensely relieved to be safe and sound, even if it was in the home of his intolerable brother. He wondered for a moment if his clothing could be salvaged, but in the end decided against it. Tossing the lot of it in the bin, he turned the shower up to its full force and heat before stepping into it.

Downstairs, Mycroft headed toward the kitchen, but stopped in his tracks a moment later. Breath hitching wheezily, he reached out and grasped the wall before succumbing, sneezing messily into the sleeve of his dressing gown.

MmmmpfTISH! Heh’INGTISH! Heh’TISSSHH! Heh’MMMPFTISH!

“God bless you,” Gregory said. He reached out and put a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Where on earth are you going?”

Mycroft gave Gregory an incredulous look. “Sherlock has not eaten in nearly three days,” he began in a hoarse whisper, as if it was a blatantly obvious statement.

“Right. I’ll fetch his nibs some tea and toast. You, go back to bed, love. You look like you’re going to keel over.” Gregory reached out and gently caressed Mycroft’s cheek. “And when I’m done, you can explain how he ended up here, ok?”

Mycroft nodded, resigned. “On second thought,” Gregory said. “Let me help you back to bed. You look done in, love.”

With a congested, wet sniffle, Mycroft allowed himself to be led back to bed. Gregory bundled him under the duvet and an extra blanket. He kissed his lover on the forehead with a promise to return.

Mycroft was sound asleep before Gregory left the room.

With a fond smile, Gregory turned the light off and went to make Sherlock something to eat. He was curious to find out where Sherlock had been for the past three days. Sleep long forgotten, he clicked the kettle on and looked out into the garden while he waited, relieved with Sherlock’s safe return.

[matilda3948]

Oh, poor Mycroft! I couldn't even quote all the things I love--there were just too many. Mycroft going downstairs to let Greg sleep, being too ill to hide it from Sherlock, Greg hugging filthy Sherlock, then taking care of both of them.

This was a really good one, Cally!!

[AngelEyes]

Awwww. I love the image of Mycroft standing in the entry completely done in, not even caring what Sherlock thought about the state he's in because he's relieved and ill and exhausted and he just can't even any more. And Sherlock sneaking in and then just standing there with his eyes closed feeling safe in his brother's house. And dear Greg, just taking over organizing everything because he's the rock to all of them. Can't wait to see what happens! Where Has Sherlock been? Does Mycroft take some time to recover? Squee!!!

[Wildwood]

Oh, poor Mycroft! I couldn't even quote all the things I love--there were just too many. Mycroft going downstairs to let Greg sleep, being too ill to hide it from Sherlock, Greg hugging filthy Sherlock, then taking care of both of them.

This was a really good one, Cally!!

All of this!! And I'm so glad Sherlock is safe and sound

[Skyler]

Aww, this update has cheered me up One of these days, I will watch Sherlock, but it won't be the same without all the sneezing!

[coldcure08]

HIS NIBS! Omg I just died. That was amazing!!! Brava!

[cally]

Wow, I can't believe how long it has been since I posted a drabble!

Oh, poor Mycroft! I couldn't even quote all the things I love--there were just too many. Mycroft going downstairs to let Greg sleep, being too ill to hide it from Sherlock, Greg hugging filthy Sherlock, then taking care of both of them.

This was a really good one, Cally!!

Thank you so much! I really enjoyed writing this one!

Awwww. I love the image of Mycroft standing in the entry completely done in, not even caring what Sherlock thought about the state he's in because he's relieved and ill and exhausted and he just can't even any more.

He really just couldn't *anything* at that point.

All of this!! And I'm so glad Sherlock is safe and sound

I was too!

Aww, this update has cheered me up One of these days, I will watch Sherlock, but it won't be the same without all the sneezing!

Yes, that is the one missing element!

HIS NIBS! Omg I just died. That was amazing!!! Brava!

Awww thank you!

It's chilly here tonight. Hence this seasonal related drabble.

174. pockets

It was a chilly evening, but Gregory still felt the need to get out for some exercise. Somehow, he was able to convince Mycroft to join him for a jaunt around the park. Gregory had to chuckle when Mycroft appeared in the doorway in a heavy coat, cashmere scarf, hat, and his leather gloves. Mycroft simply glared at him, and they headed out the door.

A few scattered stars filled the sky and a cool breeze rattled the rapidly changing leaves in the trees. The air was fresh and had a tinge of a wood stove fire on it; winter would soon be arriving. As they walked, Gregory shared his day with Mycroft; a case involving Sherlock, a locked door, and a case of whisky.

Suddenly, Mycroft stopped in his tracks and gasped for breath as he hastily stifled a pair of sneezes.

Heh………hehhhhh……..Mmmmmpftish’ish! Mmmmmpfch!

“God bless you, love! Alright,” he asked?

Mycroft nodded and with a wet sniffle, searched his coat pockets for a tissue but came up empty. “Thank you my dear. I do not suppose you have a tissue on you?” Having switched to a warmer coat, he had not thought to check the contents of the new coat’s pockets.

Gregory rummaged through his pockets and managed to produce a crumpled but clean tissue, which he offered to Mycroft. Nodding gratefully, Mycroft accepted it and quickly tended to his dripping nose as they continued on.

Halfway around the park, Mycroft once again paused. His face had gone completely slack and his nostrils were flaring precipitously in irritation as the tickle completely enveloped him.

Huh’tishhhhhngxtsh! MmmmINGHtighsh! Mmmpftish! Mmmmmpfx!

“God bless you again,” Gregory said emphatically. “You’re not allergic to fresh air now, are you?” He gave him a sly wink, teasing.

Mycroft gently blew his nose again, and as he did, gave Gregory a murderous look. “No, I am not. It is merely the chill of the air,” he said with a haughty sniffle.

Gregory grinned, and took Mycroft’s hand in his as they continued to walk. They paused a few more times for Mycroft to wipe or blow his nose, which was becoming increasingly more futile. He finally gave in with a sigh and a final soft blow. There wasn’t a dry corner left on the small, and now very damp, useless square.

Gregory chuckled softly. “When we get in I’ll make you a nice cuppa and you can have all the tissues you want, ok?”

Mycroft nodded, sniffling wetly, and picked up the pace. He was very chilly. Perhaps Gregory would have to offer some body heat in addition to the tea. He looked over at his partner, his silver hair gleaming in the streetlights, and smiled.