Cally's Sherlock drabble thread #1 442/442

[Spoo]

Guh. Mutual misery is the best. These poor overgrown baaaabies. I want to cuddle them so badly!

[cally]

Guh. Mutual misery is the best. These poor overgrown baaaabies. I want to cuddle them so badly!

I know. Mycroft is going to be so, so worried and Greg's going to be like, but I'm fine. A bit of projecting, by someone there.

[AngelEyes]

Gregory put his arm around the now vulnerable British government.

I love it when he's referred to this way. It makes me grin like an idiot! Thanks!

[cally]

Gregory put his arm around the now vulnerable British government.

I love it when he's referred to this way. It makes me grin like an idiot! Thanks!

You're very welcome!

77. biscuits

While Sherlock absorbed himself in a case file, John puttered about the flat; making tea and fetching biscuits, moving the tissue box closer to Sherlock (just in case; Sherlock always sneezed something awful with a cold, and John, noting that it was early spring, knew that despite the mildness of it, Sherlock still was bothered by hay fever), and generally trying to amuse himself.

He finally sat down in his chair with the paper and his tea. Occasionally, he’d look over to check on Sherlock. He could see Sherlock was suffering once again from a headache, based on the fine lines that appeared across his forehead. Every now and again Sherlock would reach up and rub his forehead unconsciously and sniffle wetly. John knew there was no point in arguing with Sherlock to put the file away, take some painkillers, and watch rubbish telly with him. He’d have to come to that conclusion on his own.

So, John sat and read the paper, and sipped his tea. He knew the cold medicine had all but worn off at this point. He could feel the congestion settling in his sinuses. He sniffled a few times, experimentally, trying to decide if he should take cold medicine or Sudafed, when the first of the sneezes snuck up on him.

Hi-etcssshhhhh!

78. crumpled

He pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and wiped his nose, sighing. He hated being sick almost as much as Sherlock hated not having a case on.

Hi-etcssshhhhh! Hi-etcssshhhhhooo! Hi-etcssshhhhh!

The sneezes quickly took over John’s body, wracking him, folding him over at the waist. The crumpled tissue was long since useful. When he finally sat back, Sherlock was glaring at him. “Do you mind,” he said.

John meant to glare right back, but the still present tickle in his nose had other ideas. He sneezed rapidly and wetly, much to his chagrin.

Hi-etcssshhhhh! Hi-etcssshhhhhooo! Hi-etcssshhhhh! Hi-etcssshhhhhooo!

He had quickly cupped his hands around his nose, but was unable to do much else. Luckily for John, Sherlock had come to his senses and was gently pressing something soft into his hands. John nodded and accepted the soft cloth and both wiped and blew his nose.

“A bit not good?” Sherlock asked, a slight look of worry on his face; it was that or the headache, John thought to himself.

John nodded.

“Bless you?” Sherlock tried again.

“Better. Thanks.” John said.

“I think you’ll be wanting the cold medicine,” Sherlock stated.

“You’re probably right.” John sighed.

“I usually am,” Sherlock said with a glimmer of a smile.

[squealofapproval]

I was talking to my brother about Sherlock ships and how perfect Mystrade was and he said, "BUT THEY'RE BOTH GUYS!" And I said, "You can't put a gender on love."

[cally]

I was talking to my brother about Sherlock ships and how perfect Mystrade was and he said, "BUT THEY'RE BOTH GUYS!" And I said, "You can't put a gender on love."

No, no you can't.

79. patch

John got up and fetched the cold medicine, popping two pills in his mouth and washing them down with some lukewarm tea. He suddenly realised he was very hungry and headed into the kitchen to heat up the soup Anthea had brought.

Sherlock had immediately gone back to reading the file, now making notes on John’s laptop (of course). While the soup was heating up, John heard odd sounds coming from the sitting room.

Hngxtsh!

Sherlock had stifled a sneeze into his sleeve, never pausing the reading/typing combination. The crease in his forehead was still there, and the bridge of his nose had wrinkled as well.

Hngxtsh!

“Bless you,” John said from the kitchen.

There was no response, only another sneeze. Hngxtsh!

John walked back into the sitting room. “Bless you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up, startled. “What? I didn’t sneeze.”

John laughed. “Yes, yes you did.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I did not.”

John pointed to Sherlock’s dressing gown sleeve, which had a small damp patch in the elbow crease.

“Oh,” Sherlock said.

80. laptop

John shook his head and headed back to fetch the soup. Leave it to Sherlock to not even realize he was sneezing. While he ladled the soup out, he could hear Sherlock sneezing again.

Hngxtsh! Hngxtshoo! Hngxtshooo!

“Bless you again,” John called from the kitchen.

There was a noise, a slamming of a laptop cover, and a dramatic sigh, followed by another explosive sneeze.

Heh-Hngxtssshhooo!

John came in with two steaming bowls of soup and placed one down next to Sherlock. “Bless you. “

Sherlock had been sitting with his head in his hands, until John came in with the soup. He sniffled and pouted like a petulant child.

“Eat your soup, it will make you feel better,” John said.

81. transport

Sherlock scowled, but did as he was told until the maddening tickle in his nose made it impossible for him to not sneeze. He had managed to go for some time (until a few moments ago, apparently) without sneezing. His head was hurting so much, that thinking about sneezing was painful. So, he had managed to convince himself to not sneeze, until now. He put his soup down and reached for the tissues.

Hngxtsh! Hngxtsh! Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshoooo! Hhhh-heh-hngxtshoooo!

“Bless you, Sherlock!”

Sherlock muttered something that sounded like thank you and bloody Mycroft, into his handful of tissues, but John wasn’t quite sure.

Sherlock finished blowing his nose and put his head in his hands.

John put his soup to the side and got up. When he returned he had two painkillers and a glass of water. “Here. It won’t help the sneezing, but it will help the headache, which is worse. Now finish your soup, it really will help, ok?

Sherlock, resigned to the mere transport of it all, simply nodded.

[squealofapproval]

Aw, he was so concentrated on his case that he didn't notice he sneezed! The feels, you guyss..

[AngelEyes]

Sherlock muttered something that sounded like thank you and bloody Mycroft, into his handful of tissues, but John wasn’t quite sure.

Bloody Mycroft indeed! LOL!

[cally]

Aw, he was so concentrated on his case that he didn't notice he sneezed! The feels, you guyss..

Sherlock muttered something that sounded like thank you and bloody Mycroft, into his handful of tissues, but John wasn’t quite sure.

Bloody Mycroft indeed! LOL!

Sherlock will need to find a way to get him back.

[cally]

Jumping ahead in time here, for some fluffy Mystrade

82. silver

When Mycroft woke up the next morning, he was completely and utterly congested. He was also alone in bed, but he could hear the shower, so he knew where Gregory had gotten off to at such an early hour.

He was beginning to wonder if he had taken his evening dose of antihistamines, when, upon sitting up, realised that Gregory must have opened the window a crack. Well, he thought, he’d have to put a stop to that.

Mycroft sniffed and rubbed his nose to no avail. He abhorred having hay fever; it had been such a nightmare for him for the majority of his life. He had hoped, as he got older, that it would ease off a bit; it had for Sherlock. But not for him.

For him, it had gotten worse, if that was even possible.

Springtime had left him without any joy. It was like having someone constantly tickling the edge of his nose with a feather; irritating, itchy, and unrelenting. He sniffed again, and heard the shower turn off. A moment, later, Gregory appeared in the bedroom, silver hair glistening with water droplets in the early morning light; a towel slung low over his hips.

“Good morning, love.” Gregory smiled. Mycroft cringed on the inside. Of course the detective inspector would wake up chirpy and uncongested, despite his newly developed allergy, he thought. Although, that could have been his fault, slipping an antihistamine into his evening tea; Mycroft did worry about his detective inspector.

Mycroft sniffed. “Gregory, would you please clode the widow?”

“Of course! Oh shit, I didn’t even think! Are you ok?” Gregory was now worried and after closing the window, took a better look at his lover. Mycroft was sleep rumpled, yes, but his eyes were already reddened and his nose was quavering with every breath.

Mycroft nodded, despite the answer being ‘no, not quite,’ grabbed a handful of tissues from the bedside table, and waited for the inevitable sneezes.

Ha-hah-Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

Gregory sat down next to Mycroft. “God bless you, love. I really am sorry about the window.”

Mycroft nodded again, tissues still held up to his nose, waiting expectantly, nose wrinkling.

Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

“God bless you again, love.” Gregory got up and found one of Mycroft’s handkerchiefs, took the tissues from him, and placed the soft cloth in his hands. He resumed his place next to him on the bed, wondering what else he could possibly do to ease Mycroft’s utter discomfort.

Mycroft wasn’t saying anything; he was either waiting to sneeze or blowing his nose, so Gregory once again rose from the bed and headed back into the bathroom.

The sound of sneezing followed him across the bedroom.

Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

He returned with Mycroft’s allergy pills and a glass of water. “God bless you again, love.” Mycroft stopped blowing his nose long enough to down the pills and water.

“Thag you, Gregory. I will be a bit more in control in a few moments.”

Gregory slipped back into bed next to Mycroft, and pulled the covers back over them both. “Until then, I will keep you company.” He pulled Mycroft into his arms, despite his protestations and kissed the back of his head.

Mycroft took a shuddering breath and sneezed harshly into the soft cloth Gregory had so kindly brought him.

Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

“God bless,” Gregory murmured into the back of his neck. “I said I’d take care of you.”

[ID2006]

Ummm yes... more... more of this. Greg holding Mycroft while he's sneezing... *melts

[cally]

Ummm yes... more... more of this. Greg holding Mycroft while he's sneezing... *melts

Ask and you shall receive.

83. broke

Mycroft blew his nose again. And this was early days of spring, he thought. He knew that once he was back on his twice-daily regimen of antihistamines it would get somewhat better, but these first few days were always the worst.

Blowing his nose did nothing to alleviate the ridiculous tickle tormenting his nose. He felt like he was breathing erratically, when in reality, his breath was just hitching “normally” as it did in the throes of a bad allergic fit. He could hear Gregory, still warm from the shower, murmuring in his ear as he held and comforted him. Sadly, it couldn’t keep the ticklish sneezes from escaping.

Heh-heh-hhhHehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you, love. You really do have it awful, don’t you?” Gregory wiped away an allergic tear that had escaped from the corner of Mycroft’s eye.

Mycroft blew his nose again before attempting to answer.

“Thank you, Gregory. And yes, I do. The first few days are the worst. I’d stay on the antihistamines year round, but they end up losing their effect that way fff-for me.” Mycroft’s voice broke, as his breath hitched again, as he quickly brought the handkerchief back up toward his beleaguered nose.

Gregory held him a bit tighter, doing his best to give comfort, where little could be had.

Heh-heh-hhhHehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo! Hehmmmpftishooo!

Mycroft sighed, weary from the sneezing.

“God bless you again!” Gregory chuckled. “You poor thing.” He kissed Mycroft behind his ear.

Mycroft sniffed. “Thank you,” he said as he settled back into Gregory’s arms as he waited for the medication to take the edge off the sneezing so he could start his day.

[Spoo]

*SQUEAL!*

Those last two drabbles are my favorite (amongst all of the Mystrade you've written). I love that they both have different severities of hay fever, and how sweet and doting Greg is. Poor Mycroft. I don't have allergies myself, but his symptoms sure are making me itch!

[cally]

*SQUEAL!*

Those last two drabbles are my favorite (amongst all of the Mystrade you've written). I love that they both have different severities of hay fever, and how sweet and doting Greg is. Poor Mycroft. I don't have allergies myself, but his symptoms sure are making me itch!

I am so, so glad you've enjoyed! So, have another! (I pretty much have Gregory levels of allergies, but Mycroft's symptoms are making me itch in sympathy as well!)

84. sleep

Heh-heh-hhhHehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

“Oh for God’s sake!" Mycroft practically shouted his dismay. He blew his nose again, thinking he would need a fresh handkerchief sooner than later.

“Oh, God bless you, love!” Gregory snuggled closer to Mycroft, attempting to soothe the frustrated British government. He gently kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck, finally feeling some of the tension release. The medication must be kicking in, he thought. While Gregory was glad that Mycroft would be finally feeling some relief, he was reluctant to end their time, this quiet time together so soon. So he snuggled just a little bit tighter, and relaxed, feigning sleep.

Now this would have worked if but not for two things: Mycroft was a Holmes, and Gregory’s newly diagnosed hay fever.

Mycroft knew very well that Gregory had not fallen back into sleep. For one thing, his arms were far too taught around his own midsection. And for the other, he could feel Gregory’s nose twitching, just slightly against the back of his neck. He was glad that Gregory’s symptoms were so minor, but also a bit jealous of the detective inspector’s mild case. He longed for the days of occasional sneezes and watery eyes.

Lestrade held off the oncoming sneeze for as long as possible, not wanting to ruin this relatively perfect morning moment.

Huhhrahhhnghtshhhooo!

Gregory turned to the side quickly and sneezed. “Sorry, love.”

“God bless you, Gregory.” Mycroft sounded less congested already, to which Gregory was glad.

“Thanks, love.”

Mycroft turned in Gregory’s arms so they were face to face, and smiled. He placed a gentle kiss on Gregory’s nose. “How are you feeling,” he asked.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.“ Gregory smiled back.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I have lived with this all my life, my dear Gregory. It can be a miserable experience. Please do not feel you have to conceal how you are feeling from me.” He paused. “Ahhh-aaaa-apologies, Gregory.” Mycroft turned as much as he could and brought the crook of his arm up toward his pink-tinged nose.

Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you, love.”

“Thank you, Gregory.” Mycroft glanced at the clock, despite already knowing exactly what time it was. “Sadly, Gregory, it is time we get ready for the day,” he said with a quiet sniff.

And let's check on Sherlock and John . . . .

85. blunt

Sherlock finished his soup, under duress, but he did eat it all, much to John’s satisfaction and approval. He then walked over to the couch, sneezing- not even bothering with a tissue- and flung himself onto it dramatically sighing, dressing gown and limbs everywhere.

Hngxtsh! Hngxtshoo! Hngxtshooo!

John rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “Bless you.”

Sherlock sniffled wetly and pouted. His head was killing; each sneeze made it that much worse. He could feel the cold settling in his sinuses now, and the ache and itch that accompanied it, along with the headache was draining him. He wanted to read the case file he had started on before dinner, but he knew that he wouldn’t make much headway with it, with this kind of headache.

He turned over so he was stretched out on his back and pressed on his sinuses, trying to get them to stop aching. The only purpose it ended up serving was making him sneeze even more, to his dismay.

Hngxtsh! Hngxtshoo! Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo!

John came in from the kitchen, he had to take the soup bowls in there of course, and looked at the rather miserable consulting detective.

“Bless you again, Sherlock!” He looked around for the medication packets and found the Sudafed. He brought the pills over to Sherlock, along with another box of tissues. “Take these, it should help the sinus pressure.”

Sherlock sat up and sniffled wetly again. He pressed his wrist against his nose and sneezed. Hngxtsh!

“Bless.” John handed him a handful of tissues. Sherlock took them, looking pitiful, blue eyes watering.

John rubbed his own nose sympathetically. “Come on, budge up.”

Sherlock moved over so John could sit down and as promptly dropped his head into John’s lap the second he was seated.

John abruptly had to turn to the side to keep from sneezing on Sherlock.

Hi-etcssshhhhh!

Sherlock cleared his throat. “à tes souhaits.”

John looked down at him, confused. “What?”

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I said bless you in French. In order to make sure my brain is still functioning with this headache, I plan on responding in foreign languages. Do keep up, John.”

“Oh, well of course. I should have known,” John said sarcastically. He thought for a moment. “Merci.”

“De rien.” Sherlock waved his hand.

John smiled. Sometimes Sherlock could really surprise him; he had such an odd way of showing he cared, but these little moments they shared, he did wonder . . .

John began to card his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock instantly relaxed into the touch. The scrape of John’s blunt nails on his scalp distracted him from the pain in his temples.

“Will it hurt your head if I put the telly on,” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head in the negative. He instantly wished he had responded vocally, as the movement shifted the congestion in his sinuses, resulting in another set of sneezes. Luckily, he was still holding the tissues.

Hngxtsh! Hngxtsh! Hngxtsh! Hngxtshooo!

Sherlock winced and sat up enough to blow his nose.

“Bless you,” John said sympathetically and squeezed his shoulder.

“Thags.” Sherlock sniffed, and put his head back down.

John smiled and went back to rubbing random patterns on Sherlock’s scalp. “You’re welcome, Sherlock,” he said as he clicked the telly on.

[Spoo]

Eeeeek! Those allergic Mystrade babies.

And for the other, he could feel Gregory’s nose twitching, just slightly against the back of his neck.

Oh Lord, what I wouldn't give to feel that nose on the back of my neck.

He was glad that Gregory’s symptoms were so minor, but also a bit jealous of the detective inspector’s mild case. He longed for the days of occasional sneezes and watery eyes.

I probably shouldn't, but I find Mycroft's jealousy over that super-duper adorable.

[AngelEyes]

“Oh for God’s sake!" Mycroft practically shouted his dismay. He blew his nose again, thinking he would need a fresh handkerchief sooner than later.

“Oh, God bless you, love!” Gregory snuggled closer to Mycroft, attempting to soothe the frustrated British government.

Totally my favorite!

He then walked over to the couch, sneezing- not even bothering with a tissue- and flung himself onto it dramatically sighing, dressing gown and limbs everywhere.

Great description. He's so long and gangly he does tend flail and fling himself around. So dramatic!

[squealofapproval]

Sherlock and John are both so non communicative about their feelings no wonder Johnlock never happened. But they do share sweet moments <3. This whole thing makes me miss my girlfriend . Eh I'll get over it.

[cally]

Oh Lord, what I wouldn't give to feel that nose on the back of my neck.

I hadn't even *thought* of that until now. *faints*

I probably shouldn't, but I find Mycroft's jealousy over that super-duper adorable.

It IS adorable!

Great description. He's so long and gangly he does tend flail and fling himself around. So dramatic!

He does tend toward the dramatic.

Sherlock and John are both so non communicative about their feelings no wonder Johnlock never happened. But they do share sweet moments <3. This whole thing makes me miss my girlfriend . Eh I'll get over it.

They both really suck at communicating about these things.

Apparently, less than 4 hours of sleep makes me write silly things.

86. jeans

Sherlock didn’t stay laying down for long. Moments later, he quickly sat up.

Hngxtsh! Hngxtsh! Hngxtsh! Hngxtsh! Hngxtssshhiiooo!

“Christ, Sherlock! Bless you!” John looked over at Sherlock, worried. “Stop stifling, it’s going to make your headache that much worse.”

Sherlock wiped his eyes and nose and sniffed. He mumbled his thanks, reached for another handful of tissues and blew his nose. He sighed, stood up, and headed out of the room without another word.

John was about to ask where he was going, when he heard the bathroom door close. Oh, he thought. He too stood up and stretched. He decided to go upstairs and change; no sense sitting around the rest of the night in jeans, he thought.

Sherlock came back into the sitting room a few moments later. He too had changed into his pajamas and back into his dressing gown, of course. He wandered over to where the bags that Anthea had brought in, poking amongst the pills. He popped two more painkillers, despite the warnings, in hopes it would soon dull the ache in his head. He then noticed a bag had fallen over. He picked it up and opened it.

Inside was a bottle of single malt and a smaller, white box. Sherlock immediately knew what was inside the white box and smiled. Like Mycroft, he too had a sweet tooth; he was just far superior at controlling his cravings. However, he wasn’t on a case, he felt miserable, and John was always on him about not eating enough.

By the time John came back down, he had already eaten two cookies.

87. cookies

John smiled at Sherlock, who was actually grinning himself. He was holding a white box. John walked over and inside were the biggest and moistest chocolate chip cookies he had ever seen.

“Mycroft must really feel guilty,” Sherlock said. “He’s sent along my favourite cookies and you a single malt.”

John looked impressed. “That is some serious guilt,” he said. “Tea,” he asked.

Sherlock nodded, walking back to the couch with his cookies.

Hi-etcssshhhhhoo! Hi-etcssshhhhhooo!

John sneezed loudly as he headed into the kitchen. Ugh, he thought. He checked the time; still 2 hours before he could take any more medicine.

“Gesundheit,” Sherlock called.

“Ummmm, danke,” John replied.

Sherlock smiled. He probably only had one more language before John could no longer reply. “Gerne,” he said.

John came back in to the sitting room with the tea, to find Sherlock grinning madly, still sniffling every few seconds, but grinning. His pupils were dilated, and he seemed giddy.

“Sherlock? You didn’t happen to take any more painkillers, did you?” John already knew the answer. He stared Sherlock down.

“I . . . may have,” he replied. “Apparently double the dose makes me giddy, rather than sleepy." Sherlock held out the box toward John. "Cookie?”

[squealofapproval]

Blessing in other languages. Sherlock you awesome possum!

[cally]

Blessing in other languages. Sherlock you awesome possum!

(I need to stop writing drabbles and do actual work!)

88. malt

John pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered about the merits of adding some of the single malt to his tea. He hadn’t anticipated a giddy and stoned Sherlock as part of his evening. He really wished Sherlock hadn’t taken the extra pills, but there was nothing he could really do about it now.

Sherlock studied John intently. He put the cookies down and just stared. It was really rather unnerving, John thought.

“You’re staring,” John said and sniffled.

Sherlock reached over for the tissues and gave a handful to John. “Here.”

John gave him a questioning look. And then he sneezed.

Hi-etcssshhhhhoo! Hi-etcssshhhhhooo!

“Salud; Dios te bendiga.”

John blew his nose and sighed. One hour and 45 minutes before he could have any more cold medicine. At least Sherlock wasn’t so far gone, that he couldn’t deduce. “Gracias.”

Sherlock smiled. “De nada.”

John reached for another tissue and blew his nose again. “I think I’ve run out of languages I can respond in,” he said.

“I know,” Sherlock replied smugly. He took a long swallow of tea, enjoying the warmth. John rolled his eyes.

“How’s your head,” John asked.

“It still hurts, I just don’t care as much.” Sherlock sniffled wetly and rubbed at his nose. “This itch, on the other hand, is just as irritating.”

Sherlock was about to continue, but the itch had intensified, tickling his nostrils. He pulled a handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket and rubbed at his nose with it, to no avail.

Heh-Hngxtsh! Hngxtshhii! Hngxtssshhiiooo! Hngxtssshhiiooo!

“Bless….” John started, but Sherlock waved a hand at him, signaling he wasn’t quite done.

Hngxtshhii! Hngxtshhii! Hngxtssshhiiooo! Hngxtssshhiiooo!

“Ugh,” Sherlock moaned, putting his head in his hands.

“Bless you, God bless you, and Gesundheit. Best I can manage I’m afraid,” John said.

Sherlock blew his nose for a moment, trying to lessen the congestion. He sat back up, eyes glistening, nose tinged with pink. He sniffed, able to breathe a bit better.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed at being overcome from the fit of sneezes.

“You’re welcome.” John, as much as he was feeling miserable himself, took pity on Sherlock. “Put your head back down,” he said.

Sherlock made himself comfortable and John resumed his ministrations on Sherlock’s temples.

89. crime

This time, for some reason, Sherlock kept his eyes open, watching John. John wasn’t really paying attention to Sherlock; he had found some crime show, Law and Order: Special Crime Unit or whatever, and Sherlock, just listening had solved the case in two minutes.

Sherlock was about to expound on how ridiculous the case was, that even he who was sick and on far too much codeine had solved it in two minutes, when John said “No. Don’t tell me.”

Sherlock huffed and pouted. But he stayed silent, as his headache was starting to abate and he didn’t want John to stop rubbing his temples.

Moments later, he had something new to deduce. “You’re going to sneeze again,” he said and handed John a remarkably soft handkerchief.

Hi-etcssshhhhhoo! Hi-etcssshhhh!

“Bless you.”

“Thanks. What happened to your foreign language thing?”

“Boring.” Sherlock replied. “Like this case,” pointing toward the telly.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmmm?”

“Shut up.”

90. background

A while later, Sherlock finally relented and sat up. The codeine, along with John’s skilled fingers, and tea had released him from an aching throb, to something along the lines of background noise.

He also really, really needed to sneeze, but was doing everything possible to not do so. He was tired of the paroxysms and the helplessness caused by it. Sherlock sniffled and rubbed his index finger under his nose. The tickle abated for a moment, but as usual, returned. He pinched the bridge of his nose this time, and took careful breaths.

John turned to look at Sherlock and laughed. “There’s no point in holding off the inevitable, you know.”

Sherlock sniffled again. “I’b tired of sdeezig.” He took another careful breath, and unpinched his nose. It took about 30 seconds until he started sneezing. Luckily that gave him long enough to retrieve his handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket.

Hngxtshh! Hngxtshhii! Hngxtssshhiiooo! Hngxtssshhiiooo!

“Bless you.”

Sherlock nodded his thanks, blowing his nose again. He gave an involuntary shudder.

91. cheekbones

John really looked at Sherlock now. There were patches of colour high on his cheekbones and his eyes were glassy. He reached over and put his hand on Sherlock’s forehead. He was so very hot.

“Sherlock, you have a fever!”

Sherlock sniffled. “Thad explaids why I’b so cold.”

John clicked off the telly. “Ok, cold medicine and bed. Let’s go.”

“But you’re sick too.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to bed.”

“Oh.”

“Go and get ready for bed, Sherlock. I will bring you some cold medicine in a moment.”

Sherlock wearily dragged himself from the couch. He headed down the hall, paused, sneezed, and continued.

Hngxtssshhiiooo!

“Bless you again,” John called.

John shook his head, worried. He fetched the cold medicine, water, and a clean tea towel, and headed down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom.

Sherlock was sitting on the edge of his bed, breath hitching, waiting, anticipating another sneeze, handkerchief at the ready. Or four.

Hngxtshhii! Hngxtshhii! Hngxtssshhiiooo! Hngxtshhii!

“Bless you, bless you, bless you, bless you!” John chewed on his lower lip, clearly worried.

92. fever

Sherlock looked a pitiful specimen, fevered and bright eyed, nose pink and twitching. He blew his nose again, worn out.

John doled out the cold medicine; 2 pills for each of them. He then went into the bathroom and returned a few moments later, smelling minty, and holding a damp cloth. Sherlock was already curled up in bed, uncomfortable.

John climbed into bed bedside him, causing Sherlock to flinch. “It’s ok Sherlock, it’s just me.”

Sherlock just shivered and nodded. “I know you’re cold, but put this on your forehead for a few minutes ok?”

John put the cool cloth on Sherlock’s forehead. He then carded his fingers through his curls, hoping to relax him. This worked, thankfully, and Sherlock began to doze, fitfully.

John stifled a pair of sneezes, not wanting to disturb the resting consulting detective.

Hi-etcsxsh! Hi-etcsxsh!

“Don’ do tha’. Hurts you know. An’ G’bless you. Twice. D’you know Mycroft still says tha? An’ I don’ think he’s ever b’lieved in anyone other than himself.” Sherlock rambled, feverishly.

“Thank you,” John said quietly.

“Welcome. Maybe Mycroft thinks he is God. I mean he’s already the queen. Why not God too?” Sherlock giggled helplessly.

93. warm

John continued to card his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. It seemed to be soothing him, and he wanted to make sure he was fully asleep before he stopped. Sherlock stilled for a few minutes and then started talking again.

“Tha’ feels good. Is relaxing. Your fingernails are the perfect consistency against my scalp. An’ they’re cool and my head’s so hot. I should do an experiment on your fingernails.”

“When you’re better, ok? Whatever you wa ahh-want.” Hi-etcssshhhh! Hi-etcssshhhh!

“Sorry!” John grabbed for the tissues with his free hand and blew his nose.

“G’bless you. Don’ be sorry. You’re sick too. S’alright. I don’ mind. Did I say bless you? Can’ remember. Bless you, John.”

John smiled. “You did, thank you, Sherlock. Try to rest, ok?”

“Ok. S’ warm in here, though. Is it warm in here?” Sherlock yawned and moved a little closer to John. A few moments later, he was finally asleep.

John removed the damp cloth from Sherlock’s forehead and put it to the side. He leaned over and gently kissed the forehead of his best friend. “Good night, Sherlock,” he said, and turned out the bedside light.

[ID2006]

I love feveryish/dopey Sherlock, but am also definitely ready for some more sneezy Lestrade

[cally]

I love feveryish/dopey Sherlock, but am also definitely ready for some more sneezy Lestrade

He was planning on making an entrance.

94. sweat

Thankfully, Sherlock slept through the night. John, ever the good doctor, woke up a few times to check on him, and was glad to see him sleeping peacefully. The last time he checked on him, he saw a fine sheer of sweat across Sherlock’s brow; the fever had broken. John immediately relaxed, and fell back to sleep.

Sherlock woke fully, before John. He wasn’t quite sure why John was in his bed, but then remembered he had been fevered. Something had woken him, however. He checked his mobile; there was a text- Mycroft.

Sherlock sighed and sat up. Insufferable git, he thought. He stretched and sniffed, and immediately regretted his decision.

Hngxtshhii! Hngxtshhii!

John stirred but did not fully wake. Sherlock reached for a tissue, wiped his nose, and then picked up his mobile.

You’re welcome. –MH

Yes, thank you. John also sends along his appreciation. I did mean to text. –SH

Too much codeine, brother dear? –MH

How is the hay fever? Miserable, I hope? –SH

Tolerable thank you. –MH

Bless you. –SH

What gave me away? And thank you. –MH

You missed a comma. You’re welcome. –SH

The furious texting was what eventually woke John. He blinked furiously, trying to figure out what was going on and why he was in Sherlock’s bed. His nose had other ideas.

Hi-etcssshhhh! Hi-etcssshhhh! Hi-etcssshhhhoo!

Sherlock passed the box of tissues to John.

“Bless you. And good morning.”

John groaned. He felt miserable. He grabbed a handful of tissues and blew his nose.

“Thadks. Good mording. Mycroft?” John nodded toward the mobile, and tried to blow his nose again.

Sherlock nodded, yawning.

John cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” He studied Sherlock; no sign of fever.

“My sinuses hurt, but manageable. How are you? You sound terrible.”

“I’b ok. Just a bit codgested. Cad you ask Mycroft how Greg is?” John reached for the tissues again, determined to be able to speak clearly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but sent the text nonetheless, muttering something about allergies not being a death sentence. It was sort of lost in the fit of sneezes that overcame him.

Hngxtshhii! Hngxtshhii! Hngxtshhoo! Hngxtshhooo!

John handed a tissue to Sherlock. “Bless you. That’s the last one.”

Sherlock looked at John questioningly. “That was the last tissue in the box. I’ll need to get a box from the other room,” John replied.

Sherlock gestured toward his dresser. “Top drawer.”

95. three

John wishes to inquire after the health of Lestrade. –SH

God bless you, little brother. He’s perfectly fine; please let John know we both thank him for his attention yesterday. -MH

Thank you. What gave me away? You dosed him, didn’t you? –SH

You referred to him as Lestrade. I am sure that John referred to him as Greg, as he would in normal conversation. –MH

I do not know what you are referring to, Sherlock. -MH

“Insufferable git,” Sherlock said, as he put his mobile aside.

John laughed. “What did Mycroft do now?” He had gotten up and fetched clean handkerchiefs from Sherlock’s top drawer. He was too lazy to go into the sitting room to find another box of tissues. He handed one to Sherlock.

“It appears that Mycroft drugged Lestrade.”

“I see where you get it from now.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to understand why he did it. You said that Lestrade had a mild case.” He reached up and rubbed his own aching sinuses.

“You said that Mycroft has had terrible hay fever for most of his life, right?”

Sherlock nodded, picked up the handkerchief that John had handed to him and wiped his nose. He waited for the inevitable sneeze. Or three.

Hngxtshhii! Hngxtshhooo! Hngxtshhoooo!

“Bless you, Sherlock.”

“Thank you. Wait, are you thinking that Mycroft drugged Lestrade because he didn’t want him to suffer like he does,” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. “It makes sense. He cares for Greg. He doesn’t want him feeling miserable. It’s warped, but it makes a weird sort of Holmesian sense. Now don’t go getting any ideas!”

Sherlock pondered this information. John yawned. “Tea?”

Sherlock nodded. “I’m going to have a shower.”

96. journal

After tea, toast and medicine, John and Sherlock settled down for another mundane day. Sherlock’s head was feeling well enough for another go at the cold case, so he was settled in his chair with the file and his own laptop for once.

John read the paper and did the washing up. He started reading a recent medical journal, but couldn’t stay focused. He decided to call Greg, to see how he was feeling.

“Lestrade.”

“Greg, it’s John.”

“John! How are you feeling? Is everything ok? It’s not Sherlock is it?” Lestrade sounded rather worried.

“No, nothing like that. I’m fine; well you know what it was like with this cold. I just called to make sure you were feeling ok.” John could hear a hint of congestion in Lestrade’s voice, but nothing too worrisome.

Lestrade sniffed. Of course, now would be the time when he’d show any symptoms. “I’m fine. Certainly better than the pair of you are feeling, I’m sure.” He rubbed his nose, feeling the tickle build.

John laughed. “We’ve had better days.”

This time it was Lestrade’s turn to laugh, which didn’t help his situation.

“Hold on a second John.”

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

Lestrade let out a pair of loud sneezes, directed as far away from the phone as he could get.

“Sorry, John.”

“Bless you, Greg. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m . . .” huh-uh-Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo! “I’m fine. Excuse me,” he chuckled. “I haven’t sneezed all day until now, I’ll have you know.”

“Bless you again!”

“Thanks, John. I really am ok. I wish I could do something for Mycroft though. He has it something terrible, the poor thing.”

Lestrade’s mobile beeped.

John smiled. “From what I understand, there’s not much that can be done, sadly. It sounds like you’ve got a message coming in, so I will let you go. Let me know if you’re feeling worse, ok?”

“Will do, John. I hope you and Sherlock are feeling better soon.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

Lestrade checked his mobile after ending the call with John.

God bless you, Gregory. -MH

Thank you, love. How are you feeling? –GL

Tolerable, thank you. –MH

Gregory rubbed his nose and sniffed; the tickle still hadn’t abated.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

He reached for the tissues on his desk and blew his nose.

God bless you again, Gregory. –MH

Thank you again. -GL

Again with the emoticons? –MH

:) <3 –GL

Gregory looked at the time. Shit, he had a meeting in 5 minutes.

I’ve a meeting to get to, love. See you tonight. –GL

Good afternoon, Gregory. -MH

[VoOs]

How is the hay fever? Miserable, I hope? –SH

Tolerable thank you. –MH

Bless you. –SH

What gave me away? And thank you. –MH

You missed a comma. You’re welcome. –SH

Heeheehee! Missed a comma. Ohh, I love this.

[cally]

Heeheehee! Missed a comma. Ohh, I love this.

I am rather proud of that line.

--------

Well my friends, I've reached 100 drabbles. I seriously can't believe it. Thank you all for reading and commenting, and I hope you like the mushy 100th drabble.

I will probably have to slow down a bit in my posting, as I have a conference to prepare for.

But truly, honestly, thank you all.

97. public

Lestrade grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his desk before he headed off to a meeting down the hall. He was glad he did in the end.

He managed to get through the meeting relatively unscathed; only sneezing twice. He hated sneezing in public. It always made him feel like people were staring at him, even though they weren’t.

The only thing he had waiting for him was more paperwork, so he decided to call it a day. He suddenly felt awfully tired. He thought about calling John and asking him if this was normal, but remembered he probably had his hands full with a sickly Sherlock. He made a mental note to ask Mycroft when he got home.

He got into his car, noticing the sticky yellow pollen covering the windscreen, and headed for the townhouse. When he was halfway there, his nose prickled, alerting him of impending sneezes. Lucky for him, he was able to time it with a traffic light stop. He grabbed the tissues from his pocket just in time.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

He sniffled his way home, dabbing at his nose occasionally. When finally arrived at the townhouse and had parked, he was able to blow his nose. It didn’t help much, as the tissues were flimsy. So, he headed inside where there was tea and tissues. Or better yet, whisky and tissues.

98. mistake

Mycroft was heading home slightly earlier than usual. He knew Gregory was already there, and to be honest, he was worn out.

He was planning the following days itinerary with Anthea; trying to figure out how he managed to be double booked for lunch. They were both texting, trying to figure out who had made such a ridiculous mistake.

Huh’itshuh! “Oh, excuse me, sir.” Anthea didn’t even look up from her texting.

Mycroft frowned. “God bless you. I thought you were feeling better.”

Anthea glanced up quickly. “Thank you, sir. I am feeling better. The cold medicine wore off about 30 minutes ago, though.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist.

“I think I’ve found the problem, sir. It looks like whomever booked the meeting with the ambassador put in Wednesday instead of Thursday. It has now been rectified.”

“Very well. Thank you, Anthea.”

She put her mobile down for a moment and reached into her bag. She popped 2 pills out and downed them quickly. She immediately resumed texting or whatever it was she did. Mycroft secretly thought she was playing Words With Friends or Angry Birds.

Huh’itshuh! “Sorry, sir.”

Mycroft waved a hand. “God bless you. It is not like you haven’t been listening to me sneeze all day.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You seem to be managing at the moment.”

“Yes,” he replied. “For the moment,” he said with a sniff.

99. hospital

Mycroft’s mobile gave a text alert. Sherlock. Mycroft instinctively rolled his eyes.

Anthea made a sound that was a cross between a sneeze and a giggle. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she immediately returned her full attention to her own mobile. He rubbed his nose, sniffling quietly.

I wish to tell you something. Please do not dismiss what I have to say. –SH

Oh, do get on with it Sherlock. –MH

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

Despite our mutual acceptance of a lack of sentiment between us, I wanted you to know that I do feel bad that you are suffering. All that time spent in hospitals when we were younger; I did hate to see you ailing . . . -SH

. . .So it was easier to pull away, ignore you, or make fun of your situation. I was worried and it was frustrating because I couldn’t deduce a solution. I could do nothing then and I can do nothing now. I am sorry I was so cruel. –SH

Are you high? –MH

While he waited for a reply, he succumbed to the inevitable fit that had been building.

Heh-heh-hhhHehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you, sir.”

“Thank you, Anthea.” He wiped his nose with his handkerchief, sighing.

No, I am not high. I even asked John if I had taken too many pills again, and he assures me that I haven’t. –SH

So, pray tell what has brought this attack of sentiment on? –MH

I overheard a conversation between John and Lestrade earlier. John was very concerned about him, and it got me thinking. If he is that concerned about someone who isn’t even blood. . .-SH

Sentiment breeds weakness, Sherlock. You know that. –MH

You drugged Lestrade! How can you tell me that sentiment is a weakness, and show compassion toward someone else at the same time? No wonder we are both so screwed up. –SH

Mycroft considered this. Sherlock was right, of course. He honestly had no idea how to respond to this; his brain was foggy from the antihistamines and congestion. He decided avoidance was his best tactic.

How are you feeling? –MH

My head is aching. It’s frustrating. I can’t work because I can’t think clearly. And if I never sneeze again it will be too soon. –SH

You will be feeling better soon. You always did recover quickly. –MH

“Sir? You’re home.”

“Thank you, Anthea.” He picked up his umbrella and briefcase. “Good evening.”

100. love

Mycroft found Gregory dozing on the sofa, used tissues littered around him, a glass of whisky on the coffee table next to him. He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on his partner’s forehead.

Gregory’s eyes fluttered open. “Mycroft.” You’re home,” he said with a smile.

Mycroft studied Gregory’s appearance. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I got a little sneezy in the afternoon, but other than that, ok. I’m sure I feel better than you do, love. Your voice is practically an octave lower.” Gregory rubbed his nose unconsciously.

Gregory picked up the scattered tissues and shoved them into his pocket. “Sorry, love,” he said, sniffling. He paused as if were going to continue, and then reached for the tissue box.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

“God bless you, Gregory.”

“Thank you, love.” He glanced at his watch. “Every 20 minutes,” he said.

Mycroft felt a pang of concern. “If it’s bothering you,” he began.

“It’s fine. Leave it for now, ok?”

Mycroft sat down next to Gregory, who immediately pulled him into his arms. He settled Mycroft so that his back was against Gregory’s chest and kissed the top of his head.

“Mmmmm. This is just what I need.” Gregory was content, and settled back into his near doze.

Mycroft forced every cell in his body to relax; not easy for the British Government to do, of course. He concentrated on breathing in and out slowly, melting into the warmth of Gregory’s arms. And it very nearly worked, too. Mycroft willed the tickle in his nose to stop plaguing him for just a few minutes more, but inevitably, he succumbed to the paroxysms.

Heh-heh-hhhHehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

“God bless you, love,” came the murmured reply as Gregory kissed the back of his head again. He brought his hand up and softly rubbed Mycroft’s neck.

“Thank you. Apologies, Gregory.”

“Stop apologising. Enjoy the moment.”

A moment later. . .

“Mycroft?” Gregory’s voice was soft and sleepy, with the hint of something else.

“Yes, Gregory?”

“I love you.”

[ID2006]

The brothers knowing when each other sneezes via tex was brilliant... as was the rest of this of course. I love all the character interactions.