Cally's Sherlock drabble thread #1 442/442

[matilda3948]

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.

Bravo, sweetie!!! These were amazing! Thank you so much for all the effort and creativity you put into these. Good luck prepping for your conference.

[AngelEyes]

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.

Mycroft as God. Mycroft as Queen. Absolutely LOL!

olerable thank you. –MH

Bless you. –SH

What gave me away? And thank you. –MH

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

Awesome!

Favorite things: referring to Mycroft as The British Government; Mycroft constantly spying with CCTV. Congrats on 100! You make me Happy!

[Spoo]

This has been an incredible journey, cally. Thank you for the wonderful drabbles and continuing storyline; I enjoyed every bit of it! Loved the texting and overall dialogue/communication with the last few prompts. Brilliant, brilliant, utterly brilliant.

[peppercat]

It's over? No. No, no, no, it can't be OVER... Perhaps you should go to 221, just to be sure...

May I congratulate you on the completion of something I'd never have the dedication to do, and so quickly, too!

Kudos especially for #78; it's my favourite because johnlock and they're so sweet and "a bit not good" and awh

[cally]

Wow. I'm overwhelmed. I keep saying that but it is true. Thank you all so much for reading and commenting.

Writing these has helped so much and all your comments mean more than you will ever know. It has all helped me start to come out of a place that was a bit not good. So I thank you all. <3

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.

I am so glad that was liked. I thought it was very clever.

Bravo, sweetie!!! These were amazing! Thank you so much for all the effort and creativity you put into these. Good luck prepping for your conference.

Thank you! I am sure I will be back later with an update- LOL!

Favorite things: referring to Mycroft as The British Government; Mycroft constantly spying with CCTV. Congrats on 100! You make me Happy!

Mycroft is a creeper over things he cares about, yet claims he is't sentimental. Ha! Thank you so much!

This has been an incredible journey, cally. Thank you for the wonderful drabbles and continuing storyline; I enjoyed every bit of it! Loved the texting and overall dialogue/communication with the last few prompts. Brilliant, brilliant, utterly brilliant.

You're going to make me cry! Thank you so much.

It's over? No. No, no, no, it can't be OVER... Perhaps you should go to 221, just to be sure...

It's like playing yellow car, it's never over. I will be back (probably tonight), just a bit slower on the updates. I do like the idea of 221 and stopping there, before I start a new thread. Thank you!

[cally]

I got *some* work done today. I also got this done as well.

101. packet

John must have fallen asleep on the couch. When he woke up he was covered up with a blanket. And he was warm, very warm. He pushed back the blanket and sat up. He sneezed explosively before reaching the tissues.

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

“Ugh.” He grabbed a handful of tissues and blew his nose.

“Bless you. You’re awake,” Sherlock said. He crossed the room and handed John a cup of tea.

“Thags, Sherlock.”

Sherlock retrieved his own tea and joined John on the couch. Sherlock studied John intently. “Sherlock, you’re starig again,” John said, shivering.

“You have a fever.”

“I figured as mmm-much.” Hi-etcssshhhh! Hi-etcssshhhhoo!

Sherlock passed the tissue box to John. “Bless you.”

John shook his head. He grabbed a handful of tissues and sneezed into them. Hi-etcssshhhhoo! Hi-etcssshhhhoo! Hi-etcssshhhhoo!

“Bless you again!” Sherlock looked at John, worriedly. He hated situations like these; he was never sure if he was doing things right. So he decided to do for John, what he had done for him last night.

Sherlock got up and headed into the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water, a damp tea towel, a packet of cold medicine, and a packet of painkillers.

102. cupboard

He put all of it down on the coffee table, and then walked back into the kitchen. There were a few loud noises, the slamming of a cupboard door, and a loud sneeze. Sherlock came back a few moments later with a hot water bottle, his nose twitching.

He handed the hot water bottle to John, who had a confused look on his face. Sherlock grabbed a tissue and turned away quickly, sneezing.

Hngxtshhoo! Hngxtshhooo! Hngxtshhoo!

“Bless you,” John said.

Sherlock nodded, blowing his nose, and sat down next to John on the couch. He observed John had taken the cold medicine; good. Sherlock took 2 of the painkillers and downed them with a mouthful of tea.

“Lay down,” he said to John. John put his head in Sherlock’s lap, hugging the hot water bottle. Sherlock pulled the blanket back up over John. He then placed the cool cloth on John’s forehead.

“Is your head still hurding” John asked.

“Yes, but I can manage for now.”

John nodded, shivering.

“Did I not do it right, John?”

“Hhhhmmmm?”

“You’re still shivering.”

“Not sshhh-shivering.” Hi-etcssshhhngxt! Hi-etcssshhhhngxtsh!

“Oh. Bless you.” Sherlock placed a handful of tissues into John’s hand.

“Thags. You did fide, Sherlock.” John wiped his nose, tiredly, irritated.

He yawned as Sherlock began to trace, what seemed to John, random patterns. To Sherlock, he was memorising every distinct pattern, texture, and variation of colour in John’s hair.

Moments later, John was softly snoring.

[ID2006]

Awwww... melts

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

What icky said.

[squealofapproval]

I love coming home from play practice with new drabbles. It will help me wind down

[cally]

Awwww... melts

It was a bit sappy wasn't it?

What icky said.

Too much?

I love coming home from play practice with new drabbles. It will help me wind down

I am glad you enjoyed!

[sadie22233]

What icky said.

what you all said! GAH so cute. Love sick john and caring sherlock

[cally]

what you all said! GAH so cute. Love sick john and caring sherlock

I am so glad!

Since I can't seem to sneeze, I am going to torture Sherlock.

103. fit

John was sleeping comfortably. Sherlock gently placed his palm on John’s forehead; it was much cooler.

Sherlock’s nose prickled intensely. Of course, he thought. He could tell from the very way it was tickling that this was going to be rather unpleasant. Whenever he had a cold, he always had at least one sneezing fit; and it appeared that it was going to happen now.

He pinched his nose, rubbing the sides, trying to hold it off for as long as he could; he didn’t want to wake John. He must have involuntarily shuddered because John was sitting up. “All right, Sherlock,” he said sleepily.

Sherlock shook his head. He unpinched his nose a bit and sniffled. Hngxt!

“Bless you,” John said, his voice rough with sleep.

Sherlock shook his head, and held up a finger. He quickly scrabbled for his handkerchief.

Hngxt! Hngxt! Hngxt! Hngxt! Hehhh-hhhh . . .

“Sherlock, stop stifling!”

Hngxtshhooo! Hngxtshhoo! Hngxtshhoo! HngxtISSSshhooo! Hngxtshhi! Hehhhngxtshhooo! AHHngxtshhoo!

Sherlock moaned and blew his nose.

“Jesus, Sherlock! Bless you!”

“Thag you, John. That was most unpleasant.”

“It sounded like it. Can I get you anything? Tea, tissues, cold medicine?”

104. favour

Sherlock sniffled wetly and wiped his nose.

“Tea would be nice,” Sherlock said.

John stood and started to head to the kitchen. Sherlock stood and followed, stopping to find some Sudafed and painkillers; the sneezing fit didn’t do his head any favours.

Sherlock paused in the doorway while John made tea. “John, I know your fever has gone down, but how are you feeling now?”

John looked up at Sherlock and smiled. “Much better. I just needed some sleep, I guess. Thank you for taking care of me.” John turned away, finishing the tea preparations, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

Sherlock waved a hand, sensing John’s awkwardness. He accepted the tea and downed the pills he had grabbed. As they headed back into the sitting room, Sherlock’s mobile beeped. He rolled his eyes and ignored the mobile.

John, curious, especially since Sherlock wasn’t one for ignoring his texts, picked up Sherlock’s mobile. John chuckled upon reading the message.

God bless you, Sherlock. –MH

Sherlock glared and John and snatched his mobile from him.

You’re losing your touch. That was ages ago. –SH

Apologies. I was otherwise engaged. –MH

Sherlock all but threw the phone down.

John read the text. He laughed until he coughed, which in turn triggered a rather painful sounding sneeze.

Hi-etcssSHHhhoo!

“Bless,” Sherlock said with a glare.

-------------

Mycroft smiled at Gregory. “If that does not get my brother thinking about his own situation, I do not know what will.”

-------------

105. love, part 2

Mycroft turned to face Gregory, a questioning look on his face. “Gregory?”

Mycroft was extremely moved; overwhelmed. He was filled with so many different emotions; he had been hoping that Gregory felt the same way he did for some time now, but as he was so unaccustomed to dealing with emotions he hadn’t dare broach the subject.

Mycroft reached up and ran a hand down Gregory’s face, gently, hardly touching. He could hold back no longer, and pulled the detective inspector down for a punishing kiss that left them both breathless.

“Gregory, I love you as well,” Mycroft said, gathering his breath, his emotions.

Gregory smiled. “I know, love.” He reached up and loosened Mycroft’s tie and kissed him gently. “We should go upstairs,” he said between kisses, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

The two quickly moved from the couch, hardly bearing to be apart. As they headed upstairs, Gregory paused, breath hitching helplessly.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! HuhhrahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless you, my dear,” Mycroft said, his own nose tickling in sympathy. He rubbed his nose, willing away the tickle.

Gregory saw Mycroft was still suffering, the poor thing. They sat down together on the bed, and Gregory kissed Mycroft’s pink-tinged nose and then his lips.

“You poor thing,” Gregory said squeezing Mycroft’s hand, waiting for the inevitable. He could see Mycroft’s nose twitching, nostrils flaring.

“I’m ffff-fine.”

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

Mycroft hardly had time to turn away, as the sneezes exploded from him, taking his breath away. He grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, blushing.

“Apologies, Gregory.”

“God bless you, love,” Gregory said, kissing Mycroft’s forehead. “Now. Where were we?”

[Wildwood]

#DEAD

These are simply phenomenal. I am now obsessed with Mystrade~ Very, very well done, Cally!

[Spoo]

I am now obsessed with Mystrade~

Mystrade-glee aside, I really like the image of Greg sneezing while ascending the stairs. Clutching the banister, turning off to the side - all that. Yum! I also enjoyed Mycroft's sympathy tickles; those are always lovely.

[cally]

#DEAD

These are simply phenomenal. I am now obsessed with Mystrade~ Very, very well done, Cally!

Awwwww thank you so much! Welcome to the club!

Mystrade-glee aside, I really like the image of Greg sneezing while ascending the stairs. Clutching the banister, turning off to the side - all that. Yum! I also enjoyed Mycroft's sympathy tickles; those are always lovely.

I love sympathy tickles.

This one is for you, Spoo, based on our conversations.

106. flashback

As they lay there in each other’s arms, Gregory thought back to how this had all started.

“What exactly am I doing here, detective inspector?”

The two men were standing in an old flat, deep in the heart of the city. The room was furnished on a model of an old Victorian library/sitting room, and had the dust of ages to prove it, thought Lestrade.

“Your brother isn’t here; he’s off somewhere on a case with John. I needed a fresh pair of eyes.”

“Surely, you have a division for that, detective inspector,” Mycroft said with a sniff. His hand immediately twitched toward his trouser pocket, as if on reflex; a surreptitious touch and then a quick glance at the detective inspector. He was still none the wiser, and Mycroft risked rubbing a knuckle under his nose.

“The body was found there,” Lestrade pointed at an old fashioned writing desk. “And as you can see, even Sherlock couldn’t squeeze through those windows.” The windows were as narrow as a novel and about as long as Mycroft’s umbrella, which he was swinging slowly back and forth.

He walked back and forth through the small sitting room, casually glancing about; he had clearly already figured out what the inspector needed to know, but it never did any harm to put on a good show. He hung his umbrella from the crook of his arm and smiled.

Then, not too far off in the distance, the Tube rattled by underground. ‘The District line,’ Mycroft thought, as dust seemed to loosen its way all around him. And it was just enough to put him over the edge. He hoped he could control it; stop it at just one.

Ahhhh-hhhh-Hehmmmpftish!

“Apologies, detective inspector.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “God bless.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to thank him, but the words never came. Instead, he quickly pulled his handkerchief from his trouser pocket and barely had enough time to cover his nose as the sneezes exploded from him.

Hehmmmpftish! Tisssssh! Tissssssh! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishoooo! Ishoooo!

“God bless you,” Lestrade said, concerned.

By the sixth sneeze, Lestrade realised that this couldn’t end well, and guided a still sneezing (Mycroft always said dragged) Mycroft out of the apartment and outside.

They made it outside by the twelfth sneeze, and Mycroft was finally able to catch a breath. He furiously blew his nose, attempting to expel as much of the allergen as he possibly could. Even in that short period of time, his handkerchief was very nearly useless and sodden and he made a face of mild disgust and revulsion.

Despite being deep in the heart of the city, it was quiet outside the flat, and for once it wasn’t raining. Regardless of the look he knew he would ultimately get, he guided Mycroft down to one of the stairs, and sat down beside him.

Mycroft gave his now reddened nose one final blow. Sadly, it did not have the intended outcome he had hoped for. His head tipped back slightly, and his breath began to hitch. Lestrade watched what was happening, took his own handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the ailing British government. “Here,” he said, and pressed it into Mycroft’s hands.

Ahhhh-hhhh-Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishoooo! Ishoooo! Hehmmmpftishoooo!

“God bless you! Although that seems awfully lacking to convey any sort of sympathy, so I’ll say it again. God bless you, Mycroft.” Lestrade smiled, a look of utmost concern on his face.

Mycroft blew his nose gently this time. “Thank you Gregory. Apologies. That was not quite the exit I had planned to make.”

Lestrade smiled. “There’s no need to apologise. I’m the one who should be apologising. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you would have such a terrible reaction.”

“Most of the places I go tend not to have the dust of ages hanging about, Gregory.” Mycroft gave a wry smile, and Gregory noticed how tiny little crinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes when he smiled.

They sat quietly for a moment, and in that moment, Gregory took a chance; one he is so very glad he took.

“Listen, let me make this up to you. How about I buy you a cup of coffee, and you tell me all about how that murder happened?”

Mycroft feigned ignorance. “Are you saying that I solved your case?”

Gregory laughed, and Mycroft felt a pang of longing. “Oh, I know you did,” Gregory said smiling. He offered Mycroft a hand. “Let’s go get that coffee, yeah?”

[Spoo]

I stand corrected! THIS is my favorite that you've written thus far (and not just because it's for me!). Ughhh, this drabble was so, SO good. I loved their interaction so much. As well as:

He walked back and forth through the small sitting room, casually glancing about; he had clearly already figured out what the inspector needed to know, but it never did any harm to put on a good show.

That was so painfully Mycroft. Beautifully in character!

Buhhh, this made me incredibly happy, cally. Seeing how they kicked off their relationship. I'm filled with warm fuzzies that probably aren't going anywhere for a while.

[cally]

Buhhh, this made me incredibly happy, cally. Seeing how they kicked off their relationship. I'm filled with warm fuzzies that probably aren't going anywhere for a while.

Well, seeing as you liked that, here's some more "early" relationship Mystrade. And I'm very glad you liked it.

(This was rather inspired by the fact that when I came back from my run I was a drippy mess, so I figured I'd torture Mycroft a bit )

107. miles

Gregory was a million miles away, when Mycroft shuddered in his arms and sneezed explosively.

Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishoooo!

Gregory quickly reached over for the tissues and handed a handful to his lover. “God bless you, love,” he said, kissing Mycroft on the forehead.

“Thadk you; you were miles away, dear,” Mycroft said congested, sleepy. He blew his nose and yawned.

“I was thinking about our first date,” Gregory said smiling. He stroked Mycroft’s soft hair, rumpled now.

“Mmmmm.” If Mycroft were a cat, he would have purred. Instead, he put his head back down on Gregory’s chest and dozed; worn out from the hay fever and the vigorous activity.

Gregory looked down at him and smiled; he still couldn’t believe that this was real sometimes. As Mycroft dozed in his arms, he thought back to one of their first evenings together. Or rather, morning.

108. spring

On one of the first occasions that Gregory spent the night with Mycroft was in early spring. It by all accounts was going to be a lovely day, and Mycroft hated to leave a sleeping Gregory. But he quietly slipped out of bed and into his running clothes. This was his little secret. Early morning in his city; his London.

The elder Holmes wasn’t one to wax poetic about anything, but there was something majestic about running through the streets of London as the sun rose over the Thames; the sky a spectrum of pink and orange.

However, for him, it had its downsides. In his haste to get ready and not disturb the sleeping detective inspector, he had neglected to grab a tissue. He had to stop several times along his route to sneeze dramatically, powerfully, bending at the waist from their explosiveness.

As a result by the time he retuned to the townhouse, he was drippy and leaky; basically a sniffly, snotty mess. He entered as quietly as possible, stifling a sneeze.

Gregory had woken a few minutes before he came in and found himself alone in the luxurious bed. He took the time to stretch and daydream, when he heard Mycroft downstairs.

109. towel

When Mycroft came into the bedroom he didn’t realise that Gregory was awake. Normally something like that would have never been overlooked, but Mycroft was a bit preoccupied. He had his nose pinched with one hand, and the wrist of his other hand was pressed up against his runny nose. Despite having his nose pinched firmly, he felt a sneeze building; helpless in its wake.

Hehmmmpftish!

And another.

Hehmmmpftish!

He was helpless to do anything; he was using his sleeve for goodness sake, let alone worry about waking Gregory.

“God bless you,” a sleepy voice came from under the duvet. Gregory sat up and was shocked to see Mycroft in such a state. “Mycroft, are you ok?”

“Apologies, Gregory. Excuse me for a moment.” Mycroft turned and headed into the master bathroom, as another sneeze was about to make its presence known.

Hehmmmpftishooo!

Mycroft quickly grabbed a towel and muffled another sneeze.

Hehmmmpffffshhhh!

He blew his nose gratefully, feeling some of the pressure release in his sinuses. He quickly divested himself of his running attire and slipped into the shower, where the sneezes quickly built up again.

Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish!

Gregory could hear the sneezes echoing off the walls of the shower. “God bless you,” he called, but he wasn’t sure he was heard. He was also unsure if he should see if Mycroft needed any assistance, as he had no idea what was the matter. But he also knew enough by then to not crowd Mycroft, so he waited.

110. argument

Moments later, Mycroft came out of the bathroom in his dressing gown as he towel dried his hair. His nose was pink, and he looked worn out.

After he finished drying his hair, he walked over to the bed, and climbed back in next to Gregory. “Morning,” Gregory said. He leaned over and kissed Mycroft gently.

“Good morning, Gregory. I apologise for waking you.”

“No worries. I was already awake. Are you ok?”

Mycroft sniffed, rubbing his nose. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gregory raised an eyebrow. “At my count that was eight sneezes, and I bet there were probably more. How exactly is that fine?”

Mycroft opened his mouth to counter the argument, but instead ended up breath hitching, and sneezed.

Hehmmmpftish!

Gregory reached over to the bedside table, grabbed a handful of tissues, and handed them to Mycroft.

“God bless you! Love, what’s wrong?”

111. child

“Apologies, Gregory,” he said wiping his nose. Mycroft sniffed experimentally and cleared his throat. “Ever since I was a child, I have suffered from hay fever. That is all this is. There is nothing to concern yourself with, Gregory.” He rubbed his ticklish and drippy nose, hoping to not embarrass himself any further.

“Nothing to concern myself with? You’re sitting here sneezing your head off and I’m not supposed to ‘concern myself with it?’ You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mycroft looked confused. He didn’t understand why Gregory was getting in such a huff. He pressed the tissues up against his nose again, as the tickle built up again.

Hehhhhh-hhh-Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless,” Gregory said quietly, as he pressed a fresh set of tissues into Mycroft’s hands and kissed his forehead gently.

He then put his arm around Mycroft and pulled him down with him, pulling the duvet up over them both. “Www-what are you doing, Gregory?” Mycroft’s breath was hitching again, an impending sneeze on the way.

Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you again! What does it look like I’m doing? I’m comforting you.” Gregory had a look of utter astonishment on his face.

112. care

Mycroft gave him an exasperated look before he succumbed to another set of sneezes.

Hehmmmpftish! Tish! Tish! Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you. God bless you. God bless you. God bless you.” Gregory kissed his forehead again.

“Apologies. Gregory, there’s no deed for this. I’m perfectly fide. Now please . . .”

hhhh-heh-Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you again and again! You are not fine. You can’t go 2 minutes without sneezing! When’s the last time you let someone take care of you? You probably can’t even remember. And stop bloody apologising!” Gregory handed Mycroft some fresh tissues.

Mycroft blew his nose and put the used tissues to the side. Gregory handed him some more, and seeing that the sneezing had abated for a moment, took the opportunity to kiss him, hard.

When he pulled away, he smiled at Mycroft. “I’m assuming you have some sort of medicine for this.”

Mycroft nodded. “I habe already taken it. It takes sobe time to work.”

“I can see that,” Gregory said, teasing. “Can I get you anything?”

Mycroft shook his head and sneezed again. Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless, love”

“Ap….,” Mycroft began.

Gregory pressed a finger up against Mycroft’s lips. “No apologising.” He replaced his finger with a kiss.

Mycroft returned the kiss, punishingly so.

“Thank you, Gregory.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

[Spoo]

Oh my goodness these CUTIES. Allergic!Mycroft may be the new love of my life; it's so much fun to torment his nose (it's Mark Gatiss' fault, really, for having such a gorgeous nose). It's precious knowing that Greg was there for him.

Also, jogging Mycroft? Yes please!

[cally]

Oh my goodness these CUTIES. Allergic!Mycroft may be the new love of my life; it's so much fun to torment his nose (it's Mark Gatiss' fault, really, for having such a gorgeous nose). It's precious knowing that Greg was there for him.

Also, jogging Mycroft? Yes please!

Well, it's a good thing I went running today then, and dreamed this up!

And then I saw the jogging!Mycroft pictures and was laughing so hard at my own cleverness.

They are too adorable and I can't take it anymore, someone stop me!

[squealofapproval]

Gaaaah. *squeals with joy* These stories (ill call them stories) have helped me see the light that the fandom is still open for shipping. In other words, I'm a sucker for Mystrade.

[cally]

Gaaaah. *squeals with joy* These stories (ill call them stories) have helped me see the light that the fandom is still open for shipping. In other words, I'm a sucker for Mystrade.

I'm glad we've been able to bring the Mystrade love to the board.

Have some more Mystrade, and then we will check on John and Sherlock.

113. empty

Gregory must have dozed off for a few minutes as he traveled down memory lane. He woke with a start and found that Mycroft had also dozed off as well. He smiled at the gorgeous picture his lover made pressed up against him.

He then realised why he had woken so suddenly. His nose was dripping. Ugh, the thought and reached over for the tissues to only find the box was empty. Of course. He rubbed his nose with a fist and sniffed. This only served to enrage his nose; prickling tickles building up. He turned his body so he wasn’t facing Mycroft any longer, cupped his hands over his nose and sneezed.

These weren’t his typical, loud, ferocious sneezes; they were ticklish, rapid, and very wet.

HuhhrahhhSHHhooo! Ahhhshooo! Ahhhkshooo! Rahhhhhshooo! Ahhhisshooo! Ahhhisshooo! Rahhhhhshooo! Huh-HuhhrahhhSHHhooo!

Mycroft was instantly awake. He sat up and seeing Gregory’s predicament, handed him his own handkerchief; pressing it into Gregory’s fingers as he sneezed.

“My goodness, Gregory. God bless you!”

Gregory blew his nose, trying to rid his nasal passages of any lingering tickle. “Thag you, love. Ugh. What the hell?”

“That was an allergy attack, Gregory. Welcome to the club,” he said wryly. Mycroft wiped away the allergic tears that had fallen from Gregory’s eyes and kissed his cheek.

“I’m getting you an antihistamine. There’s no need for you to continue like this, my dear.”

Gregory waved his hand, and sat back against the headboard. “Mycroft, I’m fine. There’s no need,” he said with a slight sniff.

Mycroft stood up and put his dressing gown on. He crossed his arms and looked down at Gregory. “No need? You sound like Sherlock.” His voice was scathing, but his eyes were saying something else.

114. white

Mycroft turned and left the room.

He came back a few minutes later with an ice-cold bottle of water and a round, white pill. He placed them down next to Gregory on the bedside table.

“I have no wish to see you suffer, Gregory,” Mycroft said with a sniff.

As if to emphasize his point, he quickly turned away and brought the crook of his arm up to his nose.

Hehmmmpftish! Tish! Tish! Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishooo!

“God bless you, love,” Gregory said quietly.

“Thank you. I really must get some more tissues brought up here,” Mycroft said, looking distastefully at his sleeve.

Gregory smirked, the tension broken.

“I’m sorry, love. I was being stubborn.” Gregory popped the pill and downed it with a swallow of cold water.

Mycroft smiled at his lover. “I suggest that we dress for dinner now, dear.”

Gregory smiled back. “No pajamas then,” he teased.

Mycroft looked appalled. “I should think not, Gregory.”

115. meal

After another meal of tea and soup, John was enjoying some rubbish telly with another cuppa. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, and it looked like he was in the depths of his mind palace. John had no idea what he possibly could be doing; perhaps it had something to do with that cold case. John turned his attention back to the telly.

He wasn’t sure how much longer it was, but he finally noticed that Sherlock was no longer in the sitting room. He wasn’t in the kitchen either. John stood up and stretched. He headed down the hall and found that Sherlock’s bedroom door was closed.

John knocked on the door. “Sherlock? Sherlock, are you ok?” Despite how much Sherlock valued his privacy, John was worried now, and entered his bedroom.

Sherlock was sprawled out across his bed, dozing fitfully. There was a sheen of sweat across his brow. “Oh bloody hell,” John said and immediately turned around to fetch the thermometer. While he was doing that, he also pulled his mobile out of his pocket and sent a text. He clearly needed more information.

Sorry to bother you. I don’t suppose that you could tell me if Sherlock exhibited anything unusual when he was sick when he was younger? –JW

It is no bother. Other than the alarming tendency to spike fevers in the evening, and a propensity for sinus infections, nothing really out of the ordinary. I am assuming that this is what you are referring to? –MH

Yeah, that would be it. Thanks. –JW

Take care of him, John. –MH

John rolled his eyes. What did he think he was going to do, leave him alone to suffer? He shoved his mobile back in his pocket.

He grabbed the thermometer and a wet a tea towel and headed back into Sherlock’s bedroom. He was glad he had a tympanic thermometer. 39 degrees. A bit not good, John thought. He placed the tea towel on Sherlock’s head, pressing the curls off his forehead, gently.

Sherlock stirred and flinched at the touch of the cloth. His eyes fluttered open and shut; he raised his hand and sneezed into his wrist.

Hngxt!

“Bless you,” John said. “Sherlock, still with me, yeah? You’ve a fever again, I’m trying to bring it down, ok?”

Sherlock nodded.

116. ice

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Thags. M’hot. So hot.”

“I know. I’m going to go get you some medicine. Will you be all right for a minute?”

Sherlock nodded and shut his eyes.

John quickly headed back out to the sitting room, retrieved the painkillers, a glass of water, and a bowl filled with ice water.

When he came back in he got Sherlock to sit up just long enough to take the pills and down them with the water. He took the cloth and put it into the bowl for a moment, then wrung it out.

After Sherlock was comfortable again, he placed it back on his forehead. Sherlock shivered from the touch of the cold, sneezing again.

“Bless you. It’s ok, Sherlock. It’s going to help.” He settled himself down next to Sherlock, stretching his legs out. John sniffed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a sneeze of his own coming on. He’d be glad when this bloody cold was over.

Hi-etcssSHHhhoo!

117. glassy

Sherlock opened his eyes, bright and glassy with fever.

“G’bless you, John.” He reached out toward him, trying to find John’s hand, missing. “And G’bless you again. Thought you were feeling better.”

John looked quizzically at Sherlock, and of course, sneezed again.

Hi-etcssshooo!

“You’re burning up with fever, you shouldn’t be able to do that. But, thank you.”

“Welcome. You see but you do not observe, you know. I wish you could see, John.” Sherlock said quietly, rubbed his nose and sniffing.

“See what, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, irritated.

John reached over and plucked a tissue from the box on the bedside table; Sherlock must have brought a new box in here, he thought. He pressed the tissue into Sherlock’s hand. “Here,” he said.

Sherlock sat up a bit and blew his nose, wincing.

John watched him and when he was done, he removed the cloth and put it in the bowl for a moment. He pushed Sherlock’s unruly curls back gently and then pressed his fingers into Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock flinched and scowled at John.

“Ow! What’s tha’ for?”

“I thought so. I think you’ve developed a sinus infection.” He placed the cool cloth back on Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock shrugged. And then he looked at John again, willing his mind to focus. He sat up, determined to concentrate.

“You’ve been talking to my brother. Insufferable git," he mumbled.

“Only because you didn’t say anything!”

Sherlock sniffled wetly. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said as his eyes fluttered shut.

Hngxt! Hngxtshooo!

“Bless you, Sherlock.” John handed him a handful of tissues.

“Thags,” he said snuffling into the tissues.

John reached over and grabbed the thermometer. “I’m going to take your temperature again, ok?”

Sherlock nodded.

“37.5, much better,” John said.

Sherlock nodded. “I feel a bit better now,” he said yawning. The codeine was making him drowsy.

“Get some sleep, ok, Sherlock?” John settled back and shut his eyes.

Sherlock looked over at John. Satisfied that John wasn’t leaving, he shut off the bedside light, and pulled the duvet up over them both.

[Spoo]

Oooh. Greg experiencing his first allergy attack? Yes please! What a lovely mental image. Hehe, listen to your hubby, Greg~ Mycroft knows aaaaall. And ugh, my heart. Poor Sherlock.

[cally]

Oooh. Greg experiencing his first allergy attack? Yes please! What a lovely mental image. Hehe, listen to your hubby, Greg~ Mycroft knows aaaaall. And ugh, my heart. Poor Sherlock.

I thought you might enjoy Greg's predicament.

[HoneyBunny]

Oh cally, these are absolutely wonderful! And I think you might have converted me to shipping Mystrade *whistles innocently*

[cally]

Oh cally, these are absolutely wonderful! And I think you might have converted me to shipping Mystrade *whistles innocently*

I have finally found my calling!

Speaking of which. . . .

118. fruit

By the time Mycroft and Gregory were dressed, dinner had been put out in the dining room. Gregory could breathe better now, which was good. He didn’t like taking pills as a general rule, but he didn’t want to have to go up against an allergy ridden Holmes who knew everything either.

Dinner, of course, was set to Mycroft’s diet specifications. This caused a bit of discontent with Gregory when they starting eating dinner together most evenings. The cook now knew to make sure to add a bit extra to Gregory’s portion, or make sure there was something special for dessert instead of fruit.

Gregory had long since given up trying to talk to Mycroft about his “diet.” He didn’t understand why he was so obsessive about it; apart from the occasional mocking he got from Sherlock. One day he would have to get to the bottom of that.

Tonight’s dinner was chicken mole with coriander rice; a spicy and flavourful dish. Gregory was in heaven. He was enjoying the spices and undercurrent of chocolate deep within the sauce.

Mycroft on the other hand, was a drippy mess. He had to pause to either wipe or blow his nose every few minutes, which he found so unhygienic, given that they were at the dinner table. Gregory reached over and squeezed his hand sympathetically.

Mycroft’s nose twitched and he knew that the outcome was going to be unpleasant based on years of experience. He saw Gregory was watching him now, a look of worry across his face. Mycroft took his handkerchief up from his lap and steepled his fingers with it over his nose. One slight breath was all it took.

hhhh-heh-Hehmmmpftish! Tish! Tish! Tish! Hehmmmpftish! Ha-Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishoo! Hehmmmpftishooo!

“God bless you, love!” Gregory saw how useless Mycroft’s handkerchief had become and pulled out the one he had been given before dinner. “Here,” he said handing the cloth over to Mycroft.

119. cook

“Thank you Gregory.” He blew his nose, uncomfortable sounding congested blows. “Apologies for interrupting dinner,” he said, sniffling. He blew his nose again, trying to ward off a potential sneeze to which he failed.

hhhh-heh-Hehmmmpftish!

“God bless you again, love!” Gregory reached over and squeezed Mycroft’s hand again.

Mycroft squeezed back. “I should let the cook know to modify any recipes with a lot of spices in the meantime,” he said.

Gregory chuckled, and pushed his empty plate away. “Let’s go upstairs love, you’re worn out. I’ll fix you a drink and I’ll rub your neck.”

Mycroft smiled at that. He stood up and took Gregory’s hand.

They parted before heading up the stairs; Gregory going to fetch the whisky. Mycroft headed up to their bedroom and changed out of his suit and into his pajamas. As he was putting the garments aside for dry cleaning, his mobile vibrated.

He was responding to the text when Gregory came in with their drinks. “Everything all right,” he asked, nodding toward the mobile.

“Yes, everything is quite all right, although it appears Sherlock has a fever. I have every confidence in Doctor Watson’s abilities to see him through it.”

Gregory smiled and handed Mycroft his drink. He might have sounded detached, but Gregory knew that Mycroft worried about Sherlock. He also knew he felt guilty for passing along that horrible cold; they both did. He put his own drink down and changed into his own pajamas. He suddenly was overcome with a tickle and was bent over by the force of the sneezes.

Huh-HuhhrahhhSHHhooo! HuhhrahhhSHHhooo!

“Goodness! God bless you, Gregory!”

“Thank you, love. Excuse me.” For some reason, he felt embarrassed. Gregory reached for the now freshly replenished tissue box and blew his nose.

Mycroft quizzically looked at his detective inspector. “Dearest, there is no need to feel uncomfortable. Is that not what you are always saying to me?”

“I just suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.” Gregory ducked his head as another sneeze built. He held a finger up to Mycroft before succumbing.

HuhhrahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless you again, Gregory!” Mycroft got up and fetched a clean handkerchief for his partner.

“Here you go, dear.”

Gregory smiled. “Thanks, love.” He wiped his nose carefully.

“Now, I believe you said something about a massage,” he said with a glint in his eye.

120. schedule

Mycroft is used to keeping to a schedule. However, since his relationship with Gregory changed for the better, there were things that he hasn’t always able to keep to. Bedtimes for one thing. He was also far more cognizant of the time he spent at the office or tending to work related matters. He made sure that he, or in some cases Anthea, let Gregory know if there were any changes in his schedule.

When Mycroft woke up the next morning with his eyes tearing and nose itching and dripping, he regretted immediately not keeping to his medication schedule. It was a mistake he would not be making again.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he sat up. Mycroft sniffed wetly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Gregory stirred and sat up to kiss Mycroft good morning.

“Love, are you ok?”

Mycroft shook his head slowly. “It appears thad I forgot to take my medication last nidt,” he said with a wet sniffle, wincing at the sound of his voice.

Gregory reached over Mycroft, grabbed his handkerchief, and placed it in his hands. He then plucked a tissue from the box and used it to wipe the allergic tears away that had already made their way down Mycroft’s face. He then gently kissed him on the cheek.

Gregory got up out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He came back a few moments later with a pill and a glass of water. “Here’s your morning pill; I figured it’s the least I could do.”

“Thag you, Gregory,” Mycroft said, a quiver in his voice now. He pressed his handkerchief up against his nose, waiting for the inevitable sneezes.

hhhh-heh-heh . . . There was a breathy build up and then . . .

hhh-Hehmmmpftish! Tish! Tish! Tish! Hi-tish! Hehmmmpftish! Ha-Hehmmmpftish! Hehmmmpftishoo! Hehmmmpftishooo! Ishooo!

“God bless you, love,” Gregory said. He was back in bed beside Mycroft now, and had rubbed his back while he succumbed to the nasty fit of sneezes.

Mycroft blew his nose, a wet gurgling blow that caused them both to wince. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, dear.”

Gregory felt bad. He felt it was his fault Mycroft had forgotten all about his evening pill; with the whisky and the massage and the . . .

Gregory settled back against the headboard and pulled Mycroft in against his chest, trying to be comforting as possible. He kissed the back of his head and began to rub his neck.

As if reading his mind, Mycroft said, “It’s not your fault, Gregory. If I recall correctly, I was not at all passive in last night’s arrangements.”

Gregory smiled into Mycroft’s soft hair. “Still, I should have thought.”

Mycroft shuddered and sneezed again.

Hehmmmpftishoo! Hehmmmpftishooo! Ishooo!

“God bless you again, love.”

Mycroft sniffed. “Thank you, Gregory dear”

Mycroft looked at the clock on the bedside table and then back at Gregory and smiled. He decided a few more minutes would not do any harm. He snuggled back against his lover, took his hand and kissed it softly. Sometimes the schedule could wait.