Cally's Sherlock drabble thread #1 442/442

[cally]

Again, thank you for all of the lovely comments.

134. guard

Gregory was rather worried about Mycroft. He was being stubborn and refused to spend any more time outside of the office. That afternoon, when he finally had a spare moment, he picked up his mobile and called John Watson.

“Hello?”

“John, it’s Greg.”

“Hey. What’s up? Everything all right?”

“Yeah . . . . no, not really.”

“Mycroft?”

Greg laughed. “Good guess. I hate to go over his head like this, but I just don’t know what to do anymore, short of tying him to the bed.”

John cleared his throat, clearly not expecting that from the detective inspector.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

John laughed. “I know! It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Speaking of catching people off guard, Greg thought. . . “Hold on a sec.” He pulled the phone away, and sneezed harshly.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

“Bless you, Greg! Are you ok?”

Greg sniffled. “Thanks, I’m fine. Really. It’s just if I sneeze twice, Mycroft is ready to take me to hospital. His face is swollen and practically bruised from the irritation in his sinuses and he wants to go on running the bloody country without a thought to himself.” Or to me, he thought.

John pondered. “I’m assuming he’s been taking his medicine?”

“Yeah. I’ve even gotten him to take some decongestants to see if that would help. And ice for the swelling. I just feel . . .helpless. I know he’s gone through this his whole life, but having to watching him suffer . . . .”

“Well, you could have him try a neti pot?”

“A what? Hang on, let me google that.” Greg put the term into the search engine and did a quick read and burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, John. But can you actually picture that? I can’t see him agreeing to that; I can’t even get him to take a full day off!”

John had to laugh too. “Honestly, I can’t. Seriously though. Just do what you are doing. Eventually he will come to his senses.”

Gregory sighed. “I know. I’m just not good at watching him suffer.”

John gave a wry smile. “I certainly know what that’s like. Give me a call if he really feels terrible, or develops a fever or anything. That’s highly unlikely, but just in case.”

“Ta, John.”

“No problem, Greg.”

135. sympathy

Sherlock looked up from his microscope.

“Lestrade?” Sherlock inquired hopefully, eager for a case.

“Yeah, your brother is being impossible.”

Sherlock snorted. “Well, he has had a lot of experience at it.” He then frowned, no case then, he thought.

“Mycroft doesn’t like to be mollycoddled. He was always having to miss out on things as a child, so now he does as he pleases, and damn everyone else.”

It was John’s turn to give a snort of derision; there’s the pot calling the kettle black he thought.

Sherlock turned away from his microscope for a moment and sneezed.

Hnghxt!

“Bless you! “A sign of brotherly sympathy there, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shot him an icy glare before his breath hitched and he succumbed to another sneeze.

Hngxt!

“Bless you again! That would have been impressive had you not stifled it into bloody oblivion.”

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, sniffling. John rolled his eyes and pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket. “Here, before you drip all over your slides.”

Sherlock gave him another icy glare, but snatched the handkerchief from John all the same right before . . .

Hngxt! Hngxt!

“Bless you! And stop bloody stifling, or you’ll end up like your brother.”

A look of abject horror replaced the cold glare.

136. horror

Since Gregory had exhausted the medical route in getting Mycroft to feel better, he decided to go a different route. After a few days of hurried, covert texts, and a fair amount of googling, his plan was put into place.

While on the way to a regular, weekly meeting, Anthea casually mentioned that she would be taking care of a personal matter while he was in attendance.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Is everything ok?”

Anthea nodded, not looking up from her mobile; Gregory had gotten better at Words with Friends as of late. “Just a routine cervical screening,” she said casually.

Mycroft blushed visibly; appalled, and waved his hand at her dismissing the conversation before it started. “Very well.”

Anthea smiled. She knew this would definitely be the way Mycroft would react and would cover hers (and Gregory’s) tracks. She tried not to giggle as she recalled how Mycroft practically recoiled in horror the one time she practically begged him to stop the car at Boots so she could pick up some pain medication to alleviate her horrible cramps.

After dropping Mycroft off at his meeting, she quickly had the driver head to New Scotland Yard, where Gregory was waiting. After picking him up, they were immediately on the way to Selfridges, where Anthea had assured Gregory they would find something that would suit Mycroft’s impeccable tastes.

Anthea gave Gregory a list of things she thought would be appropriate, complete with pictures, explaining each item and how they would fit in with Mycroft’s lifestyle, habits, and wardrobe.

Gregory mulled over the list; she was really rather good at this, while she checked her messages.

Huh’itshuh! Huh’itshuh!

“S’cuse me,” Anthea said, sniffling quietly.

“God bless you. Not you, too?” Gregory smiled a worried smile.

Anthea smiled in return. “Thank you. No, just a coincidence.”

Gregory relaxed. “I think I’ve decided. He pointed to an item on the page.”

“A very excellent choice, detective inspector,” Anthea said, grinning broadly.

Much thanks to Spoo for her help/inspiration on this one.

137. shop

They arrived at Selfridges, and quickly made their way through the throngs of sightseers and shoppers across the shop floor. Anthea couldn’t help but pause when one of the perfumers stopped and asked if she wanted to try the new Marc Jacobs’ scent. She had her wrist spritzed and quickly thanked the girl.

They then quickly headed toward the escalators to go up one floor to the men’s department. Anthea offered her wrist toward Gregory. “What do you think?”

He took a delicate whiff. “S’nice,” he said. And he quickly turned away from her and sneezed into his fist.

Rahhhshhngxt! Gregory managed to stifle the sneeze somehow; not wanting to sneeze so explosively with so many people around.

“Oh my goodness! God bless you! Sorry!” Anthea fumbled around in her handbag until she found a tissue.

“Here. I’m so sorry.”

Gregory laughed. “It’s fine, Anthea. Don’t worry about it,” he said accepting the tissue. His nose twitched and he succumbed to another pair of sneezes.

Rahhhshhngxt! Rahhhshhngxtishh!

“God bless you again! Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine, thanks. I think my nose is just a bit more sensitive than usual with this ‘baby’ hay fever.”

Anthea actually giggled this time as they made their way across to the section of the men’s department that Gregory required. They made a quick inquiry and the item in question was procured, wrapped, and paid for. Granted, it was a fair bit more than Gregory would normally spend, but for Mycroft, it was worth it.

138. crisp

They barely paused so Gregory could muffle another sneeze, and then were back on Oxford Street where the car was waiting for them. Anthea pulled a crisp handkerchief out (really, where did they come from, Gregory wondered) and handed it to him.

Gregory accepted it gratefully. His nose was starting to drip and he desperately needed to sneeze again. He was very glad to be out of the crowds.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! HuhhrahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless you!” Anthea made a mental note to not buy the new Marc Jacobs perfume and to wash her hands before Mr. Holmes got back in the car. If this was affecting the detective inspector so much, she didn’t want to think how badly Mr. Holmes would react.

Gregory blew his nose. “Thag you,” he said.

“Are you going to be ok?”

He wiped his nose and nodded.

As they arrived back at New Scotland Yard, Gregory smiled. “Thanks Anthea. I appreciate the help.”

“My pleasure. Please let me know how it all goes,” she said with a smile.

Twenty minutes later, Mycroft got back into the car after his meeting. With a discreet sniff he said, “Are they giving out perfume samples on Harley Street now, Anthea?”

Anthea definitely did not look up from her mobile.

139. Suspicion

Gregory was excited for this evening. He had a nice dinner planned as well as the gift. He hoped that this small token could show Mycroft how much he cared, even if it couldn’t alleviate how he was feeling.

Mycroft came home on time. Gregory had texted and asked this of him, and he was happy to comply. He being a Holmes, had a sneaking suspicion that something was going on.

He entered the townhouse to an enticing aroma; Gregory had been cooking. Mycroft allowed himself a genuine smile and sought out his lover.

Mycroft found Gregory in the kitchen; the smaller table set in an intimate setting, candles and all. There was a package on the table as well, finely wrapped.

“What is all of this, Gregory?”

“Hi love,” Gregory said with a smile. “I know I can’t help the hay fever; I can’t exactly get rid of all the trees in London. But what I can do is take care of you and show you how much I care, and how much I love you.”

Once again Mycroft was very close to being moved. He gave a slight sniff and looked deep into Gregory’s deep, brown eyes. “Thank you my dear.”

Gregory led Mycroft over to the table and sat him down. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, love.” Mycroft discreetly rubbed his nose and sniffed. “I look forward to it,” he said, smiling. Gregory pressed a kiss onto the top of Mycroft’s head and then headed back to the stove.

Mycroft pulled his handkerchief out from his trouser pocket and blew his nose, hoping it would alleviate the tickle that had been building. As he rubbed his nose with the soft cloth, it triggered the inevitable sneezes.

Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish!

Gregory looked over at Mycroft, frowning. “God bless you, love.”

Mycroft waved a hand in his direction, indicating he wasn’t done.

Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish!

“Christ, Mycroft! God bless you again!” Gregory left the stove and came back over to his lover. He put his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

Mycroft managed to angle away; clearly not done.

Mmmpftishooo!

“God bless you again, love!”

Mycroft blew his nose again. “Thank you Gregory. And apologies. I rather thought I was done there.”

Gregory kissed him on the forehead again. “You’re welcome. Shall we eat?”

Mycroft nodded and Gregory crossed the kitchen and brought over the meals; salmon and wild rice with green beans and slivered almonds.

140. smoke

The meal was delicious and the two discussed their days; Gregory leaving out the adventure to Selfridges of course. Gregory had wanted to make dessert as well, but he was fairly sure that the elder Holmes would make some sort of derisive comment about how he couldn’t have any; it was hard enough preparing a nice dinner with his bloody dietary requirements.

Once they were finished Gregory led Mycroft into the sitting room where a roaring fire was going; despite it being spring, the evenings were still rather chilly. Two whiskies were already set out, and the neatly wrapped package had been moved and was waiting to be opened.

Gregory added a log to the fire and instantly regretted the action; the smoke stung his eyes and he sneezed harshly into his elbow.

Rahhhshhngxtishh! Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo! HuhhrahhhSSHHooo!

“Goodness, Gregory,” Mycroft said as Gregory joined him on the couch. “God bless you!”

Gregory rubbed his eyes and sniffed. “Thank you, love.”

Mycroft handed him a fresh handkerchief (really, where the hell did they come from?) and Gregory wiped his tearing eyes and dripping nose.

They settled back on the couch and Gregory could see Mycroft darting occasional glances at the package. How he loved to see the ‘human’ side of his partner and lover. He smiled and reached over for it, and placed it in Mycroft’s lap.

He pulled Mycroft into a punishing kiss. “Love, I just wanted to show you how much I care for you, and how much I love you. I had no idea what to get you, so I did have some help,” Gregory said with a smile.

“The next time you’re home and feeling miserable, I hope you wear this and it brings you comfort.”

Mycroft carefully removed the wrapping paper, and opened the box. Inside was a very soft, very gorgeous navy v-neck cashmere sweater. It was exquisite.

Mycroft was speechless.

He leaned over and kissed Gregory, with passion, feeling and emotion; trying to put his words and feelings into the very kiss itself.

When they broke apart, they were both a bit breathless. Mycroft smiled at his detective inspector. “Gregory, I hope you know you did not need to buy me a jumper to show me how much you care for me. You show it to me every day in your words and actions; in the way you hold me at night. You’ve done everything in your power to alleviate my discomfort, and I truly thank you for it.”

This time Gregory’s eyes didn’t tear up due to irritation.

Bonus drabble for today:

141. Chrysanthemums

John didn’t have a lot of long-term patients through his work at the clinic. He did have a few, and always felt a bid sad when he lost one.

He was set to attend a memorial service for one of them, and was rather surprised when Sherlock agreed to go with him. It was one of those things that Sherlock tended to do now, as if there wasn’t enough time in the world left to spend with John. They didn’t talk about it; it was the metaphorical elephant in the room.

So, on a random Tuesday afternoon Sherlock went with John to the memorial service. He was even quiet; not bothering to keep up a steady stream of narrative.

They sat there quietly. John listening, Sherlock, well John had no idea if Sherlock was listening or was somewhere in the depths of his mind palace. That was until Sherlock sniffled.

John looked at him out of the corner of his eye. And then Sherlock did it again. John raised an eyebrow. And then Sherlock sneezed.

Hngxt!

“Bless you,” John whispered.

Sherlock nodded slightly, and sniffled again.

A few moments later, Sherlock sneezed again.

Hngxt!

John adjusted his position, fumbled for his handkerchief, and handed it to Sherlock. “Bless you,” he whispered again. “Here.”

Sherlock nodded again, and pressed the cloth up against his nose.

This went on for a few minutes; Sherlock sniffling, sneezing, repeat.

Finally, John took pity on him. He tugged the sleeve of the Belstaff coat, practically dragging him out of his seat and out the door.

When they got outside, Sherlock unfolded the handkerchief, held it over his nose with his cupped hands and sneezed violently, bending at the waist.

Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo!

“God bless you, Sherlock! Are you all right?”

Sherlock blew his nose and winced. “No, I am most certainly not all right.”

Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo!

“Bless you again!”

Sherlock leaned against the wall of the building for a moment, catching his breath so to speak.

“Thank you,” he said stuffily.

John raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

“Chrysanthemums,” Sherlock said.

“Excuse me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Do keep up, John,” he said sniffling. They started walking in the direction of Baker Street, out of habit.

Sherlock paused in his steps for a second.

Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo!

“Jesus, Sherlock! Bless you! Come on,” John said. “You need a shower and an antihistamine.”

Sherlock sniffed, but didn’t disagree.

[Spoo]

I spent the majority of reading those drabbles going "oh no", "nooooo", and "I can't", while having to look away from my computer and squee into my hands.

For example:

“Hi love,” Gregory said with a smile. “I know I can’t help the hay fever; I can’t exactly get rid of all the trees in London. But what I can do is take care of you and show you how much I care, and how much I love you.”

And:

“Gregory, I hope you know you did not need to buy me a jumper to show me how much you care for me. You show it to me every day in your words and actions; in the way you hold me at night. You’ve done everything in your power to alleviate my discomfort, and I truly thank you for it.”

:wub:

[cally]

I spent the majority of reading those drabbles going "oh no", "nooooo", and "I can't", while having to look away from my computer and squee into my hands.

Awwwwww.

Turn about is fair play. Mycroft is now going to have to collude with Anthea. I wonder what he possibly has planned?

142. jumper

Anthea did not need a text from the detective inspector the following day to know that the gift had gone over well. For one, it was Saturday. There were no meetings on the agenda, just some necessary paperwork that needed attending to. And Mycroft was wearing the jumper.

Anthea couldn’t hide her smile when she saw what Mr. Holmes was wearing.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Anthea.” Mycroft paused. “I do believe a thank you is in order.” He opened his briefcase and took out a small box, which he handed to her. “I would advise you not wearing that the next time you need to pick up detective inspector Lestrade, however.”

Anthea reddened slightly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Mycrof sniffed and rubbed his nose. It was a glorious spring day in London, which meant his hay fever would be more aggravated than usual. It also meant that he wanted to spend the afternoon with Gregory taking a walk or enjoying a leisurely lunch.

He was about to get started in on the paperwork, when there was an interruption to his thought process.

Huh’itshuh! Huh’itshuh!

“Sorry, sir. Excuse me,” Anthea said sniffing quietly.

“God bless you.”

“Thank you sir,” she said rubbing her nose.

He gave her a questioning look, but put it out of his mind as they continued with scheduling and paperwork associated with the coming weeks meetings. It had been about ten minutes when Anthea sneezed again.

Huh’itshuh! Huh’itshissshhh!

She sniffled. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

“God bless you! Are you quite sure you are all right?” Mycroft rubbed his own nose sympathetically.

“Thank you. I’m fine, sir. Just a tickle.”

“Hmmmmm. Very well,” Mycroft said, not convinced. He rubbed his nose again, and sniffed, not willing to succumb to the tickle that had been present in his own sinuses since he awoke. He pinched the bridge of his nose as they continued on.

143. certain

Mycroft sniffed again and rubbed his nose. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and held it up in front of his nose expectantly.

Hehhh-hhhmmmpftish! Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish!

“God bless you, sir,” Anthea said as she updated the last of the files.

“Thank you, Anthea,” Mycroft replied after blowing his nose. He sounded congested. He cleared his throat.

“Sir? This last item for next Friday? Are you absolutely certain?”

Mycroft sniffed. And then he nodded. He was definitely sure.

Anthea nodded. “Next Friday is completely clear, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said, a gleam in his eye. He rubbed his nose again, feeling the tickle build.

Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish!

Anthea raised a questioning eyebrow. “God bless you, sir.”

Mycroft sneezed again in response.

Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish!

“My goodness, sir. “God bless you again!”

“Thag you, Anthea,” he said through the handkerchief as he blew his nose.

“That is next week’s schedule arranged, sir. Shall I have the driver bring you anywhere, or would you like to go home?”

“Home, please.”

Anthea smiled behind her mobile, the bridge of her nose crinkling.

Mycroft studied her for a few moments. He then opened his briefcase and retrieved something that he handed to her.

Huh’itshuh! Huh’itshissshhh!

“God bless you, Anthea. I certainly hope this is due to the unusually elevated pollen count and not an illness.”

Anthea sniffed and took a tissue out of the packet he had handed her. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I’m sure I will be fine.”

Mycroft gave her a look of disbelief, but nodded all the same.

“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, sir,” Anthea said with a grin as they arrived back at his townhouse.

“Good afternoon, Anthea,” he said with an exasperated glance.

[matilda3948]

Chrysanthemums = Aww..he goes with John and then pays for it with an allergy attack

Hmm...wonder what's up with Anthea...you've made me kind of love her.

[AngelEyes]

I love the "magic" handkerchiefs that appear from, where? Oh Mycroft. And just Awww!

[cally]

Chrysanthemums = Aww..he goes with John and then pays for it with an allergy attack

Hmm...wonder what's up with Anthea...you've made me kind of love her.

Poor allergic Sherlock.

Anthea, ever a mystery. (to be investigated soon)

I love the "magic" handkerchiefs that appear from, where? Oh Mycroft. And just Awww!

I should think of solving that mystery soon as well.

Ok, here's a quick drabble (ha). If I post any more in the next 8 hours, someone slap my wrists!

144. deduction

Sherlock was reading the morning paper when he sneezed.

Hngxt!

John was in the kitchen, making tea and toast for them both; Sherlock could tell from the noises coming from the other room.

Interesting, he thought, as he paused to sneeze again.

Hngxt!

Again, nothing but the sound of the toaster popping; and a knife scratching its way across a piece of toasted bread.

Clearly, this merited more information and observation. Sherlock rubbed his ticklish nose, realising that the window was open in the sitting room. Well, that solved problem number one, he thought.

Heh-Hngxt! Hngxt!

He was ill prepared for that paroxysm, and barely had time to bring the crook of his arm to his face. It also happened exactly at the same time John was bringing in his tea. John didn’t say a word; he merely put the breakfast items down, sat, and began drinking his tea.

Sherlock was puzzled, confounded. The first two sneezes John could have missed, not being in the same room, but the last two, he was right here. And still not a word.

Sherlock sniffled wetly.

John took a bite of toast.

Sherlock put the paper to the side. He pinched his nose, as he felt another sneeze building. He angled his body away from the table, sneezing a bit louder this time.

Heh-Hngxxxt!

Sherlock sniffed wetly again.

John took a mouthful of tea and picked up the paper Sherlock had put down.

“Something bothering you, Sherlock? Other than your hay fever? You should really take something for that, you know.” John’s voice was chiding, teasing, but also held an undercurrent of mild irritation to it. This gave Sherlock more information, sure, but still not enough to deduce exactly what was going on.

John went on reading the paper and eating his toast. Sherlock sat, indignant. Until the moment he realised he had to sneeze again. He rolled his eyes. He was going to be forced to take an antihistamine today, he could tell. He hated it, of course; the hay fever, the congestion, the inability to think. Anything that made him more like his brother, he despised.

And then as he sneezed, it clicked. He quickly grabbed the napkin John had put out with his tea and toast.

Heh-Hngxt!

There was a pause as Sherlock’s breath hitched and he could hear the paper being rustled, and knew John was watching him.

Heh-ehhhhh-hhhhhngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo!

Sherlock sneezed explosively into the napkin, bent nearly double from the force; he was not expecting that, he thought.

John had put the paper down and was looking at Sherlock with a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and worry. “Bless you, God bless you, and Gesundheit,” John finally said, when he was sure Sherlock was done. John, ever the prepared doctor, took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock could tell from the elaborate blessing (that John only did when he felt extremely worried or was rather impressed with the bout of sneezing that had occurred) that his deduction had been correct.

“Thag you.” Sherlock blew his nose, wincing.

John winced a bit as well, sympathetically. He got up and went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a round, white pill.

“No arguments today on this Sherlock,” he said.

Sherlock nodded, sniffling congestedly.

John smiled, battle won. “I was surprised it took you that long to figure it out,” he said. “I may not be the great Sherlock Holmes, but even I can make a correct deduction once and a while. You like when I bless you; it makes you feel cared for, doesn’t it? And when I didn’t, you were upset. And it got to you to finally stop stifling; you’re going to hurt your ears one of these days!” The ‘do you want to end up with swollen face and sinuses like your brother’ was left unsaid, but within the subtext of the conversation.

Sherlock contemplated this. “I admit I may have grown accustomed to your customary responses, despite how they contrive little meaning other than politeness in contemporary society.”

John laughed. “Whatever you say, Sherlock. Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”

[ID2006]

John, what a clever boy... and you of course are just brilliant for writing this.

[cally]

John, what a clever boy... and you of course are just brilliant for writing this.

Awwww thank you!

145. wardrobe

Anthea was rather glad she had the rest of the day to herself. She was so embarrassed that she had kept sneezing all morning. She had no idea what was causing her to sneeze either; she knew she was not ill as she didn’t feel sick. She had never had any type of allergies before either. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. She knew that people could develop allergies at any time in their lives, just look at the detective inspector. She sincerely hoped that that wasn’t the case for her; it would give poor Mr. Holmes a complex!

She went out to the shops after a brief stop at home. She was halfway to Waitrose when she realised her nose was slightly dripping. Sighing, she searched her handbag for a tissue. Then she had remembered she had given the last of them to detective inspector Lestrade. She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. She was the assistant to bloody Mycroft Holmes; she could manage a trip to the shops!

When she got to Waitrose, she immediately went to the café section and grabbed a handful of napkins and then went on with her shopping. Lucky for her, she only had to stop to sneeze once in the shop, which she managed discreetly.

Anthea spent the remainder of her Saturday tidying her flat, organizing her wardrobe for the following week, and sniffling and sneezing incessantly.

146. incident

Sunday, there was a minor incident, which required Anthea to work. She met Mr. Holmes at the office and they spent a good portion of the afternoon there. Phone calls, texts and faxes were sent and received; lots of tea was prepared. Anthea also spent a fair amount of time trying not to sneeze, which was not as easy as one might think, especially with Mr. Holmes sneezing every 5 minutes.

Her nose was ridiculously itchy, and she frequently hid behind her mobile to rub it, or finding a way to leave the office so she could sniffle. It was torturous. She had no idea how Mr. Holmes managed some days.

Anthea had learned the art of discretion from the best, so she was fairly sure she was in the clear by the end of the day, and Mr. Holmes had not said one word to her that was unrelated to her official function. That is, until they were on the way to bring him home.

Mmmpftish! Mmmpftish!

“God bless you, sir,” Anthea said for approximately the hundredth time today. Mycroft sniffed and studied her for a moment.

“Thank you, my dear. Now, please tell me what on earth is the matter with you today.”

“Excuse me, sir?

“You have been acting very jumpy today, not to mention that you keep rubbing your nose. Are you unwell?”

Anthea sniffed and rubbed her nose unconsciously. “I am perfectly well, sir. Thank you for your concern,” she said. And then she sneezed.

Huh’itshuh!

“Excuse me,” she said, and went back to her mobile, attempting to pretend that this entire situation was not happening.

“God bless you, Anthea.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anthea. Put the mobile down.” He reached over and covered her hand with his.

She put the mobile down.

“If you are not ill, then what is wrong? You are clearly not yourself.”

Anthea knew there was no outsmarting a Holmes, so she decided to come clean.

“I honestly don’t know sir. I don’t feel ill. And it isn’t a constant, either.”

Mycroft frowned. “Well, in that case, we will be making an unscheduled stop.”

147. custom

Five minutes later they were in the sitting room at 221B Baker Street. Anthea was mortified, Mycroft was indignant, Sherlock was amused, and John wanted to know when he had become Mycroft bloody Holmes’ personal GP.

John gave Anthea a cursory examination and asked her a few questions. He then pulled his penlight out and used it to check her eyes. She had a rather unexpected reaction to that, causing her even more embarrassment. (She was a private person, like Mr. Holmes, and she really didn’t appreciate all this undo attention.)

Huh’itshuh! Huh’itshuh!

“Bless you,” came a chorus of three.

“Thank you,” she said. “Sorry, “ she said to John. John smiled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and handed her a tissue.

Anthea dabbed at her nose.

“So, Doctor Watson,” she asked. John shrugged. “The pollen count has been outrageously high lately. Everyone is sniffling and sneezing. Even I haven’t been immune,” he said.

Sherlock sniffled, cleared his throat, and crossed the flat in 3 strides. “Wrong!”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“While the pollen count has been exceptionally high, that’s not the cause of your assistant’s woes, Mycroft.”

Sherlock sniffled again, and continued. “While she said that she had made no changes to her everyday routine, you didn’t ask the right quest hhhh heh… question.”

Sherlock paused, breath hitching, and sneezed.

Hngxtshooo! Hngxtshooo!

“God bless you, brother mine. Now stop the dramatics and get to the point.” Mycroft was losing his patience.

Sherlock sniffled wetly and rolled his eyes at Mycroft. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve (purposely to annoy Mycroft). Before he could continue, John gave him a disgusted look and handed him a tissue. Surprising to no one, Anthea was on her mobile.

Sherlock turned his attention to Anthea. “The dry cleaner that you frequent has changed the formula that it uses on their garments. It is clearly irritating to your nasal passages, so I suggest changing your custom.”

[AngelEyes]

Five minutes later they were in the sitting room at 221B Baker Street. Anthea was mortified, Mycroft was indignant, Sherlock was amused, and John wanted to know when he had become Mycroft bloody Holmes’ personal GP.

LOL! So perfect!!! I love this!

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Five minutes later they were in the sitting room at 221B Baker Street. Anthea was mortified, Mycroft was indignant, Sherlock was amused, and John wanted to know when he had become Mycroft bloody Holmes’ personal GP.

LOL! So perfect!!! I love this!

^^ Ditto.

[cally]

LOL! So perfect!!! I love this!

^^ Ditto.

Oh! Thank you both!

Have a Mystrade drabble- a preview of Mycroft's surprise.

148. tension

The following week went by in a blaze for Mycroft. He dealt with minor crises, apologised profusely to Anthea; he blamed Gregory for his increased concern. Sentiment. Who knew? Mostly, he fretted about Thursday evening.

Everything was prepared; he was ready. All the same he worried.

He also felt miserable; a fine stretch of weather had increased the pollen count even more, if that was possible. He felt like he was either sneezing or about to sneeze. The right side of his face was swollen again and he felt like he was perpetually a drippy, congested mess.

By Wednesday evening, Gregory couldn’t take seeing Mycroft so miserable any longer. He ordered soup for takeaway, and once it was eaten, brought Mycroft up to their bedroom where he had the whole ‘take care of Mycroft’ package ready.

Mycroft blew his nose the entire way up to the bedroom. Gregory put a reassuring hand on his back as they went upstairs. He felt the tension in Mycroft’s back build, and winced when he heard the congested sneezes.

Hehhh-hhhmmmpftish! Mmmpftish! MmmpfTIGshooo!

“God bless you, love. You poor thing.”

Mycroft murmured a congested thanks, and was about to change out of his suit and into his pyjamas, when Gregory stopped him.

“Hot bath first, love.”

Gregory got Mycroft settled in the tub, and then climbed in behind him. He had massage oil with him this time, and began to slowly massage the tension out of the shoulders of the British government. Mycroft made murmuring sounds of encouragement and enjoyment and finally relaxed. Gregory was pleased that Mycroft was relaxing until he felt the telltale signs of an impending sneeze.

Gregory reached over for the handkerchief he had put by the bath for this very reason. He handed Mycroft the soft cloth just before the sneezes burst forth.

Mmmpftish! MmmpfTIGshooo! Mmmpftinghsh! MmmpfTIGisshooo!

Gregory winced again. “Oh love. God bless you.”

Mycroft sneezed again.

MmmpfTIGisshooo!

“God bless you again!” Gregory kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck.

“Thag you, Gregory.” Mycroft blew his nose and cleared his throat. “And thank you for this,” he said. “You are far too good to me.”

Gregory smiled. “You would and have done the same for me. Now, let’s get you dried off and into bed.”

[AngelEyes]

Mmmm. Sweetness. And, anticipation....

[cally]

Mmmm. Sweetness. And, anticipation....

And the anticipation builds . . . .

149. double

Mycroft and Gregory dried off and got ready for bed. Gregory placed a kiss on Mycroft’s forehead. “Is there anything else I can get you, love?”

Mycroft sniffed and thought for a moment. “I think a cup of tea would be nice.” Gregory smiled and went off to make them a cuppa. Mycroft could hear him sneezing as he went down the hall.

HuhhraGHNTshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

“God bless you, dear,” Mycroft called after him.

He then picked up his mobile.

You are absolutely sure that this will be fine. –MH

Yes. I have already expressed this in multiple ways.

At the very least it will make you sleepy. –SH

As long as you are sure. I am taking you on your word. Oh, God bless you, brother mine. –MH

If you must know, I took double the dose today and have had no ill effects. –SH

Bad day, was it? –MH

As if you don’t know. -SH

Very well, Sherlock. –MH

Mycroft put the mobile down and sneezed.

MmmpfTIGisshooo!

“God bless you, love,” Gregory said as he came back into the room with the tea.

Mycroft wiped his nose with his handkerchief and thanked Gregory with a smile. He then surreptitiously slipped an antihistamine into Gregory’s tea, and took the second one himself. He was going to do everything he possibly could to keep them both from feeling miserable tomorrow.

Gregory settled down next to Mycroft. “How are you feeling now, love?”

Mycroft paused to sneeze a pair of congested sneezes into his handkerchief before he answered.

MmmpfTIGisshooo! Mmmpftish!

“God bless you again, love.”

“Thag you. I’b fine, dear.”

150. key

“Yeah, you sound fine,” Gregory said teasingly, as he rubbed his nose. “Drink up your tea and I’ll rub your sinuses like I did when you were sick.”

Mycroft, for once, did as he was told.

A few minutes later, he was laying with his head in Gregory’s lap. Gregory was making soothing circles on his forehead and underneath his eyes. Mycroft relaxed into the touch, knowing it would help loosen the congestion a bit. They exchanged bits about their days and Gregory shared his pleasure about tomorrow’s upcoming dinner.

Gregory could feel the tension draining from Mycroft. He seemed awfully keyed up about something lately. He figured it was probably work related, which Mycroft never talked about. He gave a distracted sniffle and paused to take a mouthful of tea. He was about to resume his ministrations when he had to duck his head and turn away to sneeze.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! HuhhraGHNTshhhooo!

“God bless you, love,” Mycroft said, sitting up.

“Thank you,” he said, yawning. Gregory drained the last of his tea and went off to wash up before bed. Mycroft blew his nose carefully, not wanting to set off his sensitive nose.

Moments later, they switched places; Mycroft sneezing as he made his way into the en suite.

Heh-hhhmmpftish! Mmmpftishooo!

“My goodness, love. God bless.”

When Mycroft returned, Gregory was settled in bed. Mycroft joined him, placing a kiss on his lips. “Thank you, my love.”

Gregory returned the kiss with a smile and settled back next to Mycroft. He was asleep moments later.

Mycroft watched him for a time, anxious for the following day. He finally fell asleep, curled up against his lover.

151. nervous

The next morning Mycroft was gone before Gregory was awake. He had much to do in order to keep Friday completely free.

While Gregory had slept well, by mid afternoon he was tired. He was surprisingly less congested too, but still had to pause a few times to sneeze throughout the day.

Boring paperwork didn’t help matters. So when Anthea strolled in with a garment bag and a cup of coffee, he thought her an angel sent from heaven.

“Compliments of Mr. Holmes,” she said. “The car will pick you up at 6.” There was a sly smile on her face that Gregory couldn’t quite get a read on.

“Cheers, Anthea,” he said, raising the cup.

She smiled in return and turned to go.

“Wait a second,” Gregory said. “How are you feeling? Mycroft said you were a bit off the other day.”

Anthea blushed. “He didn’t tell you?”

Gregory shook his head. Anthea quickly recounted the story, leaving out how mortifying the entire experience was. She smiled at him. “You’ve really changed him, detective inspector.” And then she was gone.

Gregory thought about that for a moment. He stood and retrieved the garment bag. Inside was a dove grey jumper, not unlike the one he had bought Mycroft, along with a change of shirt and trousers. He was suddenly a bit nervous. He retrieved his emergency pack of cigarettes from their hiding place in his desk, grabbed his coffee, and headed outside.

152. telepathy

Gregory had barely taken a drag, when a voice carried his way. “Those things will kill you, you know.” Sherlock’s voice was deeper than normal, congested sounding. Gregory snorted. “You’re one to talk. You sound terrible,” he said as an afterthought.

Sherlock was now standing next to the detective inspector and seconds later was lighting his own. Gregory looked over and saw that it was his pack Sherlock was holding; he had pickpocketed him- again. He rolled his eyes and Sherlock handed them back.

They walked over to a bench and sat down. Sherlock swiped the coffee from his hand and took a sip. “This is excellent,” he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

He didn’t give Lestrade a chance to reply; besides he already knew where the coffee came from. He took a drag on his cigarette. “You have questions.” Sherlock stated matter of fact.

Lestrade looked at him. He often wondered if the Holmes’ were telepathic, and this wasn’t the first time in recent days he had thought such a thing. Sherlock made a sound of derision and took another drag.

“Was it really that awful for him, when he was younger?”

Sherlock thought for a moment, taking another drag. “The age difference does make it a bit difficult. As you can imagine we didn’t exactly have the kind of childhood where we ran around playing outside with other children. It wasn’t until Mycroft was at boarding school that there was any indication of any issues. I remember being very young and him being covered in hives and rushing him to hospital.”

“When I was a bit older, I was able to understand what was going on of course. He spent most of his time with his nose in a book and a handful of tissues, so it was easy enough for me to tease him. Even when I began to be afflicted, it was still so mild in comparison that Mummy thought I was doing it for attention. Mycroft knew of course, that I wasn’t, but he was in no condition to do anything. And at that point I am fairly sure he saw it as payback. He was coddled so much as a child, that he grew to resent the helplessness; it made him feel that he was weak.”

He sniffed, and continued. “Now that he is older, and feels a bit more in control, I don’t think he sees it quite that way anymore. It’s also made him keenly aware of what it is like to feel that way, not that he normally would express it to anyone who wasn’t close to him, of course.”

“He has tried all sorts of things over the years. The current regimen has helped the best. He’s also gotten better mental control over it, so you are probably seeing him at his worst.” Sherlock finished his cigarette and sniffled. He rubbed his nose, paused, looked up and sneezed.

Hngxtsh!

“God bless you!” Lestrade made a move toward his pocket, but Sherlock waved him away, indicating he was fine.

Lestrade took a final drag of his cigarette and another mouthful of coffee as Sherlock continued.

“I also think it is because you show him what it is liked to be cared for, and not restricted and controlled. You show you care, but you allow him to be himself. But then again, that’s not really my area.” Sherlock sniffed again.

Sherlock had also filched the pack of cigarettes again and was lighting a second. He leaned back on the bench.

Lestrade sighed. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for him. I thought it was bad now.”

“Medicine has changed a lot since then. There are better antihistamines as opposed to the steroids that he was required to take back then. There is also a degree of difference when you are taking care of yourself as an adult as opposed to being taken care of as a child or young adult,” Sherlock explained.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face and sniffed. “Steroids.” He shook his head at the thought, and then something clicked. “That’s why you’re always on him about his weight.”

Sherlock actually looked mildly embarrassed. “The steroids did have the tendency to cause weight gain. It didn’t help that he also turned to food for comfort.”

“Can you blame hhhhh-him?” Lestrade turned away from Sherlock as his breath began to hitch and sneezed.

HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

“Bless you,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Thanks,” Lestrade said with a sniff.

“I suppose, in hindsight, I can’t blame him, all things considered,” Sherlock mused.

Lestrade didn’t have to answer; he knew what Sherlock was getting at.

Sherlock stood and nodded at Lestrade. “Afternoon,” he said. And with a swish of his coat tails, he was off.

Lestrade sat there for another minute and then he got up and went back inside, thinking.

[Spoo]

I really, really liked the in-depth explanation Sherlock gave Lestrade about he and Mycroft's childhood. Buhhh, and the steroids/weight-gain talk. So good, cally!

[Tassielli]

Oh my god woman, when do you sleep? Or eat? You are AMAZING! I can't even check the forum as often as you are somehow able to put up your amazing drabbles.

Have I mentioned that I live for Gregory's sneezes. I can't keep my mind off my sneezy detective. He's my favorite. I just want more and I feel bad for begging but please I need it like I need the air. That Drabble you wrote me was so freaking awesome. I just love him the most.

But coming in third (only behind sherlock, and you write him so well too) is Mycroft. You write him so well

And when it's the both of them. I get to have my sneezy Gregory with some bonus Mycroft.

I love you in a slightly less than platonic way. (Was that awkward? That was awkward. Oh well)

[cally]

I really, really liked the in-depth explanation Sherlock gave Lestrade about he and Mycroft's childhood. Buhhh, and the steroids/weight-gain talk. So good, cally!

Thank you my dear. Greg had mentioned/thought previously about how he wanted an answer to both questions. For plot's sake, it made sense (to me) to pop it in here. I am so, so glad you're enjoying.

Oh my god woman, when do you sleep? Or eat? You are AMAZING! I can't even check the forum as often as you are somehow able to put up your amazing drabbles.

Have I mentioned that I live for Gregory's sneezes. I can't keep my mind off my sneezy detective. He's my favorite. I just want more and I feel bad for begging but please I need it like I need the air. That Drabble you wrote me was so freaking awesome. I just love him the most.

But coming in third (only behind sherlock, and you write him so well too) is Mycroft. You write him so well

And when it's the both of them. I get to have my sneezy Gregory with some bonus Mycroft.

I love you in a slightly less than platonic way. (Was that awkward? That was awkward. Oh well)

Sleeping is overrated. And I forgot to eat lunch yesterday. In all seriousness, I tend to come up with these ideas when I am drifting off to sleep, or out for a run. I end up sending myself random messages so I don't forget, or I will literally write/re-write entire drabbles in my head when I am on for a run and hope I can remember most of it when I get home. This writing has proved to be a very adequate distraction from some a bit not good things that happened and have helped me not dwell on them as well. It's also proved a huge distraction to my "work." (I'm a post grad and pretty much live on my laptop, hence the frequent updates.) In time I am sure I will have to post less, but I find it also makes a suitable reward for getting things done.

Thank you so much. I will take any love I can get!

This next drabble was going to end an entirely different way, but I decided to hold off on that for just a tiny bit longer. I also promise to get back to Mycroft and Gregory tomorrow (ummm today).

153. thump

That evening Sherlock found he could not sleep. His head and sinuses were throbbing and it was proving a distraction to the sleep he actually did need. There wasn’t a case on at the moment, so he did allow himself a bit more downtime; unlike the popular misconception that he slept a handful of hours a night- if that.

The antihistamines made him drowsyish, but the pain would not allow him to cross over into slumber. He padded out into the sitting room in search of the pills leftover from when he had been ill; surely they had to be laying about somewhere.

John was woken out of a deep sleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. 3 am. Then he heard footsteps again; what must have roused him initially. Then there was a loud thump, a muttered curse, and what sounded like a muffled sneeze. He dragged himself from his bed and down the stairs to see what exactly had gotten Sherlock riled up at this hour.

John found Sherlock in the sitting room, searching frantically for something, motes of dust floating in the air from whatever Sherlock had knocked over in his haste.

“Lose something?” John asked, his voice deep with sleep.

Hngxtishoo!

Sherlock merely sneezed in reply.

“Bless you. What’s the matter, Sherlock?”

“John? Did I wake you? My head is splitting and I was looking for those pills.” Sherlock’s breath began to hitch and he held up a finger.

Hehhhhngxtsh! Hngxtshoo! Sherlock winced in pain and rubbed his temples.

“Bless you again. I have the pills. IS it that bad?” John tried not to yawn, but failed.

Sherlock sniffed. “Would I be tearing the flat apart at this hour if it were not?”

“Fair point. Go back to bed, I’ll bring them in to you.”

Hngxtshoo! Hngxtissshoo! Sherlock sneezed again as he headed for his room.

“Bless you,” John called as he went upstairs to fetch the pills.

He returned a few moments later with the painkillers, a decongestant and a glass of water. Sherlock, in bed and sniffling profusely, downed them quickly.

“Thags,” he said stuffily.

John handed him a handful of tissues.

Sherlock blew his nose and then looked pitifully up at John.

John knew what that look meant. Well, he was awake now.

“Budge up,” he said. Sherlock moved over and John climbed into bed next to him. Sherlock immediately plopped his head in John’s lap, barely allowing him time to get settled.

John rolled his eyes, but it was without malice. He began to card his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock let out a moan that was a bit too much.

John froze.

“A bit not good?” Sherlock asked.

“A bit.” But he resumed his ministrations and Sherlock began to relax.

“How bad?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “It is bad enough that I cannot sleep.”

John began to knead at the temples, as much as one could, maneuvering his fingers so he was rubbing the base of his neck as well. Sherlock let out another breathy moan, lower in volume this time.

John suddenly felt very warm, flushed even. This wasn’t the first time he had had such a reaction to Sherlock’s voice, and 3 in the morning was not the best time to have such a conversation.

Five minutes later, Sherlock was softly snoring.

John smiled at the sleeping detective and manuevered him out of his lap, pushing the curls back off his forehead. Sherlock was so peaceful in sleep.

John thought about going back up to his room, but he was warm and sleepy now. Instead, he turned off the bedside light and fell back to sleep.

[AngelEyes]

Awww. Sleepy!Sherlock. Adorable!

[ID2006]

Yay cuddles

[cally]

Awww. Sleepy!Sherlock. Adorable!

He is, isn't he, the poor lamb.

Yay cuddles

And on we go

154. bistro

At 5 minutes to 6 Gregory headed out of New Scotland Yard. At precisely 6 pm, a black town car pulled up in front and Gregory got in. Anthea was sitting inside the car, texting per usual.

She looked up and smiled. “Mr. Holmes will meet you at the restaurant,” she said.

Gregory sat back and relaxed, sniffling.

Anthea looked over at the detective inspector again. “That colour suits you.”

He was about to thank her, when instead he found himself overcome with the need to sneeze. He sniffed again, trying to hold it off, and ended up sneezing rather harshly into his fist.

Rahhhshhngxtishh! HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

Anthea handed him a handkerchief the exact colour of his new jumper.

“God bless you! Are you all right?”

“Thank you Anthea. I’m fine, really.” He gave an embarrassed, sheepish smile and blew his nose carefully.

The car was soon slowing down outside Gregory’s favourite French bistro, and he could see Mycroft standing outside, ever present umbrella hanging from his arm.

“Have an enjoyable evening, detective inspector,” Anthea said with a smile and a wink.

“Cheers, Anthea,” Gregory said and exited the car.

Mycroft smiled broadly when he saw Gregory exiting the car wearing the gorgeous dove grey jumper. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the love etched on Gregory’s face reflected back into his eyes.

“Hullo, love,” Gregory said, grinning.

“Shall we, Gregory?” Mycroft gestured toward the door and they walked in.

[squealofapproval]

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

I can't even pick a favorite.

[cally]

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

I can't even pick a favorite.

Awwwwwwww.

And . . . .finally.

155. dine

They walked into the restaurant, and Gregory found that they were the only two.

“Did you book all of this, just for us?” Gregory was overwhelmed at the generosity.

“Of course. There is no need for us to dine with anyone else.”

They took their seats and the wine and first course was served almost immediately.

Mycroft smiled at Gregory; the smile he had only for him. “You do look very desirable in that jumper, my dear,” Mycroft said as he took a sip of wine.

“Thank you, love. You know you didn’t need to buy me anything.”

“I know, Gregory. I merely wished to see you in something fetching this evening.”

He gave a sly smile towards Gregory and then rubbed his nose. He had been hoping to have just one evening where this constant misery would keep from assaulting his sinuses. That was why he had taken double the dose of medication. Clearly, this was not to be the case.

Mycroft turned away from the table, burying his nose in his handkerchief.

Heh-hhhmmpftish! Mmmmpftish!

“Apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft said with a sniff.

“God bless you, love. Are you feeling any better today?”

“It’s been a tolerable day, much better than last evening.” Mycroft raised a hand and their second course was delivered; roasted duck with dauphinoise potatoes and grilled Mediterranean vegetables.

156. heaven

Gregory was in heaven; this was one of his favourite meals, which Mycroft very well knew. He was very glad that Mycroft was actually eating said meal. He’d never mention to Mycroft the conversation that he had earlier today with Sherlock, but he would do anything possible to show Mycroft that there was nothing wrong with him in the least.

Mid-course, Mycroft paused. Gregory gave him a curious glance. Mycroft held up his hand and Gregory immediately understood, and gave him a sympathetic look.

Heh-hhhmmpftish! Mmmmpftish! Mmmmpftighx! Mmmmpftighx!

“Apologies, dearest.”

“God bless you, love. No apologies necessary. Gregory reached over and squeezed his hand, smiling.

The remainder of the meal was spent discussing Gregory’s current case load and Mycroft even went as so far to allude to some of the things he had worked on most recently.

Dessert was a selection of Mille-fueille and tartes, delicate pastries that Gregory was practically drooling over. Mycroft couldn’t help but smile; all this was to please Gregory of course, to once again show him the love he so deserved. Mycroft even went so far to have dessert; well he allowed Gregory to feed him bites of the delicate pastries.

They were still enjoying their wine, when Mycroft reached over and took Gregory’s hands. “I do hope you have enjoyed dinner.”

“Love, of course I have. It’s been perfect. Thank you for all of this.” Gregory smiled, rubbing his thumbs across Mycroft’s hands.

157. box

“Gregory, I should like nothing more than to continue to make you as happy as you are now. Would you possibly allow me that privilege and honour?”

Gregory blinked. “Are you saying what I think you are saying, love?”

As if by magic, a small black, velvet box appeared. With trembling fingers, Gregory opened the box, which contained two simple gold bands.

“Oh, love,” Gregory managed to choke out. He quickly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and stood up. He embraced Mycroft and kissed him full on the mouth. “Was there ever any question?”

Mycroft returned the kiss and finally allowed himself to relax. He slipped the band on Gregory’s finger, and Gregory returned the gesture, kissing Mycroft’s finger after he placed the ring on.

“Take me home, Mycroft,” Gregory said, his voice deep and filled with love.

When they got outside, Gregory took a deep breath of the evening air setting off his mildly sensitive nose, and he sneezed harshly.

Rahhhshhngxtishh! HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo!

Mycroft squeezed his arm. “Goodness! God bless you, my dear.”

Gregory sniffed. “Thank you, love. Thank you.” Gregory’s voice was filled with both congestion and emotion.

They got into the car, where Gregory practically attacked him a passionate kiss. “I love you,” he said.

“And I love you, Gregory.”

[ID2006]

These two were definitely meant to be... *wanders off muttering about how script writters would be much better off just using our stuff.

[cally]

These two were definitely meant to be... *wanders off muttering about how script writters would be much better off just using our stuff.

They really should. They've got *episodes* of stuff to go on from everything we've all written on here.

Have some more Mystrade fluffy-goodness.

158. crime scene

Gregory had been out all night at a crime scene. Not even a crime scene that involved Sherlock and running all over London chasing criminals, but a rather cut and dried murder-suicide. However, those tended to still need detecting and SOCO’s and of course, paperwork.

By the time he got in in the early hours of the morning he was exhausted, obviously. He was also congested and drippy at the same time, and he needed to sneeze desperately but was stuck in a seemingly never ending loop of hitching breaths and teasing tickles that had left him frustrated and a teary eyed sniffly mess.

Mycroft was in the shower when he came in. Gregory knew he should shower as well before getting a few hours sleep, but he honestly wasn’t sure he could stand up for that long. He settled for stripping down and climbing under the duvet, sheets still slightly warm from where Mycroft had slept.

His breath began to hitch again, nose tickling. His eyes were shut, and his head was tipped back as he waited and hoped for release.

Heh-hhhhh-heh-hhhhhh-hehRahhhshhngxtishh! HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo!

Finally, he thought, but it didn’t stop there.

Huhhrahhhshhhooo! Heh-ehhhhh…..

Heh-ehhhhhhehRahhhshhngxtishhooo! Huhhrahhhshhhooo! HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo!

“God bless you Gregory, and God bless you again!” Mycroft wasn’t one for dramatic blessings, but he was undoubtedly concerned by the harshness, the desperateness of Gregory’s paroxysms.

Gregory hadn’t heard the shower turn off, nor had he heard Mycroft come in, so lost he was in the allergic fit.

“Thag you, love,” Gregory choked out before his breath hitched and he succumbed once again.

Hehhhuhhrahhhshhhooo! HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo!

Mycroft fetched a handkerchief for his lover and brought it over to him. “My goodness, Gregory. God bless you again!”

Gregory took the handkerchief eagerly and blew his nose. Sinuses and nasal passages somewhat clear, he was finally able to speak clearly. “Thank you, love,” he said rubbing the underside of his now reddened nose and yawning.

“You’ve had a long night,” Mycroft said. He didn’t need to ask Gregory any questions; he could read him like an open book. “Let me fetch you your pill. It sounds like you clearly need it.” The spring had been a unusually gorgeous one in London, with little rain, lots of sun, and the pollen count was still astronomical. Gregory’s hay fever was still mild compared to that of the British government’s but after being outside all evening, he was definitely paying the price.

hhhehRahhhshhngxtishhooo! HhhhhuhhraGHNTshhhooo!

Gregory sneezed again, and by the time Mycroft came back, he had managed to wipe his streaming eyes.

Mycroft handed him a pill and a glass of water and then sat down next to the detective inspector. “God bless you again, my dear.” Mycroft ran a hand through Gregory’s now rather untidy silver locks. “Can I get you anything else?”

Gregory took Mycroft’s hand, still warm from the shower and kissed his palm. “No, love. I just need a few hours kip and then I need to get back to the Yard.”

Mycroft had a look on his face, the look that made him look like he was about to make phone calls that would allow the detective inspector to spend the rest of the day in bed without worry regards to paperwork or the criminal classes of London.

“I’m fine, love. You go off and run the country,” Gregory teased, despite his exhaustion.

Mycroft relented but leaned over and gave Gregory a proper kiss before getting up to finish dressing.

“Pleasant dreams, Gregory,” he said, as he pulled the duvet up over Gregory.

Gregory shut his eyes and settled himself against the pillow. “Love you,” he murmured as he fell into a restful slumber.

“And I you, Gregory.”

[ID2006]

Yay, Mycroft caring for dear Gregory, who I just love the thought of being up all night without his medication.

[AngelEyes]

OMG! Wow. Stunned. Of course Mycroft books the whole restaurant. Because he's Mycroft. And then, just wow.

Also, Loved this. LOL.

“I’m fine, love. You go off and run the country,” Gregory teased, despite his exhaustion.