Here Comes The Rain Again (Or, How Greg Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the British Government) - BBC Sherlock

[bangbang]

OK, so for some reason in the midst of moving house and having to repeat exams and going on holiday and finding a job, I’ve written a 15,000+words plotty, slow-burn Mystrade sneezefic. It's the first Sherlock thing or fetish thing I've ever written and honestly, the first thing I've actually written in ages.

I have no idea what I’m doing, or if anyone will even be interested because there is so much plot and it doesn’t start getting into lovey-dovey territory until about 5,000 words in but here it is! (Well, the first part. OF MILLIONS. This one is mainly set-up - the sneeziness will come in the next part.)

(Also, does anyone have a single solitary clue on how to copy/paste stuff from Word without losing formatting like line spaces? Plus I'm not sure why but it's telling me to spellcheck all my apostrophes. Save me from my own ineptitude.)

=========

Greg’s relationship with Mycroft Holmes (if you could call it a relationship at all) was a nebulous, undefinable thing that he could never quite explain even to himself. They’d known each other for five years and he still called Greg by his job title; they’d dragged Sherlock out of crackhouses and crime scenes and innumerable bad situations together but they’d never gone to the pub. They spoke over the phone mostly – short, stressed conversations about Sherlock and, recently, John Watson.

Despite all that, Greg found himself actually quite liking the man. He had a snarky kind of wit that made Greg snort into cheap cafeteria coffee and he’d rolled up his sleeves and dived into enough mess for Greg to know that despite their animosity, he really cared about his younger brother. If Sherlock was to be believed, then Mycroft basically ran the country but he was more polite to Greg than some of his superiors at the Yard. His orders, as Sherlock called them, were always phrased as requests, which is more than Sherlock’s ever where, even though Mycroft was apparently the cleverer brother.

Overall, Greg’s overriding opinion of Mycroft was of a well-dressed, exasperated voice on other end of the phone. Which is why he was especially surprised when he heard his clipped tones behind him in the reception of the Yard one morning.

“Ah. Detective Inspector. Might I have a moment?”

Greg stopped near the doors and let Mycroft draw even with him. “Sure. Everything OK?”

“Perfectly. Thank you.” Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor. His voice sounded a little off to Greg – was it deeper than normal? - but then they hadn't spoken in a while so he couldn't really tell.

“Do you want to –” Greg indicated back to his office.

“I’m afraid I’m in rather a rush.” He looked slightly rattled. “I'm on my way over to Sherlock’s. He’s being rather… recalcitrant.”

“I’m heading over there myself. This isn't about the Mansfield case?”

Mycroft sighed. “Partially. Sherlock is being difficult on other matters as well, but I did need to talk to you both about that.”

“I thought there was something a bit secret-servicey about the – is it the sister-in-law?” Mycroft gave a brief nod. “Knew it. I’ll give you a lift.”

Mycroft looked wary. “I'm perfectly able to call a car around.”

Greg grinned at him. “I’ll let you choose the radio station.”

Mycroft’s lip twitched into an almost microscopic smile and Greg wondered if that was the most he ever allowed himself. “Very well, then, Detective Inspector.”

“Jesus,” Greg commented, pushing open the double doors, “how long have we known each other? I call you by your first name.”

“Very well then. Greg.” Mycroft’s phone sounded and he rolled his eyes slightly. “I'm afraid I have to take this.”

Greg nodded amiably, strode over to his car and got in. He could see Mycroft taking his phone call in the rearview mirror, seemingly irritated at the caller, and hang up with an unheard sigh. He watched as Mycroft put his phone back in his pocket and pause, then turn slightly away so his face was hidden. His head bobbed into his elbow five times in what Greg assumed was a quick flurry of sneezes or coughs, and he realised that the change in Mycroft’s voice had been a layer of hoarseness in his normally silky tones.

He looked away as Mycroft straightened up, made a slight, head-shaking motion that reminded Greg of an irritated cat, strode over and got into the car.

[rodakemopetojoen]

Oooh, how exciting! Very well written, and I can't wait to read more. I always like it when a fanfiction begins.... well, at the beginning, you know, before the pairing are 'together'. Sorry I can't offer any advice for the copying/pasting thing though. I am terrible at anything technology-related. Thanks for sharing, I'm really looking forward to reading more if you can post it

[cally]

More, please. I would like all the Mystrade. As far as the Word thing goes, I haven't had any issue copying/pasting from Word to here. Weird.

[ID2006]

I've needed a good book to distract me and this looks like just the thing.

[AngelEyes]

OMG! Squeeeee!!!!! A new Mystrade fic? A long Mystrade fic? *Does happy dance*

Overall, Greg’s overriding opinion of Mycroft was of a well-dressed, exasperated voice on other end of the phone.

I love this original impression.

“I'm on my way over to Sherlock’s. He’s being rather… recalcitrant.”

He can be recalcitrant, can't he? Love the word!

He looked away as Mycroft straightened up, made a slight, head-shaking motion that reminded Greg of an irritated cat, strode over and got into the car.

For some reason the head-shake to clear your brain after sneezing always gets me. And comparing it to an irritated cat. Perfect.

I love this so much!!!!! More, more, more! PLEASE!!!!

[JulesSneeze]

LOVE IT!!! Plotty is great, as long as there's illness and sneeziness somewhere within its midst. In fact, I prefer long and plotty fics if I'm being honest.

AND YAY MYSTRADE!!! Please continue!

[Seniorstatus14]

Oooo!! Please continue!

[bangbang]

Thank you everyone for all your lovely comments! I'm super excited about this - there is plenty more where it came from, and it only gets sneezier from here on. I'm so glad that you all seem to like it so far. There's probably about roughly maybe 30 parts (can you tell I'm hedging my bets a little?) so if anyone is still reading at the end of that marathon, you will earn a special prize and my undying gratitude.

On with the fic.

====

As Greg pulled into the road, he watched Mycroft out of the corner of his eye. He sat like a man unaccustomed to riding in the front seat, and drummed his fingers on the handle of his umbrella. He looked slightly uneasy and Greg felt a twinge of sympathy. “Go on, then,” he said, nodding towards the radio, “but none of that classical – are you alright?”

Mycroft had brought both hands over his lower face as though he was about to cry– he took a shallow, shaky breath in and then, eyes fluttering shut, pitched forward in an almost silent sneeze. “hhhhh—iitssch!” He removed his hands; his cheeks were slightly flushed. “Excuse me.”

“Bless you,” said Greg briskly, not wanting to embarrass him, and launched into a verbal tirade against the driver of a Fiat up front.

Mycroft appeared to be listening, but there was a vague look in his eyes and he seemed to be chewing slightly on his lower lip.

“Seriously,” Greg said, “at least half the people in London shouldn’t be on the roads at all. Do you drive?”

“No, I –” Mycroft stopped abruptly, and barely had time to twist his body away from Greg and raise a hand to his face before he sneezed again. “Hehh-GNSSHH! Hhhiih---hh - IIISHHHH!” Less restrained than before, but his shoulders still shook with the effort of holding them contained. He cleared his throat slightly. “Excuse me. My apologies. And no, I never quite took to driving.”

“S’pose you don’t need to, really. What with all your lackeys. Bless you, by the way.”

“Hmmm. Thank you.” On closer observation, Mycroft looked tired; even more tired than Greg normally saw him, at any rate. There were dark smudges under his eyes and a certain tightness around his mouth that Greg recognised from officers who worked too much for too long with not enough rest.

Mycroft seemed to notice the scrutiny and quirked an eyebrow at him; Greg looked back at the road. “You going to choose a station or can I put the oldies rock on?”

Mycroft gave a slight, throat clearing cough. “I’d prefer silence. If it doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all. Not a music fan?” Greg thought of Mycroft’s weird, lonely little club and his silent offices below it and felt almost sad.

“That was always more Sherlock’s area.” Mycroft’s normally perfect posture was slightly slumped, narrow shoulders sloping into the seat.

“I used to play guitar. A bit. I don’t have much time anymore; and I think it’s a bit weird when you see old men in bands, like they’re still trying to hit the big time when it’s pretty obvious they’re never gonna be the Rolling Stones.” Greg was aware he was babbling, and concentrated on changing gears.

Mycroft made an amused, throaty sound. “Hardly old, Detective Inspecter.”

“Ha! Government charm, can’t beat it.” Greg grinned. “Bet you’ve been running the world since you could scribble on an etch-a-sketch.”

“My plans for global domination were laid early,” Mycroft deadpanned. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and, almost absent-mindedly, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a travel packet of tissues, already half-emptied. He snapped one loose in a hurried motion and, with a strained “Excuse me”, jerked forward.

“hhh-ii-ISCHT! IISH! Heh-GNKCTsssh! Hhhh- ISHCHT! Hehhh—iiiihhh, hh!” He paused for a second, stuck on the precipice. His eyes were crinkled shut and he looked almost distressed, until he finally, fitfully, ended with a “Hhhh-GNCHSHT!”

“Bless you,” said Greg, who was rather horrified by the harsh, punishing stifles. They sounded like they hurt.

“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry.” The tips of Mycroft’s ears were pink with embarrassment and there was a trace of congestion in his voice.

“Don’t be. Coming down with something?” Greg flicked his indicators on as they turned into Baker Street.

Mycroft gave a barely audible sigh. “I expect so. Not especially convenient, timing-wise, but then it never is. I hope I haven’t passed it on to you.”

“Nah. I’ve got the constitution of an ox. It is always at the worst time, though, eh?”

“Quite.” Mycroft touched his temple lightly as they drew to a halt outside 221B. “Speaking of annoyances…”

====

Thanks again for all your kind words and encouragement, and I hope you like it!

[AngelEyes]

Omg! You have Mycroft's snarky, slightly sassy, totally posh manner down perfectly!!! And Greg! The awkward Inspector, trying to find the right ground. OMG! I just love this!!!!!!

[SneezyRae]

Ooooohhhh Mystrade fic. Very long you say I'm in. Fantastic start. Looking forward to more.

[cally]

Oh I can already hear the snark emanating from Sherlock.

And poor, poor Mycroft. He sounds absolutely miserable. It would be so, so terrible if he were to pass this on to Gregory. Absolutely horrible indeed.

[GeldingWest]

Haaaaa these two are always adorable ^3^ I'm so in for the long fic, can't wait to see the next part.

[bangbang]

Today I figured out how to multiquote so I figured that I'd reply to the comments before the next part, seeing as you were all so incredible to leave me them!

I always like it when a fanfiction begins.... well, at the beginning, you know, before the pairing are 'together'.

My favourite thing in the world is romantic tension so I love the getting together, will-they-won't-they stories. Thank you!

I've needed a good book to distract me and this looks like just the thing.

I have the feeing this'll be the size of a small novel when I finish, hahaha!

LOVE IT!!! Plotty is great, as long as there's illness and sneeziness somewhere within its midst. In fact, I prefer long and plotty fics if I'm being honest.

Great! I was kind of worried that plotty would turn people off, thanks for your reassurances!

Omg! You have Mycroft's snarky, slightly sassy, totally posh manner down perfectly!!! And Greg! The awkward Inspector, trying to find the right ground. OMG! I just love this!!!!!!

I am blushing so hard right now. Mycroft is totally sassy and sardonic and buttoned-up, and Greg is so... not. They make such an interesting pair and I'm so happy you think I got the voices right, thank you so much!!

Ooooohhhh Mystrade fic. Very long you say I'm in. Fantastic start. Looking forward to more.

Very long, never fear - Mycroft's cold isn't going away that easily!

Oh I can already hear the snark emanating from Sherlock.

Ha - it's a family trait, I suppose! Thank you so much for reading!

Haaaaa these two are always adorable ^3^ I'm so in for the long fic, can't wait to see the next part.

They are adorable, aren't they, even though Mycroft would raise that eyebrow at you and Greg would deny it. They know it. We know it. Thank you!

[bangbang]

Here's the next part - featuring a cameo from Mrs Hudson, one of my favourite characters, and predicted Sherlock Snark. Enjoy!

=====

Mrs Hudson let them in and talked all the way up the stairs. Greg noticed that Mycroft drew back a little whenever she put a hand on his arm, as though he wasn’t used to or keen on being touched.

“And of course,” she said, one hand on 221B’s front door, “Mrs Turner’s boys do make a racket so I don't know how she can complain about mine –”

“Thanks for showing us up, Mrs Hudson,” said Greg loudly, “but we’d better go reason with Sherlock now.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, opening the door, as Mycroft shot Greg a grateful look over her head, “you boys get along now, do you hear?” She patted Mycroft’s elbow and he gave her a forced smile. His lips were pressed tightly together, Greg noticed, and when he thought neither of them were looking, he ran a knuckle along the bridge of his nose in an itchy-looking swipe.

“I’ll bring you up some tea in a minute – I just need to take those scones out the oven -”

“Thanks, Mrs H,” said Greg, giving her a grin that made her blush as she made her way down the stairs, and they both went into 221B.

Sherlock was slumped on his chair, eyes closed. “Go away, Lestrade. I already told you, it was the sister-in-law.”

“Nope,” Greg said, “she’s got a cast-iron alibi, apparently – classified information so I have no idea what.”

“Can’t do. Got to be a cover-up.” said Sherlock. “What do you want?” He opened his eyes and glared at Mycroft.

“Have you had a chance to look over the Sumatra files I passed along, or have you been too busy with your little experiments?”

Mycroft indicated the bubbling vials on the kitchen counter with a distasteful flick of his umbrella. Greg noticed that his posture was once again impeccable; at least until he curled in on himself, already somehow holding a tissue, and – “Iii-hscht! Heh –GSNCHT!”

“Ble- “ Greg started, but Mycroft gave him a brief, impatient wave and convulsed again.

“HehHH-GNNSCHHT!” He straightened up and blinked once, as if to clear his head. “Excuse me.” His voice was somewhat scratchy.

“You’ve got a cold,” Sherlock said, in an accusing tone, standing up and pointing his violin bow at his brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Truly, a genius amongst men. Whatever gave me away?”

“Your immune system is pathetic,” Sherlock informed him.

“And your manners are lacking. The case?”

“You’ve had this brewing for at least a week. I’m not taking it; it’s duller than dishwater.”

“Six days, actually, to be precise. I would have thought you’d enjoy it.”

“You do it, if it’s so enjoyable then.” Sherlock threw himself onto the sofa with a sulky pout.

Mycroft pinched the top of his nose and suddenly looked very weary. “I’ve got rather enough on at the moment without gallivanting around the city tracking down an exotic mammal.”

“A what?” Greg asked, incredulous.

“Absolutely nothing you need to concern yourself with, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft shot him a wry look. “Take another look, brother dear. It’s rather an embarrassment as it stands– some rather powerful people would be in your debt.” Mycroft finished with a spikey, sharp coughing fit that made Greg wince. Sherlock scraped an angry note out on the violin.

Mycroft recovered his voice with a slightly breathless, “Think about it. Quickly. Time is, as ever, of the essence.”

Sherlock scowled at him, and looked like he was about to argue further if Mrs Hudson hadn’t barged in with a tray of steaming tea and scones.

======

Hope you like it! I should probably finish putting all my wordly possessions in boxes now; I've racked up about ten moves in the last five years so you'd think I'd be an expert at it by now. I wish Mrs Hudson would bring me scones!

[squealofapproval]

Ooh, I love it! And good luck with packing. I rather like Mycroft with a cold.

[ID2006]

Anticipation is killing me

[Spoo]

Oh my God. Oh my God.

You have noooo idea how excited I am for this story (as I am with any and all Mystrade-related things that find their way on this forum). Seriously, if you looked on here a year ago you wouldn't find anything with these two, and now BOOM. It's become one of the more popular Sherlock pairings, and I could simply sob from happiness.

Everything about this fic is perfect so far. I adore the character voices you've established; they're all spot-on. I love Mycroft's strained patience and brewing illness, and Greg's playful personality. Gosh, and Sherlock's contribution (what we've seen of it so far) is excellent. You're an amazing writer, and I'm pretty sure I speak for all us readers when I say we eagerly await your updates!

[bangbang]

About a year ago, I commented on one of the very few Sherlock posts with an impassioned plea for sick Mycroft - it's been a while coming, but the influx of art and fic about these two has made me so happy I just had to contribute! Glad you're enjoying it so far - you're so right about Mycroft's strained patience, on the show he always comes off as just on the verge of snapping to me, but never seems to. He's the kind of person you imagine to always have a headache somewhere on the horizon. Greg, I think, is good for him. (I have A Lot Of Feelings about my shows.)

[cally]

Mmmmm scones. Poor Mycroft and those ticklish sneezes. He needs someone Gregory to take care of him.

[peppercat]

Usually Mystrade fics are rather OOC but I feel like yours has captured them perfectly. Can't wait for your next update!

[bangbang]

Ask, and ye shall receive! Mycroft definitely needs a bit of comforting; he's sounding worse by the minute, poor thing.

=====

Mycroft had waved away the offer of scones (Mrs Hudson had looked vaguely insulted) but accepted tea. Greg (to mollify Mrs Hudson and his own appetite) had a small china plate and had eaten three scones already.

Both Holmes’s looked vaguely horrified as he leaned in for a fourth and slathered it in butter and jam.

“How can you eat those things?” sneered Sherlock, who had been known to lick a suspect’s shoes to test which beach he had been at.

Greg shrugged. They were a little hard and overdone, but actually quite tasty. If you added enough jam.

Sherlock kicked the back of the chair Mycroft was sitting in, and Mycroft gave him an exasperated look over his shoulder. “Do stop sulking. It’s unbecoming.” He made a tight little noise in his throat and blinked several times. Then he scrunched his eyes shut and made a pinched, strangled noise into the back of his wrist that Greg barely recognised as a sneeze. “nnGHH!” He put the cup in his other hand down and did it again, as though the first one didn’t abate the itch. “NNGHH! NGch!”

“It’s unbecoming,” mocked Sherlock in a nasal, high pitched voice that sounded nothing like Mycroft even in his current state. His older brother rolled his eyes. “It has to be the sister-in-law,” he groused, flopping back on his chair, “there’s no one else it could have been.”

“Obviously there is.” Mycroft suppressed a cough into his cuff.

“There ISN’T!” hissed Sherlock, sounding practically demonic.

Mycroft shrugged. “Fine,” he said, sounding sniffly, “but perhaps you should be aware that she can’t possibly have done it because she was involved in an operation on the date and time in question.” He inhaled, a little shakily, as though long sentences were tiring him out, and reached into his jacket pocket.

“An –” Sherlock paused and groaned loudly. “Urgggh, she’s one of yours.”

“Well,” Mycroft said, pulling the last tissue from his travel pack, “not mine, specifically.”

“They’re all yours,” Sherlock huffed. “So who else could it have been, clever clogs?”

“Use your imagi-hhhh! Imagination.” Mycroft’s breath hitched in a harsh little pant and he raised the tissue expectantly before sighing and lowering it again.

“How do you even get sick when you cart that ridiculous umbrella everywhere?” Sherlock grumbled. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, but what he was about to say was cut off when he snapped forward, tissue clasped over his face.

“Ii-GNSHT! GNSH! Hhh-GNSSH! IH-hh-gnNSSSSHHHtt!” They sounded harsher and stuffier than his first fit in the car. The last one he didn’t quite manage to stifle as fully as the others and the tips of his ears flushed again. “Excuse me.”

Greg was rather surprised when Sherlock tossed a box of tissues onto the table and muttered something under his breath that might have been a blessing.

Mycroft coughed and tapped the handle of his umbrella. “I haven’t had a chance to see the files,” he said, “so I’ve no idea who else it may be. You, on the other hand, have been on the case for several weeks now so you should really have some clue.”

“Lestrade’s had it longer than me,” Sherlock said in what could be described, if one was an uncharitable man, as a petulant whine.

Greg waited for Mycroft to make a vague reference to him being an idiot – instead, he rolled his eyes and said “Brother dear, Detective Inspector Lestrade has a host of other cases to work on. Your only other concerns during this investigation have been how to sabotage Dr Watson’s love life – incidentally, you’re not doing very well on that either.” He took a handful of Sherlock’s tissues and gave a short, impatient dab at his nose, as though he was angry at it.

Sherlock made an inaudible grumbling noise that Mycroft could obviously understand, because he sighed and said “No, it doesn’t – I don’t. Do try and behave. I don’t have a terrible amount of time at the moment. In fact,” he added, checking his fancy pocket watch, “I have a meeting in less than 20 minutes that Aretha is collecting me for, so I’ll have to leave you to figure it out.”

“Do you want me to show you to the door so you don’t get caught up by Mrs Hudson?” Greg offered.

Mycroft gave a little huffing cough. “I’m sure I’ll make it through. Thank you for the lift. Enjoy your scones,” he added dubiously.

“Sumatra,” he told Sherlock, who grunted in response, and then he left, umbrella tapping.

====

(Depending on estate agents, I may or may not be moving house tomorrow, so it might be Thursday before another update - I hope you all enjoy this segment and thank you all so much for reading!)

[AngelEyes]

Oh Gods! The snark! It's killing me!!!! I must have more!

Good luck with the move though!

[Spoo]

Usually Mystrade fics are rather OOC

I suppose that comes with tricky characters to write for.

Buh! Poor, poor Mycroft. I really loved the interaction between the two Holmes brothers, as well as the dialogue overall. I hope the move goes well!

[SneezyRae]

So many updates in one day. You are spoiling us. Mycroft appears to be getting worse. Fantastic, errr I mean poor Mycroft.

Hope the house move goes well if it happens

[cally]

Oh poor Mycroft. Gregory must have been too busy stuffing his face to bless him, the poor dear.

I eagerly look forward to more!