Cally's Sherlock drabbles #2 [81/221] (28 September 2017)

[AngelEyes]

Oh lovely! You wrote more and there is obviously more to come! Mycroft never returned Greg's calls? He better have a good excuse. Like being kidnapped by Russians or something. Wonder what the reunion is going to be like?

Um, Yeah!!!

[cally]

Oh lovely! You wrote more and there is obviously more to come! Mycroft never returned Greg's calls? He better have a good excuse. Like being kidnapped by Russians or something.

Oh, there's definitely a reason.

Oh Gosh. I love it! Them meeting so much later in life.... WEEEEEEEEE star crossed lovers these two... They're simply meant to be
I'll just sit here and wait for more

I hope that you enjoy the continuation.

29. A meeting (post coffee shop AU!) part 3

The distinguished looking gentleman smiled at him, but Lestrade didn’t think there was any warmth behind it. “Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade. It has been brought to my attention that you have allowed Sherlock Holmes to assist you at several crime scenes over the past few months.”

Lestrade fought to roll his eyes. This was about Sherlock? He didn’t have time or energy for this today. “What business of it is yours? You his keeper?” He didn’t intend to sound quite so snarky, but exhaustion and illness had him at the end of his limited patience.

The man with the umbrella raised an eyebrow. “Merely an interested party. What is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?” He asked, relaxing his grip on his umbrella a bit.

“Relationship? I’m not sure I have one with him. He shows up every now and then, and to be honest, he’s been a help. Provided he keeps off the drugs, I’m happy for any assistance I can get.” The inspector could hear his voice starting to falter and he tried to clear his throat without making a sound, and failed. Whoever this individual was, he didn’t think showing any signs of weakness would be in his best interest.

Exhausted, he leaned back in his chair and took a good look at the man sitting on the other side of his desk. Something about him looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite fathom why. Moreover, something about this conversation was bothering him. What was his interest in Sherlock?

The mysterious man answered the unasked question. “Like I mentioned, I am merely an interested party. That being said, I understand that Sherlock can be. . . trying. For the occasional exchange of information, I could make it worth your while. Financially of course.”

Lestrade looked rather flummoxed. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His brain felt foggy and his eyes were heavy. And to top it all off, his sinuses had started prickling. He rubbed at his nose, trying to ward off the tickle.

“You want to pay me to spy on Sherlock?” He finally managed to get out, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Simply put, yes.” The gentleman removed a small notebook from the inner pocket of his coat. “It would certainly be welcome, according to this. It may ease the burden of the alimony payments, not to mention . . . .“

The younger man did not finish his sentence. Lestrade lowered his voice, until he was practically growling, dark eyes flashing with intensity. He placed his hands down on the desk and leaned forward. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your information and get the hell out of my office.”

“Apologies. I did not mean to insult you,” he said, slipping the notebook back into his pocket. He looked at the inspector curiously.

“The hell you didn’t,” Lestrade murmured, sniffling damply. The irritation in his sinuses had risen to a crescendo. “Now if you don’t mind,” he began, but his voice was lost in his itchy, hitching breaths, before he sneezed roughly into his fist.

Hehhhh . . . Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO! Huh’hrahhhSHHhooo!

“S’cuse me,” he mumbled, as he bent down and opened a desk drawer, pulling out a handful of tissues.

“Bless you,” the man in the bespoke suit said quietly, an odd look on his face.

“Thanks,” Lestrade said, his mind racing. That voice. He had heard that voice before. But where, he thought as he swiped at his nose.

“I do apologise for any insinuation I made, inspector. It was important to know whether or not you could be trusted. If you find you need anything, please let me know.” He placed a business card down on the desk as he rose from the chair.

Lestrade picked up the card and read: M. Holmes and a contact number. And instantly everything was clear in his mind. The voice, the familiarity of his profile, everything. He wasn’t going to allow him to walk out of his life again.

“Mycroft?” He asked hopefully, before the younger man made it to the door.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Now who's the tease?

Did Mycroft not remember Greg? Or wasn't sure of him since it had been a long time? Oh, I can't wait for the big reveal!

[AngelEyes]

Oh Mycroft. Always trying to spy on your brother. And offending people in the process.

Did Mycroft not remember Greg? Or wasn't sure of him since it had been a long time? Oh, I can't wait for the big reveal!

Mycroft remembers Everything! What's the deal?

[Juto]

Ahhhh recognition....

Yeah, did Mycroft not recognise him? Mycroft being Mycroft he would probably have followed that man's career for the past 20 years, knowing exactly who he was as he sat down! Just a gues... Uhh... Can't wait to read Mycroft's answer....

Chanting to the rythm of Queen:

We want we want NEXT PART!!

[cally]

Did Mycroft not remember Greg? Or wasn't sure of him since it had been a long time? Oh, I can't wait for the big reveal!

I had written most of this from Greg's point of view, so that's why we don't know how Mycroft is faring, well until now.

Oh Mycroft. Always trying to spy on your brother. And offending people in the process.

Yeah, he was a bit much. Oops.

Yeah, did Mycroft not recognise him? Mycroft being Mycroft he would probably have followed that man's career for the past 20 years, knowing exactly who he was as he sat down! Just a gues... Uhh... Can't wait to read Mycroft's answer....

Well, all your questions will be answered in this next part.

30. tea and sympathy (post coffee shop AU)

Mycroft Holmes froze. It was Gregory, the young man from the library twenty years ago. Once the DI had become acquainted with Sherlock, Mycroft had his staff compile a file on him; standard procedure. He had presumed that Detective Inspector Lestrade and the Gregory he had met all those years ago were the same person, but was not certain until this moment.

He always regretted not seeing the young man again, but unfortunately it could not have been helped. He had been recruited by MI-6 the day after they met and barely had the time to notify his parents, let alone anyone else.

Mycroft turned slowly and walked back toward the desk, as he came out of his reverie. He had momentarily wondered why Lestrade hadn’t continued speaking; the older man had turned partially away, his wrist hovering in front of his mouth and nose as he waited for the traitorous sneezes to finally relinquish their hold. His breath hitched wildly for a moment, and finally he was rewarded with a pair of harsh, damp sounding sneezes.

Hehh…….hehhh……huh’HRDSCHHhhhhoooo! Hehhhh …heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

“Goodness! God bless you!” Mycroft exclaimed. And like he had twenty years earlier, he removed his pristine handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over to the older man.

Gregory eagerly accepted the cloth; it was far nicer and more absorbent than the flimsy tissues he had been using all day. “Thanks,” he murmured, before blowing his nose.

“You’re welcome,” Mycroft said as he sat back down in the chair he had recently vacated.

“God, I’m sorry,” Lestrade said, once he’d composed himself. He hoped he didn’t as look as horrible as he sounded. He sniffed thickly again.

“Think nothing of it,” Mycroft said. He paused for a moment and then he smiled. “It seems fitting, given how we first met.”

Greg gave him a wry smile in return. “Yeah, that’s true,” he said, reminiscing. His expression changed after a moment. “I tried calling you. Several times.” He sounded sad, wistful, as he thought back to when they met a lifetime ago.

Mycroft hadn’t known. He looked away for a moment. It was hard to see the hurt in Gregory’s brown eyes. “I did not know, Gregory. I would like to offer an explanation, if I may?”

“Go on then,” Greg said, sniffling. He dabbed at his nose with the handkerchief.

“While I currently occupy a minor position within the government,” Mycroft began.

Lestrade snorted, interrupting. “Pull the other one, its got bells on.” He wasn’t an idiot, no matter what Sherlock said.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the remark, but continued. “I have not always worked in such a role. I was recruited the day after I met you.” The by whom was left unsaid but assumed.

“Secret squirrel?” Greg asked, rhetorically. “Well, I guess that explains your number going out of service.”

“Quite,” Mycroft said, but there was a hint of a smile playing about his lips. He cocked his head, studying Gregory for a moment

“God bless you again,” he finally said.

Greg looked momentarily confused, and then he quickly buried his nose into the handkerchief.

Heh…huhruhhSHHHF!

He wiped his nose again, and sighed exhaustedly. “Sorry,” he murmured, clearing his throat. “And thank you,” he added.

“You’re welcome.” Mycroft frowned. It was clearly evident that the inspector was feeling miserable. He wasn’t prone to flights of fancy or spontaneity of any kind. But seeing how affected and how unwell Gregory was tugged at his heartstrings in a manner that he was unaccustomed to.

“I know it cannot make up for what happened twenty years ago, but would you like to go for a drink?” Mycroft asked, his voice gentle, hopeful. “You sound like you could use a hot beverage.”

Momentarily stunned, Greg stared at him for a moment and then nodded. Right now a hot drink sounded heavenly. Maybe it would ease his aching throat, he thought as he stood and pulled on his coat. The sudden movement shifted the contents of his sinuses and he gasped out a pair of vicious sneezes, nearly losing his balance.

Huh’huhhrahhhDSCHHH! Huh’ASHHHHhhooo!

Mycroft had come up beside him, steadying him. He fought to ignore the spark that he felt when he touched the older man. “Good heavens! God bless you!”

Greg quickly swiped at his nose, wondering if this cold would ever relinquish its hold on him. “Thank you,” he said with a weak smile. Christ, when Mycroft had touched him, it was like being in the presence of lightening. He wondered if Mycroft had noticed it as well, he thought.

“You’re welcome,” Mycroft said, as they made their way out the office door. He had to keep himself from touching Gregory again, to see if it had been a mere aberration.

Moments later, they were in Mycroft’s car. Greg felt vindicated in his assumption that Mycroft’s role in the government was more than minor. Not many minor officials had chauffeur driven cars.

He settled back, making himself comfortable. It wasn’t every day he got chauffeured about; he may as well enjoy it. He glanced over at Mycroft, who was watching him intently. When Greg met his eyes, Mycroft blushed and looked away. At this, Greg couldn’t help but grin. Mycroft had felt it too, he thought.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a building off Pall Mall. Before they entered, Mycroft turned to Gregory. “Please do not speak once we are inside. I will inform you when you are permitted to do so again.”

Gregory gave him an incredulous look, but nodded his agreement. They were greeted with a solemn nod, and Mycroft led the way down a corridor, until they came to an unmarked door. He opened the heavy, wooden door, to a comfortable looking room with stuffed leather chairs situated close to a fireplace. On the other side of the room was a heavy, old-fashioned desk that was currently empty.

Once the door was closed, Mycroft spoke. “Thank you Gregory. You can speak freely inside this room.” He removed his mobile, quickly composed a text and then returned it to his pocket. “Can I take your coat?”

Greg nodded and shrugged off his overcoat and handed it over. Mycroft hung it on a coatrack that he hadn’t seen at first, situated close to the door, and then walked back over to where Gregory was standing.

“Refreshments will be here in a few minutes. Please, sit down.” He gestured toward the armchairs.

Greg sank down into the leather chair; it felt like it had been made for him. “What is this place?” He asked, curiously. “Or will you have to shoot me once you’ve told me?”

Mycroft sat down across from him and smiled. “This is the Diogenes Club. I keep a room here for situations like this, or when I need to meet with diplomats and the like. In the main rooms, silence must be adhered to. I find it,” he paused a moment. “Relaxing,” he finished.

Greg gave a non-committal nod, sniffling. The fire was pleasantly warm, but it had the side effect of making his nose drip.

Mycroft looked like he was about to say something, but a knock at the door kept him from speaking. “Excuse me,” he said, rising and heading for the door. Greg used the time to pull the handkerchief from his pocket and blow his nose as quietly as he could.

Mycroft returned with a tray laden with a pot of tea, a small decanter, cups, and a plate of biscuits. Greg’s stomach growled on seeing the thick biscuits; he had missed lunch again.

Mycroft poured out the tea, adding a liberal dose of whiskey from the small decanter to Gregory’s cup. Greg raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. At this point, he was willing to try anything to get rid of this cold. Before he had a sip, he ate two biscuits, which elicited a small smile from Mycroft.

“So, besides being a secret squirrel, what have you been up to the past twenty years? I assume you know all about me,” Greg said, taking a sip of the liberally dosed tea. It was heavenly and immediately soothed his throat. He relaxed a bit and made himself comfortable in the leather chair. He reached for another biscuit.

Mycroft chuckled. “I finished my degree, in absentia, of course. And I did do a great deal of traveling for several years. However, I no longer do any legwork, but I do still travel a fair bit, for Queen and Country.”

Greg nodded. “I finished my degree. Walked a beat and then finally got promoted to CID, made DI a few years back now.” He drained his tea and set the cup back in its saucer.

“Would you like some more?” Mycroft asked.

“Please,” Greg replied, sniffling. The warmth of the fire, the tea, and the whisky were all conspiring against him. The congestion deep within his sinuses was loosening, and he could feel a tingling within his nasal passages. He reached for the handkerchief again and cupped it around his nose, doing his best to muffle the expulsions.

Heh’SNTCshhh! HehhhhSNDishhhh!

Mycroft frowned as he finished pouring the tea. “God bless you,” he said quietly.

“Tha ahhhh thanks,” Greg managed to say, before he was overcome with another pair of sneezes. He tried and failed to supress the last one, and blushed furiously into the cloth.

Huh..ahhNGShhhh! Hehhhh …heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

“God bless you again,” Mycroft said, worriedly. He gave Gregory’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he rose from his chair and went over to his desk for a moment, and then returned with a fresh handkerchief for Gregory.

“Thank you,” Greg said, accepting the fresh cloth. He tucked the rather damp one into his pocket. He then blew his nose, trying to clear his sinuses, with the new one. “Sorry,” he said finally, sniffing experimentally. He could breathe a bit better now.

“Do not trouble yourself over it,” Mycroft said, picking up his own cup of tea and taking a sip.

Greg did the same, relishing the comforting heat of the tea on his throat again. He looked at Mycroft for a moment, and then chuckled.

“What?” Mycroft looked confused.

“I just can’t believe after all these years, that we’re sitting here having tea.” He smiled at the younger man. He really couldn’t believe it. He had always hoped he would have second chance with Mycroft. And now here it was. He still found the younger man attractive, and certainly was attracted to him. He only hoped that Mycroft felt the same way.

[Juto]

Mycroft Holmes froze. It was Gregory, the young man from the library twenty years ago. Once the DI had become acquainted with Sherlock, Mycroft had his staff compile a file on him; standard procedure. He had presumed that Detective Inspector Lestrade and the Gregory he had met all those years ago were the same person, but was not certain until this moment.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!!

Goodness! God bless you!” Mycroft exclaimed. And like he had twenty years earlier, he removed his pristine handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over to the older man.

Ahh... The constant giving and receiving of handkerchiefs is killing me. Death by cuteness overload. Probably the best way to go.

Greg sank down into the leather chair; it felt like it had been made for him. “What is this place?” He asked, curiously. “Or will you have to shoot me once you’ve told me?”

Hehhehe I love the humour you manage to weave into Gregory's character. This is totally something he would ask.

So, besides being a secret squirrel, what have you been up to the past twenty years? I assume you know all about me,”

Of course Mycroft would have requested a file on him as soon as he became involved with Sherlock. Hehe nice guess Gregory!

I just can’t believe after all these years, that we’re sitting here having tea.”

Awww wwww I loved the ending. So sweet!!

Thanks again for another wonderful piece of work, Cally. You seem to know these two like the back of your hand and it's an absolute joy to have more "episodes" at hand

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

And the stars have realigned in my world!

What a lovely reunion. Poor Greg that he is sick. Not really how you want to be when you find The One That Got Away again. But Mycroft has plenty of handkerchiefs to share.

Wonderful update! Cheerfully waiting for more.

[cally]

Ahh... The constant giving and receiving of handkerchiefs is killing me. Death by cuteness overload. Probably the best way to go.

In my first drabble thread, it got rather ridiculous. They were everywhere; Mycroft would literally have to have a never ending supply in the pockets of his clothing. I recall writing that Gregory was constantly wondering where they came from; it was like Mycroft had house elves replacing them at frequent intervals. It's not even a "thing" that I have; I just find it rather romantic somehow. I'm not quite how else to describe it.

Cheerfully waiting for more.

I've managed to eek one more out of this "AU." That being said, this may be the last drabble for a bit. I've a new deadline I have to focus on and that has to take priority. I will still be working on the other piece, as much of that is written or at the very least written in my mind.

31. Hope

one month later

It was the middle of the night; only the faintest of light was filtering through the shades and curtains in Gregory Lestrade’s apartment. Mycroft wasn’t sure what woke him at first, as Gregory was sleeping soundly, curled on his side and tucked up next to him.

He yawned and was about to settle back down next to his lover, when a sudden tingling within his nostrils had him quickly pinching down on his nose. Ah, that would explain it, he thought as he stifled a pair of sneezes.

Mmmpfx! Mmmmmpfch!

Exhaling soundlessly, he looked over; he hadn’t disturbed Gregory. He sniffed and rubbed at his nose, in hopes to quell the irritation. Early spring was such a trial for him and for the thousandth time he wished for an existence free from allergic misery. He didn’t want to subject Gregory to this either, especially in the middle of the night; his partner didn’t need to lose sleep over this as well.

Mycroft could feel the tickle present itself again; spreading down through his sinuses like someone was trailing a paintbrush down the inside of his nostrils. He was powerless, lost in its hold on him. He cupped his hands around his nose, and turned as far away from his sleeping partner as he possibly could.

Mmmpftish! Mmmmmpfch! Mmmpftish! Hng’ISSH!

“Bless,” Greg said softly as he reached over and patted Mycroft’s leg, offering sleepy comfort.

Mycroft responded with a sniff and several reedy inhalations.

Huh’mffTSChhh! Heh . . huh’ING’SHHHHH!

“Bless you.” Greg’s voice was more audible now, but still rough and thick with sleep. He looked up at Mycroft and frowned. Mycroft hadn’t moved; his hands were still cupped around his nose.

It took a few seconds for Greg’s brain to catch up and he sat up, giving Mycroft’s leg another pat. Switching on the bedside light, he fumbled in the bedside table for a moment, until his hand came across something soft. He turned and handed it out to Mycroft, whose breath had begun to hitch softly again.

Mycroft quickly reached out for the handkerchief and pressed it to his twitching nostrils.

Heh……huh’mmmmpTNSGH! Gn’TNSGH’SHHHH! Heh’TNSGH! Heh’IMPFTIGH’ish!

“Oh love. Bless you!” Greg reached out for Mycroft again, placing his hand on his thigh.

It took Mycroft a moment to compose himself; he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, sounding drained.

“My apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly, almost shyly. He looked down at his hands, and for the first time took a good look at the handkerchief that Gregory had given him. He blinked several times, as a puzzled look crossed his face. After a moment, he met Gregory’s eyes.

“You kept it all this time?” Mycroft asked, in utter disbelief.

“I always held out hope that I’d run into you again.” Greg reached out and pulled Mycroft closer, tugging him back down under the duvet before he switched the light off again. He sensed that Mycroft would need a minute to process this information, so he held him close until he felt the tension drain from his partner.

“Thank you,” Mycroft murmured into the dark.

“Mmmm? For what?” Greg pulled him in tighter, placing a light kiss on the back of Mycroft’s neck.

“For keeping hope alive,” Mycroft whispered, turning to face Gregory. Their lips met in a gentle, but satisfying kiss that signified the hopes of twenty years ago, and the promise of days, weeks, and years to come.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Oh...I just...oh...wow...

That was really, really moving and romantic and sweet and touching. AND I LOVED IT!

[Juto]

AAAAAWWWWWWWW..... I should totally be asleep now, but I'm here, in my bed, using up the sad remains of 2% battery and I have the HUGEST, SAPPIEST AND MOST ROMANTICALLY GIRLISH GRIN ON MY FACE!!!!!

Gosh, it was the cutest!! So so sweet, so so delicious, just ahhhhhhhhh.....

[cally]

Oh...I just...oh...wow...

That was really, really moving and romantic and sweet and touching. AND I LOVED IT!

Awww thank you. I tried to make it as mushy as I could.

Gosh, it was the cutest!! So so sweet, so so delicious, just ahhhhhhhhh.....

Thank you!

I'm off to London in the morning, so have a drabble. It's my birthday present to you all.

Yes, I am aware that this is very similar to some all of my other work. I'm a walking cliche. However, there is a point to this drabble. All shall be revealed. Soon.

32. prelude

Mycroft Holmes sniffed and then reached for the cup of tea next to him. He took a sip, and then returned the cup to its saucer, letting out a faint sigh. He had started to feel under the weather a few days prior, but had managed to fight it off so far with an over abundance of tea, vitamins, and dare he admit it- rest. However, it seemed his immune system was succumbing; he felt his sinuses becoming tender, along with the lymph nodes in his neck. He had the weary feeling of illness creeping into his bones, leeching the warmth from him.

He shivered and reached for his tea again. He cradled the cup in his hands, trying to absorb the little warmth that was left within. He sighed again, deeply this time, and hung his head down. He closed his eyes. Moments later, warm hands began to rub his shoulders, and Mycroft smiled. Gregory was home.

When Greg came home, he saw the light on in Mycroft’s study. Despite the late hour, he wasn’t surprised. He slipped in quietly, and found his partner sitting at his desk, his head down. He frowned; clearly Mycroft wasn’t feeling any better. He went over and began to offer what little comfort he could.

“Hi,” Greg said, kissing the top of Mycroft’s head.

“Hello,” Mycroft said softly, pausing to sniff. Hanging his head down had demonstrated that his sinuses were unhappy with the position, and he was going to need to address the situation, and soon. For now, he wanted to relish the moment. He sniffled again instead, and as he did, he could feel a slight fluttering in the back of his nasal passages.

Greg frowned as he began to rub the back of Mycroft’s neck.

“I take it you’re not feeling any better,” Greg murmured. He felt Mycroft tense under his ministrations.

“Mmmm, no,” Mycroft managed to eek out. He quickly cupped his hands around his nose, unable to fight off the irritation.

Mmmpfx! Mmmmmpfch! Hng’mmpftish! Hng’ISSH!

“Oh, God bless you, love!” Greg moved so he was leaning against the desk in order to get a better look at his partner. He reached over and plucked a handful of tissues, handing them to Mycroft. As he did, he could see the dark shadows around Mycroft’s eyes, and his skin looked wan and sickly.

“Thank you. My apologies,” Mycroft muttered as he tended to his nose.

Greg chuckled; one of these days he would get Mycroft to stop apologizing. For right now, he looked worn out and in need of comfort.

“You look done in, love. Come on.” Greg reached out his hand toward Mycroft. Mycroft allowed himself to be led out of his office. Halfway to the staircase, he wavered, breath hitching. He quickly brought his wrist up, ducking behind it.

Heh! --Ah-hehhhh Aah! Heh’TSSSCHH! Hng’ISSH-OOO!

Greg braced him through the pair of harsh, damp sneezes. “God bless you again!” He exclaimed, his voice worried.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft said as he removed his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose. “Again, my apologies.”

Greg resisted rolling his eyes. “Let’s get you upstairs, ok? And please, for heaven’s sake, stop apologizing!” There wasn’t any heat in the comment, and Mycroft could hear the teasing lilt in his voice. It was an old argument for them both.

Greg finally got Mycroft upstairs, undressed and into bed. He quickly changed himself, and joined his partner. Mycroft was peering at his mobile, handkerchief pressed to his nostrils. Once Gregory had joined him, he put his mobile to the side and turned off the light.

Greg pulled him close, and settled Mycroft’s head and shoulders on his chest. He kissed the top of his head again and stroked his back. Mycroft hummed in appreciation.

They stayed that for a while, not speaking; just enjoying being present in each other’s company. Mycroft had begun to doze, but an annoying prickling within his sinuses distracted him. He quickly pressed his handkerchief to his nose.

Hehhhhh’TNSGH’SHHHH! Heh’NNNG’SHHHHH!

“God bless,” Greg murmured softly, drowsily, pressing a kiss behind Mycroft’s ear.

“Thank you my dear,” Mycroft whispered. “Apologies,” he said equally as quietly, as if an afterthought.

He felt, more than heard Gregory’s huff of laughter before he drifted off to sleep.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you my dear, Mycroft whispered. Apologies, he said equally as quietly, as if an afterthought.

He just can't help apologizing any more than he can help sneezing, can he? Poor thing.

Have a wonderful trip! Happy Birthday in advance! We'll be here waiting for the next installment.

[cally]

He just can't help apologizing any more than he can help sneezing, can he? Poor thing.

Probably not.

This isn't what I meant to work on, or what I had even started (as a continuation of the above). Oops. A return of brotherly concern, and of course Mycroft comes bearing gifts.

33. a bit of brotherly concern

Mycroft made his way up the seventeen steps at 221B Baker Street. Normally, he would have relied on his surveillance cameras, but Gregory had been most insistent that he check on Sherlock himself. The DI had said Sherlock wasn’t himself; that he had seemed distracted and looked unwell when he had seen him earlier in the day.

He let himself in and left his umbrella and the small sack he was carrying in the living room before seeking out his younger brother. He found Sherlock in the kitchen, peering into his microscope, papers scattered around him. Were those ears? Mycroft wondered, disgusted. He wasn’t a squeamish man, but his brother’s experiments were often questionable.

The younger man looked up sharply when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye; Sherlock clearly hadn’t heard him come in. Troubling indeed, Mycroft thought. He saw the hopeful look cross and fade from his brother’s face in an instant. Sherlock scowled at him. Mycroft gave him an equal look of disdain.

“What d’you want?” Sherlock mumbled. His voice was deeper, gravelly, confirming Mycroft’s suspicions.

“Oh, I was just passing the time,” Mycroft said airily. He began to walk around the flat, noting that Sherlock had been composing again. Now he was concerned. He turned back to Sherlock.

“Time’s passed. Get out.” Sherlock hadn’t bothered to look up from his microscope this time.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Ignoring Sherlock, he moved into the kitchen, filled the kettle and placed it back on its base, clicking it on.

Sherlock sighed and sat back from his microscope, glaring at Mycroft. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Why couldn’t his insufferable brother leave him be? He already felt miserable; he didn’t need his brother’s interference to add to his misery and illness-ravaged body.

Mycroft frowned. Perhaps he would need to take a different tactic with Sherlock today. “Gregory said you were out of sorts earlier.”

A look of confusion crossed Sherlock’s face. He opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly turned away.

Hngxt! Hehhh’ngxt!

“God bless you.” Mycroft said, his voice carrying a worried tone.

Ignoring his brother’s platitude, Sherlock sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist. “Why does everyone insist on calling him Greg?” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the pain blossoming there.

Resisting the urge to put his head in his hands, Mycroft took a deep breath, willing himself not to lose his patience. “Because it is his name, brother mine.”

The kettle clicked off, conveniently aiding in ending this tedious conversation. Mycroft began to make them each a cup of tea. Sherlock returned to his ears.

Mycroft put Sherlock’s cup of tea within reach and stood in the doorway with his own. “I see you have been composing again.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock didn’t look up, but with practiced ease picked up the teacup and took a sip. The wince he made swallowing didn’t go unnoticed.

“I warned you not to get involved, yet here you are,” Mycroft said, sipping his tea.

Sherlock sat back from the microscope again. “You’re one to talk about getting hehhhh involve-hehhhh-d,” Sherlock snarled, but the bite was lost in the midst of the flurry of sneezes he succumbed to.

Heh-huh-Hngxissshh! HngISHxt! Hng’ISSH! HngISSHOOO!

“God bless you, Sherlock!” Mycroft put his tea down on the counter and removed his handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. He offered it over, and Sherlock all but snatched it from his hands. He pressed it to his nose, breath hitching wildly.

Hehhh…..huh…..Hngxt! Hngxtshhoo! HngxtISSSshhooo! Hngxtshhi!

“God bless you again,” Mycroft said, once he was certain Sherlock was done sneezing for the moment.

“Thags,” Sherlock reluctantly murmured from the depths of Mycroft’s handkerchief.

“You’re welcome.” Mycroft paused a moment. “Are you alright, Sherlock? I could call,” he began, but was cut off.

“No! I’b fide,” Sherlock protested congestedly.

Mycroft scoffed, but Sherlock held his gaze, almost daring his brother to contest his wishes.

“Very well.” Mycroft looked as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind. “I shall leave you to it,” he said, with a bemused glance toward Sherlock’s experiment. He turned and left the kitchen, pausing only to pick up his umbrella before he left. He left the sack on the coffee table.

Sherlock sighed heavily as he listened to his brother’s footfalls on the stairs as he left. He had lost the timing on the ears; he would have to start over. He didn’t have the heart or energy for it right now. Despite his protests to Mycroft, he was feeling miserable. Picking up his tea, he walked into the living room and flung himself on the couch, wrapping his dressing gown around him tightly. It was then that he noticed the sack on the table, and he cursed himself for being so slow that he hadn’t even noticed Mycroft’s interfering.

Curious nonetheless, he opened the bag. Inside, he found a bottle of Night Nurse and a small package of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Well, Mycroft’s meddling had some merit, he thought, taking a large bite out of a cookie.

[Juto]

Ahh brotherly love. I like the sort of hate/love relationship these two have. And I adore caring!Mycroft underneath the suit of ice!

This was a lovely piece. Do feel free to write more brotherly fluff if your imagination takes you there again

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Ahh brotherly love. I like the sort of hate/love relationship these two have. And I adore caring!Mycroft underneath the suit of ice!

This was a lovely piece. Do feel free to write more brotherly fluff if your imagination takes you there again

This.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Nice one!

Normally, he would have relied on his surveillance cameras, but Gregory had been most insistent that he check on Sherlock himself.

I agree with Greg this required a more personal touch. The cookies were perfect!

[AngelEyes]

Were those ears? Mycroft wondered, disgusted.

Oh Sherlock. One of my favorite lines is Mrs Hudson cleaning out the fridge and exclaiming, "Oh! Thumbs!"

“Oh, I was just passing the time,” Mycroft said airily. He began to walk around the flat, noting that Sherlock had been composing again. Now he was concerned. He turned back to Sherlock.

“Time’s passed. Get out.” Sherlock hadn’t bothered to look up from his microscope this time.

Spot on these two. LOL

Well, Mycroft’s meddling had some merit, he thought, taking a large bite out of a cookie.

Awww.

[cally]

Do feel free to write more brotherly fluff if your imagination takes you there again

It's in the works.

This.

awww that was so good! I love brotherly love for little Sherlock

Thank you!

I agree with Greg this required a more personal touch. The cookies were perfect!

It's always about the cookies.

Spot on these two. LOL

I'm glad you thought that was clever.

34. penny for your thoughts

Later that evening, Greg and Mycroft were walking home from dinner. It was a nice evening, albeit cool, and probably one of the last evenings they would be able to do so before the weather was too inclement for such sojourns.

Greg had taken a big lungful of air and exhaled, enjoying the fresh air, which was tinged with a hint of frost. Mycroft chuckled at his antics; secretly wishing he could do such a thing himself. As it was, his nose was already starting to drip, and he sniffed delicately. He instinctively reached for his handkerchief, and then remembered he had given it to his brother earlier in the day.

“Did you end up seeing Sherlock?” Greg asked. They had agreed long ago to keep work and family out of their dinner conversations.

Mycroft sniffed again, more audibly this time. “I did. And you were correct, Gregory. He is unwell.”

“I thought so.” Greg kicked absently at a few fallen leaves as they continued to walk. “He really wasn’t himself this morning,” he said, thinking back to Sherlock’s behaviour at the crime scene.

“He was working on some experiment of some kind before I arrived, so I am sure he will be fine.” Mycroft didn’t mention the composing. Or the ears. No need to worry Gregory, he thought as he sniffled again. So distasteful, he chided himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of his Crombie coat. As he did, he came across something soft in the left hand pocket. Brow furrowed, he removed it and found that it was a tissue.

Grateful and relieved, Mycroft pressed it to his damp nostrils. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gregory grin broadly.

Mycroft turned to him, a questioning look on his face, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, it was me. I mean, obviously,” Gregory laughed. “Do you remember last year when we went on that walk and all we had between us was a crumpled napkin? Well, after that I went and put tissues in all of your coat pockets.”

Mycroft smiled at his lover and at the memory. “Thank you, my dear. I am terribly grateful for your foresight,” Mycroft said, rubbing his nose a bit more forcefully with the tissue. The brush of the tissue against his sensitive nose suddenly set him off and he paused in his tracks, breath catching softly from the ticklish expulsions.

H’Mmmpfx! Mmmpfx! Mmmmmpfch! Heh’tish!

“God bless you, love!” Greg looked over at Mycroft, checking to make sure that this was nothing more serious than the cool autumn air.

“Thank you, Gregory. My apologies. And yes, I am perfectly fine,” Mycroft said, gently blowing his nose.

They resumed walking and Greg put his arm around Mycroft. The last thing he wanted was for his lover to catch a chill. Mycroft gave Gregory a soft, secret smile in return.

As they were nearly back at the townhouse, Mycroft sniffled wetly again, making a face of disgust. “Apologies,” he murmured unnecessarily. Greg huffed out a soft laugh, his breath visible in a soft puff. “I should have put more than one tissue in your pocket,” he quipped.

“Mmmm,” Mycroft agreed, dabbing at his nose with the last dry corner of the tissue.

Once they were home, they retreated into the study. Greg lit a fire while Mycroft spent a few moments tending to his still dripping nose. He was thinking about the situation with his brother when a sudden gasp brought him out of his reverie.

Hehhhh . . . hehhhh . . . .Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

“Good heavens Gregory! God bless you!” Mycroft looked over at his partner with concern, noticing that it was nothing more than the smoke from the fire that had irritated his Gregory.

“Thanks, love.” Greg came over and sat down next to Mycroft. He grabbed a few tissues and swiped at his nose.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Mycroft said as he poured them each a measure of scotch.

Greg shoved the tissues into his pocket and sat back on the couch with his drink. He put his arm around Mycroft as he sank back into the couch next to him.

Mycroft watched the fire, appearing to be deep in thought. Greg watched Mycroft, letting the warmth of the fire (and the scotch) soothe him. After a few moments, Greg ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of Mycroft’s neck. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said softly.

Mycroft blinked rapidly for a moment. “Again, my apologies,” he whispered, rubbing his nose with the knuckle of his index finger. The room had warmed considerably with the fire and the slight hint of smoke was irritating his sinuses slightly.

“I was thinking about,” Mycroft began, but his breath hitched. He turned his head away from Gregory, bringing his wrist up to his nose.

H’ngxt! Mmmpftish!

“God bless,” Greg said hesitantly, unsure if Mycroft was done. He reached over and plucked a tissue, offering it to his lover.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, accepting the tissue. He dabbed at his nose.

“You were saying?”

Mycroft looked at his partner. Gregory’s skin glowed in the light of the fire. Mycroft reached out and caressed his cheek gently. He didn’t want to trouble Gregory with his worries, at least not right now.

“It is of no importance,” Mycroft whispered, and closing the distance, kissed him.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Grateful and relieved, Mycroft pressed it to his damp nostrils. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gregory grin broadly.

Mycroft turned to him, a questioning look on his face, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, it was me. I mean, obviously,” Gregory laughed. “Do you remember last year when we went on that walk and all we had between us was a crumpled napkin? Well, after that I went and put tissues in all of your coat pockets.”

I remember and Greg is just awesome to remember as well.

Mycroft looked at his partner. Gregory’s skin glowed in the light of the fire. Mycroft reached out and caressed his cheek gently. He didn’t want to trouble Gregory with his worries, at least not right now.

“It is of no importance,” Mycroft whispered, and closing the distance, kissed him.

Yes, distract him with kisses! <3

[Juto]

too inclement for such sojourns.

So, I'm officially 100% jealous of your vocabulary!!

Yeah, it was me. I mean, obviously,” Gregory laughed. “Do you remember last year when we went on that walk and all we had between us was a crumpled napkin? Well, after that I went and put tiss

Huh, didn't I read this somewhere? loved it!

nothing more than the smoke from the fire that had irritated his Gregory.

Ahhhhhhh, I simply love it when they put "his" in front of names!!! It's one of the most amazing terms in endearment in my world

This was so sweet Cally. I particularly love how you managed to play off one of your earlier stories.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Cally-Ween, on 20 Oct 2015 - 5:26 PM, said:

Yeah, it was me. I mean, obviously,” Gregory laughed. “Do you remember last year when we went on that walk and all we had between us was a crumpled napkin? Well, after that I went and put tiss

Huh, didn't I read this somewhere? loved it!

@ All Juto's eve You sure did read it somewhere! Of course you loved it; Cally wrote it.

[AngelEyes]

Awwww. Gregory always so thoughtful. And Mycroft so concerned for his little bro.

[cally]

Yes, distract him with kisses! <3

Works for me!

So, I'm officially 100% jealous of your vocabulary!!

It comes with having 3 + degrees.

Huh, didn't I read this somewhere? loved it!

Yes, and for anyone who may have wondered about this or missed it, you can find it on page 59 of thread #1 (#174).

Awwww. Gregory always so thoughtful. And Mycroft so concerned for his little bro.

Gregory tries.

35. aimless

John had stormed out of Baker Street the better part of two hours ago. He had been walking aimlessly since then, glad that he had at least remembered to grab his coat. It wasn’t exactly walking weather; the rain had faded to a thick mist and the encroaching fog made everything seem a bit ethereal.

At some point in the past fifteen or so minutes, the temperature had dropped. John sniffled and stuffed his hands in his pockets seeking warmth as he walked. He had already rendered the used, crumpled tissue he had found in his pocket until it was nothing but damp shreds.

Sighing a puff of visible air, he pondered going back to Baker Street, but the thought of it made his blood boil again. He thought about finding a place to get a cuppa and dry off until he heard a car idling next to him. Clenching his hand into a fist inside his pocket, he closed his eyes and sighed. One Holmes brother was quite enough for today, thank you very much, he thought. He didn’t want to deal with the other one.

Opening his eyes, he found that the car idling wasn’t black but silver, and he smiled in relief. Greg was waving his hand, gesturing for him to get in. So he did.

The interior of the car was warm, and John felt his nose begin to drip even more than before. He sniffled damply. “How did you find me?”

Greg grinned and tapped the side of his nose, chuckling.

Silly question, John thought, considering Greg’s job and who his partner was.

“Sherlock texted me,” Greg began. He saw John stiffen out of the corner of his eye and quickly dropped the subject. “Let’s go have a drink,” he said.

Nodding, John sighed and leaned his head back onto the leather seat. He sniffled again, more liquidly this time and ran his hand under his nose.

The traffic light had turned red, and Greg shoved a hand into his pocket, fumbling about for a moment. He removed his handkerchief and handed it over to John.

John accepted it, looking at the square of cloth incredulously. It was luxurious grey silk.

“What can I say, Mycroft likes nice things,” Greg said, shrugging his shoulders.

John nodded again, and blew his nose. For some reason, this triggered a harsh sneeze, which he gasped out into the decadent silk.

Huh’tcssshhhhooo!

Greg glanced over at him. “Bless you.”

“Thanks,” John mumbled, blowing his nose again.

Greg cast another look over at John before parking the car. They headed into a small pub, which had a roaring fire in the corner.

Greg nodded toward a table near the fire. “I’ll get the drinks in, yeah?”

“Cheers,” John said as he headed over to the table. He unzipped his coat and hung it over the back of the chair so that it would dry from the warmth of the fire, before he sat down.

Greg joined him moments later, a pint in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Somehow, he had also managed to carry two packets of crisps as well. He put the lot down on the table, and shrugged off his coat.

John eyed the mug suspiciously, until he could smell the whiskey through his stuffy nose. Then, he took a cautious sip, as it was still hot. “Thanks mate,” he said.

Greg nodded, drinking down a mouthful of his beer. Nodding toward the mug, he explained. “When I was sick, that was just the thing.” He opened a packet of crisps and removed a few.

John gave him a cautious look. “How did you know I wasn’t feeling well?” While Greg was smart, he wasn’t Sherlock or Mycroft.

Greg grimaced and pulled out his mobile. He opened his text messages and slid the phone over to John.

19:18: I need to you find John for me. –SH

19:19: He left the flat 90 minutes ago and has not returned. –SH

19:19: John’s a grown man, Sherlock. –GL

19:20: It is raining and unlike my brother, John does not have an umbrella permanently attached to him. –SH

19:21: Thanks for the weather report. Unless John is in danger, there is nothing I can do. –GL

19:22: John is in the early stages of a cold and I would rather him not be taken ill. –SH

19:23: Especially when it may have been my fault that he left. –SH

19:23: I’ll see what I can do. –GL

While John read over the conversation, Greg thought back to the messages. He wondered how Sherlock knew he had recently recovered from a nasty cold when he barely got his name right half the time. Something that trivial would have been deleted from Sherlock’s Mind Palace right away, never to be thought of again. It certainly pressed the right buttons for him to get involved nevertheless.

John returned the mobile with a heavy sigh. He ran a hand across his face and sniffed again, scrunching up his nose, as if he were warding off a sneeze.

“What did he do this time?” Greg asked, curious.

John took another sip of his toddy, and then cradled his hands around the mug.

“There were intestines in the kitchen sink.”

Greg burst out laughing. That was not what he had been expecting.

John gave a faint, heartless chuckle. “I put up with a lot and most of the time I let it go. But just once I’d like to make a cup of tea without body parts getting in the bloody way.”

Greg nodded and took another sip of his pint. “He seems to be moving down.”

John gave him a confused look.

“The last time Mycroft was there he said Sherlock was doing something with ears.”

“Great, I can expect toes in the fridge soon,” John remarked sarcastically.

Greg’s shoulders began to shake as he tried to quell his laughter, but couldn’t hold it back. John finally began to see the absurdity and humour in all of it and started to laugh.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Greg took a long drink of his beer. At least John’s mood had improved, he thought.

John grinned and swallowed down another mouthful of his drink. He was warm now, inside and out. His anger had dissipated as well.

The tension broken, the conversation turned to football only interrupted when Greg got up to get them a second round. John was considerably relaxed and was nearly caught off guard by a damp pair of sneezes.

Huh’tcssshhhh! Huh’etcSHHHHhoooo!

“Bless you!” Greg exclaimed as he drained his pint.

John removed the handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at his nose. “Thanks,” he sniffed.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Greg stood and put on his coat, John doing the same.

They weren’t far from Baker Street and it didn’t take Greg long to drive them there. “Thanks, Greg,” John said as he got out of the car.

“No worries mate.” Greg paused a moment. “Go easy on him, yeah? He was worried.” John nodded and headed inside.

Once he trudged up the stairs, he went inside and hung up his coat. Sherlock was perched on his chair in front of his laptop. While he appeared to be focused on whatever was on the screen, John could tell that he was more interested in his presence back in the flat, obviously deducing what he had been doing the past few hours.

John didn’t speak to Sherlock; instead he headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Given the state of the kitchen before he had stormed out, he was shocked that the entire room was thoroughly clean. He got the mugs and tea out; realizing after the fact that he had automatically started to make Sherlock a cup as well. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at his actions.

Sniffling, he noticed that Sherlock must have used an alarming amount of bleach when he had cleaned; suddenly his sinuses were prickling intensely from the scent. He quickly whirled away from where the cups were.

Hehhh-hhhh . . . Hiuh’etcssSHHhhooo! Huh’etcssshhhhh!

“Bless you.”

John startled at Sherlock’s voice; he hadn’t realised that he had rose from his chair and was now standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Thhehhhhhh thanks,” John managed to stammer out, before he sneezed again.

Huh’tcssshhhhooo!

“Bless you,” Sherlock said again.

Sniffling, John thanked him. He was unable to read the look on Sherlock’s face. Sighing to himself, he turned back to the tea making, pouring the water into the waiting cups and fetching the milk.

“John, I,” Sherlock began but John cut him off.

“Just don’t do it again, alright?” John asked, handing Sherlock his tea.

Surprised, Sherlock merely nodded, accepting the tea as the peace offering it was.

[stargazer]

Poor John. At least Greg tried to make him feel better.