Masking Posted February 23, 2017 Share Posted February 23, 2017 IS THAT A LUSH BATH BOMB I SEE MENTION OF????? Poor Greg. Who throws away someone else's clothes? XD Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted February 28, 2017 Share Posted February 28, 2017 On 2/21/2017 at 10:08 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Dear Lord. Another dip in the Thames, at low tide no less. Tell me, Sherlock is unscathed?” I love how he's so passe about it. Not upset not worried, just like, Really, again? On 2/21/2017 at 10:08 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You’re binning it all.” Greg dropped the last of his clothes in and stood in the foyer wearing mud and his pants. “Aren’t you?” Poor Greg. On 2/21/2017 at 10:08 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “But you do not smell clean. Back you go.” He gently pushed the older man away and opened his book back up. LOL On 2/21/2017 at 10:08 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I thought you said ‘any of the blue’. HuhRRDSHSCHH!” Oops! On 2/21/2017 at 10:08 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “No! I ‘m tired. I’ve had a crap day at work which ended with a swim in the Thames followed by a miserable ride home.” Mycroft pulled another handful of tissues for his irate partner. Greg ignored them. “I get home to have all my clothes thrown in the trash, and my shoes!” Greg was very nearly shouting by now. Mycroft had never seen his boyfriend so frustrated and unhappy. “I’ve been bathing for over an hah-hour.” He grabbed the tissues from Mycroft. “HahDSHCHCHOO! And now this!” He wiped his nose and sniffled. “I want a beer, pizza, a cuddle and bed in that order. HuhhDSCHZSHOO! And to stop sneezing!” I love his little tirade. So done with it all. On 2/21/2017 at 10:08 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You’re going to let me eat pizza in our bed?” “Desperate times, Gregory.” Awww! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted March 5, 2017 Author Share Posted March 5, 2017 (edited) @cally Yes, Mycroft was a bit taken aback. Greg is usually pretty easy going with him, but it was a very trying day. @Aliena H. Hah! You're welcome. Glad I was able to trick you. @Masking Yes, it was a Lush Bath Bomb. I've never experienced one. (No bathtub in my house, you see.) I had to rely on @cally for the research. @AngelEyes So glad you enjoyed it. I sent @cally a package over a month ago and it has not arrived. I know it made it to the UK, but it has disappeared. She and I have been speculating what might have happened to it... Hope you like it. Comments = Tissues “Whatcha got there?” Greg wandered into the dining room munching on an apple. Mycroft was sitting at the table staring at a box. “A package.” Mycroft answered absently. “Oi, I can see that. What’s in it?” “I’m not quite sure.” “So open it already.” Greg started to wander out of the room. “It is not mine.” Greg stopped and turned back. “Oh, it is mine, then? I’ll open it.” He moved towards the box. “It’s not yours either.” Greg stopped and looked at the address. “If it is not mine and not yours, what is it doing here?” “I asked for it.” “Alright, now I’m thoroughly confused. Explain why we have this box that doesn’t belong to us, but you asked for. Go slow and use small words.” Greg finished his apple and set the core on the table. Mycroft glanced at the remains of the fruit and frowned slightly. He sighed. “I have a contact in customs. I asked that they keep an eye out for certain items being imported in to the country.” “Yeah, okay. I suppose that makes sense. And this box contains these items?” “I believe it contains at least one of the items.” “I’m assuming it’s not dangerous since you brought this to our home.” Mycroft smiled slightly. “No, not dangerous at all.” “So is it illegal?” Greg sat down. “No.” Greg rubbed his face. “Okay, I’ll give. What do you think is in there that you must have that you are willing to steal? Because that’s what you’ve done.” Mycroft scowled at his partner. “I have not stolen anything.” Greg shrugged. “Fine, you got your contact to steal it.” He pointed at the cardboard box. “You are in possession of stolen goods. Not to mention tampering with the mail.” “Are you planning to turn me in Detective Inspector?” Mycroft responded haughtily. “Not my division, is it?” Greg grinned at the British Government. “Besides, you’d come up with a tricky reason to get off the hook. I’m going to work on your conscience. What little of it you have.” Mycroft huffed and went back to contemplating the package. There was silence. Mycroft sniffled lightly and pulled out his handkerchief to rub his pink nose. “You still haven’t told me what you think it is?” “Tissues.” Mycroft dared a glance at his partner. “Tissues?” Greg was incredulous. “Yes.” “My, for crying out loud, we’ve got tissues. What do you want these for?” “I believe these are very special tissues.” Greg rolled his eyes. “You’re barmy. What have you put in your tea?” “Nothing.” “Can’t be, because tissues are tissues. Unless, they are scented and that’s just nuts. Are you high on cold medication?” Mycroft glowered at Greg. “I am not. They are called Puffs. They have lotion added to them to enhance their softness.” Mycroft focused again on the box. “Mm-hm. You know this for a fact or have you been taken in by some advertiser’s pretty words?” “I do not know this for a fact and that is why I asked my contact to be on the look out for them. I want to know.” Mycroft’s eyes glazed over, as his lips parted. “Hih…Hih’tSCHOO! Tish, Tish, Tish… Hih’TISHCH!” The younger man blew his nose carefully in his handkerchief, wincing slightly. “Bless you. So you want to know and that justifies tampering with the mail and stealing? You don’t have any other way of finding out?” Mycroft looked a bit ashamed. “This came from the US, yeah?” “Yes,” the younger man muttered. Greg pulled out his mobile and tapped a few buttons. “What are you doing?” Mycroft asked a touch anxiously. “You are returning that box to customs.” Greg said as he typed. “I’m sure,” he paused and looked at the label. “Cally has been waiting for it and doesn’t appreciate the delay.” “But…” His blue eyes pleaded with Greg before they crashed shut. “Heh’tshSCHOO! HehTSCH’CHOO!” “Bless. No, buts.” Greg looked up from his mobile and fixed Mycroft with a hard stare. One he usually reserved for Sherlock when he was being an arse to Anderson or Donovan. “Fine,” grumbled Mycroft as he dropped his gaze. Greg tapped a few more buttons. “I just sent an email to a mate in DC. He’ll send us a box of these magic tissues you claim you must try.” Mycroft looked up eyes full of hope. “You can manage to wait a little longer.” Greg stood and picked up his apple core. As he passed by his partner he bent, kissing Mycroft’s cheek. “Now do the right thing, love.” FIN Edited March 5, 2017 by Sanguine Cheerful Worrier spelling Link to comment
cally Posted March 5, 2017 Share Posted March 5, 2017 (edited) 32 minutes ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Not my division, is it?” Greg grinned at the British Government. I laughed out load in the shop when you sent this to me. 32 minutes ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Cally has been waiting for it and doesn’t appreciate the delay.” Yes, she bloody doesn't appreciate the delay! I want my tissues (and other things I don't know about!) 32 minutes ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Now do the right thing, love.” Yeah, get on it, Mycroft! Thank you, @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier. Although you forgot to mention the REAL reason this was written. Edited March 5, 2017 by cally grammar Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted March 5, 2017 Author Share Posted March 5, 2017 29 minutes ago, cally said: Although you forgot to mention the REAL reason this was written Well, I didn't want to announce anything without your express permission. I will take this comment as such. @cally is absolutely and completely done with her thesis. This drabble is a little celebration present to her. Link to comment
Kaze Wo Hiku Posted March 5, 2017 Share Posted March 5, 2017 Ok I absolutely LOVE situations like this when the author inserts themselves or friends into works this was 2x as adorable. Oh and I HEAR you on the UK and it's mailing issues, also lost a package several months ago. Maybe Mycroft got it as well Link to comment
cally Posted March 6, 2017 Share Posted March 6, 2017 For those of you who have been following this saga, Mycroft some neighbour who couldn't bother to bring down a package to me (I never got the notice from Parcelforce that it was delivered) has returned my tissues and other lovely gifts to me. It's been here since the 13th of February!!!!!!!! Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted March 7, 2017 Share Posted March 7, 2017 This is fantastic! I totally laughed at the whole thing! On 3/5/2017 at 2:51 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Go slow and use small words.” LOL On 3/5/2017 at 2:51 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Not my division, is it?” Greg grinned at the British Government. Nope On 3/5/2017 at 2:51 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You are returning that box to customs.” Greg said as he typed. “I’m sure,” he paused and looked at the label. “Cally has been waiting for it and doesn’t appreciate the delay.” Too funny! Link to comment
Shamaël Posted March 8, 2017 Share Posted March 8, 2017 That was a funny one!!! On 05/03/2017 at 9:51 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You’re barmy. What have you put in your tea?” “Nothing.” Mwahahahahaha!!! I really love your Mycroft-Lestrade dialogues, sneezing or not sneezing. I'm not completely converted yet to Mystrade, but I really enjoy your humour - Mycroft is quite in character... @cally: congratulation for your thesis!!! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted March 13, 2017 Author Share Posted March 13, 2017 (edited) On 3/5/2017 at 5:10 PM, Kaze wo Hiku said: Ok I absolutely LOVE situations like this when the author inserts themselves or friends into works this was 2x as adorable. Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed it. It was rather fun to write. @cally Greg prevailed! On 3/7/2017 at 0:18 AM, AngelEyes said: This is fantastic! I totally laughed at the whole thing! Thank you! I am happy to have made you laugh. On 3/8/2017 at 4:24 PM, Aliena H. said: I'm not completely converted yet to Mystrade, but I really enjoy your humour - Mycroft is quite in character... Thank you! I usually get compliments on my Greg. It's nice to know my Mycroft isn't OC. I'll keep working on you and Mystrade. Next up a little sick fic featuring Mycroft. It is set after TFP, because you know after that trip to Sherrinford on a fishing boat and locked up in drafty, chilly cells that man had to come down with a cold. It's... Not Unexpected (Sorry, I so couldn't help myself. ) Mycroft was a little surprised when he arrived home to find Greg coming out of the kitchen to meet him. “I thought you had a late shift.” “I traded with Dimmock,” Greg answered. “Welcome home.” He kissed Mycroft’s cheek and took the briefcase and umbrella from his slightly bewildered partner. “I’ve got dinner almost ready.” Mycroft nodded and hung up his coat. He followed the silver haired man to the kitchen. Mycroft sniffed as he entered the room. It was warm and comfortable, nothing like it had been when Greg moved in. Mycroft sat at the cozy table and Greg brought over the salad. “Wine or water?” “Water, please.” Mycroft sniffed again and coughed lightly. Greg nodded and poured them both glasses. “I’m assuming you traded shifts because you want to know how my day went.” “Yeah,” Greg smiled sheepishly. He brought over the water and went to the stove stirring the pot that sat on top. Mycroft sighed. “Terrible, but no worse than expected.” He served them both some salad before pulling out his handkerchief to wipe at his nose. Greg brought over bowls of a hearty stew and sat. The younger man hurriedly tucked away his handkerchief. “So…” “So,” Mycroft looked down at his bowl. “When did you have time to make stew?” “Nice try. I bought it at the Whole Foods on my way home. Now, what happened?” Greg took a bite of stew then grabbed his glass of water to cool his mouth. “Ummpf… Isth hoth.” Mycroft raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “As I said, nothing unexpected. I answered questions for ten hours and now I am suspended from my duties pending the committee’s investigation.” “Oh, My…” “No, it is fine. All my interactions with Eurus were well documented. The protocols for ‘treats’ were developed by Uncle Rudy and they were followed meticulously.” Mycroft stirred his food, staring unseeing into the bowl. He sniffed lightly. “The mistakes that were made were ones no one had foreseen.” He paused then added softly, “Though I should have.” “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, My.” “Qui-hih-quite.” Mycroft hastily turned away. “Hih’tchhx, hihnnchx, hihchnnx.” He stifled against his wrist. “Excuse me.” He pulled out his handkerchief and gently blew his nose. “Bless you. How long do you think you will be out of the office?” “Three weeks, at the most and only because Lady Smallwood is still smarting from when I questioned her last month.” “Interrogated, more like,” Greg corrected. “Yes, well, while personally Alicia and I are on good terms, politically I recognize she must exact her pound of flesh. This incident affords her the perfect opportunity.” Mycroft took a few bites of his salad. Greg applied himself to his meal letting Mycroft brood a bit. He watched the younger man absently pick at his salad. Every couple of bites the younger man would sniffle. After a few minutes of eating and observation on Greg’s part, he decided to bite the bullet. “So, how’s your cold?” Greg asked causally. Mycroft’s gaze transferred from his food to his partner. “I did not say I felt unwell.” It was Greg’s turn to raise his eyebrows, as he took a bite of the salad. “What makes you think I am not well?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Greg put down his utensil and took a drink of water. “You’re a bit sniffy and must’ve sneezed a dozen more times than usual this morning.” “That was likely due to my not having used my nasal spray last night.” “Hmm… Don’t you usually stop using that spray when you have a cold?” “My lack of use was inadvertent.” Mycroft sniffed and took a bite of stew. Greg shrugged. “Okay. Just asking.” Mycroft put down his spoon to wipe his mouth. “Thank you for your concern about my he-heh-health, but I am fi-hih…” He quickly moved his napkin to his nose. “Hih’tschnnpff, tshch, tsch, tsch, hih’TSChmmpff!” “Bless you,” Greg offered not looking up from his meal. “Apologies. The stew must be very peppery.” Mycroft wiped his nose and sniffed. “You think? I didn’t notice.” Greg looked up at his boyfriend. Mycroft scowled and Greg took pity on the man. He started to tell all the juicy details of his rather dull day of paperwork. He managed to elicit a few chuckles from his weary partner. When the meal was finished, Mycroft helped Greg clear the bowls. Greg didn’t comment when Mycroft had to stop drying dishes to sneeze in the dishtowel. “I think I can take it from here,” Greg said when all that was left was the pots. Mycroft sniffled (again). “Perhaps I will get ready for bed. I feel rather tired.” “Not unexpected. You’ve had a long day.” And you don’t feel well, Greg added mentally. “I’ll be up in a bit. I want to see how the game is going when I’m done here.” Mycroft trailed his hand along Greg’s lower back as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen. Greg smiled; someone was feeling cuddly. The game turned out to be a lot more exciting than Greg expected, pleasantly so from his perspective. It was an hour since Mycroft had retired upstairs and Greg was quite comfortable on the sofa with a beer, when Mycroft shuffled into the drawing room. He was in his pajamas and robe, carrying a box of tissues. Greg muted the sound as his partner plopped on the couch next to him. He dropped the box on the coffee table and pulled a handful to hold. “I am unable to sleep,” Mycroft responded to Greg’s unanswered question. “I am unwell,” he finally elaborated, sniffling. “Aw… What clued you in?” Mycroft glared at Greg briefly before his eyes glazed over and lids began to flutter. Quickly he pressed the tissues in hand to his nose. “Hih’tSH, Hih’TSH, tish, tish, tish… Hih’TSHCHOO!” He took a shaky breath as he wiped his nose. “Bless.” “I have not been able to lay down without starting to sneeze.” Mycroft tossed his used tissues on the table and drew fresh ones to tend his nose. The productive blow was followed by more sneezes. “Heh’tSHOO! HihzSCHOO! HahTCH’SHOO!” “God bless you. You take anything yet?” Mycroft nodded. “I just did. I suppose they haven’t started to work yet,” he said woefully. “C’mere. Watch telly with me for a bit.” Greg opened his arms. “I do not understand what you see in this game,” Mycroft grumbled as he slid closer and into his lover’s arms. “I know.” Greg wasn’t going to try to explain it again. He turned the sound up a bit, though not as loud as before. “I am going to apologize in advance.” Mycroft sniffled, then pulled away. “Heh…Hihnnchx, hihnnchx, hihnnchx…. HihnnnchOO!” “Bless you. It’s okay. You should know by now.” Greg reached out and snagged the tissue box, placing it in his lap. Mycroft pulled a few to blow his nose. “Now c’mon. No need…” Greg paused as the other man launched into another round of sneezing. “Hih’ish, ish, ish, ish, ish… Hih’tish, ish, ish, ish, ish…” Mycroft look like he was stuck. His long nose was wrinkled up and eyes squeezed shut. He sneezed rapidly with hardly a breath between. Greg waited patiently for the fit to wind down. Mycroft finally caught large enough breath. “Hiih…EHHH’SHCHOO!” His torso shuddered with the force of the last sneeze. Mycroft fell back against the sofa holding the spent tissues to his nose. “Aww… poor lamb. Bless you, bless you, and bless you.” Greg held up a fresh wad of tissues. “Oh God. I am so dizzy,’ Mycroft whined as he tossed aside the used paper and took Greg’s offering. He sniffled thickly. “And stuffy.” Mycroft tried to blow his nose a little more carefully this time. Frustrated he threw his used tissues on the coffee table. “Why? Why am I sick?” Greg gave his lover a bemused look. “It’s not unexpected. You’ve been under a lot of stress, love. Stress depresses the immune system.” “Being ill, depresses me,” groused Mycroft. “Besides I do not feel stressed. What have I to be stressed about? Eurus is secure and I am off duty for now.” “I think it is cumulative. Our home broken into; nearly blown to bits; capturing a fishing boat off the coast of Scotland; being captured by your mentally ill, homicidal sister and forced to play her psychotic games; having to come clean to your family and your partner about all the lies you’ve told…” “You forgot the clown,” Mycroft interrupted. “And you’ve made your point.” “I was just getting started,” Greg pouted. “Yes, well, your enumeration of my ‘stress’ is not alleviating any of it.” Mycroft settled back against his lover, who wrapped an arm around the ill man. “You know I forgive you.” Greg reminded him kindly. He pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s temple as Mycroft scooted even closer. “Yes.” They were quiet and Greg watched his game as Mycroft leaned against him sniffling occasionally. He had a feeling there was more to come. “Hihnnchhx, hihnnchx, hihnnchhxx.” “Bless you. Stop that.” Greg poked Mycroft’s arm for emphasis. “I can’t help it.” “Not the sneezing, the stifling.” “Pardon me for not wanting to sneeze all over you,” Mycroft muttered. Greg in answer pulled a handful of tissues from the box and wordlessly offered them. The younger man took them with a huff, but went back to resting against his lover’s chest, sniffling and rubbing his nose. After a few moments he spoke. “They want me to see a therapist.” “That’s not unexpected.” “I don’t want to see a therapist.” “Also not unexpected.” “I think it is a waste of my time and the therapist’s time.” “Do you want to talk about it?” “No.” Mycroft sniffed. Several moments slipped by. “What’s the point of it?” Greg turned off the telly. “What’s the point of what? Talking about seeing a therapist or seeing a therapist?” “Either. Both.” Mycroft said sullenly. Greg rolled his eyes. “Why do you think they want you to see a therapist?” “Alicia says I’ve been under a great deal of strain and that recent events were extremely traumatic. She particularly feels that I would benefit from having an impartial person to whom I may relate my experiences.” Greg silently agreed. “And are any of those things wrong?” Mycroft was quiet, aside from his snuffling. “No,” he finally said. “So you will being seeing a therapist?” “Yes, fine.” Mycroft sighed. “I’m willing to bet it is a condition of your returning to work.” “It is,” came the reluctant admission. “Well, you don’t have anything else to do for three weeks.” “Also true.” Mycroft yawned and sniffed. “Aside from recovering from this wre-heh-wretch-heh-ed Heh’TSHHoo…Hih’TSCHOO! Tish, tish, tish, …HIH”SCHHOO! Ugh!” “Bless you, love.” “Thank you,” he replied stuffily before blowing his nose again. “How about we go to bed, love? I understand rest is important for recovery.” “Fi-hih-ne. Hih’ssSHHOO! Ish, ish, ish… HIH’tschoOO!” Mycroft scrambled to grab more tissues from Greg’s lap. “Bless you.” “You are going to be tired of saying that very soon,” Mycroft remarked as he finished tending his nose. “Love, if I am not tired of it by now, I doubt I ever will be.” FIN Edited March 15, 2017 by Sanguine Cheerful Worrier spelling Link to comment
matilda3948 Posted March 13, 2017 Share Posted March 13, 2017 I LOVE this!!! I've been dying for some post-season 4 goodness. This is great! Link to comment
cally Posted March 13, 2017 Share Posted March 13, 2017 Poor Mycroft. Not only is he unwell due to the cumulative effect (and him being him) he had to listen to Greg enumerate it all. 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You are going to be tired of saying that very soon,” Mycroft remarked as he finished tending his nose. “Love, if I am not tired of it by now, I doubt I ever will be.” A+++ dialogue. Link to comment
Kaze Wo Hiku Posted March 13, 2017 Share Posted March 13, 2017 I love when you make Mycroft whine They are too cute Link to comment
Shamaël Posted March 14, 2017 Share Posted March 14, 2017 On 13/03/2017 at 4:57 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: It's... Not Unexpected Hehehe, I'm laughing in a quite stupid way in front of my laptop... On 13/03/2017 at 4:57 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I am unwell,” he finally elaborated, sniffling. “Aw… What clued you in?” Greg is great. Really. On 13/03/2017 at 4:57 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I am going to apologize in advance.” This is so Mycroft! I like this kind of line (from Mycroft, or from anyone else). On 13/03/2017 at 4:57 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “They want me to see a therapist.” “That’s not unexpected.” “I don’t want to see a therapist.” “Also not unexpected.” I'm frustrated with the end of season 4 and your fic gives me some of the answers I expected, so, thank you for this! On 13/03/2017 at 4:57 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You are going to be tired of saying that very soon,” Mycroft remarked as he finished tending his nose. “Love, if I am not tired of it by now, I doubt I ever will be.” I will not comment, but this is brilliant!!! Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted March 22, 2017 Share Posted March 22, 2017 On 3/12/2017 at 10:57 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Mycroft trailed his hand along Greg’s lower back as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen. Greg smiled; someone was feeling cuddly. Awwww! On 3/12/2017 at 10:57 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I am unable to sleep,” Mycroft responded to Greg’s unanswered question. “I am unwell,” he finally elaborated, sniffling. “Aw… What clued you in?” LOL. Poor baby! On 3/12/2017 at 10:57 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I am going to apologize in advance.” Mycroft sniffled, then pulled away. Probably a good plan. And too cute! On 3/12/2017 at 10:57 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Greg gave his lover a bemused look. “It’s not unexpected. You’ve been under a lot of stress, love. Stress depresses the immune system.” “Being ill, depresses me,” groused Mycroft. Oh Mycroft. On 3/12/2017 at 10:57 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Greg silently agreed. “And are any of those things wrong?” Mycroft was quiet, aside from his snuffling. “No,” he finally said. “So you will being seeing a therapist?” “Yes, fine.” Mycroft sighed. “I’m willing to bet it is a condition of your returning to work.” “It is,” came the reluctant admission. LOL On 3/12/2017 at 10:57 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You are going to be tired of saying that very soon,” Mycroft remarked as he finished tending his nose. “Love, if I am not tired of it by now, I doubt I ever will be.” Awwww! Love! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 9, 2017 Author Share Posted April 9, 2017 @matilda3948 I am glad you liked it. Another post season 4 story coming up. (And in case you missed it I posted a season 4 story in the fan fiction thread.) @cally Thank you for the compliment on the dialogue. That last line was one of my favorites. My Greg seems to be big on lists. @Kaze wo Hiku I like making Mycroft whine as well. @Aliena H. I am glad my stories help satisfy some of your season 4 frustrations. Here's another that I hope helps. @AngelEyes Again she nails my favorite bits. Another post season 4 story. Actually, this picks up just a couple of weeks after the previous. See what you think. Comments = Mothers and Mothering * We have arrived. –MH * * Everyone safe? –GL * * I believe I would have mentioned it had there been a problem. –MH * * Would you have? –GL * * Fine, perhaps not. –MH * * So? –GL * * Yes, everyone is safe. –MH * * Good. You remember your hat? –GL * * Well? –GL * * Your hat? –GL * * Apologies. We have just cleared the first round of security. Mummy was most unhappy when she was informed she would not be able to give my sister the presents she had brought. –MH * * She brought presents? Surely you told her that wasn’t allowed. –GL * * Yes, but I am to be ignored in all matters regarding Eurus. –MH * * What are you doing now? –GL * * Sitting through the governor’s instructions regarding visiting Eurus. –MH * * You still haven’t said if you remembered your hat. –GL * * Is not my silence on the subject answer enough? –MH * * Damn it My! You just got over a rotten cold. I told you to wear a hat. –GL * * And don’t you roll your eyes at me. –GL * * I don’t like hats. –MH * * Don’t come whining to me if you end up with bronchitis or an ear infection. –GL * * I wore my scarf. –MH * * Do not roll your eyes at me. –MH * * We are going in. I will be out of touch for the next few hours. –MH * * Ok. Text me when you can. I love you. –GL * * I am fine. –MH * * I worry. –GL * * I know. –MH * * I love you too. –MH * Greg stood leaning against his car not far from the helipad. He watched as the Holmes family disembarked from the recently landed helicopter. One of the black government sedans sat nearby, waiting as well. The group approached with Sherlock and his parents leading the way. Mycroft trailed behind them. Everyone looked worn, but Mycroft seemed particularly tired and peaked. “Hullo Sherlock, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.” Greg greeted the group politely. “Hello Greg. How nice of you to meet us. You missed a wonderful recital. Don’t you think dear?” Mrs. Holmes addressed her last comment to her husband. He quietly agreed. Mycroft finally caught up to the group. “Mummy only immediate family were allowed,” he said. “Is Greg not family?” Mrs. Holmes asked her son sharply. “No, I did not…” Mycroft sounded fatigued and his patience thin. “It’s alright, ma’am. I had to work.” “Ah. Are you coming to Baker St to have dinner with John and Rosie?” Greg stole a glance at Mycroft as he stood behind his parents. His partner shook his head. “No ma’am. I’m afraid we won’t be able to make it.” “Pity. Well, Myc I assume this car will take us to Baker St and you will go with Greg?” Mycroft moved to Greg’s side. “Yes, Mummy.” She nodded. “Do get some rest. You look terrible.” Greg ground his teeth, but Mycroft only nodded. “Of course, Mummy.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. She presented her cheek and Mycroft bent to dutifully kiss it. She nodded at Greg and he nodded back. Then without another word she sailed off to the waiting car. The driver assisted her inside. Mr. Holmes awkwardly patted Mycroft’s shoulder. “Thank you, my boy. Your mother and I appreciate your accompanying us. “You are welcome,” his son replied stiffly. Mr. Holmes looked as if he would like to say more, but instead shook Greg’s hand and headed to the car. Sherlock followed, pausing only to say, “She’s right; you look terrible.” “Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock,” Greg snapped. “Piss off.” He jerked his head toward the waiting vehicle, glaring at the young man. Sherlock smirked. “Glad to see you taking your task seriously, Lestrade.” He strode off to the car. Mycroft looked questioningly at the DI, who was still scowling after Sherlock. “What did he mean? Your task?” “Hm?” Greg returned his attention to Mycroft. “Oh, something he asked me to do that night.” He opened the passenger door and gently guided the younger man into his car. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in. Once buckled, he started the car and checked to see if his passenger had done the same. Mycroft was staring woefully at his well-used handkerchief, sniffling. “S’cuse me, love.” Greg reached across to the glove box. He opened it and removed a travel pack of tissues, a packet of ibuprofen and a small bottle of water. “Here you go.” “Oh bless you,” Mycroft murmured as he opened the packet of tissues. He blew his nose, sneezed and blew his nose some more. “Bless. You should’ve worn a hat,” Greg groused as he drove off the tarmac to the road. Mycroft tucked the used tissue away and took a couple of ibuprofen tabs with a swig of the water. “I do not believe a hat would have helped my sinuses tolerate the pressure changes from the flight any better.” Greg sighed. “No, probably not.” Mycroft leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. Greg looked quickly over at his partner. He had to agree with Mrs. Holmes, Mycroft looked terrible. The man was pale with bruised circles under his eyes and a prominent crease between his brows. Now in top gear, Greg could risk moving his hand from the shifter. He laid his hand on his passenger’s knee and gave it a gentle rub. Mycroft rested his hand atop of Greg’s and their fingers intertwined. They rode that way in silence for several minutes. Eventually Greg had to ask, “So when did the dinner plans occur?” Mycroft didn’t open his eyes. “Something my mother announced when I picked them up to go to the airport this morning. I assume they decided it last night.” He opened his eyes and looked at Greg. “Thank you for saying no.” Greg snorted. “Your feelings on the matter weren’t subtle, at least not to me.” Mycroft shrugged and turned away closing his eyes again. “I had no desire to listen to my mother coo over Rosamund and make veiled comments about her lack of descendants to carry on the Holmes name and genes.” “Wouldn’t those be aimed at Sherlock as well?” “No, as the eldest that responsibility fell on my shoulders. Another instance in which I failed and proved myself to be limited.” Mycroft deftly removed a tissue from the travel pack with one hand and cupped it around his nose and mouth. He sat that way for a moment; his breath hitched once, twice, then… “Heh’ETSCHHOO! Heh’SCHOO!” “Bless you.” Greg squeezed the other hand he was still holding. Mycroft shook his head slightly. “Heh’EhSCH! Ehh…EhhSHCH! ETSCHH! ETSCHH!” Bless.” Greg lifted Mycroft’s hand and kissed it, still watching the road. “Ehh’TSCHOO! TISCHOO!” “Bless you love.” Greg snuck a peak over to his partner, catching him wipe his nose and give a soft sniff. “Apologies. I despise flying when I am congested. I always end up with a sinus headache and sneezing.” “It’s alright My. We’ll fix some tea when we get home and you can turn in early.” Once home Greg sent Mycroft off to put on his pajamas or, ‘at least get out of that suit.’ Mycroft headed to their bedroom grumbling half heartedly about already having one mother. Greg went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and sandwiches. He opened a package of lemon-ginger biscuits to serve along side. He heard a sneeze from the drawing room as he finished prepping the tea tray. “Bless you…” Greg offered entering the room, but trailed off as he sat the tray down. “No, no, no.” Mycroft looked up from the newspaper he was reading. He had left his shirt and trousers on but took off his tie, waistcoat and jacket, replacing them with a soft wool pullover. His long feet were only clad with socks. “What?” Then he spied the tray. “Ah, lovely. You brought tea and biscuits.” He folded the newspaper and set it aside. “No newspapers!” Greg snatched the paper up. “Don’t be ridi-hih, ridi-hih…” Mycroft turned away to sneeze against his wrist. “Hih’tsch, hih’tsch, hih’tschOO!” “See!” “I see nothing. I am sneezing still from the effect of the pressure changes…” Mycroft halted, fishing his handkerchief out from his pocket. His nostrils flared as he unfolded the cloth. “Heh…heh… Eh’TSHOO! Etsch! Etsch! Etsch! …Heh’TSCHOO!” “Bless you.” Greg sighed, resigned to losing this battle. Still he sat the newspaper across the room. Mycroft poured the tea. “You want to tell me how this visit went?” Greg settled next to his partner and accepted the cup and sandwich he was handed. “Thanks.” Mycroft took a sip of his own tea and nibbled thoughtfully on a sandwich. “Overall I would say the visit went surprisingly well.” “That’s good.” “Yes, although, it likely means I will be taking more trips out there, not less.” Greg frowned slightly at that, but nodded. “Mummy and Father both want to return and I do not trust them to go without my presence. At least not for now.” “But Sherlock could…” Mycroft looked at Greg and raised his eyebrows. “Nah, you’re right.” “I will admit his recent behavior indicates a new level of maturity, but Mummy can be…” “Like an out of control steam roller?” “I was going to say ‘formidable’, but yes, your description is adequate.” Mycroft smiled slightly. “What presents did she try to bring your sister?” “Oh, hair bands, ribbons and the like.” “At least it wasn’t a cake with a file,” Greg joked. “We do not allow her shoe laces. You can imagine the damage she could do with ribbons.” Mycroft took a small bite of his biscuit and a swallow of tea. “It was suggested to Mummy she could bring a small amount of prepared food as a gift in the future.” “No harm in a few biscuits then?” Greg picked one up and took a bite. Mycroft did not respond. He stared into his cup, lost in thought, Greg believed, until his partner reached for his handkerchief. “Heh’ETSHCH! Hih’TSSH! Hih’TSCHOO!” Mycroft tended his nose carefully. “Bless you, love.” Greg reached out to gently brush back the forelock that had fallen forward. He mused on how thin that curl had become over the years; it still held on, seemingly having a will of its own. “So what’s going on in there?” Greg asked. He wasn’t sure Mycroft would answer. “She held my hand.” Greg was quiet. “My mother,” Mycroft clarified. “She took my hand in hers as Sherlock and Eurus played. It surprised me.” Greg took one of Mycroft’s hands in his own. “She loves you. Despite the disappointment and hurt, she still loves you.” “I suppose she does.” Mycroft sighed. “I suppose I do as well.” “Sherlock loves you too.” Mycroft snorted and rolled his eyes. “He loves that I have been able to save his arse over and over again.” “Maybe… But I think there’s more to it than that.” Mycroft considered Greg intently. “What did Sherlock ask you to do that night?” Greg gazed down at their hands, giving Mycroft’s a squeeze. “He asked me to make sure you were looked after.” Mycroft huffed and Greg looked up to find his partner smiling fondly at him. “That was not necessary.” “No,” Greg smiled back. “It wasn’t.” FIN Link to comment
cally Posted April 9, 2017 Share Posted April 9, 2017 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Sherlock followed, pausing only to say, “She’s right; you look terrible.” Well, he's just stating the obvious! 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock,” Greg snapped. “Piss off.” He jerked his head toward the waiting vehicle, glaring at the young man. Now, now Greg. 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Sherlock smirked. “Glad to see you taking your task seriously, Lestrade.” Oh, yes. This is quite important. Connections. 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I do not believe a hat would have helped my sinuses tolerate the pressure changes from the flight any better.” Tell me about it. Flying when you are congested is a horrible experience that I do not wish to have happen ever again. 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “No newspapers!” Oh for goodness sake, Greg! He's not going to give them up! I'd say get all the papers on the iPad but I have to say that it's not the same and also rather difficult to just read it for enjoyment and habit, which I suspect is why Mycroft does it. Anything massively important he must get briefing papers on. 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Oh, hair bands, ribbons and the like.” Eurus isn't a 6 year old girl! Duh, mummy! And I suspect she wasn't a bows and ribbons child anymore than Sherlock was interested in climbing trees unless it was to determine terminal velocity in falling out of one. 6 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Greg reached out to gently brush back the forelock that had fallen forward. He mused on how thin that curl had become over the years; it still held on, seemingly having a will of its own. Ok this is just a depressing thought that I refuse to continue considering. I am so glad that you finally had time to post this. I've been waiting as I knew you were working on something. Did Greg really think Mycroft was going to wear a hat? The thought of it is rather humorous! As always brilliant writing, dialogue and everything else. I'd be more verbose but I've not finished my coffee! Link to comment
matilda3948 Posted April 9, 2017 Share Posted April 9, 2017 This is so lovely!! I'm working on some more post-season 4 stuff too. Poor Mycroft had a bad season. And you're right--I did miss that other story! And it's so great. I love how you write them and Lady Smallwood is such an interesting character. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted April 11, 2017 Share Posted April 11, 2017 On 4/8/2017 at 11:23 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: * Everyone safe? –GL * * I believe I would have mentioned it had there been a problem. –MH * * Would you have? –GL * * Fine, perhaps not. –MH * Indeed. On 4/8/2017 at 11:23 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “No newspapers!” Greg snatched the paper up. They still haven't resolved this battle? LOL On 4/8/2017 at 11:23 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “We do not allow her shoe laces. You can imagine the damage she could do with ribbons.” I can totally hear him say this in that tone of voice he has. On 4/9/2017 at 5:52 AM, cally said: And I suspect she wasn't a bows and ribbons child anymore than Sherlock was interested in climbing trees unless it was to determine terminal velocity in falling out of one. LOL @cally! Link to comment
Shamaël Posted April 12, 2017 Share Posted April 12, 2017 On 09/04/2017 at 6:23 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Here's another that I hope helps. YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!! As always, I love the texts. Especially... On 09/04/2017 at 6:23 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: * Is not my silence on the subject answer enough? –MH * Ah, Mycroft, Mycroft... You are irresistible. On 09/04/2017 at 6:23 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Sherlock followed, pausing only to say, “She’s right; you look terrible.” “Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock,” Greg snapped. “Piss off.” He jerked his head toward the waiting vehicle, glaring at the young man. Sherlock smirked. “Glad to see you taking your task seriously, Lestrade.” He strode off to the car. Aw, Sherlock. I don't know if I'm more amused, exasperated or moved by those lines. On 09/04/2017 at 6:23 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I had no desire to listen to my mother coo over Rosamund and make veiled comments about her lack of descendants to carry on the Holmes name and genes.” “Wouldn’t those be aimed at Sherlock as well?” “No, as the eldest that responsibility fell on my shoulders. Another instance in which I failed and proved myself to be limited.” I am really angry against Sherlock and Mycroft's mother, and this drabble will not make me love her more... On 09/04/2017 at 6:23 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Mycroft considered Greg intently. “What did Sherlock ask you to do that night?” Greg gazed down at their hands, giving Mycroft’s a squeeze. “He asked me to make sure you were looked after.” Mycroft huffed and Greg looked up to find his partner smiling fondly at him. “That was not necessary.” “No,” Greg smiled back. “It wasn’t.” Love the end. Thanks for this other "season 4 complement"... Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 22, 2017 Author Share Posted April 22, 2017 Thank you all for your lovely comments. @cally and @AngelEyes I don't think Greg is ever going to give up on the newspapers. @matilda3948 I'm glad you have enjoyed my season 4 stories. @Aliena H. Yeah, I've still got loads of resentment and anger to take out on Mycroft's and Sherlock's mum. Alright! I mentioned, oh my, several stories ago, Mycroft and Greg doing experiments on which flowers Mycroft would tolerate. There were several requests that I write something up. Here are a few of their results. I might write more of them as the mood strikes me. I hope you enjoy. I own nothing. I say this because it has been a while since I last did. Flowers Prologue (The evening of Valentine’s Day) “Are you sure you want to try this?” “Do you have a better idea?” “Yeah. I never buy you flowers again.” The silence that greeted that suggestion had Greg lift his head from where it was resting on Mycroft’s chest. “Oh my God. What is that look?” Something half way between a pout and a scowl graced the younger man’s face. “I don’t have a look,” Mycroft grumbled. “Oh, yeah, you do. It’s remarkably similar to Sherlock’s when I don’t have a case for him.” Greg tried but failed to keep the mirth from his voice. “Please refrain from mentioning my brother while we are being intimate.” Mycroft’s scowl deepened. Greg grinned brightly. “All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” “Gregory, I am… mmmpf” Mycroft’s retort was lost with the kiss his boyfriend laid on him. Several moments later they came up for air. Greg nuzzled the soft skin behind Mycroft’s ear and whispered, “What were you going to say?” “Only that I was not wearing any knickers to get into a twist,” came the coy reply, punctuated by a soft gasp as Greg found a sensitive spot to nibble. Greg lifted the duvet and peered under. “My, you aren’t. Are you?” He flashed a wicked smile sending his lover’s heart a-skipping; then the silver head disappeared beneath the blankets. Lilies “Okay those are a no.” Greg sat down his drink as Mycroft launched into his third sneezing fit since his partner’s arrival. He got up and walked over the desk where he’d sat the bouquet of lilies. “Bless you,” he offered as Mycroft’s current fit ended. “I am afraid you are correct.” Mycroft agreed, sniffing. Greg picked up the flowers and opened the door of Mycroft’s office. “Anthea, would you like some flowers? And would you bring Mr. Holmes some tissues please?” He closed the door and went back to his seat. “You didn’t last fifteen minutes with those.” Greg said gloomily. “I am sor…. Hih’tsch, tsch, tish, tish…” “Bless. Don’t apologize. You can’t help it. It’s just that lilies were on the list of flowers not likely to cause problems.” “Hih’tishOO! I thi…hih… Hih’tschoo… Hih’tchoo!” “Bless you.” “The sce…hehh… Heh’SCHOO! Heh’TSCHOO!” “Bless you, love.” Mycroft blew his nose loudly into his extremely damp handkerchief. “Ugh! Apologies. The scent. I believe the scent is the problem.” “You think?” Greg perked up. “I can work with that.” Carnations “I think we have a winner,” Greg said smiling. “No problems at all with these, yeah?” Mycroft stared sadly at the bouquet of carnations. A rainbow of carnations Greg had described it when he brought in the flowers. “No. I suppose not.” “They’ve been here all week, still look fresh and I don’t hear any sniffing or sneezing.” Getting up from his desk, Mycroft went to get his coat. “Shall we go to dinner?” “You don’t seem very excited that we found a flower that doesn’t bother you. What’s wrong?” Greg asked. “Nothing.” Mycroft put on his coat. Greg rolled his eyes and folded his arms, settling back on his heels. Mycroft sighed. “It’s just… well… they are so…” “Colorful?” “Lurid.” “Lurid?” “Tawdry.” “What?” “Please do not think me ungrateful, but if I am to receive flowers I would prefer them to be a bit more…” “Posh?” “Elegant.” “Elegant?” “Understated.” “Ah.” The DI considered the bouquet. Then gazed at his boyfriend who was looking anxious and had started to bite at his lower lip. Greg picked up the flowers and dropped them in the bin next to Mycroft’s desk. “All right, princess,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll keep looking.” Gerbera Daisies “Come.” Greg opened the door and slipped inside. Mycroft didn’t look up from his work. He gestured to a clear area on his desk. “Just set them there, Anthea. Thank you.” Greg sat the tissue box down. “You’re welcome.” Mycroft’s head shot up at the sound of his partner’s gravelly voice. His eyes were watery and blood shot and his nose was bright pink. “Gregory.” “Hiya, love.” Greg smiled sympathetically. “I left this week’s bouquet with Anthea. We didn’t think it would be a fair test given your current state.” “No probably not.” Mycroft sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I can tell you whatever the flowers were on the tables at the luncheon are definitely not a good choice.” Greg took a seat. “What were they?” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “How would I know?” He opened the tissue box and pulled a few to wipe his eyes and nose. “All I know is they were… heh… Heh’TSchoo, heh’sCHOO, hehh’tscHOO!” “Bless you.” “Thank you. Very brightly colored.” “Tulips?” “No, I know what tulips look like. I have been to Amsterdam.” “Oh, did you have any trouble with your allergies there?” Greg pulled out his casebook and began to jot down notes. “No.” Mycroft was mildly amused by the diligent effort his boyfriend was making. “Interesting. Now describe the culprit if you will. You said colorful, as in multiple flowers of different colors or each flower had multiple colors?” “Multiple flowers of the same variety in a wide array of colors.” “Not carnations?” The allergy-ridden man shuddered. “No and we know carnations do not bother me. Neither were they roses or tulips or lilies.” “What else can you tell me? The shape? The number of petals? Stems with leaves or without?” persisted the DI. Mycroft closed his eyes and absently rubbed at his nose. “Green stems, no leaves, and one flower to each stem. Many petals arranged around a rather pollen filled center.” He paused, nostrils flaring, and turned slightly away holding a tissue near his nose. “Heh… hehhh…. Hhahh…bugger.” He sniffed. “Was the flower shaped like a ball or cup or more flat and round?” “It was… hehh…hahh…” Mycroft’s breaths were coming in rapid hitches and he again raised the tissues to his face with one hand. With his other hand he drew a circle in the air. Greg looked up from his notes. “Flat and round, then?” The younger man nodded before succumbing. “Heh’tSCHOO! EhschOO! ETSCH! ETSCH! ETSCH!... Heh…eh’SCHOO!... Heh’SCHOO!” He groaned and blew his nose. “Bless you.” Greg offered automatically. He had pulled out his mobile and was tapping away at it. “If I never see those flowers again it will be too soon,” grumbled Mycroft as he binned the tissues. “Hm?” Greg looked up. “Does this look like the flower in question?” He held up his mobile with the screen facing his partner. Mycroft peered at the small screen briefly then jerked back, twisting away with a wrist pressed to the underside of his nose. “Hihnnchx, hihhnnchx, hehhnnchoo.” He fumbled with the tissue box, head bobbing with each stifle. Greg pulled the phone back and looked at the picture. “Bless you. I’m assuming that is a yes.” “I did not say that. I did not say anything.” Mycroft snapped behind a handful of tissues. “So these aren’t the flowers?” “Yes, those are the flowers.” Mycroft muttered. “You sure?” Greg turned the screen back around toward his boyfriend. The reaction was almost immediate. “Heh’EhschOO! ETSCHOO! Haht’SCHOO!” “Bless.” Greg chuckled and Mycroft scowled as he tended his nose. “Sorry. Those flowers are Gerbera Daisies. They are not recommended for people with allergies, so no surprise you reacted to them.” Mycroft sniffed and binned the used tissues. He pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and applied some liberally. He picked up his phone and dialed. “Anthea, please send a memo to all the appropriate departments that…” he looked at Greg and raised an eyebrow. “Gerbera Daisies,” Greg whispered. “Gerbera Daisies are not to be used hence forth in any floral arrangements at any state functions or in any government building. Also please notify security to add them to the list of banned objects for this building. … That is correct. … Thank you.” Mycroft hung up the phone. Greg sat open mouthed. “You just banned a plant.” “I would deport every daisy to Siberia if that was an option. Sadly, it is not.” FIN Link to comment
cally Posted April 22, 2017 Share Posted April 22, 2017 4 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Yeah, I've still got loads of resentment and anger to take out on Mycroft's and Sherlock's mum. Do you have a list or a file? 4 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: I believe the scent is the problem.” You think? 4 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Understated.” I think carnations are kind of boring, tbh. But I take Mycroft's point. 4 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Mycroft’s head shot up at the sound of his partner’s gravelly voice. His eyes were watery and blood shot and his nose was bright pink. So only slightly miserable then? 4 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “I would deport every daisy to Siberia if that was an option. Sadly, it is not.” Of course he would. This was really very fun and I enjoyed reading it. (Yeah, not very eloquent as I haven't finished my coffee!) Link to comment
Shamaël Posted April 22, 2017 Share Posted April 22, 2017 (edited) I don't have much time but I had to comment on this because it was really funny. I love the idea of "experimenting" with sneezes and the end of your drabble is so perfectly Mycroft... On 22/04/2017 at 6:13 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Greg sat open mouthed. “You just banned a plant.” “I would deport every daisy to Siberia if that was an option. Sadly, it is not.” Mwahahahahahahahaha!!! He's already banned tissues, so why not plants? I love this idea. Edited April 23, 2017 by Aliena H. I was in a hurry and I wrote perfect nonsense. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted April 23, 2017 Share Posted April 23, 2017 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Something half way between a pout and a scowl graced the younger man’s face. “I don’t have a look,” Mycroft grumbled. Ha! 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Please refrain from mentioning my brother while we are being intimate.” Mycroft’s scowl deepened. LOL 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Only that I was not wearing any knickers to get into a twist,” came the coy reply, punctuated by a soft gasp as Greg found a sensitive spot to nibble. Greg lifted the duvet and peered under. “My, you aren’t. Are you?” He flashed a wicked smile sending his lover’s heart a-skipping; then the silver head disappeared beneath the blankets. Incorrigible! 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “You think?” Greg perked up. “I can work with that.” I love how chipper Greg is about this. A mystery to solve! 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: “Please do not think me ungrateful, but if I am to receive flowers I would prefer them to be a bit more…” “Posh?” “Elegant.” “Elegant?” Of course! 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Greg pulled the phone back and looked at the picture. “Bless you. I’m assuming that is a yes.” “I did not say that. I did not say anything.” Mycroft snapped behind a handful of tissues. “So these aren’t the flowers?” “Yes, those are the flowers.” Mycroft muttered. “You sure?” Greg turned the screen back around toward his boyfriend. The reaction was almost immediate. “Heh’EhschOO! ETSCHOO! Haht’SCHOO!” LOL! 23 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Greg sat open mouthed. “You just banned a plant.” Of course he did! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted May 15, 2017 Author Share Posted May 15, 2017 Thank you for all the wonderful comments. On 4/22/2017 at 5:10 AM, cally said: Do you have a list or a file? It's a list, but soon to be a file. Mycroft and I should compare notes. On 4/22/2017 at 6:22 PM, Aliena H. said: I had to comment on this because it was really funny. I love the idea of "experimenting" with sneezes and the end of your drabble is so perfectly Mycroft... Aw... thank you. On 4/22/2017 at 11:47 PM, AngelEyes said: I love how chipper Greg is about this. A mystery to solve! Absolutely! He loves a good mystery. @cally said I needed to share the love with Greg. So I will. Flowers do make a cameo in this. I hope you enjoy it. Comments are always welcome. Not Fussing Mycroft was a tad nervous as he knocked gently on Greg’s flat door. He hadn’t been invited over, but he thought he and Greg were past the stage in which explicit invitations were needed. At least he hoped so, because he was fairly sure he would not have gotten an invitation. Not that he doubted Greg would be happy to see him… Perhaps he did doubt it. That would explain the nervousness. He was debating rapping again on the door, when a very pale and disheveled Detective Inspector opened it. “Mycroft?” Greg croaked then cleared his throat, wincing. “What are you doing here?” “I came by to bring you these by way of apology.” Mycroft held out a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils. “I overstepped and for that I am sorry.” Greg sniffed and accepted the flowers. “Ahh…Thank…hah…you.” Greg turned away and raised his arm to his face. “HahRRDDSHchoo!” “Bless you.” Mycroft frowned. Greg quickly wiped his nose on his sweatshirt sleeve. “Ugh. Sorry,” he mumbled. He turned back to the man at his door. “Rotten cold to go with my rotten day.” Mycroft looked abashed. Greg gave him a small smile. “The flowers help though.” “Might I come in?” Mycroft asked hopefully. Greg looked at his, at times, interfering boyfriend and considered the request. “I don’t know. I’m a really grumpy sick person and I hate fussing.” Mycroft nodded. “I realize that… now. I promise I will not ‘fuss’ over you.” “Do you?” “Yes, I have learned my lesson.” Mycroft appeared very contrite. Greg chuckled. “Okay, love, come on in.” He opened the door wider and turned away to sneeze again. Mycroft stepped into the flat. “Bless you, dear.” He shut the door and sat his umbrella by the closet. “I can’t believe you brought flowers.” Greg remarked as he lead the way to the kitchen. “My understanding is they are a customary apology gift.” “Yes, but… You didn’t get these yourself, did you?” “Of course not. I ordered them online. Anthea picked them up from the florist. It was the least she could do.” “Oh?” Greg gestured to the small dinette and Mycroft took a seat. Mycroft’s mouth turned down as he muttered, “She was too amused by the scolding you gave me.” “You deserved it.” Greg began to search the cabinets for a vase. “As you say.” Greg rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I ha-hah-ve… HahRRDSSCHCH!” He twisted away covering his mouth and nose with his free hand. “Bless you. Sit down, Gregory. I will look.” “No, m’fine.” Greg sniffled and laid the flowers on the counter. He pulled a sheet of kitchen roll to blow his nose. Imagining how harsh that must feel made Mycroft wince. However, he took advantage of Greg’s distraction to find an empty pitcher that was serviceable. He quickly filled the pitcher and unwrapped the flowers, placing them in water. Oh, that works.” Greg smiled as he binned the used paper. “The ex must have gotten all the vases.” The younger man moved the flowers to the table. “Gregory, might I get you some tissues or a handkerchief?” “M’fine. You want tea or something stronger?” Greg started washing his hands. “Perhaps you could allow me to…” The younger man hadn’t sat back down and was beginning to hover. “Fussing.” Greg said sternly and gave Mycroft a gentle push toward the dinette. “Right.” Mycroft nodded. “I will just use your facilities while you put the kettle on.” He returned shortly just as Greg was pouring their tea. “I found these,” he announced brandishing a box of tissues. “You went through my cupboards.” Greg huffed. “Your loo roll needed replacing. This discovery was only a happy coincidence.” “Who’s always telling me there are no coincidences? You’re fussing.” Greg sounded irritated, and a bit breathless. Mycroft simply pulled a few tissues and offered them to the ill man. The older man scowled and snatched the tissues from his boyfriend. “Hah…HahRRDdschsh! HuhrrudhSZHOO!” “Bless you.” Mycroft set the tissue box on the kitchen table and picked up his teacup. Making himself comfortable at the table, he smirked. “I am not fussing.” He innocently sipped his tea. “Bollocks,” grumbled Greg as he sat down with his own tea. “What are your plans this evening, if I may ask?” “Seriously? With this cold?” Mycroft gazed into his teacup. “You have indicated you don’t let such illnesses slow you down, ever.” Greg looked a little guilty. “Yeah, I might have said something like that.” “I believe the exact words were…” “Alright! I was there.” Greg snapped. “Right. Nothing. I have no plans. I feel like crap and I’m going to stay home and wallow in my misery.” “Ah, well, that does sound like a lovely way to spend your Friday evening.” “Oh and what do you have planned, party animal?” Mycroft smiled tightly and sipped his tea. “I, myself, have a delightful evening planned. I recently purchased Casablanca on Blu-Ray. I was considering cracking the case and watching it.” Greg hummed thoughtfully. “My original plan involved asking if you wanted to join me, but you have indicated you are not up for any excitement.” “I've never seen Casablanca.” Greg took a tissue from the box and blew his nose loudly. “No? It is a wonderful film and superbly acted. Most people know it for being very romantic, but it is actually quite funny as well. It is too bad you are not feeling well. I do not recommend coming over to mine if you have a cold. The cats are likely to be very irritating. I suppose… no, never mind.” Greg finished wiping his nose. “What?” “Nothing. I am afraid you would consider it fussing.” Mycroft set his cup down. “I should be leaving if I want to finish the film before 10 o’clock.” “Oh,” Greg looked a little startled. “Okay, I’ll walk you out.” “If you like.” Mycroft stood and made his way to the flat door. He paused to pick up his umbrella. “You know,” Greg started. “It occurred to me that you could bring Casablanca here to watch.” “That is a splendid idea, Gregory. Why didn’t I think of that?” Mycroft smiled at his partner. Greg smiled back briefly before it faded slightly. “Bastard. You did think of it” “I won’t be long, dear.” Mycroft dropped a kiss on Greg’s cheek and slipped out the door. Greg had just finished tidying up the tea things when he heard knocking on the door. Wondering who would be at his door he hurried to answer and was more than a little surprised when he found Mycroft on the other side. “How are you back so soon? And what are you carrying?” Mycroft was holding a shopping bag in each hand. “Traffic was light. I took the liberty of picking up some dinner for myself. I brought extra in case you might be hungry as well.” “I have food, Mycroft.” Greg groused as he took a bag. “I did not wish to trouble you, especially when you do not feel well.” “Fi-hih… Fine. HuhRRDDSHchoo!” Greg sniffed heavily. “Bless you.” “This is a lot of food for one meal for two people.” “I like variety.” Mycroft took a Blu-Ray case from the bag he held. “Why don’t you put this in the Blu-Ray player. I am sure you are better suited to start the film and I will handle plating the food.” “You just don’t want me sniffling and sneezing in the kitchen.” “True.” “Well, as long as it’s not about wanting to fuss.” “Certainly not.” Mycroft and Greg made the exchange and headed their separate ways. Mycroft could hear his partner coughing and sniffling in the other room. Having slipped off his suit jacket, waistcoat and tie, he rolled up his sleeves before putting the kettle on again. Mycroft loaded a tray with the take away he had picked up and a box of tissues. As he entered Greg’s den and dining space he spied Greg on the couch. His partner had his sweatshirt pulled up over the lower half of his face and eyes closed. Mycroft set the tray down and snatched a handful of tissues to press into Greg’s free hand. “HehhhurrDDSCHOO!” Greg sniffled and brought his face out only to bury it in the tissues. “HuhhRRRDDSCHZOO!” “Bless you.” “Thanks.” He sounded horribly congested. Mycroft bit his lip and refrained from remarking. Greg blew his nose hard. “I will get the tea.” Mycroft disappeared back into the kitchen and returned shortly with the tea. Greg was at the table frowning at the tray. “Is there something wrong,” Mycroft asked. “There’s no way you could’ve gotten this food in the time you were gone.” Mycroft placed Greg’s teacup down along with his own and did not comment. “And this is not the box of tissues from the kitchen.” “You are correct, Detective Inspector.” “You had all of this down in your car when you first stopped by.” “I did have the film and the food in the car. I went to the Boots down the street to purchase more tissues and some cold medication. I had noted you were low on both when I was here earlier.” Greg sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I told you no fussing.” “Tell me Gregory. Is there anything I have done that you would not have done for me?” “No.” “Have I provided more then what you needed?" “No.” “Then am I fussing?” Mycroft inquired. “No.” Greg muttered. “Is there anything else I can get you while I am up?” “No, you prat. Sit down, you’re starting to hover.” “Apologies.” Mycroft sat down. Greg shook his head and joined his boyfriend at the table. They ate peaceably, watching the movie. Eventually they moved to the couch. Their viewing punctuated by sniffling, the occasional sneeze and quiet blessing. At one point Greg had a rather intense coughing fit and Mycroft paused the movie. He rubbed small circles on Greg’s back until the older man caught his breath. Afterwards the ill man leaned back and rested against his partner. Mycroft did not comment, but slipped an arm around Greg’s shoulders and resumed the film. As the credits rolled Greg sighed. “That was good. I didn’t realize it was such a bromance as well.” “Bromance?” “Yeah, the friendship between Rick and Renault.” “Ah, I see.” Mycroft smiled. “Yes, that is an interesting relationship.” “Kick me if I ever say, ‘Round up the usual suspects.’ Promise?" Mycroft chuckled and Greg yawned. “I should go,” Mycroft kissed Greg’s silver hair. “If it would not be construed as ‘fussing’, I will clear up the dishes before I do.” “I’d ask you to stay, but I don’t want to give you this.” “I sincerely do not care about catching your cold. If you would like me to stay I will.” Greg was quiet for a moment. “Stay.” He sat up and looked at Mycroft. “I like the way you don’t fuss.” FIN Link to comment
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