Mystrade's Shorts by scw (BBC Sherlock)

[Red]

Oh poor you! Chicken pox is by itself very unpleasant but as most childhood diseases if you get them as an adult they are horrible! Hope you get better soon! 

 

On 11.8.2017 at 5:40 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

            “Yes, you are….” Greg felt Mycroft’s shoulder and upper body tense under his hands.

            “HihT’SCHOO! TSH, TSCH… heh’TSZCHOO!” The ill man hunched forward with each expulsion.

            “Bless. You left out sneezy.”

            “Well that goes without saying,” grumbled Mycroft as he straightened and wiped his nose.

So sweet! Love how you write Mystrade! 

[AngelEyes]

On 8/10/2017 at 10:40 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“Bless. You left out sneezy.”

            “Well that goes without saying,” grumbled Mycroft as he straightened and wiped his nose.

LOL!

[AngelEyes]

On 8/10/2017 at 10:40 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“Bless. You left out sneezy.”

            “Well that goes without saying,” grumbled Mycroft as he straightened and wiped his nose.

LOL!

[Shamaël]

On 01/08/2017 at 3:46 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Constantly

Oh. You meant this one. (I'm particularly slow and stupid today, because I've been doing a "3-days-Supernatural-marathon" with my cousin, I barely slept and my head is about to explode at any minute now. Buuuuut now I understand your PM...)

On 01/08/2017 at 3:46 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“This isn’t going to end well.”

“No probably not,” agreed John.

Mwahaha, no, indeed. Good deduction, boys, really.

On 01/08/2017 at 3:46 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“John wouldn’t have followed the perpetrator into the Thames!”

“That’s true,” John murmured to Greg.

“Well, it’s not your job, is it?” Greg replied good-naturedly. He shivered a bit and pulled the blanket a little tighter around him.

“You think we should break them up?”

“I’m not going in there. I’m already injured. You do it.” Greg said flatly.

“Yeah, well, I know what’s really in that umbrella.” John rejoined. “Oh, someone mentioned Mummy.”

“There goes that vein.” Greg sighed. “He’s going to need an extra blood pressure pill tonight.”

“Mycroft is on blood pressure medication?” John queried.

“Are you kidding me? He’s a middle-aged man with a high stress job. On top of that he smokes and Sherlock is his brother.”

“Good point.”

Those lines are just wonderful. I love your dialogues, you know this? Thank you for pointing out this drabble, because, well, I guess I wasn't paying attention on the last two weeks and now I have A LOT of catching up to do...

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you everyone. Thank you for the comments and the well wishes.  

I am much better. I turned out have had a severe allergic reaction to I-don't-know-what. I've been taking steroids and hoping I don't come in contact with whatever it was that made me blister up. By the end I was starting to look like a "grup" from the TOS episode Miri.  (That was for your benefit @Red and @Aliena H. )

I'm glad people enjoyed the drabble and Mycroft's pouting.  Fear not there will be more ill Mycroft and ill Greg in this next one.

While I was home "sick" I spent some time on Tumblr and did some Mystrade drabble prompts. Two of them just screamed to be written together as a sick fic. I did them as drabbles for Tumblr, but expanded them for you all on the forum. (Because I love you guys.  ) I hope you like it. As always comments=love and I own nothing. 

 

84. “Come on, baby, up to bed.”

 

“What are you doing awake?” Discovering his partner’s side of the bed empty, Greg found Mycroft in the drawing room curled up on the sofa watching a 24 hours news station. He sat down next to his lover who looked pale in the light from the telly.

“I can’t sleep.” Mycroft coughed harshly. “My sinuses are congested, my head hurts and I feel like I have to sneeze.” Mycroft sniffled pitifully and rubbed his nose with his handkerchief. “I didn’t want to wake you up if I started.”

Greg smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, but you need your rest. Come on, baby, up to bed.”

“But…” His partner stopped and raised his handkerchief. His expression struggled between repose and an uncontrolled release. “Hih…hih…Hih’tsCHOO! T’CHOO! …Heh’shCHOO!”

“Bless you, love. No buts. We’ve got plenty of tissues and I’ll get you some ibuprofen.”

“I don’t want you si-hih-ick.” Mycroft mumbled behind his handkerchief before sneezing again.

“Bless you. I’ll be fine.”

“I can sleep in the… hih’TSCHOO! Heh’tSCHOO! Hih’SHOO! Heht’CHOO!” Mycroft blew his nose and sighed.

“Bless. In the guest room?” Greg rubbed his ailing lover’s back.

Mycroft, breath hitching, nodded; his handkerchief still pressed to his face. “Hih…hih…hihzSCHOO! Heht’SZCHOO!”

“God…”

“Heh’SCHOO! ETSCH! ETSCH! ETSCH! …Heht’CHOO! Heht’SCHOO!”  Mycroft found a dry corner of his handkerchief and wiped his nose.

“Bless you!” Greg kissed Mycroft’s temple. “You’re sick, love; you should sleep in your own bed.”

“Fine.” Mycroft sniffed. “But you are putting yourself at risk.”

 

11. “If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”

 

Greg coughed, rubbing his aching chest. “This is your fault,” he sputtered and wheezed.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Mycroft murmured sympathetically. He found his partner’s inhaler and brought it over. The device was accepted and the younger man sat on the edge of the bed to make sure it was used properly. After a few moments Greg’s breathing eased. If Mycroft expected thanks he was sadly disappointed.

“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.” The older man muttered crossly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I offered to sleep elsewhere.” He pointed out.

“What kind of person kicks a sick person out of their own bed?” Greg gave his nose a great honking blow tossing the used tissues on the bed.

Mycroft plucked the soggy tissues up and dropped them in the nearby bin. “I was…” He was cut off by his partner’s thunderous sneeze. “Bless you, offering to go.”

“HuhhrruzDSCHAAH!”

 “You weren’t kicking me out,” Mycroft continued.

Greg glared at Mycroft.

“Apologies. Bless you.”

“Still.” Snuffling, Greg huddled under the duvet until only the top of his silvery head was showing.

The younger man sighed. “You can’t chastise me for making you ill in one breath and then defend your irresponsible behavior in the next.”

“I’m sick. I can do whatever I want.” Greg grumbled from under the blankets.

Mycroft smiled fondly at the lump in their bed. “Yes, of course, dear.”

 

 

[cally]

I loved them then and I still love them now.  

24 minutes ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“You can’t chastise me for making you ill in one breath and then defend your irresponsible behavior in the next.”

Of course he can, Mycroft.  

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

1 minute ago, cally said:

I loved them then and I still love them now.  

Of course he can, Mycroft.  

Aww! Thanks.  

And yeah, that was pretty much Greg's response, wasn't it?  

[AngelEyes]

Glad you're feeling better!

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“Bless you!” Greg kissed Mycroft’s temple. “You’re sick, love; you should sleep in your own bed.”

Awwww

 

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.” The older man muttered crossly.

LOL. He can be a drama queen sometimes. It's usually the other way around, but he has his moments.

 

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“I’m sick. I can do whatever I want.” Greg grumbled from under the blankets.

Mycroft smiled fondly at the lump in their bed. “Yes, of course, dear.”

LOL. I love how Mycroft just goes with it.

[Shamaël]

I'm sorry you have bad allergies! I really hope you feel better now.

On 03/09/2017 at 5:32 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Mycroft found a dry corner of his handkerchief

... And that was difficult, wasn't it?  Poor Mycroft, really. You're not kind to him.

On 03/09/2017 at 5:32 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”

I just... love the title. 

On 03/09/2017 at 5:32 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“You can’t chastise me for making you ill in one breath and then defend your irresponsible behavior in the next.”

“I’m sick. I can do whatever I want.”

I loved those lines. And I totally agree with Greg, no matter how illogical he is.

[Juto]

I absolutely loved the clash between these drabbles  from Mycrofts kind "But you are putting yourself at risk.” To Greg's blameful “This is your fault,”. 

Greg darling, you were warned. And a warning from the British Government should not be taken lightly. Even if it's not your division  

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you @cally, @DevilsGaze, @Aliena H., and @Juto I'm glad you enjoyed the two drabbles. They make quite the pair, don't they.  

So it is flu season again and to go along with my annual plea that you get your flu vaccine, I have a Mystrade story for you. There's a little peripheral Sherlock thrown in for fun. If you like it I could continue it.

All in the Family--part one

 

Greg hung up his phone and thought how best to approach Mycroft with his idea. It really seemed to be the best option. After all, Sherlock was family. Taking a deep breath he sent a text figuring he was less likely to interrupt an important meeting.

 

* Is the guest room set up? –GL *

 

* Yes. Why? –MH *

 

Greg took the direct approach.

 

* S needs to stay with us for a bit. –GL *

 

* Must he? –MH *

 

Oh, he could see the raised eyebrows and hear the sardonic tone.

 

* Yes. –GL *

 

* What has he done? Poisoned John’s tea one too many times? –MH *

 

Greg wondered if he should stay on the direct course.

 

* Has he injured Rosamund? –MH *

 

He had to smile at that. Mycroft pretended disdain for children, but anyone with half a brain could see the man was completely smitten with John’s daughter. Greg responded quickly to allay his partner’s fears.

 

* No. –GL *

 

* I fail to see why Sherlock must leave Baker St, much less come stay with us. –MH *

 

Well here it goes.

 

* S has flu. He and John don’t want to risk Rosie catching it. He needs a place to stay and recover. –GL *

 

* No. –MH *

 

Greg was a bit surprised at how quickly the refusal came.

 

*No? –GL *

 

* I’ll rent a hospital room, a hotel room or a flat and hire a private nurse. –MH *

 

That seemed really over the top, even for Mycroft.

 

* Don’t be ridiculous. It is just flu and S is family. –GL *

 

* Precisely. I know exactly what he is like when ill. –MH *

 

* He can’t be any worse than you. –GL *

 

* You have no idea. –MH *

 

Greg rolled his eyes. He’d been with Sherlock a number of times as the man came off drugs. Mycroft was exaggerating.

 

* Well, it’s that or John and Rosie come to stay with you and I go to Baker St. –GL *

 

Greg waited. Several minutes went by and still no response.

 

*Well? –GL *

 

* I’m thinking. –MH *

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hushed voices from down the hall filtered into Greg’s mind, slowly waking him. Sherlock’s deep voice and Mycroft’s polished accent were too soft to make out their conversation. Greg sat up a little in bed and waited. His partner slipped through the door a few moments later.

 

“Everything okay?” Greg spoke softly in the dim light.

 

“Yes. He needed some water,” came the weary reply. Mycroft slipped off his robe and tossed it at the end of their bed. It was the third time Mycroft had gotten up to check on Sherlock.

 

“Has it been like this all week?”

 

“More or less.” Mycroft yawned widely. “I believe his fever has broken.”

 

“That’s good.” Greg patted the empty space next to him. “Come to bed.”

 

Mycroft nodded then suddenly turned away. With a quick gasp he sneezed into cupped hands.

 

“Bless you.”  Greg was startled.

 

“Hihht’schoo, hiht’zchoo, hiht’schoo!” Mycroft's body shook with each sneeze.

 

“Bless you, again.” Greg offered.

 

“Oh, excuse me.” Mycroft headed into the en suite. Greg heard the taps go on and go off before his partner emerged carrying a glass of water.

 

“All right?”

 

Mycroft lifted a shoulder and sat down his glass on the bedside table. “You know me,” he sighed.

 

“Yeah.” Greg agreed uneasily.

 

Mycroft settled into his spot and rolled to face away from his bedmate.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help.”

 

“Mm-hm,” Mycroft hummed noncommittally.

 

“I know I said I would be,” Greg said sheepishly.

 

“You had a case,” Mycroft murmured.

 

“I just have some paperwork in the morning and a meeting, then I can be home to spell you in the afternoon.” 

 

“Fi-hih-ne. Hihz’choo, hihhtschoo, hihht’CHOO!” A long arm reached out to snag a tissue from the box on the bedside table.

 

“Bless you. Are you angry with me?”

 

“No, Gregory, I’m tired and want to sleep.” Mycroft sniffled.

 

“Okay.” Greg shuffled up against Mycroft’s back. Mycroft hooked a leg through his lover’s and wriggled closer. Smiling, Greg kissed the nape of Mycroft’s neck. He pulled back frowning. “My?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You have a fever.”

 

“Do I? Well, that would explain why I feel so thirsty.”

 

Greg reached over to feel his boyfriend’s forehead. “How long have you felt unwell?”

 

“Since this morning.”

 

“Look at me.” Mycroft twisted his upper body around. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“To what purpose?”

 

“But…”

 

“But what?” Greg could envision the patronizing look he was being given, though it was too dark to see it properly.

 

“Didn’t you get your jab?”

 

“Yes. But that is not the correct question.”

 

Greg growled.

 

Mycroft turned away to cough behind his hand. “The correct question is when did I get my vaccine.”

 

“And?”

 

“Less than a week before Sherlock arrived.” Greg heard Mycroft’s breath hitch. He knew what was coming next. Mycroft rolled away. “Hih…hiht’sch, hiht’sch… tish, tish, tish… Hihhht’schOO!” He reached for more tissues.

 

“Bless you, love.” Greg rubbed Mycroft’s back. “So it hadn’t started working yet?”

 

“Obviously not,” came a muffled reply followed by a soft nose blow.

 

Greg continued to stroke his lover’s back. “Did you take something for the fever?” he asked gently.

 

“Yes.” Mycroft sniffed. He tossed the used tissues on his nightstand and lay back on his pillow.

 

Greg sat up and repositioned his pillow up on the headboard. He settled back, opening his arms to welcome Mycroft. “C’mere.”

 

Mycroft scooted over to rest his head up on his lover’s chest. “I’m cold,” he complained softly. A shiver made his body tremble.

 

Greg pulled up the duvet tucking it around them.  He pressed his lips to Mycroft’s crown. “Better?”

 

“Mm…now don’t move,” he commanded.

 

Greg chuckled. So it begins, he thought, the devolution of the British Government from competent adult to whining child.

TBC...

Edited October 28, 2017 by Slithery Creepy Wyrm

[cally]

Well of course you must continue this. 😂

Poor Mycroft. He really isn’t going to be much fun. So maybe I should be saying poor Greg.?🤔

[AngelEyes]

I love Mycroft's response to Sherlock staying. And then the poor baby catches it. 

On 10/22/2017 at 3:57 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

* He can’t be any worse than you. –GL *

 

* You have no idea. –MH *

LOL

 

On 10/22/2017 at 3:57 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Greg chuckled. So it begins, he thought, the devolution of the British Government from competent adult to whining child.

Don't worry. Greg can handle it.

[Shamaël]

TEXTS!!! I love texts!!! 

On 22/10/2017 at 10:57 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

* I’ll rent a hospital room, a hotel room or a flat and hire a private nurse. –MH *

That seemed really over the top, even for Mycroft.

Mwahaha. "Even for Mycroft" LOL.

On 22/10/2017 at 10:57 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

So it begins, he thought, the devolution of the British Government from competent adult to whining child.

That was funny, but... poor Greg. I really hope you'll continue this!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you ladies. I'm glad you enjoyed the first part. Thank you for commenting. Comments =   

Here's part two. No Mycroft in this, but Greg and Sherlock have to come to an understanding. I promise to bring whining!Mycroft back for part 3.  

 

All in the Family--part 2

Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen sniffling wetly followed by a loose cough. He pulled his robe around himself as he threw himself down into a chair at the table. Continuing to cough he held his hand in the general vicinity of his face.

 

Greg standing at the cooker looked over and sighed. “G’morning, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock blearily turned toward the voice. He appeared momentarily puzzled. “Graham, what are you doing in my brother’s home?”

 

Greg rolled his eyes. “I live here, you twat.”

 

“Oh God. That’s right. I’d deleted it.” Sherlock muttered. He coughed again.

 

“And use my name. I know you know it.”

 

Sherlock looked around the kitchen searching. “Where’s Mycroft?” He looked he like he would say more, but his head tilted back and eyes closed as he took a deep breath. “Hihhh…K’sssh….Hihh’KSCHOO!” He sneezed openly, dropping his head towards his lap.

 

Greg whacked the back of Sherlock’s head with the palm of his hand.

 

“Ow!” The consulting detective lifted up his head sniffling and rubbing the sore spot.

 

Greg slammed a box of tissues on the table in front of his sick friend. “In bed, with a fever. If you’d used a bit of basic hygiene he might not be there.” He went back to the stove and began transferring French toast to plates.

 

Sherlock used a few tissues, warily watching Greg. As the man brought over their plates and tea he finally spoke. “I gather you’ll be staying home then.”

 

“No.”

 

“No? Who’s going to take care of me?”

 

“Yourself, and you’ll take care of your brother.” Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but Greg irritably cut him off. “It’s just a for a few hours. I’ve got some loose ends to tidy up with this case and a meeting. Then I’ll be back.”

 

“You can’t leave me with him.” Sherlock hissed. “He’s a terror when he’s ill.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Greg agreed equably. He was making short work of his breakfast. Sherlock looked at his own plate and pushed it away.

 

“He whines incessantly, predicting his imminent demise. Nothing is satisfactory, not even tea. He makes unreasonable demands. He…”

 

“Sherlock, I know.” Interrupted Greg.

 

“But I am still ill.” Sherlock moaned. He coughed harshly into his elbow as if to demonstrate.

 

“Mycroft said your fever broke in the night.”

 

Sherlock brightened. “Ah, well, then I can leave.”

 

“Hold on there.” Greg pointed his fork at the younger man as if to pin him in place. “Fever free for 24 hours, without paracetamol or ibuprofen, is what John said.” Sherlock’s face fell. “The way I see it you’re still here until tomorrow and you can repay your brother with a few hours of fetching tissues and tea.”

 

Sherlock slumped in a sulky silence.

 

“You going to eat that?” Greg gestured at Sherlock’s plate. Sherlock waved his hand indicating Greg could have it. Greg moved the plate in front of him and began to eat.

 

Silence fell between them. Sherlock sighed. “Has he asked for orange juice?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“Fine. I’ll stay.” Sherlock spoke magnanimously as he took a sip of his now cool tea.

 

“Oh, ta,” answered Greg sarcastically. He got up to clear the dishes, rinsing and stacking them in the sink.

 

Sherlock sniffled and his breath started to hitch. As if he could see the glare he was getting from Greg he snatched a handful of tissues. “Hiihh…iiihh….KissshCHOO!” He blew his nose and winced. “I’m still not well.”

 

Greg looked at Sherlock with sympathy. The man was pale without the hectic flush of fever in his cheeks. His nose was red and a bit raw. The smooth baritone sounded congested and rough. 

 

“Bless you. I know, mate. I’m making this as easy as I can.” Greg gestured to the counter top next to the sink. “I’ve laid out the tea things you’ll need when he wakes up. This is the tea.” Greg pointed to a container. “Steep it for 4 ½ minutes then use a sixth of a lemon and a spoonful, this spoon,” Greg held up a spoon. “Of honey. I’ve cut the lemon for you already.”

 

Sherlock stared wide eye. He got up to examine what Greg had set out. “Dear lord, you’ve cracked the mystery of Mycroft’s tea,” he murmured.

 

Greg smiled proudly. “Yeah, I did. If he complains he’s just being peevish that I’m not here, so ignore it.”

 

“Lestrade, I am impressed.”

 

Greg shrugged, but couldn’t deny the praise meant something to him. “I gave him cold and flu medication about an hour ago. He should sleep for the next few hours. He’s not likely to want anything more than tea when he wakes, but there’s bread for toast and butter in the fridge. You can handle that right?”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course… Ihhhih…” Sherlock wheeled and pulled his robe across his face. “HihhhkkschhOO! HihK’SHOO!”

 

“Bless. There’s more medication in the bathroom and tissues in the pantry. I think that’s it. Any questions text me or call.”

 

“Fine. Leave. The sooner you leave the sooner you’ll return.” Sherlock pulled a tissue to wipe his nose.

 

Greg clapped the man on the shoulder and headed on his way.

 

TBC...

Edited October 28, 2017 by Slithery Creepy Wyrm

[cally]

 you had Greg “Gibbs slap” him! That’s the best thing ever!!!!!

I also love that Greg blames Sherlock’s general lack of hygiene for Mycroft being ill. (Probably true.)

I’m impressed that Sherlock acknowledges that Greg cracked the tea mystery. Greg should be proud of his accomplishment!  😊

I look forward to part 3 and whiny!Mycroft. 

[frolicking periwinkle]

I could hear the satisfying thunk of him Gibbs smacking Sherlock. It was so satisfying.

[AngelEyes]

This was Fantastic! 

On 10/28/2017 at 2:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Greg rolled his eyes. “I live here, you twat.”

 

“Oh God. That’s right. I’d deleted it.” Sherlock muttered. He coughed again.

 

“And use my name. I know you know it.”

LOL!

 

On 10/28/2017 at 2:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Greg whacked the back of Sherlock’s head with the palm of his hand.

Ha! Go Greg!

 

On 10/28/2017 at 2:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Sherlock stared wide eye. He got up to examine what Greg had set out. “Dear lord, you’ve cracked the mystery of Mycroft’s tea,” he murmured.

 

Love this! Sherlock's so impressed. Yay Greg!

[Juto]

On 28/10/2017 at 9:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Sherlock blearily turned toward the voice. He appeared momentarily puzzled. “Graham, what are you doing in my brother’s home?”

 

Greg rolled his eyes. “I live here, you twat.”

 

“Oh God. That’s right. I’d deleted it.” Sherlock muttered. He coughed again.

Awww YAY  the annual "don't-forget-your-flu-shot-Drabbles" !!! 

Haha this was my favourite part!! I love that Sherlock just deletes information he deems unnecessary or irrelevant!  

no wait... 

 

On 28/10/2017 at 9:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Sherlock stared wide eye. He got up to examine what Greg had set out. “Dear lord, you’ve cracked the mystery of Mycroft’s tea,” he murmured.

 

Greg smiled proudly. “Yeah, I did. If he complains he’s just being peevish that I’m not here, so ignore it.”

THIS WAS MY FAVOURITE PART!!! The Mystrade is so strong here and Greg's being a total darling I AM MELTING!!! 

Definitely continue this  I'd probably forget my shot if it weren't for your Mystrade CUTENESS  

Also, please correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the flu vaccine couldn't prevent you from catching the flu but if you DID, the vaccine would ensure a much milder case of it. (Doesn't seem to be in Mycroft's case though, poor dear  ) 

[Shamaël]

On 28/10/2017 at 9:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“I live here, you twat.”

“Oh God. That’s right. I’d deleted it.”

Thank you for the Sherlock-Greg interaction!!! It's perfect! 

On 28/10/2017 at 9:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Sherlock sniffled and his breath started to hitch. As if he could see the glare he was getting from Greg he snatched a handful of tissues. “Hiihh…iiihh….KissshCHOO!” He blew his nose and winced. “I’m still not well.”

Oh, Sherlock... I melted a bit here.

On 28/10/2017 at 9:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“Lestrade, I am impressed.”

 Wow. Such a compliment from Sherlock, that means something!!!

On 28/10/2017 at 9:11 PM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

TBC...

Oh yes please? A Sherlock-Mycroft drabble???

[cally]

On 30/10/2017 at 1:46 AM, frenchposie said:

I could hear the satisfying thunk of him Gibbs smacking Sherlock. It was so satisfying.

I'm glad I am not the only one who envisioned this!  

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

That Gibbs slap went over rather well. Sherlock must have really deserved it.  

Thank you @cally @DevilsGaze @frenchposie @Aliena H. and @Juto ! I appreciate your comments, every one.  

In retrospect I really should have posted this in fan fiction. But whatever, I can't be bothered to care. Here is part 3 with some anticipated Sherlock-Mycroft interaction.

Part 3

* He doesn’t like my toast. –SH *

 

Greg sighed. He’d only been gone a couple hours and had hoped he’d have another before the texts and calls started. He started to reply when his phone rang.

 

“Hello love, how are you feeling?”

 

“Dreadful. Is there something wrong with our toaster?”

 

“Ah… no?”

 

“I thought so. He’s deliberately burning it then.”

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Of course Sherlock. No else is here to make me toast.” There was a distinct note of reproach in Mycroft’s tone.

 

“How’s the tea?” Greg asked, taking a different approach.

 

“Adequate,” Mycroft sniffed. Greg smiled to himself.

 

“Well if the tea is ‘adequate’ then I don’t imagine he’s burning your toast on purpose.”

 

“I suppose not,” Mycroft grumbled.

 

“No, I suppose not either. I’ll be home after my meeting. I can bring your favorite soup from the market.”

 

“And goldfish crackers?”

 

“Yes, love. Oh, I spoke with John. He’s called a script in for that stuff we took last year, so if you want anything else from the chemist let me know.” The other end of the line was quiet. “Mycroft?” Greg wondered if they had been cut off. There was a soft inhale…

 

“Heh’etchh…heh’tschoo…heh’etschoo!”

 

“Aw. God bless you, love.” Greg heard Mycroft sniffle. The sound of a tissue being used vigorously was next.

 

“Apologies, I… Hih’SCHOO! Should ha…hahh… HahTSCHOO! Tsch, tisch, tisch… b-huh-ugger! Huhsh’CHOO!”

 

“Bless you. Hang up?”

 

“Y-heh-es… HehhschHOO! Ehhschh, ehhschh, ehhschh….”

 

“Okay then…” Greg paused as Mycroft sneezed again. “Bless. I’ll talk with you later.”

 

Mycroft sat down his phone and pulled a handful of tissues to catch another round of sneezes.

 

“This is it.” Sherlock announced as he entered carrying a plate of toast. “I’m not making you any more toast.”

 

“Hih’TSHOO… tschh, tschhh, tschh, tsschh…!”

 

“Oh God!” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat the plate on the coffee table. He flopped down in chair opposite his brother, watching Mycroft struggle through his sneezing fit with barely concealed irritation. It was always such a production, if his brother wasn’t trying to stifle them. He’d sneeze then a stream of fittish half sneezes would follow. A pause generally occurred and a few more sneezes would find their way out. And people called him a drama queen, Sherlock mused.

 

“Hiihhh…TSHOO! …HihzSCHOO!” Mycroft blew his nose. The room was reeling a bit and his head was pounding.

 

“I’m not blessing you every time you do that.” Sherlock stated flatly.

 

“You’ve not blessed me yet so why bother at all,” came Mycroft’s touchy reply. He coughed dryly.

 

Sherlock’s phone chimed. He pulled it free of his dressing gown pocket. A quick glance at it produced a small smile.

 

* Toast sorted. –GL *

 

“Who was that?” Mycroft asked suspiciously as he finished tending his nose.

 

“Mummy,” Sherlock lied.

 

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “Mummy doesn’t text.”

 

“Would you like to call her to prove you are right?”

 

A shudder ran through Mycroft. It was hard to tell if was the thought of calling his mother or the flu that made him shiver. “I believe it was Gregory telling you to be kind to me as I am ill.”

 

Sherlock smirked. He took a breath ready to tell his brother exactly what Lestrade had said when his phone chimed again.

 

*Be nice to your brother. He’s ill. –GL *

 

Mycroft observed Sherlock’s knowing smirk fade. Feeling smug he picked up a piece of toast and took a large bite.

 

Sherlock cleared his texts. “Well I’m ill too.” He sniffed loudly and then began to cough.

 

Mycroft looked at his brother with undisguised disgust. He washed his toast down with the rest of his tea and leaned back against the couch cushions. His hands moved up to massage his temples and rub his frontal sinuses. “Did your head ache?”

 

“Like someone set up a jackhammer in my sinuses.” Sherlock watched his brother attempt to relieve the pain.

 

Mycroft nodded. “That describes it perfectly.”

 

 Sherlock felt a pang of sympathy. “Wait here.” He got up, heading for the kitchen.

 

“Where do you think I would go?” Mycroft grumbled.

 

A moment later Sherlock returned holding a bundle wrapped in tea towel. He sat at the opposite end of the sofa. “Put your head in my lap.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock warily. “Oh come on,” he huffed. “You did it for me.”

 

Mycroft shifted around to his head on Sherlock’s lap. The bundle was laid carefully on his brow and cold began to seep through, dulling the ache. Long, gentle fingers slowly massaged Mycroft’s temples. Mycroft let out a soft moan and began to relax in his brother’s care.

TBC...

Edited November 12, 2017 by Slithery Creepy Wyrm

[frolicking periwinkle]

Awwww... thats precious 

[cally]

12 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“You’ve not blessed me yet so why bother at all,” came Mycroft’s touchy reply. He coughed dryly.

Well, he's got you there Sherlock.

12 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“Where do you think I would go?” Mycroft grumbled.

 

Anywhere away from you, Sherlock.  Presumably.

12 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Mycroft shifted around to his head on Sherlock’s lap. The bundle was laid carefully on his brow and cold began to seep through, dulling the ache. Long, gentle fingers slowly massaged Mycroft’s temples. Mycroft let out a soft moan and began to relax in his brother’s care.

Awwwwww.  

[Shamaël]

OH YES Sherlock and Mycroft!!! I love love love it!!! (Even if you half... three-quarters... converted me to -soft- Mystrade, I still prefer Sherlock and especially his relationship with his brother!)

14 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“How’s the tea?” Greg asked, taking a different approach.

“Adequate,” Mycroft sniffed.

I love how Greg tries to act logically with Mycroft. I really like Lestrade, you know. And I'm glad that in the BBC show they didn't make him a stupid character, like in a lot of Sherlock Holmes adaptations. Of course when you compare him with Sherlock or Mycroft, he can't stand the competition, but he is really intelligent and very kind and I like it in the character.

14 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

Apologies, I… Hih’SCHOO! Should ha…hahh… HahTSCHOO!

Sneezes on the phone. Oh God yes.

14 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“I believe it was Gregory telling you to be kind to me as I am ill.”

Sherlock smirked. He took a breath ready to tell his brother exactly what Lestrade had said when his phone chimed again.

*Be nice to your brother. He’s ill. –GL *

Mwahahahahahahaha. 

14 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

undisguised disgust

I just had to point out that I enjoyed that expression!

1 hour ago, cally said:

14 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

“Where do you think I would go?” Mycroft grumbled.

Anywhere away from you, Sherlock.  Presumably.

I second this!

14 hours ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

A moment later Sherlock returned holding a bundle wrapped in tea towel. He sat at the opposite end of the sofa. “Put your head in my lap.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock warily. “Oh come on,” he huffed. “You did it for me.”

Mycroft shifted around to his head on Sherlock’s lap. The bundle was laid carefully on his brow and cold began to seep through, dulling the ache. Long, gentle fingers slowly massaged Mycroft’s temples. Mycroft let out a soft moan and began to relax in his brother’s care.

Oh, thank you so much for that perfect ending!!!