Mystrade's Shorts by scw (BBC Sherlock)

[Spoo]

AHHHH! I'm drowning in fluff! (But please don't save me because I love it, mwahahaha. )

For some reason, I really like the image of a restless Greg just kinda awake and staring at nothing. We all know that Mycroft has a lot on his mind, but it's really nice for Greg to be the one all mentally distracted. Adored the intimacy, and cuddles, and how Greg took care of him (even as Mycroft slept through it).

Do keep the drabbles/stories coming, scw. They're all so good!

Edited September 13, 2015 by Spoo

[bangbang]

^Agree on all counts! I love the idea of Greg just tossing and turning; and if anyone could sneeze in their sleep, it would be Mycroft!

Your drabbles are just lovely. Keep them coming!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Loved the comments on the last story! Thank you all so much. I am glad that no one actually died of fluff overload. (Still there, Spoo?) Though it sounds like a very comfy way to go.

I do admit I was channeling a bit of Papa!Lestrade. He's got a lot on his plate. Teenaged daughters (I have one and they are not easy people), the Holmes brothers and a stressful, difficult job, I imagine he has a number of sleepless nights.

And yes, in my head, if anyone would sneeze in their sleep it would be Mycroft. Absolutely, do not tell him, because I think we would all be summarily executed for knowing. Plus, cally is right, he'd never sleep again. Or at least not with Greg, and we do not want that to happen.

So... I could post another story here, or I could post the first part of First Date on the fan fiction board.

Let's go to the fan fiction board! Hope to see you there...

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Warning: This next story is not fluffy. It isn't very domestic either. I am rather nervous about posting it, but it's been in my head a long time.

In my mind, Greg knows the Sherlock is not dead. I can go into all my reasons in great detail. If anyone is interested send me a PM.

This is how I think Greg figures it out.

As always I own nothing. I appreciate each and everyone who reads and always love to hear from you. I really do like constructive criticism, so feel free to dish it out. I can't get any better otherwise.

He’s Not Stupid

Mycroft watched Greg from his car. Greg was standing alone by Sherlock’s grave letting the rain soak him. Mycroft shivered at the sight. He and Greg had been seeing each other for only a few months. However, these past several weeks they had seen little of each other and only spoken by phone a handful of times. For both, work had been a top priority. The last time Mycroft had spoken to Greg in person was just after Sherlock had jumped. They held each other as Greg cried. Mycroft wept a little as well, but not for the reason Greg thought. They had barely glanced at each other at the funeral. Mycroft could feel anger radiating off of Greg and he felt some of that anger was focused on him. The text he received from Greg asking to meet him here was their only communication since the funeral.

Mycroft heaved a sigh and prepared to leave the dry, warm car. He sniffed, wishing the weather wasn’t causing such havoc with his sinuses. He opened the car door and stepped out. His umbrella popped open shielding him from the drizzle, but nothing could shield his nose from the cool damp. Pressing the back of his hand to his face Mycroft stifled a flurry of sneezes. He extracted his handkerchief and blew his nose. He hoped that would be the end of it and he could get through this conversation without more sneezing or sniffling.

Greg did not turn to look at Mycroft has he approached. Mycroft stood close to Greg so as to share the shelter of the umbrella and to keep their voices quiet, at least that is what he told himself. Mycroft was nervous and wished he had a cigarette. This is ridiculous, he thought; he had been in much tighter corners and delicate situations. He had faced more formidable men and dangerous women than Gregory Lestrade.

“Good afternoon, Detective Inspector. I understand you wished to meet with me.” Unsure, Mycroft slipped back to formal speech.

There was silence for a moment. Greg sighed. He looked at Mycroft. “Mycroft, I’m not stupid.”

Mycroft looked blankly at Greg. “Of course, you are not stupid.”

“Nobody called my division,” Greg went on, holding Mycroft’s gaze. “I get called for anything that has to do with Sherlock and no one called me.”

Panic bloomed in Mycroft’s chest. Betraying nothing, Mycroft thought hard and fast. His eyes never moved from Greg’s.

“Why wouldn’t I be called, Mycroft?” Greg tone was calm, yet challenging. “Do you know?” He did not wait for an answer. “Because the only reason I can think of is you prevented it.” Greg’s gruff voice was low, but seething with emotion. “What are you trying to hide?”

Mycroft sniffed and swallowed. It was time to take a risk; he would not deny he was hiding something. He decided to gamble that Greg really was not stupid. “Perhaps it is an attempt to protect you.” His eyes bored into Greg’s. “It is common knowledge you two are fond of each other.” Pay close attention, he pleaded silently.

“No one was interested in protecting Molly. She had to sign the death certificate.” Greg’s voice was beginning to rise.

“She does not need protecting. She does not count.” Mycroft kept his voice low. Greg stared at Mycroft in disbelief. Mycroft met the stare; his eyes begging Greg to understand. Observe, he cried to himself.

Greg opened his mouth and then shut it. He turned back to Sherlock’s grave. Gazing intently at it, he was obviously processing and putting together all the little clues. Several minutes ticked by and the drizzle rolled off the umbrella.

“And you?” Greg asked tentatively.

“Apparently, I do not count, either.” Mycroft sniffed again. There was a tense silence. Mycroft was trying his best not to break it, but the prickling and itching in his nasal passages would not stop.

Greg nodded as if Mycroft had answered as he expected. “Someone wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.” Greg sounded satisfied. “Who else needs protecting?”

Mycroft nearly collapsed with relief, though his posture remained ramrod straight. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his nose. He sniffed again hoping to quell the tickling. “Besides you, Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft replied softly. He pressed his handkerchief tightly to his face and attempted to restrain himself.

“Hhnnchmmpf, Hhnnchmmpf, Hhnnchmmpft” Mycroft’s sigh was soft, but spoke volumes of his frustration.

“Bless you, My,” Greg offered absently, eyes still fixed on the ground. He was clearly still thinking.

Mycroft was touched by the use of his nickname. “Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft replied quietly.

“Why?” There was a plaintive note in Greg’s question.

Mycroft understood the question perfectly. “If Sherlock did not jump, you three would be dead.” Mycroft answered simply. A tear slid down Greg’s cheek and he brushed it away.

“Is everyone safe now?” Greg asked. Mycroft was silent. “Do they know?” More silence. Greg sighed. “What do we do now?”

Mycroft rubbed at his nose and sniffed. “At the risk of sounding trite, we keep calm and carry on.” Mycroft’s sinuses continued to itch. He pinched his nose briefly.

Greg allowed himself a tiny smile and looked at Mycroft. “You really are the British Government.”

Mycroft didn’t answer; he was completely lost in his need to sneeze. He turned his head away and buried his face in his handkerchief.

“Hehh’TSCH! Hih’SCHOO! ISH! ISH! Hih’TSHOO! Heh...Heh’TSCHOO!” Mycroft blew his nose. Feeling drained from the fit and the tense conversation, his shoulders sagged just a bit.

“God bless you, love. Oh, look at you!” Greg tutted. His full attention was on Mycroft now, taking in the pink nose and puffy cheeks. “You’re going to catch cold standing out here. C’mon, I know your car is around here somewhere.”

Greg slipped an arm around Mycroft’s waist and began to lead them away from the grave. Mycroft was surprised by Greg’s tenderness and familiar touch, but he leaned into it, savoring the moment. Their heads were bowed and close. Greg whispered. “Don’t think we are done, yeh? You’ve a lot of explaining to do.” Mycroft sniffled and nodded. Relieved, a tear slid down his cheek.

FIN

[Juto]

Awww, scw, this was great!

I highly support toying with the original and weave in some fictional stuff in this way. I love the way it seems to flow easily with the story line.

It was great how Mycroft was mentally begging Greg to deduce in his own. And oh so cute the way they "found each other" again!

[cally]

Like I said to you when you first showed this to me, there is a lot of evidence for what you have presented and evidence to the contrary as well. That's what I enjoy about this bit of Sherlock; it allows the viewer (or the fanfic writer) to make their own decisions. I think this little snippet here would have fit well into an episode, or one of those tiny pre-episode bits, like Many Happy Returns.

​Edit: That wasn't me, that was Bailey!

Edited September 28, 2015 by cally

[Spoo]

I do love your cute and domestic drabbles, but this was a nice change of pace.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thanks Juto07ab, cally, and Spoo. I know this was a bit out of my wheelhouse. I'm glad you enjoyed it and didn't think I was completely bonkers. I promise more domestic fluff in the future.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Now back to the fluff.

This might make more sense if you have read First Date which is in the fan fiction section of the forum. There seemed to be a fair amount of interest in the comments about Greg's reaction to Mycroft's cats, so I wrote this little bit. I hope you enjoy.

As always I own nothing. Big thanks to everyone who reads. I love comments. I am happy to take constructive criticism. If you don't want to give it in the comments send me a PM.

An Epilogue to First Date

Some months later…

They lay in a tangle of limbs basking in the haze of post coital bliss. Greg was lying on his back on the sofa with Mycroft sprawled across his body. Mycroft had buried his face in the curve where Greg’s neck met his shoulder.

“Mmmm…” Mycroft hummed.

“That was…that was…” Greg mumbled. He stroked Mycroft’s shoulder and upper back with one hand; the other hand rubbed absently at his nose.

Mycroft turned his head to gaze at his lover. Watching Greg worry at his nose and eyes, he asked, “Do you want an antihistamine? It is really no trouble.”

“Nah, M’fine.”

Mycroft would have begged to differ instead he lazily traced his fingers around Greg’s nipple. “We could have gone to your flat.”

“Nope, yours was closer and I wasn’t waiting any longer to get my mouth around your…”

Mycroft’s hand snapped up to Greg’s mouth, covering it. “Quiet, you lecher!” Greg could feel heat radiating from Mycroft’s cheek on his chest. He chuckled behind Mycroft’s hand and sniffled.

Mycroft lifted up and moved his hand to reach down beside the sofa. He quickly located the tissue box and plucked a few. Mycroft pressed them into Greg’s hand as it reached again for his tickly face.

“You are going to need these.”

Greg rolled his eyes and took the offering. “Yes, My.” He wiped his nose vigorously.

Mycroft settled back on Greg’s breast. “My,” he mused. “No one has ever called me that.”

“Well, no one calls me ‘Gregory’, besides you…except my mum, when she’s mad.”

“My mother calls me ‘Myc’ or, worse, ‘Mikey’,” Mycroft complained.

“I can see ‘Myc’, but not ‘Mikey’.” Greg sniffed again.

“Would you rather I call you ‘Greg’?” Mycroft asked tentatively. He wasn’t used to asking people their preferences, even with names.

“Nah, I like 'Gregory' from you. Makes me feel like I belong t’you.” Greg gave Mycroft a squeeze.

Mycroft lifted his head and leaned up to kiss Greg. “You most certainly do,” he growled against Greg’s mouth. The kiss deepened and their tongues twined as each took turns possessing the other. Greg sniffled and Mycroft pulled back. “Time to use those tissues.”

“You’re b-heh-bossy.” Greg’s breath hitched again and he raised the tissues to his face, sneezing harshly. “HuhhRRSCH!”

“Not bossy enough, since you still have not taken the antihistamines I have offered on multiple occasions.”

“Hehh’DZSCHOO!” Greg’s body rocked forward bouncing Mycroft. The movement covered the start Mycroft made with each violent explosion.

“I warned you of this consquence if we came here.” Mycroft continued as Greg’s eyes once again began to flutter closed.

“Hehh…HehrrrRRUSHHOO!”

Mycroft sat up and reached down for more tissues. He held them out for his allergic lover. Greg sat up as well. The soggy tissues were tossed into the pile of previously used ones and Greg took the offered fresh ones.

“Oi! Wha’ever happened to ‘bless you’?” Greg managed to get out. He looked as if he would sneeze yet again.

“Apologies, Gregory.” Mycroft was contrite. Greg’s nose was pink and twitchy. Mycroft really didn’t want to harangue his boyfriend for not listening to common sense, but it seemed necessary.

Greg took a breath and hunched forward. “Huh…huh’RRRSCHOO!”

“Bless you.”

“Thank you.” Greg wiped his itchy nose.

“You are welcome, but I fear you will not stop sneezing unless…”

Greg held up a hand in defeat, his expression hazy. His eyes closed and lips parted as his chest began to expand. “Heh…heh…Heh’rrRDDZZCHOO!”

“Bless you. You allow me to bring you an antihistamine.” Mycroft had flinched, but didn’t miss a beat.

Greg sighed and blew his nose. “Fine, fine. Get the bloody antihi…hih…histamine. Heh…Huh’RRRSCH! Heh’RRRDSCHSH! Ugh!” Greg tossed another handful of used tissues into the growing pile on the floor. Mycroft was ready with more clean tissues.

“Bless you again.” Having finally won this battle, Mycroft smirked as he unfolded himself and rose from the couch. He bent over to collect the soiled pile of tissues. Greg eyed his lover’s appealing backside as he chafed at his irritated nose. Mycroft straightened and Greg, unable to help himself, playfully swatted the younger man’s freckled bum. Mycroft yelped and shot a glare over his shoulder at his cheeky partner.

“Hurry back,” Greg grinned up at Mycroft.

FIN

[Juto]

ARGH! My face hurts! I fear this grin will be perfectly glued from ear to ear for the duration of the day! Curses! What do I tell my dinner guests?

What a lovely little post coital yummyness!!!!

!

Nope, yours was closer and I wasn’t waiting any longer to get my mouth around your…”

Mycroft’s hand snapped up to Greg’s mouth, covering it. “Quiet, you lecher!” Greg could feel heat radiating from Mycroft’s cheek on his chest. He chuckled behind Mycroft’s hand and sniffled.

This was what effectively cracked my face in half!

Oi! Wha’ever happened to ‘bless you’?” Greg managed to get out. He looked as if he would sneeze yet again.

Bless you.”

“Thank you.” Greg wiped his itchy nose.

This was what tied the corners of my mouth securely to my earlobes.

“Bless you again.” Having finally won this battle, Mycroft smirked as he unfolded himself and rose from the couch. He bent over to collect the soiled pile of tissues. Greg eyed his lover’s appealing backside as he chafed at his irritated nose. Mycroft straightened and Greg, unable to help himself, playfully swatted the younger man’s freckled bum. Mycroft yelped and shot a glare over his shoulder at his cheeky partner.

“Hurry back,” Greg grinned up at Mycroft.

And how on earth you managed to get this snippet to squirt super glue straight into my face is beyond me!!

But it did, so THANK you!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

@ All Juto's eve No, THANK YOU! Because that comment made me smile and laugh. In turn you have made my day. I am so pleased you enjoyed it.

[Juto]

@ All Juto's eve No, THANK YOU! Because that comment made me smile and laugh. In turn you have made my day. I am so pleased you enjoyed it.

I simply adore your take on these two... Your drabbles always make my day, it seems only fitting that my comments dress to match

[cally]

“Oi! Wha’ever happened to ‘bless you’?” Greg managed to get out.

Why do I have a feeling this was written explicitly for me?

This was terribly adorable.

[Spoo]

I really love how lazily intimate this was. And as always, I love your voice for Greg~

[AngelEyes]

I'm back! And to such wonderfulness! Cheeky!Greg, I love that side of him. And choosing Mycroft's place because it was closer despite the consequences!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Spell Casting Witch, on 05 Oct 2015 - 10:47 AM, said:

Oi! Whaever happened to bless you? Greg managed to get out.

Why do I have a feeling this was written explicitly for me

Yup.

@ Spoombstone and @ AngelEyes: Glad y'all like my take on Greg. He's a lot of fun to write.

[Tassielli]

That was amazing. I love love love Greg and his sneezes. You wrote this pair so well.

Thank you, thank you for blessing me with this awesomeness.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

@ Tassielli Thanks for reading and commenting. I am glad you are enjoying them. It is wonderful to hear from you.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you everyone who has been reading and all those who read and comment! I hope you will enjoy this offering. It is one several seasonal stories I have.

A little backstory is in order. One year ago Mycroft had influenza (Berlin by bangbang). I had commented then he should get a flu shot this year. With this story I made good on my statement. (I don't think Mycroft is necessarily happy with me, but Greg will sort him out. ) I may play loose with various physiologic truths, but I won't mess with this verisimilitude: You do NOT get the flu from the injectable flu vaccine.

I own nothing and I recommend everyone get a flu shot.

Flu Shot

Greg was a filthy mess after rolling around in the dank alley with his latest collar. He figured a quick shower and a snack at home were in order, before heading back to the Yard. It was late afternoon and Mycroft would likely be working well into the evening.

Imagine Greg’s surprise when he arrived at the flat to find his partner curled up on the couch in the drawing room. Mycroft was in his pajamas and covered up with a blanket. He had a mug of tea on the coffee table and stacks of newspapers and tabloids. A box of tissues was tucked against his side.

“My? What’s going on? Are you sick?” Greg was genuinely puzzled to see Mycroft home so early, much less in his pajamas on the couch. Mycroft looked up from the paper he was reading. He looked fine to Greg. He didn’t have that bruised look around his eyes nor did his nose look pink. His cheeks were maybe a little flushed, but not swollen.

Mycroft coughed lightly and sniffled. “Well, yes, I am ill.”

“You seemed fine this morning. When did you start to feel bad?” Greg was confused.

“After the flu vaccine I received this morning,” Mycroft replied and returned his attention to the newspaper in his hand.

“Okaayy.” Greg was definitely confused. He never felt sick after his flu shot. His arm hurt a little…sometimes. He decided he needed a minute to consider this. “I’m going to clean up a bit and then have a bite to eat. Do’ya want something?”

Mycroft pulled a few tissues and dabbed at his nose. “Yes, dear, that would be heh lovely.” His long nose wrinkled. “Hih’tish, ish, ish, ish, hih…hih’Tishoo!”

“Bless you, love. I’ll be back in a mo’.” Greg left the drawing room and headed upstairs. After he had washed up and changed, Greg sent a text.

* You got a minute? –GL *

* Yeah, I’m between patients. –JW *

Greg called John, who picked up immediately.

“What has Sherlock done now?”

“No, it’s not about Sherlock. I’ve got a question about the flu shot. Does it make you sick?”

John laughed. “God, if I had a pound every time I heard that. No. It does not make you sick. Why? Haven’t you had one before?”

“Me? Yeh, loads. Been gettin’em for almost thirty years. No, Mycroft got one this morning and now he’s huddled up on the sofa claiming he’s ill. I don’t know. He doesn’t really look ill.” Greg ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“It’s all dead virus in the vaccine, you know. So, it can’t make you sick. But if it’s been a while since you’ve had one, or your first shot, you can feel a bit fluish—achy, low grade temperature, and the like. But just for a day or two. Most people experience no effect at all,” John explained.

“So, he’s not sick.” Greg was processing what he just heard.

“Doubt it. It’s probably been a while since his last vaccine.”

“Well, I know he didn’t have one last year.” Greg shivered at the memory of how God awful sick Mycroft had been.

“Yeah…” John remembered too. “Ah, anything else? I’ve a patient.”

“No, thanks mate.”

“Anytime, Greg.”

Greg hung up and, thinking about what he learned, he headed back downstairs. Sticking his head back in the drawing room, Greg found Mycroft reading a tabloid and sniffling. “Hey, love? I’m going to make myself a sandwich or would you rather have soup?”

“Both?” Mycroft asked hopefully.

“Right.” Greg smiled. “I’ll be back in a tick.” So not sick, he thought. If Mycroft were truly ill, Greg would be begging him to eat even a few spoonfuls of soup.

Ten minutes later Greg brought in a tray with sandwiches and soup and a fresh pot of tea. Mycroft gathered up the newspapers and stacked them. He was laying them aside when his breath began to hitch. “Hihhnnchx, hhnnchx, hihhnnchoo!” Mycroft stifled and ducked his head into his shoulder, as his hands were full of papers. Greg quickly set down the tray. He took the papers from Mycroft and put them aside. “Hhhnnchxx, hihnnchx, hhnnCHX!” Mycroft grabbed tissues from the nearby box and pressed them to his nose. “Hih’TISH, Ish, Ish, Heh’ETSCHOO…Heh’ETSCHOO!”

“Bless you.” Greg looked at his partner critically as Mycroft tended his nose.

“Yes, Gregory?”

“Just wondering how you’re feeling.” Greg seated himself next to the younger man and began serving the food out.

Mycroft shrugged. “My head aches. I feel a bit chilled. My nose is…well, my nose.”

Greg laughed. “And I rather like it.” He leaned over and kissed said nose.

“Heh’Etch! Heh’TSH! Heh’TSHOO!” Twisting away, Mycroft sneezed rapidly into cupped hands. Greg handed over a few tissues.

“Really, Gregory. You are a horrible tease, “ Mycroft grumbled as he wiped his hands and nose. “Besides, you are exposing yourself needlessly.”

“Love, you aren’t going to get me sick.” Greg was amused.

“Why do you say that?” Mycroft picked up his sandwich and took a healthy bite.

“Because you’re not ill.” Mycroft gave Greg an incredulous look. Greg placed a placating hand on his partner’s knee. “Hear me out,” he said.

Mycroft drank some of his tea and nodded.

Greg took a deep breath. “I know you got your flu vaccine this morning, but I have it on good authority that the flu vaccine doesn’t make you sick.”

“Whose authority, may I ask?” Mycroft asked haughtily.

“John’s.”

Mycroft huffed and took another bite of his sandwich.

Greg soldiered on. “And you are not acting ill. You are sitting up reading. Not to mention thoroughly enjoying a sandwich.”

Mycroft stared at the sandwich accusingly, as if it had betrayed him.

“It ‘s okay. I believe you don’t feel good. John did say if it had been a while since your last shot, you could feel a bit fluish.”

Mycroft put down his sandwich and bit his lip. “I was so sick last year,” he murmured.

“I know, My.” Greg’s voice was gentle.

“You and Anthea were so worried. I did not want to cause you any grief unnecessarily. So I made it a priority to get my vaccine, but I began to feel ill this afternoon. You are so adamant I rest when I am ill.” Mycroft turned toward the older man. Greg slipped an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders, pulled him close, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Greg could feel his partner tremble and his heart race through the clothing.

“Thank you for getting your flu vaccine, love. I’m sorry it’s making you feel off. You’ll feel fine in a day or two.” Greg held Mycroft and let him recover from his brief bout of panic. As Mycroft lifted his head up, Greg smiled at him and caressed his lover’s cheek. Mycroft felt a touch warm. “Have you taken any medication yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll get you some and we can finish our tea.” Greg picked up the stack of newspapers and started off to the kitchen.

“Why are you taking my papers?” Mycroft asked.

“They make you sneeze. You don’t need anything else to make feel worse.” Greg felt like he was stating the obvious. Mycroft looked incredulous. “Haven’t you noticed you sneeze more when you read the paper?” Greg asked.

“No, I have not. Gregory, you are exaggerating the situation. Please return my papers.” Mycroft spoke dismissively and held out his hand. Greg rolled his eyes and handed over the tabloid Mycroft had been reading earlier. He kept the rest and took them with him to the kitchen.

“Hih’TSSH, Tish, Ish, Ish, Hih…hih’TISHHOO!” Greg could hear the fit from the other room.

Greg walked back in with the paracetamol, grinning. “Bless you.” He was clearly bemused.

“That proves nothing,” Mycroft grumbled handing over the paper. He sniffed and accepted the pills Greg offered.

Tossing the paper to the side, Greg sat back down next to Mycroft. “Fine, we can experiment later.” Mycroft huffed and began to eat his soup. Greg tucked into his sandwich. He pressed his leg against Mycroft’s and was pleased to feel the pressure returned.

FIN

[Juto]

A valuable lesson to all!

Poor Mycroft, so worried about Gregory worrying about him. Uhh, it makes me shudder to recall how sick he was "last year". Nice play on that though, for those of us who have read it! If you haven't, go do.... Now! It's an absolutely amazing piece.

Haha I liked how Mycroft realised he wasn't really sick when Greg pointing out he was eating! I really like teasing!casual!Greg, he's so funny and adorable!

Great job

“Fine, we can experiment later.”

*ahem* yes please

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

@ All Juto's Eve Thank you! Fear not, I have experiments underway.

[Spoo]

Mycroft stared at the sandwich accusingly, as if it had betrayed him.

I don't know why, but I laughed ridiculously at this for longer than I should have.

The fact that Mycroft didn't want to worry Anthea or Greg AND got his flu shot just to prevent getting so ill again says a lot; it makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Great job!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

@Spoombstone I think your angry sandwich from Domestic Bliss and my sandwich of betrayal should get together. Think of all the havoc they could raise.

I'm glad you enjoyed this and that I made you feel warm and fuzzy.

[cally]

Imagine Greg’s surprise when he arrived at the flat to find his partner curled up on the couch in the drawing room. Mycroft was in his pajamas and covered up with a blanket. He had a mug of tea on the coffee table and stacks of newspapers and tabloids. A box of tissues was tucked against his side.

I'll be sulking with Mycroft on the couch. My arm hurts; I feel his pain and suffering.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

My arm hurts; I feel his pain and suffering.

I am sending you "poor babies".

But I am so happy you got your flu shot.